CARVE A FIRE IN YOUR BONES

summary: [vague mythology au] [mai/zuko] in a village isolated from the passage of time, a god lives in the forest. he is spoken of in local legends - a boy with golden eyes and a red scar, a boy that controls the power of the sun. mai does not believe in gods.

a/n: This is probably the most self-indulgent piece I've ever written, but it was incredibly fun to write. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

i.

There are no dragons left in the world.

But here - there is a boy, with golden eyes. The people often speak of him with something a little like awe, a little like fear. They say he sleeps in the deep forest, where dapples of light slip through the trees, where mist clings to the grass and the earth seems to breathe. In fact, there are little, tell-tale signs of his existence: glints of yellow in the shadows, hot wind playing on bare skin.

Legend says that the boy has a breath of fire. Legend says the boy is the guardian of the land, and in times of great danger, he will step out of his forest and command the power of the sun; he will lay waste to evil and bring justice across the land. Once, the boy soaked in so much sunlight that he became a great beast, powerful and dangerous. Fire dripped from his maw and scales spread across his skin and claws grew from his fingertips.

Instead of a boy, there was a dragon.

Here - there is a dragon, with golden eyes and fire licking at his skin. He is the god of the forest, the villagers say, and they worship him unconditionally - even though not one person in the village has seen it. The legends, they claim, will protect them.

The boy is the dragon and the dragon is the boy. The people consider them to be one and the same, even though the rest of the world knows that there are no more dragons left.

In this forest, strange things happen - energy borders on magic, and the forest builds walls and traps to keep intruders out. None that entered have ever returned. The people believe it is a sacred space, fueled by devotion and belief. If the people do not worship, the forest will die, the dragon will become angered, and fire will ravish the land.

This is the way it has always been.

There is a boy with golden eyes, shrouded in forest greens and sunset yellows, and he builds himself a shrine. From the bones of great tiger-hawks, he carves prayers and spells, whispering cold fire over snow-white bones. The stalks of towering mud-lilies slide into criss-cross patterns under his slender fingers. He gathers armfuls of sweet chrysanthemums, snaps the branches of thick redwoods. He draws water from the mirror-lakes, breathing smoke onto the glassy surfaces, watching his reflection ripple as fire dances across the water.

He fastens this shrine out of bones and branches, weaving stems and flower-stalks in between. A cover of leaves and flowers drape heavily over the roof, flashes of color against the muted hues of the forest. He blesses it with fire-water: fire from his soul settling in mirror-lake water, fighting an eternal war. It soaks through the roof and drips puddles into the shrine, but he doesn't care. It's perfect.

Around the boy and around the shrine, the forest hums. It is calm - always calm, placated by power and magic - but electricity sparks through the air.

The boy waits. Sometimes, his skin turns to scales and his breath into flames, but the shrine stays. Fire-water pools at its entrance.

-/-

"It's not real", the girl says. "Dragons don't exist." Then - "I feel sorry for you."

She does nothing but speak, but she may as well have spat at the elder's feet and laid ruin to the local shrine.

Around her, the villagers gasp. A woman pulls her child closer to her bosom as an old man whimpers, cane tapping against the dirt, as if fearing instant retaliation. They all look toward the forest. The girl curls her lip in disgust.

"Mai," her mother whispers as she places trembling hands on the girl's small shoulders. "Mai, please understand. The forest will punish us if you deny it."

With a scowl, Mai pushes her mother's hands away, irritation bubbling in her throat. She, who has grown up in this village, is excruciatingly aware of the chains that bind her. Above all, she detests the blind reverence that thrums in the village, seeping into cracks and sinking into souls. She hates the forest, she hates the stories, she hates her family, she hates the boy with the golden eyes and a breath of fire that traps her in her hometown. Some home.

Mai does understand. "There is nothing in the forest," she says, acid dripping through every word she mutters, bitterness unfit for an eight year old girl creasing her face. "All of you are weak. How could you be so blind? You worship nothing but empty space!"

Behind Mai, her mother wails in anguish. Where did I go wrong? She is wondering. What can I do to save my daughter?

But Mai does not want to be saved. She looks to the sky and wants to fly.

The elder waves his hand and all is silenced. His staff, carved from sturdy oaken branches, pounds against the ground, and the entire village holds its breath. Mai exhales.

"We are family," the elder preaches, "and we are connected by faith. There is no place here for a blasphemer - age matters not. She will be exiled at the break of dawn, and sacrificed to our god!"

Even as the villagers begin to chant - heathen, heathen, heathen - Mai keeps her chin up and her eyes fixated on the sky above. When two men step forward to grab her, Mai pays no heed, for she can already feel freedom ghosting over her skin.

They give her a knife and a pouch of water and set her at the edge of the forest. A line of spearmen point their weapons at her - her mother and father amongst them. Once, she tries to make eye contact with the elder, but he resolutely refuses to meet her burning gaze.

"GO!" he orders - the spearmen advance, and Mai runs. She runs for her life, tripping over overgrown roots and slipping in mud puddles. She runs until she can hear the villagers no longer, and runs until she collapses, reveling in the feeling of wind in her hair and earth at her feet - at the freedom the forest offers her.

Mai knows that she will die in this forest, and she accepts the fact wholeheartedly as she trips over a fallen branch and lands flat on her back. Unlike the village, the forest constantly shifts, as if restless. Sunlight kisses her skin. Suddenly, she laughs loud and long, spreading her arms out into the overgrowth, breathing in the cool forest air. Soon, she must rise and plan so she can survive as long as possible, but she is not worried, for her life is in the hands of fate now.

-/-

The hoot of a cat-owl leads her to a lake, its surface smooth and unmoving. She steps toward its banks and blinks at her reflection. Long black hair, tied into a ponytail, sits on her shoulder, frazzled and flecked with clumps of dirt. Half-heartedly, she paws at the mess, but quickly gives up. Who's going to see her anyway?

When she crouches down and cups her hands into the water, she notices small fish darting to and fro, shimmering in the sunlight. Oh, she thinks as she splashes water onto her face and refills her water pouch, I can see the sky.

Mai tilts her head upward and sees a flock of birds gliding through a pale blue sky. It is the most sky she has seen in days, for the forest canopy is too dense to allow anything but faint beams of sunlight through. Peace settles around her, and with the grass warming underneath her hands, Mai decides to rest.

She falls asleep with the sun in her face and the wind in her ears.

-/-

Before the intruder even steps into the forest, he feels unrest crackling in the air. The boy can only wonder at the circumstances, for no being has dared to set foot in this land for centuries.

He kneels at his shrine of bone and bows his head in a prayer - a promise to himself. Fancy that: a god sending himself blessings. A god making himself the anchor to the world.

(What can he do? He has no worshipers and no followers. The empty words of the villagers do not reach him - the forest does not appreciate liars.)

But oh, there are more important things to ponder, like the foreigner in his forest! He is far more curious than he is angry, far more interested in finding out who is here than wanting to drive them out. And so, he searches.

A cat-owl settles in the tree branches above him, purring. It blinks at him, and then takes wing again; he follows, watching its tail bob up and down in flight. The bird leads him to a mirror-lake, and the warm sun tempts him to let fire dance in his throat and through his veins, but an indignant chittering draws his attention toward the far bank. Gracefully, the cat-owl swoops through the air, landing above a red blur in the grass.

The boy blinks, control wavering as fire slips down his arm, curling around his fingertips. Confusion, apprehension, excitement – he steps forward anyways.

This is what he knows:

1. A human girl sleeps in his forest.

2. He has not seen a human being for nearly three hundred years.

3. There is a knife in her sleeve and mirror-lake water in a deerskin pouch by her hand.

He does not know what any of this means.

-/-

Mai awakens to a flickering presence by her side. In her haziness, she wonders what kind of odd animal has passed by this time. She hopes it won't eat her.

"Hello," the presence says.

Mai's eyes snap open and she pushes herself off the ground in shock. Instinctively, her knife slips into her palm, but it is only a gesture of self-confidence. She doesn't know what she'd actually do with a blade.

"Wait," the thing says. "I don't mean to hurt you."

"What?" she blurts out, and for the first time, looks at the thing sitting next to her.

Not a "thing", she realizes, but a human boy who couldn't be much older than she. He has his hands help up in a gesture of peace, a wry smile dancing on his lips.

Mai takes a closer look and her eyes widen.

"Who are you?" she asks, sitting upright. The boy blinks his golden eyes, and Mai sees a scar painted around his left, creasing the skin in a frightening way. It blasts his skin with reds and oranges, as if carved by fire. A burn. Mai flinches.

"I should be asking you that," the boy responds. His voice is rough and his words stilted, as if he has not spoken out loud in a long time. "What are you doing here?"

"I - "she begins, but pauses, frowning. "Hey. I asked first."

In the distance, a sparrowkeet trills, birdsong drifting through the afternoon sky. The boy laces his fingers together. "I live here," he says. "I live in the forest."

"Okay, but who are you?"

The boy only shrugs in response. "No one really. What about you? Why are you here? No one has come into this forest for a long, long time."

A thought flits across Mai's memory - her mother, a gray blur, whispering, "Don't ever give your name to a spirit. They are tricky beings! Your name holds the key to your soul."

But Mai does not believe in superstitions, and the village is no longer her home. She is free to do whatever she pleases. Besides - how could this boy be a spirit? He looks and talks just like a human!

"My name is Mai," she says. "I used to live in the village just outside of the forest."

"There's a village outside of the forest?" the boy interrupts, leaning closer in curiosity. "Do humans live there?"

Mai frowns at him. "Of course! What else would live in a village?"

The boy shrugs. "The last time I went out of the forest I barely saw any humans. They tended to stay away from the forest, after I burned down the great bridge that connected this land to the mainland -"

Suddenly, he slaps his hands over his mouth in an incredibly childish fashion, but Mai ignores the motion. Instead, she stares dumbly, slowly processing the boy's words.

"Wait -" she says, crossing her arms. "Wait. You can't be much older than me! The village has been there for hundreds of years! And there is no bridge anywhere - there isn't anything to connect to! And what do you mean you burned the bridge? When? How old are you anyways?"

The boy looks at her curiously. "The last time I went out of the forest was three hundred years ago. I think. It's kind of hard to keep track of time here, you know? Each day melts into the next. Oh and -"

Smiling, the boy sticks out his palms and inhales. When he breathes out, small flames burst from his palm. Immediately, Mai yells out in surprise, instinctively scooting away from the fire. But she watches, captivated, as the boy rolls the fire onto his fingertips and around his wrist. All too soon, the flames dissipate into wisps of smoke.

"I'm a god," the boy says, his eyes glinting in the warm sunlight. The scar on his face seems to shift. "My name is Zuko, and I am the god that lives in this forest."

ii.

A storm churns in the pit of Mai's stomach. For a moment, her disbelief is suspended, and white-hot anger blinds her. This! This boy is the reason why the village drowns in its fantasies and prayers - this boy (a god, she thinks, but he seems so much like a normal child, fire notwithstanding) who strangles the life and the freedom out of her people. She is about to lash out, anger pressing against her chest.

He leans in, golden eyes never leaving hers. Mai is tempted to reach out and slap him, god or not. His breath ghosts over her cheek.

"You know," he begins conversationally, "We have the same eyes."

Startled, she smacks him, so loud that the cat-owl flutters away in surprise.

"Gods aren't real," she blurts, pretending that her palm doesn't sting. The boy's gaze flits over her, pupils narrowing into slits as he begrudgingly rubs at his cheek.

"But they are," Zuko retorts, standing. His arms spread, and a dazzling smile slips onto his face. Mai watches his scar dip and rise with the movement, like a flickering flame dancing in the wind. Idly, she wonders how he'd gotten it, but the boy has grasped her wrist and is pulling her up. Warm flames circle her arm, but before Mai can panic, the boy shushes her with the wave of a hand.

The fire does not burn her - instead, it is a welcoming warmth, pulsing with life. Mai finds herself leaning into his touch.

"Let me show you," the boy whispers.

Suddenly, the air around them warps, heat blasting her face. A large red blur streaks past her eyes, fierce and sharp. Then, her feet leave the ground. Yelling out, Mai shuts her eyes, hands grasping for a hold; they slide over something cool and hard, outlined in curved edges. A deep rumbling, almost like an earthquake, shakes her to the core.

When she finally gathers the courage to crack her eyes open, Mai nearly falls over. The lake surface shimmers beneath her, flashing by at a frighteningly fast speed.

"Aahh?!" she shrieks, falling backward, panic seizing her throat. Suddenly, she can feel herself sliding, her hands scraping against something hard and rough - the entire body beneath her shifts, and a fanned tail (a tail? she thinks in shock) steadies her.

"Look!" a voice rumbles. It is not the boy's voice, but it is so achingly similar. Mai steadies herself, finally taking in her surroundings, and gasps in surprise.

She is riding on a long, red dragon, sunlight flickering off its scales like licks of fire. They are airborne, circling above the mirror-lake in lazy sweeps and glides, even though the dragon has no wings. Flicking its long, curled whiskers, the dragon turns his head back toward Mai, who is gripping onto his scales for dear life.

Amusement glints in the dragon's golden eyes, and the scar that stretches over his eye is the same as Zuko's.

"You- you really -"

The dragon - Zuko - laughs, tilting his body as he dives into another loop. "I told you," he snickers, dipping down so the ends of his fanned tail cut through the lake surface, ripples of water flowering into curved patterns.

There is a blinding rush of exhilaration as realization settles in Mai's bones. She is flying, on a dragon, who is actually a god. She begins to laugh - it starts as a hiccupping giggle, born more from adrenaline than anything else, and blooms into a sound loud and clear. Throwing her head back, she feels the sunshine on her skin and wind slipping through her hair; Zuko glances back at her and accelerates, spiraling up and up and up until they break the forest canopy. Mai's laughter tapers off, replaced by a small gasp of wonder.

Below them spreads a vast expanse of green, the tops of trees forming a sprawling maze of dots and curves. Patches of empty areas make way for pristine mirror-lakes that sparkle in the afternoon sun. A river cuts through the forest, and Mai follows its winding path, eyes rising up to meet the horizon.

There is a smudge of dark gray in the far distance, so fuzzy that she wonders if she is simply imagining it, but Zuko has stopped moving, hovering midair.

"There's something out there," he says, gazing into the distance. "I can sense it. There is so much more in this world than my forest, something even grander, even more beautiful. I wish I could see it. "

A tint of sadness underlies his words. Mai traces the patterns of his scales and asks, "Then why don't you? Just fly out of the forest."

A large, golden eye lazily rolls back. Mai frowns down at it.

"I've tried, but I can't leave the forest. The magic is too strong, and I end up flying in circles, ending right where I started."

Mai breathes in the silence as she strains her vision, but the gray splotch gets no clearer. "Why can't you leave?" she asks.

Zuko pauses and Mai feels a slight tremor pass through his body. Without answering, he simply dips his head down and sinks through the air, long neck stretching forward as he lands. Swinging her legs over, Mai slides down from the dragon's back.

There's a puff of smoke and a shot of flame, but when the dust clears, the boy stands before her again. He shifts from foot to foot, fingers lacing together, refusing to meet her eyes. But Mai is patient, and she will wait.

"It's nothing special," Zuko mutters, scuffing the dirt with his heel. "I just….I –"

"Sometime today, Mr. God," Mai jabs, although her words hold no venom.

"I…I'm cursed," the boys says. "I am bound to this forest until I've repented for my sins."

-/-

The words roll off his tongue easily, blandly, as if he has repeated the line many, many times. Zuko's discomfort has disappeared now, exchanged for flat apathy. But, even that flickers.

"But that's not important," Zuko says quickly, gathering Mai's full attention again. "What about you? Why are you here? This forest is no place for a mortal. If you do not leave soon, you will be trapped here forever, like I am."

"It's nothing special," Mai mimics, even as the boy scowls. "I was banished from my village, that's all. They sent me into the forest to die, but I found you instead."

Zuko's lips quirk upward. "That's not exactly a good thing."

"Why not? I'll just live with you for the rest of my life. Surely a couple decades must go by super quickly for a god."

Zuko's instincts hiss that Mai's hopeful look will lead to nothing good. He thinks that if he takes this human under his wing, then she would suffer misfortune for the rest of her life.

Just like you, a voice whispers, high pitched and scathing. There's a lilt to it, taunting, and the visage of another girl is burned into Zuko's mind. Her lips pull back into a fanged smile, blue fire crackling at her fingertips. Everything you touch, you destroy.

"You barely know me," he tries, but Mai laughs.

"You turned into a dragon for me," she says. "That's trust, isn't it?"

"You don't believe in gods," Zuko prods, but he is fighting a losing battle.

"I would be stupid if I didn't believe in you," Mai replies, and is suddenly acutely aware of her words. "I mean, normal people can't control fire and turn into dragons and fly."

Zuko doesn't seem to notice her stumble – he is staring at his own hands: small, rough, calloused by fight and fire.

(He is considered a young god, only a few centuries old. A good portion of his life has been spent here, in a forest that is as confining as it is free. He'd thought he was content, letting time heal old wounds, letting history soothe the flames of war.)

-/-

Imagine: a boy, eager to please; a god, unflinching, unforgiving; a mistake, inexcusable; a death, illusory.

Now, imagine: a prince (just a boy, really), and a king (a father, a god); a flame, searing, stripping away skin and flesh and weakness and failures; a lesson, demanding respect and honor.

Oh, the fates are cruel.

-/-

Zuko loathes admitting it, but the forest is lonely. Here, there is nothing but him and his thoughts. Him and everything he could've would've should've been.

(Zuko meets Mai's gaze and wonders if they are the same).

iii.

The first thing Zuko does is take his new companion to his shrine. They walk in silence, Mai's hand grasping his. He leads them through the labyrinth of trees, into a small clearing.

"It's not much," Zuko says, "But it's mine."

Mai takes in the bleached bones, the puddles of fire-water, the lilies perched on the roof and the flowers threaded between cracks. She smiles, soft and genuine, squeezing Zuko's hand.

"It's beautiful," she whispers, and slips her hand from Zuko's. Before any of them can speak again, Mai steps forward and sinks to her knees, eyes fluttering close and hands clasped in prayer.

"What are you doing?" Zuko asks, but Mai dutifully ignores him.

Without warning, the tiny flames flickering in the shrine leap up, spiraling into great bonfires, blazing like they never have before. A heat wave slams into Zuko, and he is acutely aware of the smell of singed grass. Panic seizes Zuko and he moves to quench them, but Mai's hand on his leg makes him pause.

"I think," she says, voice soft with wonder, "I think I understand now."

As she speaks, the fires grow brighter and hotter.

"The villagers, they didn't worship you, Zuko. They worshipped some warped idea of a guardian deity, and –"

"The forest does not accept liars," Zuko breathes. "They were not truthful to themselves, nor to the being they revered. No wonder I have not seen a human yet: the forest swallows them in punishment."

But you, he thinks, you were different.

Mai sheepishly stands, and all at once, the fires shrink, reverting back into their original sparks. "I guess I should apologize," she says, cheeks tinged pink. "Gods are real, after all."

Zuko blinks in surprise, and then he laughs. "There's nothing to apologize for," he says. "If the forest accepted you, then I think you will be just fine."

-/-

It does not take long for the two children to slide into a routine, haphazard as it may be. Zuko begins to introduce Mai to the forest, slowly but surely. During the day, they explore old, hollowed trees, climb into ravines, play with the spotted leopards that slink in the treetops. Zuko cups his hands around his mouth and mimics the echoing hoots of cat-owls, and Mai tries to copy him. Her attempts attract turtle-ducks instead.

At night, Zuko leads her to a series of underground caves, and guided by a flame cupped in the young god's hand, they creep through the tunnels, carving silly messages into the walls. They sleep under starry skies – Zuko weaves Mai a blanket from moss and long grass, and the smoke he breathes between the stitches keeps constant warmth. They settle in front of Zuko's shrine, and Mai tells stories from the village, about the village, about Zuko's legend. In return, Zuko points out glimmering constellations, tracing out pictures with his finger. He weaves stories of his own, about gods and palaces.

In the beginning, it is difficult to gather food, for the forest recoils against the slaughter of its inhabitants. But, Zuko teaches Mai prayers and blessings, showing her how to thank the forest after every hunt.

"We are guests in its home," Zuko explains, "It is best to show the forest our respect."

Soon, Mai learns how to set traps and hunt, how to flick her wrist so that her knife flies straight and true. Often, Zuko will let his fire dance along the blade of her knife, but his flames never burn Mai.

They fly too, and every time Mai tries to focus on the gray smudge in the distance, tries to spot her village and the great Ocean Zuko swears exists. Still, they come up empty handed, but Mai is no longer afraid of the dragon.

Zuko does not keep track of time, but Mai ages all the same. She grows taller, stronger – her hair grows longer, her face sharper. Zuko notices this suddenly, and realizes he has not changed a bit since the day they met.

"I think I'm twelve now," Mai says one spring day, idly twirling her knife between her fingers. It is rusted, dulled, useful for nothing but wasting time with. She lies in the soft grass at the mirror-lake banks, staring lazily at the clouds.

"Really?" Zuko asks.

"Yeah. There's been two winters since I was here, and I know I was born in spring. It feels kind of weird not knowing how old I actually am," she admits.

Zuko hums, an idea flashing through his mind.

"Watch this," he says, and closes his eyes, concentration. Suddenly, there is an explosion of fire across his skin, and the sharp tinge of smoke settles in the air.

When the dust clears, Mai lets out a noise of surprise.

"Wow," she laughs. "You're older now."

"I just look older," Zuko shrugs. "I'm still the same age I'm supposed to be. Humans just age faster than gods, that's all."

Mai's lips curl into a soft smile as Zuko flexes his arms experimentally, curling and uncurling his fingers, as if acquainting himself with the new reach of his limbs. When he finishes, they settle down in the grass, together, letting the soft sunlight warm their skin.

Slowly, Mai's breath tapers off into slow, steady beats, and Zuko is about to doze off when Mai suddenly breaks the silence, startling the young god.

"Zuko," she begins. Zuko glances over to see that her fingers are laced together, resting on her stomach; she is staring resolutely at the clouds, hesitation on her tongue.

"What is it?" Zuko asks.

Her head turns and her gaze meets his. "If you could leave the forest, what would you do?" is what she asks. Something unreadable flashes in her eyes.

The question is simple enough, but it sears through his mind, a red-hot arrow leaving a smoking trail. Zuko's throat closes, and an inadvertent spasm of fear racks his body. Mai catches the movement, forehead creasing in alarm.

"Zuko? Are you ok? Zuko – it's, it's ok if you don't want to answer, I- "

iv.

He stands, cloaked in golden robes and a crown of warm flames. Power thrums in the cold marble beneath his feet. Godly essence saturates the air.

It is finally his time.

Beside him, she gives a toothy grin, already having been officially named a goddess, even though she is younger than him. But not even her mockery can damper his mood today. Not today, not this moment, not when he can finally face his father with a head held high.

"Be careful not to mess up, Zuzu," the young goddess snickers with a toss of her hair. Golden eyes, the same as his, glimmer with poorly hid anticipation. He thinks he sees a spark of blue lightning crackle across her face. "We all know that Father is really giving you the benefit of the doubt here."

"Shut up Azula," Zuko snaps back. "I'll make Father proud today, just you wait."

Azula merely laughs and sweeps a wide arc with her hands, gesturing him forward as fanfare fills the hall. When he steps into the light, heart pounding in his throat and sweat gathering

The fires do not begin until later, after he is blessed by his father and the other gods of his kind – flame, passion, destruction. With every prayer, Zuko holds his head a little higher – his smile grows a little prouder.

He feels as if his soul is blooming, spiraling upward like the fiery columns that surround him. They are thick, hot, wild – filled with everything a fire god ought to be. Zuko closes his eyes and breathes.

Eventually, his father's disapproving glare softens into acceptance, and Zuko even glimpses a smile from the stoic god. Zuko can already feel raw power curling in the pit of his stomach, promises whispering in his soul.

As the post-coronation ceremonies begin, Zuko thinks that nothing can go wrong. He is happier than he ever thought he could be, and even Azula's sarcastic retorts are much softer.

Zuko does not see the warning signs until it is too late.

It is a slip of the tongue, a misplaced word, a meaning lost in the nuances of royalty and power – but his father is not forgiving. The last thing he sees is Azula's wide-eyed gaze, dark amusement curling up her lips.

v.

"I think I would want to travel the world," Zuko tells her later, wisps of smoke lazily trailing from his fingertips. They are lying underneath a clear night sky, the evening breeze filling up white noise between them. "I want to go somewhere, anywhere but this forest."

Mai's golden eyes flicker toward him. "I thought you liked it here," she murmurs.

Zuko grimaces. "It's not the worst place to be banished," he says, "But it gets boring after a while."

He pauses, letting his thoughts soak in the silence. "To me, the forest is a cage. I – I'm tired."

As if struggling to find the right words, Zuko quiets, folding his hands together. Sparks flash between his fingertips. The rustling of grass pulls his gaze upward, and he watches as Mai rolls into a sitting position, crossing her legs as she brushes blades of grass off her pants.

"Let's leave then," she announces, as if it were as simple as taking a stroll through the forest, never mind the fact that Zuko is, quite literally, trapped within it.

Confusion creases his forehead. "Mai – "

A sudden twinkle lights up her golden eyes, and Zuko thinks of pillars of flame spiraling upward into eternity. They reach for the sun.

"Zuko," she interrupts, leaning forward to grasp his hands. They are warm and rough, nicked with scars and callouses, and grip his own firmly. Frustrated, he exhales a sliver of smoke.

"That's impossible – "

"Zuko."

Irritation draws his lips into a fine line, and Zuko feels the edges of flames pushing at his skin – but he relents at Mai's determined glare. "Fine," he says. "What's your idea?"

She grins. "What if you died?" she asks.

Zuko, in the midst of gathering breath to reject her, chokes.

Mai points to his shrine, where the dancing fires throw long shadows across the grass. "We destroy your shrine," she says, a hand on her hip in an aura of bossy authority, "And we stage your death in the eyes of the villagers."

He is uncertain. "It's true that my shrine ties me to the forest, but with or without it, I'm still cursed. The shrine just makes it feel more voluntary."

But Mai is not to be deterred. "You can't be a god without any believers," she says, "So we just have to make the villagers not believe in you anymore."

Tepid flames curl around his hand. "But the villagers don't impact me at all. Their prayers don't reach me. I don't have any believers."

Other than you, he doesn't say, but Mai waves excitedly in his face. "It doesn't matter, it really doesn't. Just trust me."

Zuko doesn't really, but he follows her anyway.

vi.

The shrine collapses easily under the heat of his flames, vines catching fire and snapping apart. Every creak of the small structure sends shivers down his spine, every fracture in the sturdy wooden beams an odd twinge in his chest.

An angry flame shoots through the wooden beams, and Zuko bites his lip as sharp snaps of burning wood fills his ears. Curling his fingers, he concentrates, breath catching in his throat as power surges through his body. Scorching heat blasts his face, coils around his arms. His vision fills with red.

When he pushes, flames flashing white, the sun-licked bones begin to melt, molding together like a deformed skeleton, splitting into white shards that splatter across the grass. The puddles of mirror-lake water have turned to curling steam, the flickering flames growing into an engulfing bonfire. With a great shudder, the shrine collapses into a cloud of ash and dust. Zuko lowers his glowing hands, smoke billowing from his palms, and exhales.

Mai watches him curiously but does not say a word. Zuko closes his eyes and slumps his shoulders. He is grateful for the silence.

vii.

Zuko dies like his shrine falls: white-hot, in a blaze of fury.

Led by the coos of cat-owls, Mai pulls Zuko through the forest, bare feet thumping rhythmically against the earth. They pass by landmarks Zuko knows like the back of his hand. An outcropping of rocks slick with moss, piled next to a twinkling creek. A grove of sharp oaks, branches spread into a colorful canopy. The dark, looming entrance to a sprawling maze of caves and tunnels – their words still etched into the walls.

Zuko has traversed this forest a thousand times before – so it is a surprise when Mai leads him across a small stream and he suddenly finds himself hesitant to step forward. All at once, the trees seem to close in around him, branches knifepoints in the darkness. Every step underfoot shifts and shivers, and Zuko cannot shake the foreboding feeling curled in his chest. Unfamiliar territory warps around him.

As if she can feel his discomfort, Mai squeezes his hand encouragingly. "We're almost there," she says, and forges onward. He can only follow.

One step, then another – and they break through a line of trees, ferns slipping around their ankles. Zuko lifts his head to see green-brown grass trampled into a worn path, sunshine beating down his back, no longer obscured by the cover of trees.

"There," Mai says, pointing to a cluster of small houses in the distance. Her hand trembles in his, but she flicks her hair in a show of confidence.

On a whim, he turns his head and looks back at the forest, watching how the trees seemed to shimmer and bend. Already, he can feel magic twisting around him – the curse, responding to his escape.

"How did we get here?" Zuko whispers, "How did we leave the forest?"

"Not now!" Mai says, for the townspeople have started poking their heads out of their houses, stepping out of their doorways, curious as to the disturbance from the forest.

Mai searches the crowd, bitterness lingering in her heart. It doesn't take long to spot her mother and father, who have suddenly turned paler than snow.

She turns toward Zuko and says, "Go."

"Who are you?" one of the villagers shouts. "Why are you here? What are you doing with her?"

From this point on, it is about the performance; Zuko closes his eyes and lets fire curl in his belly, climb up his throat.

"My name is Zuko," he declares, fire flickering with every step he takes. "And I am the god of this forest. I am the god of this town."

Murmurs sweep through the gathered crowd – disbelief, awe, confusion.

"It is time," Zuko continues, accenting his words with bursts of flames from his palms, "For your redemption."

And then – fear, terror as Zuko's flames expand, as the young god's figure seems to warp and grow and loom over the crowd; Mai watches this in fascination, because she cannot see anything different in Zuko's form, only that the fire that has changed.

"This will be the end," Zuko growls, voice deep and raw, "The end of the forest, the end of this town; the end of this god you so blindly worship."

And – he burns. White flames explode from his palms, from his fists; there is a tornado, a typhoon of raging fires and scorching winds and a shuddering dragon's roar –

-then, all is silent.

vii.

Curiously, Lord Iroh is the one who bears the news. Curious, because he always avoids the Fire Lord if he can. Curious, because, Fire Lord Ozai should have been the first to know – he was the one who created the spell in the first place. He should have been the first to feel it crumble.

Iroh shuts his eyes and kneels as a heavy silence falls over the throne room. Ozai is standing, stoic, but Iroh feels his anger pulsing through the room.

"Impossible," Ozai snarls, spitting fireballs into the ground. The servants twitch, but Iroh does not move.

Azula gracefully sidesteps the flames and says with a perfect smile, "Father, what shall we do now?"

"I do not forgive those who defy me," the god says coldly. A snap of his fingers, and rows of soldiers immediately stand at attention; spirits and creatures of all sorts wait for instruction.

"Find the boy," Ozai orders, "And bring him to me. This will not go unpunished."

No one asks the obvious question – no one says, how did the boy break through an impenetrable barrier?

No one dares.

Iroh watches silently as Ozai shouts orders. Amidst the chaos, he stands, brushing smoke and licks of fire off his robes before quietly slipping away.

ix.

The silence is loud. So loud that Mai cannot move, cannot think. She barely registers Zuko's hand on her wrist, and stumbles as he pushes her forward.

"Let's go," Zuko murmurs, "It's over."

She forces her leg to move, one step at a time, and then, they are running, away, away, away. Zuko parts the sea of steam and smoke easily, too easily.

"Come on," Zuko urges, "I – I don't want the smoke to clear – "

"No," Mai whispers, pointing. "That way. That's the way out of the village."

Zuko blinks, following the line of her finger. "But there's nothing there. It's just – "

A hot wind blows at the base of his neck, sending cold tremors down his spine. He draws in a sharp breath, at first afraid, but then, an odd familiarity seems to settle in his bones.

At once – it is like a veil is lifted; Zuko opens his eyes and sees an overgrown dirt path that snakes outward, past a sharp line of trees that block the road beyond. Past the trees, into the horizon, Zuko recognizes the familiar gray smudge sitting on the border between land and sky: the same sight that he's chased after for so long, from above the treetops.

"Oh," he whispers, and his heart pounds like war drums echoing in his ears.

Mai blinks at him, still a little dazed, and says, "We're free."

Breathless, he nods, a familiar warmth curling in the pit of his stomach, seeping through his limbs, settling in the dip of his throat and the small of his back and tips of his fingers – oh, how he wants to fly.

They step onto the dusty path, a dirt road, studded with grass and vines and roots, untouched for centuries. Zuko inhales air, exhales smoke – then, he and Mai break into a run, sprinting past trees and away from magic forests and cursed villages and toward the horizon before them.

a/n: please do leave a review on your way out!

a HUGE thanks to alexis who listens to me rants about things she probably doesn't care about! alexis ily and thanks for being so supportive 120% of the time!