A pale dawn light crept over a remote field far beyond the Fire Nation capital. A battered metal wagon, pulled by two lumbering komodo rhinos, ground to a halt in the high grass. Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe prisoners — thin, bruised, and bound at the wrists — were herded out by a squad of Fire Nation guards in crimson armor. The air smelled of dew and soot.

Daikon is seen watching them from afar as they approached him. Soon, the guards unload the prisoners from the wagon as they bow to their Prince.

Guard: Here are the prisoners you ordered, your highness. What do you want with them?

Daikon: ...unchained them.

The lead guard blinked in confusion, convinced he had misheard. He looked in confusion exchanging uncertain glances with his fellow guards. The prisoners themselves looked equally stunned. None had expected a Fire Nation prince to meet them out here, much less to demand their shackles removed.

Guard: Prince Zairon, with respect... these prisoners are dangerous. The Fire Lord wouldn't want—

Suddenly a tree behind him burst into flames. The guard froze in shock and fear as the others yelped and stumbled back. Startled cries rose from a few prisoners. The flames danced and crackled on the once treec reduced to ashes. Daikon's face remained calm, but now there was steel in his voice.

Daikon: I will not repeat myself.

Shaken by the display of precision firebending, the guards hastened to obey. Keys jingled and locks clicked open. One by one, heavy iron shackles clattered to the ground. The prisoners – five in total – looked on in disbelief as freedom reached their aching wrists and ankles.

Daikon nodded in satisfaction once the last chain fell away. He turned sharply to the lead guard.

Daikon: Good. You are dismissed.

The captain of the guards stepped forward, clearly uncomfortable leaving the Fire Nation prince alone with foreign enemies.

Guard: My prince, we can't just leave you here unprotected—

Daikon: I gave you an order. There is no further discussion. Now... go.

For a moment it looked like the guard might argue further. He opened his mouth, but Daikon subtly shifted his stance and a faint wisp of smoke curled from his fist, ready to ignite again. The protest died on the guard's tongue. With a stiff bow, the captain relented.

Captain: Yes, your highness.

The red-armored guards retreated to their wagon, casting confused and dubious looks over their shoulders. Within minutes, the rumble of the rhinos faded down the trail, leaving behind only Prince Daikon and the motley group of prisoners in the quiet field.

The prisoners stood huddled together, unchained but unsure, as if any sudden move might shatter this fragile reprieve. Daikon took a slow breath and inclined his head respectfully to them — a small bow, as one might offer equals.

Daikon: Greetings. You may know of me, so I would not bore you with introductions.

Soon, a A burly Earth Kingdom man rubbed at the raw skin the shackles had torn.

EK Man: You... freed us. What kind of game are you playing?

Daikon stepped forward with measured grace, closing the distance between himself and the freed prisoners. They tensed, some reflexively adopting defensive stances, expecting perhaps a trick or hidden blades.

The young prince raised his empty hands, palms outward, a universal gesture of peace. In the soft morning light, his normally intense amber eyes held a gentleness that caught the prisoners off guard.

Daikon: You have nothing to fear from me. We are far from any village or barracks. No one will harm you here.

He slowly reached into the satchel at his side. The prisoners watched warily as he withdrew a roll of parchment and unfurled it. It was a charcoal sketch, the lines thick and bold, revealing the design of a curved war scythe. The drawn weapon was formidable: a long ebony pole ending in a wicked crescent blade, reminiscent of a reaper's scythe yet reinforced for battle.

The prisoners exchanged puzzled looks. Why would a prince show them this?

A Water Tribe prisoner, a lean man with sea-blue eyes and hair in a messy wolf-tail, mustered the courage to speak.

WT man: Is this from the Fire Lord himself?

Daikon: The Fire Lord does not know of this... *rolls the scroll* Nor will he ever.

The group fell silent. The only Fire Nation royalty with authority to act independently would be a direct family member of the Fire Lord. They knew of Prince Zuko, banished years ago, and Princess Azula, feared by all. Daikon was lesser-known, a prince kept largely out of the spotlight, but now he stood before them forging his own path.

An older Earth Kingdom woman with streaks of gray in her dusty brown hair studied Daikon's face shrewdly.

Ek Woman: Then why do you bring us here? Not torture or answers, then what?

Rather than answer immediately, Daikon planted the base of the parchment scroll into the soil so the sketch of the scythe faced them. The drawn blade glinted in the rising sun. He took a slow breath.

Daikon: I have a request... no demand... a request. I ask for your help in forging this weapon.

A stunned hush fell. The prisoners were utterly baffled. Of all the things they expected — interrogation, labor, even execution — this made the least sense. Help a Fire Nation prince forge a weapon?

The younger Water Tribe man frowned, suspicion coloring his features.

WT Man: You pulled us from prison for that? You have forges, smiths... an entire Fire Nation armory at your beck and call.

Daikon allowed a faint smile at the corner of his lips. It was a fair question.

Daikon: True. My nation's forges are mighty. But I do not wish this weapon to be known to my people. Not yet. I designed it myself. A war scythe — an old concept, rare in these times. It distinguish me from everyone else other than my clothing.

The prisoners glanced at one another.

Daikon: I intend to use this weapon to protect myself... so that I do not have to rely solely on my firebending.

As he said this, a gentle breeze picked up, tugging at a stray lock of his dark hair. There was a hint of vulnerability in his admission. Firebending was the pride of Fire Nation royalty, their birthright. For him to suggest he didn't want to depend on it was startling.

A young Earth Kingdom man with a fresh burn scar on his forearm scowled.

ET Man 2: Why should we help you arm yourself? So you can cut us down more efficiently?

Murmurs of uneasy agreement rippled through a couple of the others. Clearly, trust would not come easily.

Daikon didn't flinch. He met the man's angry gaze with patience.

Daikon: No. I have not brought you here to harm you. In fact, when this is over, regardless of your choice, you will all be freed.

That word free fell on them like rain on parched earth. Some prisoners' eyes widened outright; others looked as though they didn't dare believe it. Daikon pressed on, conviction lending strength to his voice.

Daikon: If you choose not to help me, you will still leave here as free people. I will ensure you have food and water, fresh clothing, and safe passage to any place you wish to go. I give you my word, on my honor as a son of the Fire Nation.

The group of former captives stood in stunned silence. They had no reason to trust him — a scion of the very empire that had destroyed their homes or taken them captive. And yet, Daikon's eyes held a quiet earnestness. He was different from the soldiers and firebenders who had imprisoned them. There was no gloating, no malice; only a solemn plea.

Finally, the older Earth Kingdom woman stepped forward. She had been a metalworker before the war stole her village, the calluses on her palms attesting to years at the forge.

EK Woman 2: You would truly let us go... with provisions and all... no strings attached?

Daikon: *places a fist on his chest* You have my promise. Help me or not, you will walk away free.

A long pause followed as the prisoners absorbed his words. A hawk cried somewhere in the distance, the only sound in the hush. At last, the Water Tribe man exhaled and stepped forward as well.

Nanuq: I am Nanuq of the Southern Water Tribe. If what you say is true... if you mean to make a weapon to protect rather than to conquer... then I will help you, Prince Zairon.

He extended a hand, bound with tattered bandages, in a tentative offering of trust.

Daikon's eyes flickered with relief and gratitude. He reached out and clasped Nanuq's forearm in the warrior's handshake he had seen Water Tribe men share.

Daikon: Thank you.

Encouraged by Nanuq's decision, the others nodded one by one. The grizzled Earth Kingdom woman gave a curt, respectful bow — her name was Jian, a master blacksmith in her day.

The younger Earth Kingdom man who had scowled introduced himself as Kai, a mason's apprentice with some knowledge of earthbending.

There was also a Water Tribe woman, Malina, a healer who had minor waterbending abilities, and an Earth Kingdom tinkerer named Bataar.

Each stepped forward and agreed to aid him, though traces of caution lingered in their eyes.

Daikon: removed his violet over-robe, stripping down to a simple black tunic better suited for work. Despite the crisp morning air, sweat beaded on his brow — whether from nerves or the firebending display earlier, it was hard to tell.

Daikon: We'll need a forge.

For the first time, a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Daikon's mouth. There was much to do, but hope, fragile and flickering, had been kindled in this lonely field.

*later*

By midday, the remote field had been transformed into a makeshift forge beneath the open sky. The group worked in unison, surprising themselves at how naturally they fell into cooperation.

Jian took charge with brisk authority. She directed Kai and Bataar to gather stones and clay to form a crude furnace. Under Kai's earthbending, stones levitated and slid into place, assembling a stable fire pit.

Bataar scavenged bits of scrap metal Daikon had secretly stockpiled nearby: broken spearheads, old chains, and fragmented armor pieces — the detritus of war waiting to be reforged.

They built the furnace at the center of a shallow pit. Daikon removed a sparkstone and flint from his pack, but a thought struck him. With a small grin, he snapped his fingers and produced a tiny flame at his fingertip through firebending.

Gently, he touched it to the kindling of dried grass and wood they had piled, and the furnace fire roared to life. Unlike the cold blue flames he wielded in battle, this fire he kept to a warm orange, feeding it steadily with measured breaths. Soon, heat radiated in waves from the forge, shimmering in the noon light.

Jian inspected the scrap metal, her experienced eye picking through the pieces.

Jian: We'll need to smelt these down to get a workable ingot for the blade. Kai, can you and Daikon manage the bellows and fire? We need this hotter.

Kai nodded. The young Earth Kingdom man planted his feet firmly and thrust his arms forward; the earth responded to his bending with a low rumble.

A boulder slid across the ground, forcing air into the flames as an improvised bellows. Daikon synchronized his breathing with the bellows' rhythm, using firebending to intensify the heat. The coals glowed bright purple-pink.

As sweat trickled down his temples, Daikon was in the thick of honest work, a stark contrast to the gilded halls of the royal palace. He heaved a chunk of melted-down slag with tongs alongside Jian, their muscles straining in tandem.

He coughed as smoke filled his lungs, but did not complain. The prisoners – no, his allies, he thought – noted his willingness to dirty his hands and the respectful way he listened to Jian's guidance. A prince who toiled as they did, side by side, was unheard of. It stirred a tentative respect among them.

Molten metal was poured into a rudimentary sand mold shaped like the curved blade from Daikon's sketch. As it cooled and hardened, Nanuq and Malina stepped in to help. Nanuq raised his arms, drawing water from a nearby barrel Daikon had provided.

With careful waterbending, he guided a stream of cool water around the mold's edges to speed the cooling evenly, eyes narrowed in concentration. Malina, though only a healer, maintained a cooling water flow as Nanuq prepared more tools. Steam hissed and billowed as hot metal met water, cloaking them all in a veil of mist.

When the raw blade was cool enough, Jian and Daikon pried it from the mold. The slab of metal was rough, blackened with slag and ash, but held the distinct crescent shape of the war scythe's blade. There was a collective spark of awe as they laid it on an anvil stone. From mere scrap and earth, a weapon was being born.

They took turns hammering the blade to refine it. Jian's strikes were measured and strong, shaping the curve and bevel of the scythe's edge. Daikon followed her rhythm, bringing the hammer down with all the strength his lean frame could muster.

Each clang rang out across the field, echoing into the afternoon and blending with the rhythmic pant of the bellows and crackle of flames. Fragments of scale and soot flew with each hit. Over hours, the rough shape gained elegance and deadly purpose — a sweeping blade with a razor edge.

Daikon's shoulders ached and his arms felt like lead, unused to the manual labor, but he worked tirelessly. Occasionally, he paused to wipe grime from his forehead with a soot-stained sleeve, his once immaculate tunic now smeared with ash. Far from sneering at his inexperience, Jian gave the prince a small nod of approval at his persistence.

While Jian and Daikon labored on the blade, Kai and Bataar focused on the shaft of the scythe. Using earthbending, Kai drew iron ore from the ground itself — tiny flecks of metal swirling out of the dirt to join their cache.

Bataar, ever the clever tinkerer, found a felled tree at the edge of the field and carved out a long wooden pole. He then guided Kai in reinforcing it by running metal along its grain, using the earthbender's gift to meld wood and metal together for a sturdy polearm.

As the sun dipped low toward the horizon, painting the sky in bands of orange and purple, the weapon at last came together. They affixed the curved blade onto the end of the reinforced pole. Daikon carefully wrapped strips of cured leather (taken from his satchel) around sections of the pole to form a secure grip.

Finally, before the light faded, Jian took a sharpening stone to the blade's edge. With methodical care, she honed it until the scythe's curved blade glimmered with a menacing sharpness, even in the dimming light.

When all was done, Daikon held the completed war scythe in his hands. It was as depicted in his sketch and yet so much more.

The polearm stood taller than him by a foot, the crescent blade catching the last red rays of sunset. Fine whorls and patterns from the folding of the metal during forging now marked the steel, almost like ripples of flame eternally frozen in the blade. The weapon was beautiful in its own fierce way — and utterly unique. Daikon found himself momentarily speechless.

He swept the scythe through the air in a slow arc, testing its weight and balance. It whistled softly. The feel was solid, reassuring. For a moment, the young prince saw his reflection in the polished metal: a soot-streaked face, hair damp with sweat, eyes alight not with anger or pride, but with a humble gratitude.

Daikon: Ashwarden...

Malina perked up as she heard of that name. Ashwarden — a warden of ashes. A guardian in the aftermath of destruction. It was not a conqueror's weapon name, but a protector's.

The others stood in a semicircle around him, watching the prince handle the scythe they had forged together. There was a quiet, collective sense of accomplishment among them. In that twilight hour, former enemies had worked side by side to create something new.

Daikon turned to the five who had helped him, and bowed deeply at the waist, an earnest gesture of respect from a prince to common folk.

Daikon: I am in your debt. I could not have done this without each of you. Thank you.

The prisoners-turned-craftsmen glanced at one another. Through the day's labor, their wariness had thawed. They had seen Daikon's true character in the furnace's glow: a prince who wielded authority with mercy, strength with honor. It was Jian who first returned the bow.

Jian: Seems even Princes can sweat.

Daikon chuckled, a sound as weary as it was warm.

Nanuq stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Nanuq: You kept your word, Prince Daikon. You treated us as equals today... not as slaves or prisoners. *looks at the blade* This – Ashwarden – it's a fine blade. I'm proud to have helped make it.

The others murmured agreement. Malina, the Water Tribe healer, who had been quiet most of the day, bit her lip before speaking up.

Malina: Your Highness, we have seen your heart today. In my tribe, we repay kindness in whatever way we can.

She exchanged a meaningful look with Nanuq and then with Kai, the earthbender. A silent understanding passed between them.

Nanuq cleared his throat and stepped closer to Daikon. The prince, sensing something important, rested the butt of the scythe on the ground and gave Nanuq his full attention. The Water Tribe man's face was solemn but resolved.

Nanuq: We... have been talking, Prince Daikon. We have one more offer to make, if you are willing to hear it.

Daikon tilted his head curiously. After all that had happened, he thought there was little more they could give – he already planned to give them supplies and freedom in return.

Daikon: Of course. Please, name it.

It was Kai, the Earth Kingdom youth, who spoke next. He raised his hands slowly, curling his fingers inwards. A small stone nearby wobbled, then floated up to hover between his palms. He was demonstrating his earthbending plainly.

Kai: You saw today that I can earthbend... and Nanuq, he can waterbend.

Daikon: I did. The way you shaped the furnace and quenched the blade... it was masterful.

Nanuq: We want to teach you what we know. Water Bending and Earth Bending.

Daikon blinked, truly taken aback for the first time that day. Teach him water and earth? For a moment, he was sure he must have misheard. A prince of the Fire Nation learning the bending arts of other nations was not just unusual — it was unheard of.

Treasonous, even, if the Fire Lord knew. Such knowledge was hoarded by each nation; only the Avatar was meant to wield all four. Daikon's heart skipped with a mix of excitement and fear at the very idea.

Jian and Bataar looked as surprised as Daikon. Clearly, this decision had been formed by the three benders among them privately. Daikon opened his mouth to respond, but no words came immediately. He glanced down at his hands — the hands of a firebender, callused from training in flames, now stained with soot from honest work. Could those same hands learn to guide water? To command earth?

Malina: You have shown today that you value balance and peace over the ruthless ways of your father's war. We see that in you. That is why we make this offer. Think of it as... as our way of restoring a bit of balance, too.

Kai: You gave us freedom, Daikon. You even gave us respect. In all my years under Fire Nation oppression, I've never met someone like you. If you can carry a piece of our culture with you... perhaps even hidden in the heart of the Fire Nation, then maybe not all hope is lost. And selfishly... it would honor my late sifu if I passed on his earthbending lessons to someone worthy.

Daikon felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with firebending. He was deeply moved. He rested Ashwarden gently against a stump and slowly knelt on one knee before Nanuq, Kai, and Malina — a prince humbling himself before foreign peasants, an image none of them could have ever imagined.

Daikon: I will be honored by your offer. But I must warn you: I am not the Avatar. I do not possess a natural affinity for multiple elements. I have only ever bent fire. This could be a fool's errand.

Nanuq: *chuckles* All learning starts as a fool's errand, Your Highness. We know you're no Avatar. But we've also seen that you're not just a Fire Nation prince. You're something rarer. You're open-minded.

He offered a hand to help Daikon rise again.

Nanuq: If you're willing to try, we're willing to teach.

Daikon looked around at each of their earnest faces — even Jian and Bataar now watched him with something like hope. The prospect was daunting. To learn water and earth would mean challenging the very identity he was raised with, to embrace techniques that his own people reviled as enemy arts.

It was dangerous. It was revolutionary. And in his heart, Daikon realized it was exactly the path he was meant to walk. To truly stand apart from the tyranny of the Fire Lord, to guard instead of destroy, he would take any steps necessary.

He looks up at Nanuq and grabs his hand as the Water Bender brings him up.

Daikon: Very well. We rest for tonight. Tomorrow, we begin.

Nanuq nods as he smiles at the young Prince in front of him.

*the next morning*

Water came first. Down by a narrow creek at the edge of the field, Nanuq and Malina taught Daikon the basic stances of waterbending. They showed him how to move like water – slow, flowing forms that converted defense into offense with a shift of weight.

Daikon, used to the hard aggressive strikes of firebending, initially struggled with the softness and adaptability water demanded. He stood ankle-deep in the creek's cool flow, mimicking Nanuq's movements. His first attempts were clumsy. When he tried to lift water, it splashed apart.

But overtime with the aid of Nanuq and Malina, he began to make progress. He remembered how the ocean waves at Ember Island would push and pull, a steady rhythm. He let that memory wash over him, drowning out the fiery instincts. When he moved his arms this time, it was with an open palm, following the current instead of dominating it. To his astonishment, he felt the water respond — a gentle coil of the creek lifted and swirled around his arm. Cool water danced at his command, shimmering in the sunlight.

He let out a breathless laugh. It felt nothing like bending fire; it was soothing and wondrous, as if touching a living creature without harming it.

Nanuq: Good. Very good! Now, try redirecting it.

As he said, stepping beside Daikon and demonstrating a circular motion with his hands. Daikon followed suit; the stream of water curved and flowed, mimicking his gestures in the air. It spun around them in a ring before Daikon gently guided it back down into the creek, his heart pounding with exhilaration. In that moment, he understood a piece of what it meant to be Water Tribe: to feel unity with the life-giving element of water.

They practiced deep into the night, until Daikon could lift small waves and shape them, albeit clumsily, into whips and rings. Every success emboldened him; every failure was met with patience from his teachers and a renewed attempt. By the time they allowed him rest, Daikon was soaked to the bone and utterly exhausted — but he had taken the first steps toward becoming a waterbender.

The next day, Earth came next. At dawn, after only a brief rest, Kai woke Daikon to begin earthbending training. The prince's muscles groaned in protest as he rolled out of a blanket by the dying forge embers, but he steeled himself. Kai led him to a solid outcrop of rock at the field's edge. Jian and Bataar looked on in quiet encouragement, their arms crossed as if watching a son's practice.

Earthbending required an opposite mindset to waterbending. Where water was about yielding, earth was about standing your ground. Kai taught Daikon the fundamental earthbending stance: feet apart, firmly rooted, knees bent, back straight.

Kai: Like this, see? *stomps once*

The ground beneath him trembled slightly as he rooted himself.

Kai: An earthbender listens and waits. Feel the stability under you. The earth is patient, but when you move it, move it with certainty. No hesitation.

Daikon planted his feet and tried to mimic Kai's posture. It felt foreign; as a firebender he was trained to be mobile, always flowing from one form to the next. Standing still and sinking weight into the ground was counterintuitive. Kai picked up a small rock and placed it in Daikon's palm.

Kai: Crush it.

Daikon closed his fist around the rock and squeezed. His forearm trembled with effort but the rock only bit into his skin.

Kai: Not like that. You're using only muscle. Feel the rock as an extension of the earth beneath us.

He knelt and pressed a hand to the ground.

Kai: Earthbending comes from your core – your connection to the ground. It's like... you become an unyielding part of the earth, and then you ask it to move with your will.

They spent hours on listening to the earth. Daikon learned to drop to one knee, place his hand on the dirt, and meditate until he could feel the faint vibrations around him — the scuttling of a beetle, the sway of grass in the breeze, even his own heartbeat echoing into the ground.

This patience tested him more than any firebending drill ever had. But he persisted. When finally Kai judged his stance and mindset ready, he stood Daikon before a waist-high boulder.

Kai: Strike it. Not with flame, not with the blade — with earthbending. Remember your stance. Sink low, breathe, and when you strike, commit.

Daikon inhaled deeply, feeling the solid earth under his boots. He widened his stance, anchored as Kai taught him. Clenching his fist at his side, he focused on the boulder and the space it occupied. In his mind, he saw himself as the immovable object, sharing the boulder's stubborn strength.

With a sharp exhale, he punched forward and stamped his foot down in unison, just as he'd seen earthbenders do. For an agonizing heartbeat, nothing happened — then the boulder shuddered and cracked. A fissure split its center and the top half crumbled off, thudding to the ground in chunks.

Daikon stared, chest heaving. A laugh of pure disbelief escaped him. The prisoners cheered softly, and Kai clapped him on the back.

Kai: That's how it's done!

*much later*

So it went. The days turned into weeks as Daikon trained in secret with his unlikely tutors. Each day he would rise before dawn to practice earthbending by splitting stones or forming walls of dirt. Each night, by the light of torches or moon, he honed his waterbending, pulling and slicing through water from the creek, learning to weave it like silk.

All the while, he kept up his firebending practice on his own, incorporating the new philosophies he was learning: patience from earthbending, fluidity from waterbending. He found his flames responding to his calmer state of mind — becoming more controlled, more precise.

Through all this training, the war scythe Ashwarden was never far from his side. In spare moments, Daikon practiced with it too, whirling it in sweeping arcs, using its blade to cleave through practice dummies made of bundled reeds that Bataar crafted.

Sometimes, he even integrated bending into its use: sending a surge of flame through its swing so the blade trailed fire, or using a splash of water to slick its edge and surprise himself with new techniques. He learned from Jian how to maintain its edge and from Nanuq how a weapon could be used defensively as well as offensively.

The prisoners watched Daikon's progress with growing admiration and a touch of astonishment. He learned as if a man starved finally tasting food. He stumbled many times, of course. On one occasion he overextended a water whip and lost control, drenching everyone and earning a round of laughter.

Another time, he tried to raise the earth beneath him for a boost and ended up flat on his back when the pillar crumbled. Each failure he met with a self-deprecating smile and determination to try again. His humility through it all only deepened the respect they had for him.

And Daikon, for his part, grew close to these people who had started as prisoners under his charge. In quiet moments over shared meals by the campfire, they told him of their lives before the war: Jian spoke of her granddaughter whom she hoped to find back in Omashu; Nanuq reminisced about fishing in the icy waters of the south; Malina shared how she became a healer to help her village during the war; Kai revealed he had lost his older brother at Ba Sing Se's outer wall and that bending the earth made him feel connected to his memory; Bataar excitedly sketched inventions, finding in Daikon an eager listener to his engineering dreams.

Daikon, in turn, confided pieces of himself. He admitted how he struggled growing up under the shadow of his father, Fire Lord Ozai, and his prodigious siblings. How he yearned to forge his own path and do what was right, even if it meant defying expectations. These admissions were met with empathetic nods. In their eyes, despite being the son of their enemy, Daikon had proven himself a man of honor. Bonds formed that transcended the divisions of their nations.

At last, the time came when Daikon could successfully bend all three elements he had access to — fire, water, and earth — with reasonable skill. He was far from a master in water or earth, of course, but he had the fundamentals and could perform them at will. It was a feat none of them would have believed possible if they hadn't seen it.

And with each new skill, Daikon swore to himself and to his friends that he would never misuse these gifts. He vowed, in a quiet ceremony by the dying forge one night, that he would never use his bending or Ashwarden for selfish ends or to further the war. They believed him, for his actions had spoken louder than any oath could.

*much later*

Dawn broke on the day of parting with a somber golden light. By Daikon's arrangement, a small boat waited at a secluded cove a few miles from their field. They journeyed there together on foot, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken gratitude and sadness that this chapter was closing. Ashwarden was strapped across Daikon's back, wrapped tightly in canvas to conceal its identity.

At the water's edge, the boat bobbed gently—a sturdy wooden vessel stocked with sacks of grain, barrels of fresh water, bundled warm clothing, and pouches of coins. Daikon had prepared everything quietly during their last week together, using what resources he could gather without attracting notice. When the prisoners saw the provisions, a few gasped softly. The promise he had made was fully kept and then some.

Jian placed a hand on the boat's railing, running her weathered fingers across the wood

Jian: You thought of everything.

The others began loading the last of their personal meager belongings into the boat. Daikon helped Malina up the gangplank, mindful of her age. One by one, they boarded, until only Nanuq remained on the shore with Daikon. The Water Tribe man turned to the young prince. He struggled for words a moment, then let out a sigh.

Nanuq: I never imagined I'd be thanking a Fire Nation royal for my freedom. Yet here I am. You have my thanks, Prince Daikon... no, you have my friendship. Always.

He extended his arm in the warrior's handshake once more. Daikon grasped Nanuq's forearm firmly.

Daikon: I will cherish it, Nanuq. And you have mine, my friend.

Nanuq's eyes glistened; in a sudden move, he pulled Daikon into an embrace. Daikon stiffened in surprise, then returned the hug, clapping the older man's back. When they stepped apart, Nanuq wordlessly pressed something into Daikon's hand. It was a small object wrapped in sealskin. Daikon unwrapped it and found a pendant carved from a whale's tooth — a traditional Water Tribe charm etched with the symbol for courage.

Malina: It belonged to Nanuq's son... he would want you to have it.

Nanuq nodded, unable to speak for a second. Daikon closed his fingers around the pendant, understanding the depth of that gift. He bowed his head deeply in respect and gratitude.

At last, Nanuq climbed aboard. The boat was ready to depart. Kai untied the mooring rope while Bataar adjusted the sail. Jian took the rudder, being the most experienced sailor among them. The boat's sail unfurled to catch the morning breeze.

Daikon stepped back into the shallow surf, water lapping at his boots. He raised one hand in a farewell salute. On the boat, his friends waved — Kai with both arms, Malina with a bright smile despite tears on her cheeks, Jian with a proud nod, Bataar shouting.

Bataar: Goodbye, Daikon! Thank you!

Nanuq holding his fist over his heart in the way of the Water Tribe warriors.

He stood there, ankle-deep in the sea, watching as the vessel pulled away from shore. The wind filled the sail and carried them steadily toward the horizon. Daikon stayed until the boat was but a dark speck against the endless blue, until he could no longer distinguish his friends' figures waving back at him.

Only then did he lower his hand, the reality settling in that he might not see them again for a long time, if ever. Yet his heart was full — heavier with sadness at the parting, but also uplifted by a profound sense of purpose and connection.

Daikon: Thank you all... for making me see who I can and will be.

The wind did not answer in words, but a gentle gust rustled his clothing, almost like a final farewell. He touched the whale-tooth pendant now hanging around his neck, tucking it beneath his tunic for safekeeping. It rested close to his heart, a reminder of Nanuq's friendship and the trust they had placed in him.

Daikon turned away from the shore at last. The sun was climbing, and he had a long journey back to the Fire Nation capital. He walked along the lonely path with Ashwarden strapped securely to his back. The war scythe felt reassuring between his shoulder blades, a symbol of the oath he carried. In its curved blade were reflected all the lessons he had learned in this secret sojourn: the resilience of earth, the adaptability of water, and the tempered strength of his own fire.

As he traveled in solitude, Daikon practiced in small ways — a pebble skittering across the path at a flick of earthbending, a swirl of a puddle as he stepped through it, a tiny flame dancing at his fingertips to light the dimming evening when night fell. Each act was discreet, hidden from any prying eyes. To any passerby, he was just a lone traveler, cloaked and hooded, likely a minor noble on some errand. No one would suspect the truth: that this traveler was a Fire Nation prince carrying a forbidden weapon and the knowledge of two extra elements in his soul.

When at last the spires of the Fire Nation royal palace came into view against the starlit sky, Daikon paused on a hilltop. Home. A place of luxury and danger in equal measure. He steeled himself for re-entry into that world of lies, posturing, and war. With a deep breath, he calmed the flicker of flame within him that reacted to his anxiety.

He felt the solid ground beneath his feet as a comforting anchor and the cool night air bracing his skin like water's touch. In that moment, he realized he was no longer the same person who had left weeks ago under the guise of a routine military inspection. He had been transformed on that distant field — forged anew like the scythe he carried.

Daikon pulled his hood low to shadow his face and strode onward, blending into the darkness. He would tell no one of what occurred in that remote field. This knowledge, these abilities, and Ashwarden's creation would remain a closely guarded secret, hidden from his father Ozai and even from Zuko and Azula for now. In the palace, he would resume the role of the quiet, dutiful younger prince, careful to raise no suspicions. But inside, he held a quiet conviction as sharp as his scythe's blade.

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