Asawa ni Zuko

ZAYNE

-> You first got him into it as children, and since then he hasn't had time to play, but together now, there is time

->Zayne has found joy in the alchemy parts of the game, enjoying making potions

-> Imagine you and Zayne spend most of the time making a beautiful home filled of flowers, and chests full of potions.

-> The nether is stripped of its roots and soul sand and instead in the overworld being grown by you and Zayne

-> It's a nice place for Zayne to feel at ease, and with you, playing with you is very comforting for him

RAFAYEL

-> Conquests on conquests for wool, clay, diamonds, and gold. All the ores in this little world you've created together

-> Rafayel makes it his mission to create beautiful buildings, making the nether portal very dramatic, one of those people to build an enderman in flowers holding said portal

-> It's you defeating monsters and collecting resources while Rafayel is the one collecting flowers and making the house.

-> Though, who are you kidding, you enjoy making the houses and buildings just as much as him, even to the point of kidnapping villagers to create a village governed by you two

-> It gets so bad that either Talia or Thomas need to pull you out before you both miss out on your jobs and deadlines

SYLUS

-> To some, Sylus may be good at the game, but it's a lot funnier if he's just really bad at it

-> Luke and Kieran play it all the time, and he still isn't that good at it, then you come along being just so much better at it than him.

-> As family, you four create a world where Luke and Kieran cause chaos, burning down villages, and it only makes sense that you join.

->Sylus watches confused. He's left to make the house, and he makes a good enough effort.

-> Despite his reservations, he finds the game relaxing, and its given him a new side to you, especially when you start implementing mods that makes the game even harder

-> Sylus greatly greets these new sides and tries to be better at a game he's just terrible at

CALEB

-> It only makes sense that as kids you and Caleb made a world and have kept it ever since

-> Full of memories of playing with one another; chaos incarnate, and buildings galore. Bunch of wolves, good armor, an empire in this world

-> So when Caleb was presumed dead, it was quite hard to look in that world, because it was just so many memories. You built a statue of his player character as a way of honoring him

-> You and Caleb were rather competitive with another; like who could make the best house or who could kill the most mobs

“The scar is rather difficult to miss,” the woman sighs.

“Oh.” Sokka shrugs. “Right. Forgot about that.”

Behind him, Zuko lets out a deeply offended sound.

“I told you this was not enough!” Zuko snaps sharply, glaring at his friend while tugging irritably at the dark fabric around his shoulders.

“Hey, it matches your outfit, alright?” Sokka defends himself quickly. He gestures between the cloak and his own belongings as if making a brilliant point. “Just like my bag matches my belt.”

Zuko stares at him silently, already regretting allowing Sokka anywhere near this plan.

The mistress clears her throat loudly, cutting through the argument.

“How may I help the Fire Lord?” she asks, now directing her full attention towards Zuko alone.

For a moment, Zuko says nothing.

His jaw instantly tightened beneath the shadows of the hood. He had faced armies, faced his father,and the worst of all — faced Azula. Yet somehow this felt worse. Because lying to his uncle was so unfair… he knew his uncle would be happy either way with any decision in the end. Yet, he still felt guilty for not being able to make at least one of his wishes come true. He didn’t want for Iroh to die with a heavy heart.

Still, he forces himself to step closer to the desk, then he takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I need to find a woman to be my wife,” he says finally.

The words sound absurd the moment they leave his mouth.

The mistress blinks once... twice.

Her pipe slips from her fingers and hits the wooden table with a loud clatter. For several long seconds, she simply stares at him as though she expects him to laugh and admit it was some sort of joke.

But Zuko’s expression never changes.

And the woman’s surprised expression slowly fades into skepticism as she straightens in her chair.

“You came to a brothel,” she says carefully, “to search for a wife?”

Even Sokka winces slightly at how ridiculous it sounded aloud.

Zuko feels heat crawl up the back of his neck beneath his collar as he nods once.

“When you say it like that, it sounds strange,” he agrees.

“Because it is strange,” the woman replies without hesitation. Her sharp eyes narrow as she studies him more carefully now, suspicion mixing with curiosity. “Most men come here seeking pleasure, not marriage.”

“I am not looking for love,” Zuko says quickly, almost too quickly.

The woman hums softly, leaning back again. She watches him the same way one might observe a wounded animal deciding whether or not to bite.

“I am certain many noble women across the nations would gladly marry the Fire Lord,” she continues. “You could choose any daughter from any wealthy family and have a wedding arranged before sunrise tomorrow.”

“I know.” Zuko exhales heavily through his nose before closing his eyes for a brief moment. “That is exactly the problem.”

His voice lowers quieter after that. Less defensive — more tired.

“I do not want to promise devotion I cannot give,” he admits. “I do not have time to become someone’s proper husband. I barely manage to rule my own nation correctly some days.”

The woman’s skeptical expression softens slightly, though not entirely.

“And yet you are still searching for a wife.”

Zuko’s gaze drops towards the wooden floorboards.

“It is important to my uncle,” he says quietly. “He wishes to see me settled before…”

The sentence dies in his throat unfinished and a sudden understanding flickers briefly across the mistress’s face.

Still, she remains cautious.

“So,” she says slowly, “you want a woman willing to stand beside you, wear royal robes, smile for the court… while knowing the marriage itself is not real.”

Zuko nods once again.

“Yes.”

The mistress studies him for a long moment after that. Not with judgment anymore, but disbelief, as though she still could not decide whether the Fire Lord standing before her was foolish or painfully sincere.

“That is strangely noble of you, My Lord,” she says at last.

“Are you saying that so he will not feel guilty before giving you money?” Sokka interrupts suddenly.

The woman turns towards him with such a deadly glare that Sokka instantly raises both hands in surrender.

“What kind of woman are you searching for?” the mistress asks, ignoring him completely.

Zuko pauses. Truthfully, he had not thought that far ahead.

Mai had been the only woman truly present in his life before this. He had loved her once, in his own difficult way, but they had never understood one another fully. Half their conversations had ended in silence or frustration.

“Appearance does not matter,” Zuko says after a long pause. “I only need someone who will listen to me… and understand me.”

Sokka gasps loudly beside him, visibly emotional.

“Oh, Zuko,” he says dramatically while clutching his chest. “But I am right here.”

He throws himself forward for an embrace, only for Zuko to plant an annoyed palm directly against his face before he can get close.

The mistress watches the two silently before shaking her head with faint amusement and a hint of doubt. Rising from her chair, she gestures towards the narrow hallway deeper within the building.

“My Lord, I will bring you our finest women,” she says calmly, not fully believing he actually means his words, “come with me.”

Before Zuko can protest, a dull thud echoes somewhere in the back of the establishment.

All three of them immediately turn towards the noise only to realize nothing was there.

“Are there… you know, ghosts here?” Sokka asks under his breath while nervously scanning the shadows around them.

“None that I know of. Only rats,” the mistress replies dismissively. “They are always finding their way inside. Ignore it.”

Zuko gives a small nod before stepping past Sokka and following after the woman. The wooden floor creaks beneath his boots as he steps towards the hallway.

“Wait here,” he tells Sokka over his shoulder just before vanishing around the corner.

“Are you leaving me alone in here with rats? The possible Ghosts!?” Sokka asks scared, while looking around, but Zuko is long gone.

***

The room she brought him into was dimly lit by dozens of candles, their warm glow dancing against the deep red walls and golden details carved into the architecture. Expensive silks draped elegantly from the ceiling, and the scent of incense lingered faintly in the air. Every part of the room spoke of luxury and exclusivity.

This was clearly reserved for the wealthiest clients.

Or, perhaps, for the Fire Lord himself.

Yet despite the comfort surrounding him, Zuko felt restless.

His fingers tapped quietly against the arm of the cushioned seat beneath him before stopping abruptly. He exhales slowly through his nose, shoulders tense.

He disliked this.

He disliked sitting here, waiting to choose a woman as if he was selecting fine jewelry from a merchant’s stall. He had clearly asked for someone easy to speak to, someone capable of understanding him, yet the mistress had looked at him with obvious disbelief the moment he claimed appearance did not matter.

She had agreed politely enough.

But Zuko was not foolish.

A woman like her, one who had spent years surrounded by men and their desires, clearly did not believe him. In her eyes, men always wanted beauty first. Everything else came after.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the sliding door opening softly behind him.

“Forgive my late arrival, My Lord.”

The voice was warm and gentle.

Zuko turns with a slight frown, only to see a woman around his age bowing respectfully near the doorway.

You were dressed in flowing white robes that hugged your figure, the silk expensive enough to shimmer beneath the candlelight. Red fire lilies had been embroidered along the hem of your sleeves and near the bottom of your robes, their crimson threads standing out against the fabric. Your hair had been pinned up carefully, with a flower pin, exposing the elegant line of your neck, while your nails were painted a dark shade of red.

Zuko studies you quietly for a moment.

By your appearance alone, he could already tell you were likely one of the women the mistress had proudly spoken of earlier.

“Did the mistress send you?” he asks at last.

“Yes, My Lord,” you reply before bowing once more.

Zuko sighs quietly and lowers his gaze.

His reaction does not escape your attention.

Silence settles briefly between the two of you, heavy yet strangely calm. Then you lift your eyes towards him carefully.

“Is something troubling you, My Lord?” you ask hesitantly, noticing the shift in his expression, as you make small steps towards him.

Zuko offers a faint smile, though it does not feel real.

“Everything is troubling me,” he admits with another tired sigh. “The council. My generals. My advisors. Everyone is constantly telling me what I should do.”

You remain quiet for a moment before speaking again.

“If I may ask…” your voice softens further, “what is it that you wish to do?”

The question makes him still completely.

Zuko’s lips press into a thin line as his gaze slowly lifts back on you, unreadable confusion flickering across his face.

What did he want?

The question felt so simple, ordinary.

And yet… he could not remember the last time anyone had asked him that. Or anything that is.

All his life had been spent serving others. First his father’s demands, then his nation’s expectations, then the burden of restoring balance after the war that his nation started. People had always decided his path for him long before he could even think to choose it himself.

Nobody had asked whether he wanted to become Fire Lord.

It had simply become necessary for peace — for the world.

Nobody had asked whether he was strong enough to carry the shame left behind by his father’s actions. Nobody had cared how deeply his mother’s disappearance wounded him, nor how much Azula’s madness haunted him still.

Even now, sitting in this place, he was not here because he desired marriage. He was here because of Iroh. Because every time he looked at his uncle, guilt coiled painfully tighter inside his chest.

If he refused this final wish…He knew he would regret it forever.

The realization leaves him staring at you silently, almost startled by the emotions rising inside him from such a small question.

“My Lord?” you ask gently once more.

Another pause follows.

Then finally—

“I…” Zuko exhales shakily. “I do not know.”

The confession comes quieter than he intended.

“I never really considered that what I want matters,” he continues after a moment. “People have always decided those things for me.”

The words leave him before he can stop himself.

You look at him differently after that. Not with fear, nor admiration reserved for royalty, but with something softer and somewhat understanding.

Carefully, you lower yourself onto the other seat beside him.

“If I may speak honestly, My Lord…”

Your voice wavers slightly.

“I think what you are doing is honorable. Choosing the happiness of others before your own is something very few people can truly do.”

Zuko’s eyes shift towards you again.

“I think,” you continue carefully, fingers tightening slightly against your robes, “that perhaps you have sacrificed so much for everyone around you that choosing something for yourself now feels selfish.”

Your gaze lowers briefly.

“But I do not believe it is.”

There is something painfully personal hidden beneath your words. As if you understood the feeling far too well yourself and you your words weren’t shallow.

Perhaps you, too, had spent your life placing the desires of others before your own. Perhaps that was how someone like you ended up in a place like this — serving, smiling, listening, while quietly abandoning every want of your own along the way.

Zuko simply stares at you. For once, he feels understood.

Not as the Fire Lord.

Not as Ozai’s son.

Just… understood.

The silence between you becomes strangely comforting.

Then suddenly—

The door slams open harshly.

“What are you doing here, you insolent girl?” the mistress’ sharp voice cuts through the room immediately.

Your body jerks violently at the sound. Startled, you quickly turn your head towards the entrance just as the older woman storms inside, fury written clearly across her face.

You instinctively get up and step back, but she reaches you quickly. The mistress grabs your arm harshly before beginning to pull you towards the exit.

Zuko moves before he can fully think.

He rises abruptly from the cushions, crossing the room in only a few steps before catching your wrist firmly.

The mistress turns to him in surprise.

“Wait.”

His voice comes sharper than expected. His fingers remain wrapped around your arm protectively.

“What are you doing, My Lord?” the old woman asks, confusion and disbelief mixing together. “You cannot possibly be interested in her,.”

She gestures towards you dismissively, making you look down.

“I summoned the finest women in this house. Women even nobles compete for. She is nowhere near what I prepared for you—”

“I do not care about those things,” Zuko interrupts firmly. “I already told you that.”

The mistress lets out a humorless laugh.

“My Lord, I know men,” she says while narrowing her eyes. “I have watched them all my life. I know how ruthless and insatiable they become.”

“You do not know me,” Zuko replies immediately.

The mistress tightens her grip around your arm before offering Zuko a strained smile. One clearly meant to remain polite despite the irritation hidden beneath it.

“You are simply overwhelmed,” she says carefully. “This girl only got in your head. Allow me to present the others I prepared instead.”

You lower your gaze immediately, remaining silent as her fingers pull more insistently at your arm.

Zuko’s hold loosens slightly.

Not because he truly wished to let go… but because uncertainty suddenly settled heavily inside his chest.

Perhaps the mistress was right.

He barely knew you.

You had only spoken for a few moments, yet somehow your words had reached places inside him most people never managed to touch.

The mistress begins leading you towards the doorway.

You stumble slightly before regaining your balance, the silk of your robes brushing softly against the wooden floor. Then, just before disappearing beyond the sliding doors, you turn your head towards him one final time.

Your eyes meet his.

The look on your face is calm, yet there is something quietly wounded hidden beneath it. Not surprise. Not anger.

Just… disappointment.

As though you had allowed yourself to hope for something, only for it to vanish moments later.

Something twists painfully inside Zuko’s chest. His lips part slightly, the urge to stop you rising suddenly in his throat, but the doors slide shut before he can say anything at all.

Silence settles around him again.

And for the first time since entering this place, Zuko feels as though he has made a mistake.

***

The room feels colder afterwards.

Or perhaps emptier.

Zuko sits stiffly against the cushions, one elbow resting against the carved arm of the chair while his fingers press absently against his temple. Candlelight flickers across the gold details decorating the walls, while soft music drifts faintly from somewhere deeper within the establishment.

Then the doors slide open once more.

The mistress enters first, followed by five women.

Each one was strikingly beautiful.

Their robes shimmered with expensive silk and fine embroidery, colors rich enough to rival royal garments. Gold jewelry rested elegantly against their necks and wrists, delicate chains glimmering beneath the candlelight. Their hair had been arranged carefully, adorned with jeweled pins and fragrant flowers, while subtle makeup highlighted their features perfectly.

Every movement they made appeared graceful and refined.

Exactly what someone would expect beside the Fire Lord.

The women spread themselves carefully throughout the room, some pouring tea while others smiled softly towards him. One begins turning slowly before him, allowing the silk layers of her robes to fan beautifully, showing her figure. Another kneels elegantly nearby, adjusting a golden bracelet against her wrist as though making certain he noticed it.

Zuko watches all of it in complete silence.

He should have been impressed.

Instead, he only feels tired.

At one point, his gaze drifts absentmindedly towards the doorway where you had disappeared earlier. Without meaning to, he begins comparing them to you.

The realization unsettles him immediately as he finds himself comparing those women to you.

You had worn no heavy jewelry. No complicated hairstyle. No bright gemstones or elaborate perfumes. Your beauty alone was enough. Your robes had been exquisite yes, but simple compared to these women. And yet somehow… your presence lingered in his mind far more strongly than theirs.

One of the women settles beside him gracefully, offering him a sweet smile.

“Fire Lord Zuko,” she says softly, fingers brushing delicately along the sleeve of his robes. “These garments must be worth a fortune. The craftsmanship alone is extraordinary.”

Zuko glances down briefly at the dark fabric before giving a small nod.

“The royal tailors work very hard,” he replies politely.

“How many tailors serve within the palace?” she asks curiously. “I heard even the servants there wear finer silks than nobles from other nations.”

Before Zuko can answer properly, another woman speaks eagerly from across the room.

“The Fire Nation palace must be enormous,” she sighs dreamily. “I cannot even imagine living surrounded by such luxury every day.”

A third woman leans forward slightly.

“Do you truly possess treasure vaults beneath the palace?” she asks with visible interest. “I once heard the royal family keeps enough gold hidden away to feed entire kingdom.”

The women laugh softly among themselves.

Zuko forces a polite expression onto his face, though discomfort slowly tightens in his chest.

Every question sounded the same.

The palace. Wealth. Status. Luxury.

None of them looked at him as though he were simply a man sitting before them. Only the Fire Lord. Only the crown resting invisibly upon his head.

One woman begins speaking excitedly about royal ceremonies while another asks about banquets held within the palace halls.

Zuko barely hears any of it.

Instead, his thoughts drift unwillingly back towards you.

Back to the way your voice had shaken slightly while speaking to him.

Back to the understanding in your eyes.

Back to the simple question you had asked him.

What is it that you wish to do?

No one else here had asked him anything remotely close to that.

One of the women laughs softly beside him, touching his arm lightly to regain his attention.

“My Lord?”

Zuko blinks faintly, pulled from his thoughts.

For the first time that evening, he realizes he does not wish to remain in this room at all.

“Call the mistress,” Zuko says simply as he rises from the cushions.

The women pause immediately.

One lowers the cup she had been holding while another exchanges a confused glance with the others. The soft laughter filling the room dies almost instantly, leaving only the quiet crackling of candle flames behind.

Zuko remains standing near the center of the room, shoulders tense beneath his dark robes. His expression is unreadable once more, though exhaustion lingers clearly behind his eyes.

One of the women bows quickly before slipping outside to obey his command.

The silence afterwards feels unbearably long.

Zuko exhales quietly and turns his gaze towards the flickering candles lining the walls. He had tried. Spirits knew he truly tried to convince himself this was reasonable. Easier.

Yet every conversation left him feeling emptier than before.

His mind kept drifting back towards you no matter how hard he attempted to focus on the women standing before him now.

The mistress arrives only moments later.

The moment she steps inside, a pleased smile already rests upon her face. Her sharp eyes briefly sweep across the room, taking in the elegantly dressed women surrounding the Fire Lord. Clearly, she believed the evening had finally gone as expected.

That Zuko had simply needed time to remember what men truly desired.

And that he had long since forgotten about you.

But the smile falters almost immediately the moment her gaze lands properly on him.

Zuko looked neither entertained nor impressed.

He looked tired.

His face remained blank, though there was a heaviness lingering that caused the mistress’ confidence to slowly waver.

“My Lord?” she asks carefully now, the certainty from before no longer present in her voice.

“I would like to speak with the girl from earlier again.”

The room erupts in gasps and whispers from the women, while the mistress goes still. For a brief moment, genuine disbelief crosses her face.

“…her?” she repeats slowly.

“Yes.”

The answer comes immediately this time.

The mistress studies him carefully, as though still attempting to understand whether this was merely stubbornness or something else entirely.

“My Lord,” she says cautiously, “surely one of these women would suit your needs far better. They are accomplished, elegant, admired even among nobility—”

“I know.”

Zuko’s voice remains calm, but firmer now.

“They are all very beautiful.” His gaze briefly flickers towards the women gathered around the room before returning to the mistress. “But none of them have spoken to me as though I were a person.”

The words cause several uncomfortable glances to spread through the room.

The mistress narrows her eyes slightly.

“And that girl did?”

Zuko grows quiet for a moment.

His thoughts return unwillingly to the look in your eyes when you were dragged from the room. That small, wounded expression he could not seem to forget.

“…Yes,” he answers softly.

Something shifts in the mistress’ expression then.

Not agreement, but understanding.

The mistress remains silent for a long moment, her sharp gaze lingering carefully on Zuko’s face as though searching for hesitation. And she finds none.

Still, her lips press together slightly before she finally speaks again.

“My Lord… that girl is not exactly free to leave this establishment whenever she pleases.”

Zuko’s brows furrow faintly.

“What do you mean?”

The mistress folds her hands neatly before her robes.

“She owes this house a rather significant debt,” she explains carefully. “Food, clothing, training, accommodations… the amount spent over the years was not small.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “And unlike these women, she does not bring nearly enough profit to repay it quickly.”

His gaze lowers briefly towards the wooden floorboards.

Of course there was a reason.

Someone like you — quiet, thoughtful, strangely sincere — never truly belonged in a place like this. Yet perhaps belonging had never mattered. Perhaps you had simply never been given another choice.

Zuko slowly lifts his eyes again.

“Money will not be a problem,” he says calmly.

“My Lord…”

“I will repay whatever debt she owes,” Zuko continues. “In full.”

A quiet murmur spreads among the women still gathered around the room, though Zuko pays them no attention.

The mistress studies him carefully now, disbelief slowly replacing her earlier confidence.

“You would spend such an amount for a girl you spoke with only once?” she asks cautiously.

Zuko falls quiet.

Truthfully… he did not fully understand it himself.

Maybe it was because you had spoken to him without fear. Maybe because you didn’t see his wealth only, but his feelings too. Or maybe it was because, after years of being surrounded by demands and expectations, your words had felt painfully honest.

Whatever the reason was, he could not force himself to ignore it.

“Yes,” he answers at last.

The mistress exhales slowly, almost amused despite herself.

“You truly are a strange man, Fire Lord Zuko.”

He says nothing in return.

After another long pause, the mistress finally inclines her head slightly.

“…Very well.”

She turns towards the doorway before stopping once more.

“But before making such arrangements official,” she says carefully, “perhaps you should speak with her properly first.”

“That is exactly what I want,” Zuko replies immediately.

“I do not wish to force her into this,” he explains more quietly. “Bring her back. I would like to speak with her again… and ask whether she would even want to be part of my plan.”

Something unreadable flickers across the older woman’s face then, but she gives a slow nod.

“As you wish, My Lord.”

The mistress leaves the room soon after, the women following quietly behind her until Zuko is finally left alone once more.

Silence settles around him again, softer this time.

Zuko lowers himself back against the cushions slowly, his gaze drifting towards the flickering candlelight dancing against the walls.

Usually, he ignored what he wanted. Usually, he buried those feelings beneath duty, responsibility, and the endless expectations resting upon him.

But this time…

This time, he thinks he would rather listen to himself.