A/N:

As of this chapter, this story will be rated M for upcoming content. Please, read at at your own discretion.

- Wine -

The heat clung to her skin even in the shaded cloister bordering the courtyard, the afternoon sun casting long, dark shadows over the polished stone, the black cliffs towering above the walls like the teeth of a great maw ready to the swallow the Cage whole.

The wind chimes hung silent, motionless in the stifling heat, and the only sound Suki could hear as she patrolled the siblings' favored training area was the distant warble of cicadas punctured by the crunch of paper through the hall.

An arm covered with a crimson red sleeve jutted out from behind a pillar along the colonnade, a ball of crumpled colored paper skittering across the floor, resting beside a small pile. An irritated grunt echoed through the air. Suki smiled, spirit in her stride.

"Wasting paper I see." Her voice bounded through the cloister.

Zuko's head peeked from behind the pillar, his piercing yellow eyes wide. There was a flutter in Suki's stomach like the beating of a dozen desperate wings. She tried not to grin too widely, keeping an air of professionalism.

He smiled up at Suki as she approached, sitting against a pillar, shaking his head away from her as she stood beside him.

"More like wasting time. Too hot to train anyway." Zuko turned his head, taking a piece of gold colored paper from a neatly stacked pile lying at his side.

"That's a surprise." Suki leaned against the pillar, arms crossed in front of her chest, her eyes trailing from his neck to his eyes. "I thought all fire-benders loved heat waves."

"Sure, but I'm not stupid. We're still human. We can get hot and sweat just like other people, might even collapse from the heat because you're too exhausted. What good is your bending then?"

She bit her painted lips, pushing down an urge to be funny. A pained look crossed Zuko's face as he folded the gold paper.

"…I didn't say you were stupid, Zuko. Just thought you'd be training." Suki looked at him, his eyes tightly creased.

"What for? Not like I'll have my life put in danger anytime soon." His eyes were focused on the paper, folding it into smaller intricate shapes.

"Good to stay in shape. There's nothing wrong with that. Plus, you might get the edge over your sister."

A grunt. Zuko balled the paper in his fist and threw it to the side.

"Sure, maybe see her bleed through her teeth for a change. I guess I can always dream."

"I'd pay to see that. Maybe put together a pool with the other guards. It'll knock her down a peg or two if you win."

He turned his head to Suki, giving her an odd look before shaking his head, a light smile on his face.

"You're something, Captain."

She smirked, leaning down to sit beside him on a step, her sheath chinking against the polished floor, hands sliding into her lap.

"Still not getting the hang of it?" She tilted her head toward the small pile of crumpled paper.

"No. Origami isn't my thing I guess. I don't have delicate hands… or patience." He turned his head toward her, the cuts and purplish black skin under his left eye dark like the walls of the Cage.

The fluttering in her stomach stopped, replaced with a bitter urge to cut flesh with her sword.

Azula was merciless toward Zuko. Something in the way they fought one another went beyond mere training. It was like a valve was turned in each of their hearts, a rage like steam let loose from their arms and legs. They'd burn the Cage down in their anger, one of the reasons Suki kept their gauntlets on.

"What were you trying to make?" She asked.

"A crane… or some kind of bird, one of the ones that like to perch on the pagodas and fly off into the sun. I don't know," he said.

"Those are hard to make, lots of little folds. You need patience for that. Even Lady Ursa can't make them and she's pretty good at this."

He shrugged, letting out a sigh.

"Why are you here anyway?"

An eyebrow perked up. "Keeping you company?"

"No, I mean why are you here. You usually go to where you pick up that man-whore this time of week."

She rolled her eyes, a small laugh escaping her.

"It's the same trip up and down this mountain for four hours of the day. I don't exactly think spending that much time in a metal box with treads is what I'd call 'fun'."

"So you got someone else to go?"

She shrugged, smiling at him. "Pretty much, but that's not until a couple of days from now. I'll let a subordinate of mine sweat it out for a change."

His laugh was like a balm on her aching heart. He had the most sincere looking smile, like all the pain was washed away in a joyful tide, his face as radiant as a campfire in the night. Had it not been for the heavy white face-paint the red on her cheeks would have shown.

Suki tried to stifle a giggle, her gloved fist pressed against her mouth.

And then the keys for the chi-blocking gauntlets on her hip began to chime.

She blinked, taking in a calming breath. There was danger in making him smile, to be allured by the exiled prince, a wariness of every little gesture meant to honey-pot her into letting her guard down. Take the keys in a suicidal attempt at freedom.

Suki's smile softened and she gave him a guarded, questioning look.

"So, I'm suddenly funny, huh?"

Zuko shook his head. "Well, I just imagined you wiping off all the sweat and make-up from your face because of the heat."

"We call it 'war-paint', smart one. Its tradition, one I'm proud to uphold as warrior. This stuff is water-proof too you know."

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Good thing, or else why bother with putting so much on?"

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "You're easily amused at my expense, Zuko."

"Well, there's so few people here that keep me easily amused."

"Why? Is Sokka not doing his job right?"

His face froze for a moment, turning a beguiling russet, eyes wide as he slowly turned his head away.

"No, it's not that."

"Then what? Is Azula hogging him for herself? He's supposed to be entertaining you and your family. Of course each of you have a different sense of what entertainment is-"

"Suki, no, its-"

He stopped, his teeth clenched, holding back his words. His eyes wandered and his thumbs grazed the tips of his fingers, his brow heavy with unspoken feelings.

"You've… been good to my family. Mother appreciates it and admires your ability to bear with Azula. I… appreciate you as well. You've done your best to make this place feel like a new home."

Her eyes widened, a mix of pride and uncertainty swirling within her, wary of his words.

"I'm a warrior, Zuko. All I do is guard this place."

"The guards that were here before you did the same. You and the Kyoshi Warriors treat us with honor, like we're still royalty. They didn't."

He turned away from her, leaning against the pillar as he looked out onto the empty courtyard, the weight of the past heavy in his eyes, measuring the distance.

"When my father failed to kill my uncle and grandfather in his bid to take power for himself, we were spared only because we had the blood of an avatar running through us. Thought it was better to lock us away. Thought it was 'dishonorable' to Great Roku's legacy, might look bad to the people. Everyone treated us like scum anyway."

She nodded slowly. "Fire Lord Azulon just needed us to guard the Cage. He sent the guards we replaced… somewhere else."

Zuko shook his head, chuckling incredulously. "I can imagine. That old man makes enemies just so he has an excuse to fight, even if it's our own people. Thinks he can still prove himself. You don't have to pretend there isn't a rebellion against him going on, Suki."

She had to let it out. Put him on the spot. Her words were like a sword pressed to his belly.

"You might take a chance to escape. Feel like the time is right for you to get the people on your side and take down Fire Lord Azulon… my employer. The guy who pays for all this luxury you're living in. I don't know how you'll take that kind of information."

Zuko's shoulders sagged and she caught a wounded look that made his lips purse. His jaw tightened.

"And then what? Redeem myself? Win the hearts and minds of my people? The army? How can I do that when they all think I'm a traitor like my father?"

There was an uneasy pause, nothing but the cicadas warbling in the summer heat.

The captain was silent, her lips pressed closed, unblinking as she stared at the former prince, her heart painfully racing.

"I'm no fool, Suki. I know there's nothing for me on the other side of these walls. The rebels, my grandfather, they'd all rather see my head on the end of a spear, all because of my father's actions."

"And your sister? Your mother?"

"What do you think?"

His words sent a cold shiver through her system as they sank in. For now at least Suki's suspicions were placated. With Zuko and Ursa, escape was a matter of if. For Azula, it seemed that it was a matter of when. If the entertainment she hired couldn't distract her, then nothing could.

So what? Who'd follow her on the other side of these walls? Who'd be mad enough to fall in with her?

No one.

She nodded, momentarily put those thoughts aside as she inched closer to Zuko, a tender hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, mind if I have a piece of paper?"

Surprised, Zuko nonetheless complied, giving her a piece of gold paper.

She smiled at him. "I know a few animals that are easier to fold, like a turtle or a mole. Something that likes to stay put, makes a home wherever it is. Wanna see?"

He blinked. "Earth Kingdoms animals?"

"Sure. Got a problem with things from the Earth Kingdoms?"

He shook his head from side to side, a look of relief overtaking him.

The rope that tied his hands above his head and his ankles to the foot of the bed cut deep into his skin. He thought he was bleeding, but his mind played tricks on him when she covered his eyes with the blindfold – sweat for blood. He knew better than to think that way. She relished tightening the ropes until he bled.

His sweat seeped into the unkempt sheets under him, the grimy, stifling air hugging his naked body, his odor mingling with hers.

The rickety bed sank where his right leg was. He could feel the leather of her pants grind roughly against his lower thigh and a cold, leather cladded hand dig into his most sensitive area, rubbing him raw as another clawed deep into his left thigh.

He felt trapped, helpless, like when they threw him below the deck of the slave ship so long ago, staring up into the dark, the scent of rotting, straining wood mixed with sea salt hitting him like a club to the back of the head.

His muscles cringed as the past came rushing back, the twitch in his eyes consuming his face. His jaw felt like it would crack and his hands twisted against the bindings, holding back the desperate urge to cry out, to beg her to stop the bleeding, to end the punishment, the humiliation, to let him keep the last thread of his dignity.

He couldn't take the pain anymore. A shrill groan escaped his throat and he tried to imagine something else besides the pain to make her stop, but she would have none of it.

She climbed on top of him, sat on his stomach, her hand never leaving his agonizingly tender skin as she continued to twist and pull at the hot pain between his legs.

Another hand latched on to his neck as she straddled him and the nails on her fingers closed like the talons of a hawk. He choked, his breath coming in gurgles, the words like a child learning to read for the first time.

"Red… red… red!"

Stop. Stop. Stop!

She laughed like he was a pathetic joke. Her fingers dug in everywhere, spears piercing the skin.

"Red… red!"

For fuck sake, stop! I can't take your sick pleasure anymore, you fu-

Her laugh twisted into a growl. For a fleeting, merciful moment the hand between his legs released its vise-like grip. It connected with his jaw as a fist, the other hand continuing to choke him. The crack resonated through his ears and he fell into a shattered daze, eyelids scraping against the blindfold.

And then a second hit, then a third, and then a fourth, each one harder than the last. Suddenly, he couldn't say anything. He wasn't even sure if he was still awake.

Her voice was cold, like the feel of a dagger against his neck. "I'm not through with you, boy."

The grip on his neck slackened. He breathed like he was coming up for air after a dive.

His voice was hoarse, gathering his crippled strength. "Red… red…"

Her nails raked across his chest as an answer, her fingers once again tightening around his neck. They dug into his nipple and scratched down to his ribs. His eyes felt like they would pop out and his scream changed to a gurgled wheeze.

She purred like it was the most divine noise he could make. "I like the way you hurt, boy."

Her fingers flew away from his skin and for one horrible moment he feared where her talons would scrap him next.

His worst predictions became a reality as they clawed at the raw, hot flesh between his thighs, a pain like an ostrich-horse in the midst of a botched gelding.

"You like the way you're hurting, boy? Huh?" she asked, her leather hips grinding against his stomach, tightening her fingers around his neck until he could barely gasp.

He wanted to give up. He gave up as soon as he spoke, but she wouldn't let him. He was limp in her hand and she knew it, too much pain. She wouldn't stop until he was good and hard, playing into her sick game.

The last thread of his pride was ripped away as he fought through the pain with a memory, forcing himself to give in.

He thought of the Cage and its sumptuous rooms. He imagined the soft red cushions beneath his skin and the scent of grape wine and salted pistachios whipping through the air. No leather, no black, no cold fingers – just the soft sensation of supple, pale skin against his hands, luscious red lips biting his neck, and the girl of his reddest dreams whispering in his ear.

Come. Come with me. Come with me to a better place.

"That's it, boy. I feel you now. You want this to end, don't you? You're fucking pathetic for a skimo, just like I knew you were. Fucking coward!"

He could feel her nails break the skin as they loosen around his neck, gliding over his collarbone. She didn't let up. The sore skin as she rubbed him off felt like it would be flayed.

He arched his head back, a hoarse moan escaping his battered throat as he bucked his hips into her harsh grip.

The girl slipped away from his mind and the red rooms the Cage fade to nothing. He didn't feel pleasurable relief, only the grim sense that he escaped. He rasped with every breath he took, holding back a sudden urge to give in and weep as the woman straddled his waist.

He gritted his teeth instead, his hands twisting in circles, the full weight of his upper body pulling down his arms, making the rope around his wrists tighten.

The woman chuckled at his pain as he went limp in her hand again, grazing her fingers against the raw, red skin.

"You should see how pathetic you look. I could paint a fucking picture of it, sell it to all those freaks on the streets that get off on this stuff."

"… Red… please. Untie me…"

"Couldn't take the pain? Payback's a fucking bitch ain't it, boy?"

Her weight pressed against his stomach like lead as she leaned forward. He flinched, recoiling under her touch, her nails carding through the loose hair on the back of his head as she undid the blindfold. As she pulled back, he could smell his essence on her fingers as it caught in his hair.

Sokka's vision focused and adjusted to the dimness of the room, the red and blue lights from the signs outside the window hanging above the neighboring love motels.

What greeted him was the sight of a leather-clad woman, her skin as pale as stained bone and her hair as black as soot, crowned by a skull headpiece. Tattoos colored in shades of russet snaked down her firm arms and on each side of her leg was an array of knives.

She had a name like summer, but was as cold to him as the lash of winter.

"You know," she said, wiping off his mess from her hands with the blindfold, "Ever since you turned up here in the Fire Nation, I've been thinking up ways to get back at you."

Sokka's eyes wandered, falling in and out of clarity, the salt from his sweat stinging his eyes. The scratches and cuts pulled at his skin like fishhooks and every small wriggle or twitch ignited a fire where she bruised him.

"You were just another price on a head, extra change in my pocket. Slaves escape all the time in the Earth Kingdoms. They make steady income for bounty hunters like me."

She leveled her eyes at him and Sokka stared into the soul of a vengeful monster. His heart felt like it would break out of his chest and run. With a smirk, she tossed the blindfold over his face like a dirty rag, balled it in her fist, and wiped his sweat and essence over his face.

The smell was oppressive. Sokka tried to fight it off, to spit, but her hand gripped his chin and held him in place.

"Didn't care that you fell in with a bunch of bandits, thinking you'd be free. That was more money for me, since they all had a bounty on their heads. I took care them just the same."

She tossed the blindfold aside after a last smear across his eyes. She made him look at him, her nails scraping against his chin like barbs, hate in her dark eyes, her teeth bared.

"And then Nyla got hurt. I got hurt. Cut, bruised. Had to put my Nyla down because of you. Put me out of the job. I would have hunted you across the damn world, snuffed you out like a snow-rat."

She was so close he could have spat in her face. The pale glint of her knives in the dim room strapped to her legs made him think twice. He just stared back at her with what he hoped looked like a defeated look. He was beaten anyway, but he could live just a bit longer.

And then her lips curled into a cruel smile, her fingers trailing from his chin to his collarbone like the nimble legs of a spider.

"Ironic you turn up here in the Fire Nation, just another slave, trading the tea fields for silk and wine. Thought you were smart, huh? Thinking you could get away from it all? People here like skimos working for them just like they do in the Earth Kingdoms. They won't care about you. They just care about what you can do for them. You're a fucking idiot."

Her words cut deep and he felt something crack inside of him.

Her hands glided to her hips across her knives as he stared down at him with that vicious smile of hers. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes were wide, and for a moment he couldn't hear or think about anything except the fear coursing through his veins, waiting for the moment when her blade sank into his chest.

She gave him a look, like he was nothing but meat.

"Death's too easy for you, boy, too quick. Breaking you like this, turning you into a fucking mess, and you just taking it… that's better than anything I could've imagined. Might as well have some fun while I'm at it. You're cheap enough for me anyway."

Knocks from the door on the other side of the room made her turn her head. Sokka felt like a weight was lifted from his chest as he breathed.

The voice was muffled behind the door. "Miss June, the time you paid for is up."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Give me a minute."

June looked back down at him. His eyes were turned away, tucked behind his right arm as it dangled above him. He didn't want to look at her anymore. He just felt like hiding away.

"You make a move on me when I cut you lose, I cut more than just your skin, got it?"

He didn't answer her. June reached out her arm and balled a tuft of his hair in her fist, making him yelp.

"Got it?"

Sokka's voice cracked. "Yes, just let me go!"

She smiled. "Good boy."

She climbed off him, unsheathing a knife before cutting away the rope at his ankles and wrists. Sokka's arms fell. As he tried to hoist himself up by his elbows every joint and cut on his body urged him to lie back down. He groaned, fighting through the pain as he slowly climbed off the bed, his cuts brushing against the rough cotton of the sheets.

He tried looking for his clothes as his sore feet touched the worn carpet. His eyes trailed toward June as she sat in a nearby chair, the faint light of a cigarette burning between her lips. His clothes were heaped into a pile at her feet.

He could feel the blood in his face drain away and the ludicrous thought of leaving them behind flashed across his mind.

Her voice mocked him. "Don't be a savage now, boy, get your clothes and put them the fuck on."

He hesitated as she crossed her legs, a steel-toed boot bobbing idly. Cuts burning his skin, he slowly rose from the foot of the bed, limping toward her. Her eyes raked over him, admiring her work. It fanned the rage building in his chest, dampened by his exhaustion.

He gave her one last reluctant look as he knelt down to pick up his clothes. As he grabbed them her foot jutted out, hitting his nose. It cracked, the pain sending shock waves through his dazed head. He fell on his side. The taste of warm copper seeped into his mouth, his teeth stained red.

June merely shook her head, smiling to herself. She reached forward to pick up his pants and tunic, tossing them at his face.

"You should wipe yourself off, boy. You're bleeding all over the carpet."

Sokka licked his upper lips, getting a full taste as he glared at June.

The knocks came again, the voice behind the door more insistent. "Miss June, I'm serious, your time is up."

"Yeah, yeah, he's just getting dressed."

Sokka didn't care how beat up and unkempt he looked. He just wanted to get out of there and put the whole night behind him.

He pulled his tunic down over his face, made no effort to smooth out the creases, and hastily put on his pants. He could here June snickering. He was scared of her and she knew it.

Without another look Sokka made his way to the door, clasping the handle. He didn't get to see June wave him goodbye.

"See you next time, boy."

Sokka hastily turned the handle and swung the door open, where the burly private security guard that escorted him from Club Hasu stood in the hallway. The man hardly blinked at how bruised Sokka looked as he closed the door.

"You went over the time."

Sokka let out a growl as he began to make his way down the hall.

"Tell that to her."

His back turned, he barely had time to register the powerful hit to the back of his leg. He crumpled, almost falling over, before he caught his balance. He was met with a sharp slap to the back of his head.

"Don't give any lip, boy. I had to listen to you two the whole time while I stood out here."

Sokka's eyes flared as he turned toward the guard. "Then why didn't you do anything when she ignored the safe word, asshole! She could've killed me!"

The man just shook his head, nudging Sokka forward as they made their way down the shabby hallway.

"You think Miss June is stupid enough to risk upsetting any of the bosses here in Yukaku? You're their property and she makes sure all of you don't run off and escape. She kills you while she's having her fun then she gets in real trouble."

Sokka stopped in the hallway, his body pleading for him to lie down as the cuts and bruises stung all at once.

"Look at me! Our owner's gonna have a fit! I can't cover all the costs of bandages and shit over this, he's gonna have to help me!"

"He doesn't have to do shit, Sokka. Get one of the other boys or girls you work with to help you. You want more money, then you better work harder for it."

The man pushed him forward, pressing against the cuts on his back as he winced at the pain. Sokka limped down the hall in silence, wiping the salty sting from his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to curse him out. It wouldn't do him any good and only invited another hit.

As they both made their way out into the night, the cool breeze whipping at Sokka's raw skin, the restless tempo that had come to define Yukaku was gone, gutted by the bombing.

Signs of every color were lit up, but the streets were nearly barren of people, a calm that settled over the rain-washed streets.

Somber soldiers with spears and swords replaced the giddy girls in flashy kimonos and gauzy qipao dresses. Only the occasional night worker with her clientele wrapped around her waist braved the dark streets as they passed soldiers on patrol.

In the distance a vast, hazy gleam caught the storm clouds hanging over the city, smoke on the damp air. A fire burned and the distant chants of thousands of angry souls cried out as one, damning the old Fire Lord.

Sokka and the guard kept to the shadows as best they could, avoiding the suspicious eyes of the soldiers they passed, keeping their eyes averted.

He felt so pitifully small under the glow of the red signs, the closely packed multi-story bars and motels like shadowy walls trapping him in. Days and nights passed without much change and the chaotic fever that normally gripped the streets of Yukaku became a repetitive grind, chipping away at him.

It never ended. He wanted so desperately to escape, to leave the Fire Nation behind him, to watch Yukaku burn to ash as its embers climbed into the night sky, dying to the sound of cheering crowds.

Only a few words reminded him of that deep, hidden desire.

He held his head higher, carefully wiping his face with a sleeve, breathing in through his clotted nose, the night air like a balm on his battered body as he held the words close to his heart.

Come with me. Come with me to a better place.

The central command room of the Office of the Juntong was nothing like the throne room of the Fire Nation palace.

The smell of stale tobacco clung to the gray uniforms of haggard-looking intelligence officers and aides as they scrambled through the room in a flurry of action, the smoke of a dozen cigarettes and pipes casting a dreary, gray haze.

Pens, rulers, unfurled scrolls, and intelligence reports cluttered the vast table that dominated the room as its centerpiece; a massive map of the Fire Nation sprawled across its surface. Aides pointed and pushed formation markers as they read the latest reports of army and rebel columns moving across battle zones in the highland wastes.

The occasional screech of a messenger hawk punctured the deafening noise of jabbering personnel, perched on its handler's shoulder as he passed the latest information into the impatient hands of pudgy looking intelligence officers.

For the better half of a week, Xianhou practically lived in this room, managing the frantic pace of work, keeping up to date on the latest victories, set backs, and casualty numbers, kept focus by bitter tea and tobacco. After all, patriotism and duty could only go so far to keep one awake.

A finger tapped lightly on his shoulder. An aide, her gray uniform with blood red mandarin collars crisp and fresh, no younger than many of the levees conscripted into the army, brought him a scroll and a fresh cup of tea.

The aroma made his weary senses come alive. "Thank you, Jiang."

"Of course, sir," the aide said, handing him the cup, "I have some of the latest dispatches as well, from our field agents."

He sipped his tea, his thin lips puckering at the taste. "Right… more news. Well, let's here 'em, Jiang."

"Yes, sir."

The aide took the scroll out from under her arm and unfurled it, her voice raised above the frantic chatter.

"Our agents in the highland wastes say the 41st Division under General Bujing has finally taken Hei Fong Ridge as part of Prince Iroh's offensive. They still report scattered yet determined resistance dug in on the rocks all along the ridge."

Xianhou shook his head. "He's behind the schedule of the offensive. Iroh took Saidan Hill less than a week ago, the ridge should have been secured by then."

"Yes, sir. Elements of the 36th Division were sent in to reinforce Bujing and continue the attack. Heavy casualties."

"Numbers? I need exact numbers."

The aide made a quick glance at the scroll as she squinted her eyes. "Over 2,500 dead, times two wounded."

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and groaned. "And the rebels? Did they count their dead yet?

"Yes, sir, I have the figures here… estimated 1,700 dead, but no accurate tally on wounded or prisoners."

"Agni Almighty, the Butcher lives up to his name yet again. At this rate he won't have a division left to command. What about the other army units in the highland wastes?"

"12th Division supported by elements of the 45th took Xian Long Hill on schedule. The 25th Volunteers have taken Rati's Spine, but their numbers are completely depleted."

"Hmm… may have to disband them or fold them into another division. Whoever's going to take the prince's place has that and other things to worry about."

Xianhou leaned heavily over the table as he set his cup down, the news settling in his stomach like bitter lead weight. He felt so tired.

"Total causalities?" he asked.

The aide's eyes hardened, painting a grim picture of the death toll.

"… They're still counting, sir. Our agents can't give us an accurate estimate so far, but they have recorded an estimated 6,600 dead and around 8,300 wounded as of this dispatch, not including the casualties taken by General Bujing's formation."

"And the body count for rebels?"

"Estimates are inaccurate, anywhere from 4,000 to 5,000, maybe more. Again, sir, they're still counting."

There was a sharp pain like a needle pricking at his skin, making his eye twitch. Xianhou rubbed the side of his head, his jaw tightening.

"After all this time its still not enough… so much for bleeding them to death. Prince Lu Ten is dead, his father sacked, all but broken, and on top of that a bloody victory over a couple of volcanic hills in the wastes. Another offensive like this and we're through."

Silent, the gray-cladded aide was an unmoving statue amid the churning sea of harried officers and jabbering assistants, dreary yellow eyes regarding him with a misplaced sense of worry.

"Will that be all, Director?" she asked.

He turned to her, his old, grizzled eyes softening, nodding with as much reassurance as he could muster.

"Yes, thank you Jiang. Keep me informed of anything regarding those casualty figures. I want those numbers checked before army intelligence screws around with it."

Snapping her heels, the aide made a stiff bow before hurrying off out of the room.

Xianhou sighed, his head bowed, leaning over the vast table. Blinking the fatigue from his eyes he hadn't even noticed the faint chalk stains smattered on the sleeves of his gray tunic. He smelled like a black board scribbled with half-erased plans.

Before he could reach for the cup of tea at his side to numb the exhaustion he heard footsteps against the tiled floor hastily approach him.

"Director Xianhou?"

He regarded another aide, this one as young as the last, beady yellow eyes peering out of thick glasses, his gray uniform creased and ragged, sleeves covered in dried hawk dung. He looked like he hadn't slept.

"Spirits, Ling, you're a mess!"

The aide bowed. "Apologies, sir, I've been in the aviary since this morning with a couple of others. Had to help reign in a few hawks that fought each other when they came by. We've been getting dispatches mixed up and sorted out."

"Where have they been coming from?"

The aide's face tensed, anxiety laced with fatigue. "All over, sir. It's getting worse. Zhijiang, Hezhong, Harbor City, Fire Fountain City, Shangqiu, the draft riots have virtually spread to most of our major cities."

Xianhou's fists tensed. He swallowed the brief surge of panic and composed himself.

The aide continued. "Our agents say the Domestic Forces have been pleading with the army for help. They need their support. Some have noted the rioters arming themselves, sir. Machetes, petrol bombs, swords stolen from army depots, you name it."

The weight of the news was heavy. Some assistants passing by grew worried and Xianhou was deep in thought, eyes gazing over the cities on the map.

He pursed his lips, shaking head. "Damn it… just as I feared. Azulon and Iroh should have known this would happen if they pursued their strategy. Too many dead for too little gains and the army only wants more meat for the grinder. Have any instigators been found? Anyone linking to the rebels?"

"I don't know, sir, it's a mess. Some are saying they've identified several rebel agitators, others are saying its army vets stirring the pot and getting the draftees riled up, urging them to tear up their draft cards. They're still trying to get a good sense of the situation."

Xianhou crossed his arms over his chest, pinching his eyes shut as he endured another headache.

"Great. On top of everything else, we have to worry about our soldiers in the highland wastes not receiving any reinforcements. How bad are the riots so far? Any wounded, any killed?"

The aide reluctantly nodded. "Most of the wounded and dead are in Fire Fountain City and in nearby Harbor City. Since the Pleasure District Bombings things are on a knife's edge, sir. No fixed number yet. The situation is very fluid."

He stifled a growl, biting back the urge to snap. "Ling I want you to get a team together and sort through this information immediately. Give me an accurate assessment of what's going on and keep me up to date with anything you find."

"Uh, y-yes, sir!"

"Good. Get moving."

As the aide turned to leave Xianhou looked over the vast map as assistants pushed dozens of formation markers over new positions.

All cross the effected provinces the enemy was taking every hit the army could throw at them, only fighting on ground that suited them. They receded where the army was strong and seeped into the countryside and cities out of the wastes like water, constantly on the move, hard to pin down.

His fingers stroked the graying beard at his chin, eyes darting from marker to marker. A chill shot through his spine and he muttered under his breath.

"Something's coming. There has to be…"

Again, he could hear the heavy footsteps of another aide approach him at a harried pace. This one clicked his heels together when he bowed, a scroll tucked under his arm.

"Sir, latest dispatch on the Royals' movements."

"Very well. Where are they now?"

The young man unfurled the scroll, his eyes scouring over the writing. He turned to his side as he took a long wooden pointer in his hand and settled it over a coastal area on the map.

"Our agents report that the Fire Lord has left the harbor in Kaifeng. He's on his way to Chun Ling Island. They believe he's going to the garrison near Fire Fountain City to inspect troops before they're sent to the mainland, as well as to appoint General Shinu personally as head of operations in the highland wastes."

Xianhou's eyes widened. "What? Who's going to replace him?"

"We don't know yet, sir. Other sources say it's likely to be General Bujing. His performance hasn't been great in the field and he'll most likely be sent to a rear area to monitor supplies and recruiting. Fire Fountain City is the most likely posting."

Xianhou's nostrils flared, grinding his teeth. He placed his hands on the edge of the table as he supported himself, fingers slowly balling into fists.

"Shinu's competent enough I suppose, but the Fire Lord is sending him to the wastes to continue a hopeless battle. If Bujing replaces him he'll make a bloodbath out of the riots in the city."

"Domestic Forces have already requested military support to contain the riots, sir. Shinu's turn them down repeatedly."

"Bujing won't. He's not in good standing, not after Iroh's offensive. He's too stubborn and reckless. He'll take any chance to restore some his honor in the eyes of the general staff."

Xianhou shook his head, unable to grasp the mad state is country was in.

"And we'll prove the Hukbong Bayan right, prove just how ruthless our Fire Lord can be to his own people… what about Prince Iroh?"

"He's been safely taken back here to the capital, sir. Our sources say he's getting help and will be recuperating at the palace."

"Good, good… we may not have seen eye-to-eye in the past, but in times like this its not good to dwell on old rivalries. I don't know what its like to loose a son in battle…"

His eyes trailed across the room. He looked into the faces of the young men and women in their gray uniforms hard at work, fatigue eating away at them. They were all sons and daughters to someone. Pens and scrolls may have replaced swords and shields, but they were all soldiers to him, all trained to sacrifice themselves for the good of the Fire Lord.

And all worried that there may come a day where they must do so.

"… But, I would have thought he was stronger. He should have been. He needed to carry on. Iroh was the soul of the army. Without him morale will continue to plummet."

Xianhou's gaze fell over the map, settling on Chun Ling Island. The map marker indicating the Fire Lord's position was steadily pushed into place into the sea just off the coast of the island.

His eyes narrowed at the crown shaped piece. "The rebels aren't beaten. They'll bleed, but we'll bleed too. If this goes on, if they continue to spread us thin, we won't be able to beat them."

His eyes drifted toward the center of the island. Just south of Fire Fountain City was a lone green map marker in the shape of the symbol of the Earth Kingdom crowned by a small fan.

Mount Hei Long. The Black Cage. Small fortified estate. Detachment of mercenaries, platoon strength. That traitor's family is there.

Around it on several sides was a large area colored in red and yellow, territory in the rough plateau region contested by the army and rebels. Assistants pushed markers like mad across the paper with every dispatch sent their way.

"They're going to hit us. It's only a matter of time. It has to be. This chaos is playing right into their hands. Agni help us if we can't survive what will come…"

Zirin stood among the throng of bloodied fighters, heads held high, looking to their leader with the blood-covered machete in his hand, a bottle in the other, the headless body of another red cladded royalist slumped over in the black volcanic dirt.

A fire glowed in her heart, thumping in her ears, as bright as the promised fire her leader swore would burn away the corruption and greed that gripped the Fire Nation.

She looked to the sky, eyes opened for the first time. The stars above gleamed like a thousand glinting embers, the roaring fires from the burning metal carcasses of destroyed tank-trains and supply carriages on the barren road lighting the night in brilliant shades of yellow and orange. Twisted bodies laid scattered and charred, supplies and boxes of military grade wine cracked open, littered everywhere.

Zirin's leader climbed atop one of the burning metal tanks. He was splendid with the fire at his back, a real fighter that she wished to emulate. His black tunic was ragged, the sleeves worn away as bandoleers of fuse bombs draped over his chest, ash and blood coating his face. His eyes were opened too, his bright yellow headband emblazoned with bold kanji proclaiming revolution.

All around her fighters cheered. They raised their machetes, metal shining in the fire like a hundred candles burning in the night.

He raised his machete high over his head.

"Comrades! Comrades! I am satisfied with you! You have decorated your blades with the blood of royalist dogs! You have proven again that you are the heroes that will save this country from the parasites that suck it dry!"

A chorus of savage shouts echoed through the warm, dusty air. Zirin joined them, her voice one with theirs.

"They have never given you respect! The royals in their palace that look down their noses at you, the fire sages who spout their lies, the fat landowners who exploit your work, that chain you to the land to work and die under the sun!"

He pointed his machete skyward, daring the false gods that dwelt in the heavens to strike him down.

"But with this in your hand, they will fear you! If they will not give you the respect you deserve, then you will take it! You will take it all from them, comrades!"

They cried out as one, their pitch reaching hysteria. Her leader lowered his machete and raised the bottle in his other hand toward his mouth, biting down on the cork. Red wine spattered his lips as he spat it out. She thought he was the very picture of victory.

"A toast, my comrades! This wine is for you! This is only the beginning! Our time is coming! We cannot be stopped! We will overthrow those who have exploited us, who have betrayed us, who have ignored us for the sake stealing crowns among themselves! We will hoist the head of the Fire Lord on a spear! We will burn away every trace of the decadent Royal Family and scatter their ashes to the wind!"

"No!" cried Zirin, "Not before we shed their blood!"

She felt impassioned eyes rake over her. Her leader was silent, a vicious smile twisting his lips.

He lowered his machete at her. "Make them hear you in the capital, Comrade Zirin. You are a soldier of the revolution, the daughter of peasants who have worked this land for nothing in return. They have let you down! Let them hear your anger! Let the whole damn world here you!"

Her eyes shot open. Fury from the depths of her heart coated every word she cried out, pain and truth and longing for a future she could shape with her hands gushing out of her in one defiant shout.

"Long live the Hukbong Bayan! Long live the revolution! Shed all royal blood!"

Her voice was drowned out in a deafening roar as it reached high into the trembling stars.

"Shed their blood! Shed their blood! Shed their blood!"

A/N:

Thanks for reading! Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. As stated before this and future chapters will be M rated.

See you all next Saturday!