Raven made it back to her ship the way a kicked rock makes it down a steep hill.
Not gracefully. Not quietly. Definitely not without leaving scorch marks of frustration.
Her feet were wrapped in fresh bandages and her boots had become too much like sleeves to usefully wear after that last blast, so she'd been forced into a pair of borrowed Kyoshi Village sandals that felt like they'd been carved out of their hardest wood just to spite her. Every step sent a hot complaint up her legs, mild burns on the soles of her feet to the strained muscles all the way up to her waist. Her cloak was nothing but a few scraps of charred cloth still stuck to her now very sooty and tattered noble attire. Her brown hair was a mess, hazel eyes half-closed. She was too tired at the moment to even pretend her pride had survived the encounter with Zuko.
Lo Pei and the crew were still waiting on deck when she limped across a plank she nearly tumbled off into the rocky water.
They looked at her like she might bite, but she just didn't have the strength. She met their gazes with only exhaustion, keeping them guessing what may have happened, and she just kept going. Down the corridor. Past the cramped cabins. Past the smells of too much fish in not enough salt, and old wet fabric and coal smoke. The last challenge was the step over her doorframe, that had become remarkably challenging now that she was so close to rest, so close to where her luggage had colonized every available surface. Her feet really didn't want to move in ways other than shuffle, but she made it over the four-inch high little metal bastard eventually.
A comically large stack of trunks and cases sat against one wall like she'd been planning to flee the country, adopt a new name, and have a spare disguise for every day of the year. Clothing spilled out in neat, expensive layers: folded silk, travel leathers, ceremonial pieces she hadn't worn in years, and accessories that could have outfitted a small noble family in a pinch. A tasteful tapestry hung crookedly, as if it too had been injured in battle. Books were stacked near the bed with the rampant chaos of someone who read to manage stress, but never actually calmed down.
And there, like a small altar to sanity, was her stash of Fire Nation snacks.
Raven shuffled to it, fished out a handful of fire flakes, and stuffed them in her mouth with the grim devotion of a soldier taking medicine.
Crunch. Spice. A tiny flare of heat that reminded her of easier days.
"Grmfghrrghmeh," she astutely stated around the flakes.
She kicked her borrowed sandals off, aiming for the open door with the kind of precision that suggested she'd been practicing this maneuver for years.
They skidded out into the hall.
"Away with you," she said with a dry rasp, as if to the sandals themselves. "If we meet again, I'll show no mercy," she flatly went on.
Her bed was somewhere under a loose pile of blankets and pillows that had never and would never be arranged tastefully. The instant she was close enough, Raven decided gravity had earned the win today, and tipped sideways into it like a stiff plank. The pillows accepted her with a soft, smug whumph, and she bounced only slightly before sinking into fluffier depths.
Raven didn't move after that. She stared at the ceiling and let the pain register in layers. Feet. Ankles. Shins. Hips. Back. Shoulders. Ribs. Everything felt like it had been ripped out of her and stuffed back in upside down.
From the hall, Lo Pei's voice drifted in, cautious as a hand approaching a sleeping dragon.
"Lady Arza," he said, "do you have orders? A destination?"
Raven rolled her head just enough to speak into the air. "I have orders," she said flatly. "My order is: Ouch. Argh. Why. Pain."
A pause.
"Respectfully," Lo Pei tried again, carefully, "the crew is getting very bored."
Raven's eye twitched.
"It doesn't matter where we go!" she snapped. "Zuko's gone. He escaped." She said it like she hadn't been the one who'd hit the ground smoking. "And even if we caught up, I'm too tired to fight him. Damn it..." she gritted her teeth, letting out a breath that came with free heat waves.
Lo Pei tensed, like he had decided his own breathing might be unsafe. "Ah... but—"
Raven's frustration boiled over anyway. It always did. It didn't have anywhere else to go.
"Why are you still asking?" she lashed out. "Go somewhere... useful! I don't know, what does it matter. Go literally anywhere. Take us over a waterfall. I don't care."
She heard his inhale just as she tasted smoke.
Raven's own breath had come out hot, too hot. A thin lick of flame rolled off her lips and died against the air in a mildly embarrassing flash. A faint curl of smoke ghosted toward the ceiling. In the hall, Lo Pei went very, very still. She could practically feel his terror through the doorframe.
Raven slowly, deliberately squeezed her eyes shut. Her anger wasn't for him. What was she doing? She stared into the air for a long moment, chest rising and falling, jaw tight.
"…Lo Pei," she said, quieter.
"Yes, my lady," he answered immediately, like the words had been pre-loaded.
Raven swallowed. It hurt even more than usual, which was not fair at all.
"Sorry," she muttered, and the word looked uncomfortable on her tongue. "I'm not trying to intimidate you, I'm just... really pissed off. Not at you." She quickly clarified.
Lo Pei didn't answer, as if he wasn't sure whether acknowledging that apology would lead to further danger. Raven exhaled carefully. No flame that time. Progress.
"Take us north," she said.
Brow raised. "North, my lady?"
Raven stared at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed her. "Some clown girl in Kyoshi told me the Avatar's heading to the Northern Water Tribe. For a master. So if I can't catch Zuko here, I'll catch him there. Or I'll catch the Avatar. Or whatever. There will be catching, damn it."
Her voice tightened with a bitter little laugh. "I almost had him."
A pause, then Lo Pei's relief seeped into his tone. "As you command." He graciously bowed and backed off a step.
But Raven reached one arm off the bed, groping blindly until her fingers found the edge of a sealed crate she'd shoved beside the bed earlier. Black lacquer. Gilded filigree. Decorative enough to look like it contained a cursed artifact or a very fancy tea set—you never knew with House Arza.
She hooked it with two fingers and dragged it toward the doorway in slow, miserable increments.
"I have another order," she grunted, shoving it again scarcely an inch. "Come take this."
Lo Pei edged into view just enough for Raven to see the whites of his eyes. "My lady, I…"
"It's an apology," Raven said, voice flat with embarrassment. "Making you all wait, scaring you." She sighed in disappointment at herself, and pushed the crate one last time until it bumped his boot. "Please don't quit."
Lo Pei stared down at the crate like it was a living thing.
Then, cautiously, he knelt and unlatched it.
The lid lifted.
Inside were dozens of squat, elegant earthenware bottles, each one glazed and stamped with a seal that looked expensive even to someone who didn't know what they were looking at. The scent that escaped wasn't strong, not yet, but it had a sweet, rich bite to it. Each had a very official looking seal from Ba Sing Se on a fancy bit of card paper hanging from delicate silver and green string tied around the necks.
Lo Pei's face did something Raven had never seen before. He brightened. Not politely. Not as a mask to please her. He brightened like someone had just handed him a pot of gold coins and assured him they were his to keep.
"My lady," he whispered, almost trembling, "this is…"
Raven squinted at him. "Just some wine," she said, having no concept of the value of such things. "Grabbed loads of my dad's loot to trade or sell when I left. Dumb jerk. Not like he paid for it anyway."
"The seal of the Earth King's royal sommelier..." his voice cracked like he might cry as he flipped over one of the little cards.
"Somme-what now?" Raven breathed out and flapped her lips as she let her face sink into the blanket pile. "Whatever, I don't care, just take it."
Lo Pei's hands tightened on the edge of the crate. His smile grew sharp at the corners, like he was trying to keep it respectable and failing.
"I accept your apology," he said, voice suddenly very sincere, very fervent. "Gladly."
And then he began dragging the crate backward into the hall with a determination that made the box scrape and thump like it was being hauled toward a shrine. He had just as much difficulty with that little four-inch bastard of a step, nearly tipping the box over after getting it caught, then hastily jerking it over the lip until it clattered in the hall, but it didn't sound like anything broke.
Raven watched him go, baffled. "Easy there," she called after him.
Lo Pei just beamed and nodded at her with a silly grin, and pushed the crate along the floor with a discomforting screech that rallied much attention from the crew above. He must really like fancy wine, she figured. Whatever. At least he wasn't going to quit. That was something going her way...
Raven let her eyes close, and her pain softened into a heavy, warm blur, but some small thread of her conscious train of thought survived as she left the waking world. It would have been jarring if it had been the first time, but she had experienced it once before.
The floor beneath her feet was polished, glassy, and inlaid with delicate engravings beneath a perhaps resin layer, the air smelled faintly of incense and forge work. The hall around her was vast, gilded beyond practical, not exactly but in the vein of a House Arza kind of showy splendor: gold spearhead motifs worked into every surface, obsidian columns that drank the glow of torchlight, sheer grey and white silk hanging in long, perfect banners that looked so ethereal you'd be surprised if you didn't pass right through them.
It was beautiful and familiar, too much in both regards—the last time she saw this place in her sleep, her grandfather had passed guardianship of Arzayanagi to her father, and shortly after succumbed to his injuries. Her heart may have panged with urgency to check if he was still alive if such visceral physical feelings reached her in that place, as much as he was frustrating her, she didn't want him dead, and feared she was about to be handed a very fancy spear she was not even remotely ready to be responsible for.
Raven moved forward without deciding to. Ahead, a throne waited. Empty and unwanted. She cursed to herself, she knew how it worked, but she felt like an imposter even thinking for a second she'd ever have the faith and loyalty that her father does for Arzaya, even if she wanted it. But Raven could not escape her own blood, so she drifted ever closer to the glittering diamond encrusted golden stairs up to the throne. It looked so damned heavy, solid metal and lined with dragon-like teeth on the back.
Halfway there, the dream shifted. Memory snagged in her ribs.
She recalled her father and grandfather standing there, face to face before the throne. Any of Arzaya's line would be made to witness the exchange, to always know who their leader was—who was answering when she beckoned. At least that's what she was told was happening, she'd never seen her before, not even in that previous vision.
Raven's pace faltered. There was no one else there, but she felt enormously watched. She suddenly recalled that there had been such pageantry, grand epic orchestra playing as fiery long-dead Arza firebenders knelt in respect, but it was like she had arrived at the wrong time, and it felt like she was doing something blasphemous, or at least disrespectful just by being there.
A voice spoke behind her—her father's voice! She couldn't make out the words, only that it was him. The tone was polite, calm. It felt very out of place, like a trick she shouldn't turn to look at, but the whole encounter was giving her an icy chill despite the waves of heat all around.
Despite herself, Raven turned.
A figure was moving away around a corner, tall and familiar, gray-black armor catching light. She took a step as panic crawled up her spine, a sudden fear that she was too late, that something had already happened, that she shouldn't have hesitated. Worried about what was around that corner… she didn't want to think about it, she had already suffered so much loss. She squeezed them shut and tore her eyes away, back toward the empty throne.
But the room was no longer empty. Instead of some frightful nightmare, it was just a smiling boy? It was the Avatar. It was Aang standing in front of it. She could think of no hushed family tradition that would explain what she was seeing, and had to consider she might just be having a dream that mimicked the past vision—her brain playing the prank of the century on her.
Aang looked calm. Blissful, even, like standing around doing nothing at all was rather rewarding. But Arzayanagi was in his hand, held upright with casual confidence, and his glider staff rested in his other like an old habit.
Raven's blood went cold. Had Aang... defeated her father? Avatar or not, that seemed incredibly unlikely given he was on campaign. She got a terrible feeling Arzaya wouldn't like that one bit, not one bit at all, and she'd heard of the horrors that happen when the wrong person claims her family's sacred treasure. She started forward, slow and careful, every instinct screaming to warn him, to pull him away, to shout at him until he understood that nothing about this was safe and he should drop that deadly thing immediately, but her throat tightened in the blazing hot air of the grand hall.
Aang still noticed her; smiled, gave her a little wave. This wasn't a chance encounter at the market, Aang... she tried to speak again. No sound came out.
Behind Aang, something moved. She pointed immediately, but Aang was off in his own little world. She barely knew the boy, but she dreaded what fate worse than death might be in store for him if he didn't pay some spirits-forsaken attention to what was going on around him.
It rose from the throne's shadow, silent and gliding.
A woman. Tall and unreal. She'd never seen her before, but knew instantly: Arzaya. Founder of her house and until this moment, Raven wasn't totally sure she was actually real. Perhaps her father wasn't just rambling to himself alone in his office all those years...
Her form was liquid gold, molten and translucent at once, as if she had been poured straight from a furnace into the room. Her clothing clung and flowed in slow, wrong ripples that fell too slowly. An elaborate mask crowned her face, and within the mask a younger woman's face had been molded with perfect detail, beautiful and expressionless, the kind of beauty that felt like a threat.
Aang didn't look back. Raven's mouth opened again. Still no sound. She tried to run up to him, despite her trembling at the mere sight of a myth manifesting before her eyes. Her legs were heavy, like the air had turned to syrup around her. Damned dreams...
Arzaya in her golden, molten regalia drifted closer to Aang, almost playfully, but with her gaze locked on Raven's, she placed one almost fluid hand on his shoulder. The molten gold did not stop at her fingers. It began to ooze down him, slow and patient, crawling like a living glaze along his arm, his chest, the curve of his collarbone, like it meant to... consume.
Aang still didn't react. He just smiled at Raven again, gentle and warm even as his entire arm turned to lifeless gold.
Arzaya lifted one finger to her lips.
"Shhh."
It was the only sound uttered since the distant muffled voice of her father. Raven's throat strained, desperate, furious, terrified, at least wanting an explanation from the terrifying old ghost. She'd haunted her line for over a thousand years. But... nothing. No voice. No fire. No sound at all. Raven was helpless, and it tore her insides as much as claws or teeth.
Aang was up to his neck in gold, about to drown, but still utterly unaware, with only the whisper of molten gold sliding over his skin until she heard the pitter-patter of droplets. But it wasn't the gold dripping. Arzayanagi was stained red, dripping on the floor.
"Wait... please! No!" she heard in a sudden burst of sound just beside her ear, a young girl, her sister—?!
That world snapped. Raven jolted awake to a violent lurch that threw her half off the bed and yanked a fresh, vicious complaint out of her bandaged feet.
"What in the... Asha...? Why?" she croaked, voice thick with sleep and despair. But the jolt was real. Books fell from her carefully selected chaos, the walls groaned, the tapestries fluttered.
Had they... hit something? Above her, the ship screamed a cry of metal on metal—hull grinding against something hard. A second impact hit like a rogue wave. The entire cabin shuddered. Trunks rattled. The rest of her books slid and slapped or clattered on the floor.
From the deck came shouting, and enough laughter that she was immediately pissed off. "What... idiot is breaking my ship?" she growled as she dragged her fiercely rebelling body out of bed.
Raven lay there half on the floor trying to hold onto the dream. Aang. The spear. Arzaya herself, at least she was pretty sure. Her father's voice. The details slid away like water through fingers. The dread stayed. Raven had to push herself to the stand, jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached.
Another shake rolled through the ship, smaller but sharp, like the vessel was being shoved free of whatever it had kissed. Her vessel she secretly saved up for, over a year of scheming and somehow not getting caught. Her patience was gossamer thin accompanied by her sore limbs.
There was another hoot of laughter above, followed by more distant shouts.
"Lo Pei," she called, low and deadly, as she limped toward the door, "what is going on up there?!"
She yanked herself through the door frame, stepped into the hall, and took a deep breath in preparation for much shouting.