૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

“I know you're pretending to sleep.” Cole's finger taps against the wheel rhythmically. Scrunching your eyes shut, you clear your throat.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” He sighs, continuing the drive when the traffic light turns green. “You know we have to talk about it, right?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” You give up on the bad facade, shifting in your seat. Stupid seatbelt was making it more uncomfortable. 

“Look,” he risks a glance at you, turning his gaze back to the road. “It'll be fine. Lloyd, Zane, and Jay were already on a scouting mission anyway, so they'll be coming back to the city soon.” Pausing for a brief second, he allows another moment to pass.

After you overheard his phone call earlier, he'd tensed, sensing you behind him. Cole had hung up there and then without another word, the phone falling to his side. 

The walk back to the restaurant had been quiet, but once you entered the private room you'd forced yourself to act like everything was alright, joking around with your dad and drinking a tad bit more alcohol than necessary. 

It'd been awkward at first. Goosebumps were all over your arms and even the server had kindly offered a hot towel. You accepted it of course, because free stuff is always nice. 

Then your dad, Emily, and Cole watched in silent horror as you proceeded to tilt your head up to the ceiling, unwrap the towel, and drape it over your entire face like a low-budget version of Casper the Ghost.

It went on for ten painful minutes until you decided it was enough to help calm yourself. Dinner then concluded uneventfully, with Cole having asked your dad for permission to drive around with you first before dropping you off. He’d agreed without a second thought, and you only found out after following them to the carpark and being pointedly dragged off to Cole’s car. 

Either way, you avoided talking about what happened earlier, changing the subject anytime he’d tried to bring it up. Alas, you’d run out of conversation topics and also you were just crazy tired.

Cole exhales, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "Okay, we’ve avoided this long enough. What’s the plan?"

You blink at him, half-slumped against the car door. "Plan?"

"The part where we figure out why someone out there hates you enough to stab your picture and pin it to a wall like a sick warning," he says flatly. "Because I don’t think your ‘strategic avoidance’ is gonna cut it."

You scoff, turning your gaze to the passing streetlights. "As if I was avoiding anything. I seem to recall being incredibly composed even when we left.”

"More like terrified, actually," he corrects. "You wore your shoes on the wrong feet."

"It was on purpose."

Cole sighs, but you can hear the small huff of a laugh he’s trying to suppress. "Alright, Casper. Jokes aside, we need to talk. This picture? It wasn’t random. It was taken in Cloud Kingdom, where Lloyd, Zane, and Jay went to find out more information. Someone went through the effort of making sure we saw it. Which means–"

"They either want me to stay away," you finish, your voice quieter, "or they want to lure me there."

Cole nods, his eyes flicking toward you before refocusing on the road. "Exactly. And I don’t like either option."

It settles over you like a heavy cloak. It’s the first time he’s outright admitted how much this unnerved him. You could keep brushing it off, changing the subject like before. But there’s no more avoiding it now.

You let out a slow breath. "Fine,” you groan, “Let’s figure out who wants to kill me.”

— — — — — 

“I know why they want to kill you.”

You blink. Then, mustering all your willpower and patience, you set your palms on the table with a level stare. “Tell me Jay,” you say dryly, “why do they want to kill me?”

“Easy. You pissed them off or something.” 

Cole sighs beside you, rubbing his temples. “Jay. We’re trying to be serious here.”

“I am serious,” Jay protests, leaning into the camera. “Annoying people into irrational decisions is an art form, and she’s–” He gestures vaguely at you. “Like, really good at it.”

“Wow.” You pause for a moment. Oddly enough, you’re a hundred percent sure he meant that as a compliment. “Thanks.”

Lloyd’s face appears in the frame, looking far more exhausted than usual. “Can we focus, please? This isn’t just some random threat. Whoever left that picture knew exactly what they were doing.” He taps something off-screen, and a second later, a grainy image of the stabbed photo pops up on the monitor. “This was found in the library when we went to ask about the scrolls.”

Zane, ever composed, tilts his head slightly. “The question is whether this is a warning… or an invitation.”

Silence settles over the room. You hate how that makes sense. Kai breaks it with a snort. “Not a party I’d want to be invited to.”

Cole folds his arms, his jaw tight. “We need to find out who left it.”

Pixel swipes right on the screen, pulling up an email. “I looked into what you mentioned yesterday, Cole. There really was a dig site discovered recently by Percy Shippleton. After reaching out to him, I found out it was a temple dedicated to the First Spinjitzu Master, and it specifically referenced the Fountain of Youth. That lines up with what Emily told you.

“What’s strange is that there’s no record of it in any of Master Wu’s documents. It’s as if it was completely erased from history.”

“Seems that Emily’s alibi is lined up with the facts.” Lloyd muses thoughtfully. “We’re still a few hours away from the city. Here’s the plan: you’re going to visit the dig site and find out whatever you can. We’ve also found the locations of the other two scrolls, but it’s dangerous to share it over video call. We’ll tell you when we’re back.” 

Jay crosses his arms. “Alright, so you guys get to play Indiana Jones while we’re stuck in traffic. Sounds fair.”

“You’re on a flying ship. There is no traffic,” Zane points out.

“Exactly! You know how long it takes for Lloyd to land this thing?”

Lloyd ignores him. “We’ll check in once we touch down. Keep us updated.” The screen flickers off, leaving the room in silence.

Cole exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll head there first thing in the morning.”

You tilt your head. “We.”

“No. Me.” His tone is final. “It could be dangerous.”

You scoff. “Cole, someone literally left a death threat with my face on it. Not only do I have a right to be there, but I also refuse to sit around waiting for updates like some damsel.”

“You’re not–” He stops himself, exhaling sharply. “Look, I get it. But if something goes wrong–”

“If you don’t bring me along, I will literally follow you in a cab,” you interrupt, crossing your arms. “I’ll even ask Emily to drive me there.”

His eye twitches. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“You wouldn’t.”

— — — — — 

“I told you I would.”

Cole hangs his head in defeat. Kai just cackles. You grin widely at them both before glancing toward a nearby tent, where Emily is chatting animatedly with Percy. She’d introduced you to the archaeologist earlier, making sure to mention that you were her stepdaughter. You’d shoved down every ounce of disgust, doing your best to be a decent enough person.

Luckily, it’d paid off. Percy had been more than happy to offer you an all-access pass, which you now wave cockily in front of your soulmate. “And here I thought you knew better than to underestimate me.”

Cole exhales sharply through his nose. “Just... stay close, and don’t wander off, okay?”

You blink at him before tilting your head. “I think you’ve got this backward. I’m the one with the all-access pass. So, in retrospect, you should be sticking close to me.” You shoot him a smug grin. “And don’t wander off, okay?”

Kai, thoroughly enjoying himself, lets out another cackle. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his expression a mix of pure amusement and secondhand pain.

Cole grits his teeth before sighing in resignation.

“Great!” You chirp, spinning on your heel and striding toward the entrance. “Follow me!”

The temple itself is rather small compared to the others that Master Wu had shown you, pictures compiled in a handmade scrapbook which you personally found adorable. You’d been handed masks before going in, a gesture which now makes sense when the ceiling sheds thin clouds of dust in uneven bursts, drifting like ghosts through the dim light.

At the heart of the temple stands a statue of a figure you can only assume is the First Spinjitzu Master. He looms over an empty fountain, its dry basin cracked with time. The stone rim is adorned with intricate hieroglyphs, their meaning lost to all but skilled scholars, whispering of a past far older than you could ever imagine.

One wall is dedicated to what looks like drawings of weapons, both Kai and Cole pausing in front of it. You spot hints of fondness in their gazes, eyes fixed on the scythe, sword, nunchucks, and shurikens. The air quickly becomes somber, and you decide to ask them about it later.

But it’s the wall encircling the fountain that truly catches your breath. Sprawled across its surface is a mural, its artistry fierce and chaotic. Armies of every race in Ninjago. Humans, serpentine, stone warriors, and more, clash in a furious battle, their weapons raised against one another. At the center of it all, the fountain sits untouched, a beacon in the storm of war. The desperation is clear in the etched expressions, the way some figures trample over the fallen in their rush toward the prize. The very stone seems to hum with their longing.

A shiver crawls down your spine. You didn’t need brainpower to understand that this wasn’t just a temple. It was a battleground.

“So this is Lloyd’s grandpa.” 

“Yeah, great-grandpa to be exact. You get used to it after a while,” Kai says with a shrug, approaching the fountain with interest. “I’m assuming this isn’t the actual fountain?”

“I don’t think so.” Cole agrees, running a gloved hand over the hieroglyphs. He pulls out his phone, snapping photos of the entire area. “I’m sending these over to Pixel for deciphering.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so.” 

Kai stiffens, hand pausing mid-air over the fountain’s dry basin. Cole’s grip tightens around his phone, his head snapping toward the voice. You don’t even bother to turn, immediately recognising its owner.

Emily steps forward, a wry smile tugging at her lips as she tilts her head at Cole. “You could send those to Pixel,” she muses, “but you’d be wasting your time. I can translate them for you.”

You exhale sharply, not bothering to mask your irritation. “Oh, great.”

Ignoring you, she strides further into the chamber, her gaze sweeping over the hieroglyphs with a glint of interest. Behind her, Percy follows with barely restrained enthusiasm, his eyes practically sparkling. “Ah, this is perfect! We didn’t get to finish this the other day,” he says, clasping his hands together. “Emily, if you wouldn’t mind–”

She hums in agreement, already tracing the carvings with her fingertips. “Not at all.”

Kai eyes her warily before glancing at you. “Sooo, am I the only one wondering why she knows how to read ancient hieroglyphs?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Don’t get her started.”

Emily practically beams. “Oh you see, I majored in Mechanical Engineering at University but I took up an apprenticeship at the museum where I met Professor Jones who taught me everything about archeology. I got to tag along to some of her discoveries, and then when I completed my degree I spent a year or two out in the field before taking up another degree in BioMedical Science.” 

“You just had to ask.” Kai grimaces in apology. 

She leans down, tilting her head to study the glyphs. “That’s interesting.” 

“What is?” Percy asks eagerly, a pen and notepad already in his hands. 

Her hands hesitate, tracing the outline. “I-I’m not sure, but I think it’s a prophecy.” 

What was once apart must come together,

Four paths converge, bound by fate’s tether.

Torn through time, yet always entwined,

The fountain waits, by hearts confined.

One will seek, yet many will fall,

And only the worthy will stand through it all.

“Not again…” Kai covers his face with his hands. “I hate these things.” 

“Real,” Cole agrees, moving to examine them more closely. “I can’t even begin to count the number of times we’ve received some form of prophecy. Thank goodness Jay isn’t here, otherwise he’d launch into the whole spiel again.”

“Either way, it doesn’t bode well for anyone,” Emily adds, dusting off her gloves as she strides over to Percy. He hands her the notepad, and she jots down a few more notes. “But who knows? It could just be a prank. You’d be surprised how many archaeological sites have ominous prophecies filled with death and glory. Turns out most of them were written by people who were essentially court jesters at the time.”

“Right,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably. The words don’t settle well in your gut. “Court jester.”

You absentmindedly reach out, hoping for the familiar warmth that usually anchors you, but your hand slips into Kai’s instead. He gives you an odd look, but accepts it, patting your shoulder lightly before taking your hand in his, gripping it in a brotherly fashion.

“You know what’s really strange, though?” Emily continues, her eyes glinting with intrigue. “Not long ago, another old temple was discovered, and there was yet another prophecy about soulmates. The weird part is that the way we find our soulmates now wasn’t always how it was done. There used to be a whole different method.”

“I see.” Cole smoothly interjects, subtly motioning for the group to leave. “Sounds fascinating, Emily. But right now, we actually have another appointment. And today’s your lesson with Master Wu, isn’t it?” His pointed look lands on you.

It takes a moment for you to process what he’s hinting at. “Oh, right. Of course,” you murmur, nodding. “I gotta kick butt and take names.”

Kai just sighs.

“I’ll catch you later!” Emily chirps before diving back into another conversation with Percy.

As soon as you slump into the passenger seat of Cole’s car, Kai loses it. His hands are flying, his face red with frustration as he lets out a string of profanity, completely thrown off. “This was supposed to be straightforward! We find the thief, catch them, then go home to dinner! Maybe even have one of Zane’s signature turkeys!”

“But it’s not Thanksgiving yet,” you murmur, pressing your lips together when Kai slowly turns his head in your direction.

“That’s what you care about right now???” 

“Calm down, Kai,” Cole says, his voice cutting through the tension. You slump further into the seat, eyes absently tracing the dirt stain on the window. “We’ll head home, brief Lloyd and the others, then we’ll get to the bottom of this.” His voice is grim, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

You stare blankly out the window, the pieces beginning to form in your mind. The thief had stolen the first scroll, but hadn’t gone after the others? Why?

Everything you've learned today points to a thief desperate for the Fountain of Youth, surely for some evil purpose. From the many strategy meetings and the bits of intel Cole had shared, you knew one scroll was hidden in the Cloud Kingdom, and another was buried somewhere in the dark side of Ninjago.

And then it clicks.

The thief didn’t know about the other scrolls. They were at the Sky Kingdom, because they were looking for the location of the others. That’s why they’d left that picture of you with a knife through it, stuck to one of the bookshelves. It was a threat. Not just to you, but to anyone who could stand in their way.

You feel a wave of nausea wash over you as the sickening realization sinks in. “They’re going to find the rest, aren’t they? The picture of me was a warning. They somehow know that we’re soulmates. It’s the only explanation, isn’t it?”

“Oh yippee,” Kai adds dryly. “Hate to be the one to break it to you guys but it’s like, crazy obvious to anyone with somewhat decent vision. Even our postman asked about you guys.” 

Before you can snap back, Cole’s phone beeps. The display above the car’s console flashes with a notification from Zane. Cole presses on it, and you open the message.

“Foie gras? More like fuck yeah.”

You barely hold back a snort as you pass a table of finely dressed patrons, their laughter chiming like the delicate crystal glasses they toast with. The restaurant practically oozes luxury. Soft golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over polished mahogany tables, with tall candlesticks flickering atop pristine white tablecloths. There’s a subtle Japanese influence woven into the elegance, from the delicate ink paintings adorning the walls to the serene arrangement of bonsai trees near the entrance.

After picking up your dad’s birthday cake, you had killed some time at a café before making your way here for the dinner Emily had arranged weeks in advance. Apparently, being a famous author has its perks.

Cole moves with ease, utterly unfazed by the people surrounding him. Meanwhile, you can practically feel every scrutinizing glance sweeping over you. Your outfit. Your posture. Your entire existence. 

Confidence? Never heard of her.

Your stomach tightens at the unspoken question lingering in their stares, darting between you and Cole with barely reined in curiosity. You don’t even have to look to know that some of these people recognize him, whispered conversations teetering on the edge of gossip. Your mind briefly flashes to the inevitable newspaper articles, only to recall his reassurance that Cyrus Borg was keeping the news at bay.

A sliver of respect inches into your gut at how unnerved he seems. To be fair, fighting for the safety of Ninjago itself tends to bear more weight than snide gossip. Still, the feeling lingers, making your steps feel just a bit more awkward as the hostess leads you further inside.

At last, she stops in front of a private room and slides open the door with practiced grace. The transition from the bustling main dining area to the quiet intimacy of the room is almost jarring. The soft glow of paper lanterns casts long shadows over the tatami flooring, and a low wooden table sits in the center, set with lacquered trays and delicate ceramic dishes.

Cole waits for you to slip off your shoes first, stepping onto the mat in just your socks. In the corner of your eyes, the hostess pauses, her gaze flitting down momentarily.

Right. The candy cane socks.

You force yourself not to react, but inwardly, you sigh. Plain socks from now on. Noted.

Emily and your dad are already sitting down opposite each other, a bottle of sake already half-emptied. Neither of you are big drinkers, but somehow, your dad was blessed with the genetics of zero hangovers. A trait that, fortunately, he passed down to you.

The sound of your footsteps draws his attention, and he looks up with a big smile. “You’re here!” He greets enthusiastically, patting the spot next to him. “I already ordered some food for us.” 

The way Cole straightens ever so slightly, inhaling as if bracing himself, almost makes you smile, but you press your lips together and drop into the seat next to your dad. There's another open spot beside you, but Cole, sensing the silent don't even think about it radiating from your dad, moves to slide into the seat directly across from you instead.

Your dad hums, clearly pleased, and reaches for one of the sake cups. “So.” He sets it down in front of Cole with casual deliberation, then leans back. “You’re my daughter’s soulmate.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Immediately tugging at his sleeve, you give him the sharpest glare you can muster. “Stop it.”

Your dad blinks at you, all wide-eyed innocence. “Stop what?”

“This. You’re doing something.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are. It’s called killing your daughter’s dignity.”

At this, he snorts and takes a sip of sake before leveling you with an unimpressed look. “What dignity?”

Your mouth opens. Then, it closes.

You stare at him in sheer betrayal, utterly speechless at how intent he is on dragging you.

Across the table, Cole shifts just enough for your eyes to meet, his silent plea for help practically screaming do something.

You shrug helplessly.

Sorry bud. I tried.

Cole visibly withers.

Emily, meanwhile, is sipping her diet coke like this is the most entertaining show she’s seen all week.

Your dad clears his throat, finally relenting, though the glint in his eyes tells you he's far from done. “Alright then, tell me. How’d you two meet?”

Cole stiffens, then, without hesitation, reaches for the sake bottle. He smoothly refills your dad’s cup before pouring one for himself, clearing his throat as he sets the bottle down. “She, uh… saved me.”

Your dad raises an eyebrow. “Saved you?”

“From a horde of fans.”

You swear you see your dad’s lips twitch. He looks from Cole to you, skepticism creeping into his expression.

Cole catches on immediately. His spine straightens, and he shakes his head, hands raised slightly in alarm. “I mean, not like that! Nothing’s ever happened between me and anyone else, ever.”

Your dad takes a slow sip of sake, watching Cole as if deciding whether or not to kick him out of the room. Dropping your head into your hands, it takes all the remaining willpower left in your body to not slam your head against the table. 

Your stomach churns. 

This is a disaster. 

You’ve been in nerve-wracking situations before, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the unique horror of watching your dad size up your soulmate like he’s deciding whether to drown him in soy sauce.

You drop your head into your hands, pressing your fingers into your temples as if sheer willpower alone can make this night go faster.

He’s doing this on purpose.

Desperate for an out, you spot a menu and snatch it up with all the sanity of an asylum patient. Thumbing through the pages, you try to focus on the blurry words and not on the intense heat that’s slowly but surely spreading through your face.

Your dad, of course, is unfazed.

“So,” he says, swirling his sake. “What’s it been like for you? I’m sure it wasn’t easy with my daughter.”

You tense.

Cole hesitates. “Uh–”

“I was actually thinking we should order,” you interject, voice an octave higher than usual. “Dad, do you think they have–” Your eyes dart across the menu. “Grilled octopus?”

He ignores you entirely. “I just mean, it must’ve been an adjustment, right? She’s never been one to romanticize the whole soulmate thing. Pretty closed off about it, actually.” He raises a brow at Cole. “That ever been an issue?”

The menu snaps shut with a thwack. “So we are getting grilled octopus.”

Cole, looking like a deer caught in headlights, gives an awkward chuckle. “I mean… yeah, it was a bit of a shock. She, uh, wasn’t exactly thrilled at first.” He glances at you for backup.

You stare back, wide-eyed and helpless white trying to subtly shake your head. Do NOT answer that.

He clears his throat. “But, uh, we’re figuring things out.”

Of course he fucking answered it–

Your dad hums, unconvinced. Then, casually, like he’s discussing the weather, he asks, “So, what do you make? Income-wise?”

The menu slams back onto the table with enough force to shake the teacups. “Dad.”

“What?” he asks, all innocence. “I just want to make sure you have a stable life.”

Your fingers dig into the menu’s edges. “Why? So I won’t end up like you and Mom?”

Silence.

It hits the table like a brick, the air suddenly heavy. Your dad’s easygoing expression falters, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Emily, who had been quietly observing, glances between the two of you but says nothing.

Your eyes are fixed on the empty teacup in front of you, grabbing the sake from where it sits and pouring yourself a cup before downing it in one shot. The burn is wonderful, a nice distraction from the words you’ve just uttered that’ve set off a round of landmines at the table. 

Regret blooms in your gut when you spot the expression on your father’s face. Guilt, sadness, and mild frustration all swirl in a mix of emotions in his eyes. It’s subtle; the way his grip tightens on his cup. 

Cole clears his throat, shifting in his seat. In a clear attempt to redirect the conversation, he says, “Uh, well — Master Wu always taught us that we shouldn’t get paid to help people. But sometimes we take on ad hoc jobs, and people send donations.” He straightens slightly. “I invest most of it though, so I’m actually pretty financially secure.”

Your dad finally blinks, tilting his head. “Huh. So you’re smart with your money.”

Cole nods. “I try to be. Considering the amount of coffee she drinks, I have to be able to afford it, right?” 

The atmosphere lightens at the sudden jab, and you narrow your eyes at him. “Really Brookstone? We’re gonna talk about my spending habits?”

Cole winces, exchanging a cheeky glance with your dad who grins widely. “Oh, you’re in trouble now,” he warns. 

Just as you open your mouth to retaliate, the sliding door shifts open, and the first round of dishes arrives. The smell of freshly grilled fish and steaming rice temporarily distracts you, and you sit back as the server gracefully places the dishes in the center of the table. A delicate plate of sashimi, a bowl of miso soup, and a platter of karaage with a side of dipping sauce join the spread.

Your dad picks up his chopsticks with ease, nodding in approval. “Not bad. You get a lot of good food traveling around, Cole?”

Cole, who had just reached for a piece of karaage, pauses slightly at the question before shrugging. “Depends. A lot of the time, we’re eating on the go, so quick stuff that’s easy to pack is our usual. But when we do get the chance to sit down, we try to enjoy it.” He glances at you. “I mean, I know someone who would riot if she didn’t get a proper meal.”

You resist the urge to kick him under the table. “Excuse me for having standards.”

Your dad hums in amusement. “Must be a lot of work though, being the Earth Ninja. And now, with my daughter involved…” His gaze sharpens slightly, though there’s no outright hostility. 

Cole meets his eyes without flinching. “It is a lot of work,” he admits. “But keeping her safe is a priority.”

Your chopsticks falter slightly. You knew, of course, that Cole was obligated to keep you out of harm’s way, but hearing him say it so plainly even as a simple statement makes something tighten in your chest.

Your dad doesn’t look entirely convinced. “And how do you plan on doing that when the world finds out?”

There’s a pause before Cole speaks again, slower this time. “Cyrus Borg has been helping us keep things under wraps for now. We’ll go public when she’s ready.”

You blink, caught off guard at the sudden reveal. A twinge of appreciation creeps into your chest before you can shove it down.

Your dad leans back, considering. “Borg, huh? Guess you’ve got some decent allies.” He glances at you, as if to gauge your reaction. “And you? What do you think about all this?”

You pick at a grain of rice with your chopsticks, reluctant to answer too quickly. 

Emily, who has been surprisingly quiet this whole time, finally chimes in. “I, for one, think it’s pretty funny that this has thrown her off so much,” she muses. “Usually, she’s the one keeping people on their toes.”

You shoot her a look, but she only smirks behind her cup.

Cole snickers. “Yeah, that’s true.”

Traitor.

“That’s not the point,” you speak up with a roll of your eyes. “You asked me to bring him along to get to know each other better, and I’m pretty sure I’ve accomplished that.”

“True,” your dad muses as he chews on a piece of sashimi. “Shouldn’t have taken you so long, though.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You wave dismissively, placing a piece of the karaage on Cole’s plate before reaching for a slice of salmon. “If you’re done interrogating him, can we please focus on the food before I eat it all?”

“See? This is what I deal with.” Your dad gestures to you, sharing a laugh with Cole. His mischievous smile only makes you narrow your eyes into a glare. “I don’t know how you wound up with her, but you deserve much better.”

“That’s just offensive,” you grumble, snatching another slice of salmon off your dad’s plate. “I’m supposed to be too good for him, isn’t that how this goes?”

“I’m sorry, have you saved Ninjago yet?” He replies sassily, taking away the salmon you’ve just snatched and placing it onto Cole’s plate instead. 

You just sigh.

“Speaking of saving Ninjago,” Emily puts her chopsticks down, turning to face Cole. “I’m writing a new book based on one of Ninjago’s oldest legends. As someone who’s encountered lots of myths, I’d love to hear your opinion on it.”

“Sure,” he says lightheartedly, “hit me with it.”

“It’s based on the Ninjago legend of the Four Scrolls.”

Okay… you blink, exchanging a look with Cole. Must be a coincidence.

His expression is calm, but you don’t miss the way he subtly straightens, exchanging another glance with you. You press your lips together, feigning nonchalance as you turn back to Emily.

“Didn’t take you for the history buff type,” you remark.

Emily lifts a brow. “Just because we don’t get along doesn’t mean I have bad taste in stories.” She leans forward, eyes glinting with satisfaction now that she has everyone’s attention. “The legend dates back to the time of the First Spinjitzu Master. It’s said that he discovered something…Something powerful enough to shake the foundation of all the realms.”

The table quiets. Even your dad, who’d been busy stacking wasabi onto his sushi like an absolute menace, pauses mid-bite.

Emily continues, voice lowering just slightly, as if the very act of speaking the words demands absolute silence.

“They call it the Fountain of Youth.” She lets the name hang in the air for a beat before continuing. “A wellspring of endless vitality, hidden deep within the world, untouched by time. But when word of its existence spread, it led to chaos. A war unlike any other, fought not for land or wealth, but for immortality itself. Every species — serpentine, humans, even the spirits — wanted it for themselves.”

Your grip tightens around your chopsticks. The theft of the first Scroll hadn’t even been made public yet, and everything Pixel had briefed you on was missing one crucial piece: the purpose of the Scrolls.

Emily’s research was probably full of embellishments, but if there was one thing you knew, it was how obsessively thorough she was. She met with experts, dissected myths, and hunted down obscure details, all for the sake of accuracy in her books.

So how, of all people, did she manage to unearth this legend in such detail?

“But the First Spinjitzu Master knew what power like that could do,” Emily goes on. “So instead of using it, he hid it. Sealed it away where no one could find it. And to ensure it would never fall into the wrong hands, he created a map… but divided it into four.”

“The Four Scrolls,” Cole murmurs.

Emily nods. “The Scroll of Fate, the Scroll of Destiny, the Scroll of Desire, and the Scroll of Dreams. Each one contains a fragment of the map, but only when the first three are brought together does the fourth reveal itself.”

“The Scroll of Dreams?” You echo, leaning back as your brows furrow. “I thought its name was lost.” 

Emily shrugs nonchalantly. “I met with an archaeologist the other day. She uncovered an old dig site with hieroglyphs on the wall. I was called in to consult because I studied under Professor Jones.” She pauses for a beat, noticing the surprise in both yours and Cole’s expressions. “Why? You two look like I just cast a curse.”

“I…I need to make a call.” Cole stumbles to his feet. Your eyes meet briefly, a sinking feeling in your stomach as he hurriedly exits the room. 

“I’m…gonna go take a shit.” 

Your dad blinks. “Sure, honey. Let me know if you need medicine or something.” 

As you step out of the room, you catch sight of Cole slipping through the side door. You follow him into the dimly lit car park, the cool air biting at your skin. “...yeah, that’s what we just found out. I’m not sure how reliable it is, but we should still look into it. Just in case.”

You wait, leaning against the wall, eyes trained on him as he speaks into his phone. The quiet hum of the night air fills the space between you, but something shifts when you catch the mention of your name.

Without him noticing, you stay silent, your heartbeat a little louder now, a mix of hesitation and curiosity gripping you. It’s far easier to remain in the shadows, letting him speak freely, than to interrupt him.

Then you hear it.

“...Zane and Lloyd found what?” His voice drops, the tension in his stance tightening like a wire about to snap. He rakes a hand through his hair, his words turning sharp, brittle. “I don’t understand. Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

You take a hesitant step forward, instinctively reaching to tap his shoulder. But before you can, his next words slice through the air like a blade.

A breath. A pause. A silence so heavy it feels like a single moment would shatter it.

Cole’s long-suffering sigh nearly makes you burst out laughing. “I’ll buy you a drink if you promise never to call me that again.” 

You bid Abby a hasty wave goodbye, watching her slump back down in disappointment over not getting any juicy details. “Depends on how expensive it is.”

“You do realise that I don’t get paid for my heroism.”

You wince. “That’s so true. You guys should really talk to the mayor about that.”

“Right?” His voice picks up, clearly hitting a sore spot. “I mean, I already feel bad enough living off Cyrus’s goodwill, especially with all of us there.”

Sandwiching your phone between your ear and shoulder, you adjust the bag on your arm and hum in agreement as he continues. “Plus, I don’t know. Master Wu’s insistent on us doing everything for free, but I think the renovation costs might’ve made him reconsider taking on a few private requests.”

“What kind of requests?” You unintentionally tune him out as you exit the university grounds to look for him. Standing on your tiptoes, you scan the crowd. Nothing. You frown, craning your neck in hopes of spotting that familiar mop of black hair. “Where are you?” you mutter, your voice slipping into irritation.

“What was that?”

“I said–”

A firm tap on your shoulder cuts you off. Startled, you spin around and instinctively lash out, your fist connecting with someone’s side.

“Oof!” A pained grunt follows as Cole doubles over, clutching his ribs. Despite his wheezing, he still manages a crooked grin. “Is this how you treat your boyfriend now? Should I be worried?”

“Oh my god!” Your hands fly to your mouth, eyes wide with horror. “I am so sorry! You can’t sneak up on people like that!”

Straightening up, Cole gives you a mock-wounded look, still rubbing his side. “Noted. Next time I’ll announce myself with a trumpet.”

“Good,” you reply, crossing your arms but quickly softening. “You’re okay, though, right?”

“Define ‘okay,’” he teases, but his attention shifts as his gaze flicks over you. His brows furrow. “Uh… are we matching right now?”

You blink, glancing down at your outfit — a brown dress paired with a white bag — before looking back at him. He’s wearing a white shirt and long brown khakis.

It hits you both at the same time.

“No.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

You gape at each other in shared offence.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, shaking your head.

Cole narrows his eyes, gesturing between you. “Who’s copying who here?”

“Obviously you copied me,” you reply, placing a hand on your hip.

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Sure, because I definitely planned to match my soulmate’s outfit for a date in public.”

“It’s not a date!” you hiss, glancing around as a few bystanders glance your way with interest.

Cole raises a brow, an all-too-amused smirk spreading across his face. “Oh, so you do admit I’m your soulmate? As in, accepted it?”

You groan, punching his arm lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he says, stepping aside to take your bag. “But at least I’m fashionable.”

“Don’t push it, Brookstone,” you warn, stepping past him. He simply shrugs, an easy grin on his lips when you hand him your bag without a second thought. He slings it onto his shoulder, starting to walk with you. 

“So, where’re we headed?” 

“I’ve got a lesson with Master Wu today, remember?” 

“‘Course I remember,” he huffs with a wounded tone, placing a hand on his heart. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Okay,” you say, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and turning to face Cole. Your tone is calm, but there’s a certain edge to it that makes him pause. “If you’re going to keep up this boyfriend act, then you better be prepared for the consequences.”

Cole raises a brow, clearly amused. “Consequences? Like what? You making me carry your bag for the rest of my life?”

“Worse,” you reply with a smirk, resuming your pace. He follows, though the grin falters ever so slightly. Good. Let him wonder. Let him wonder and forget till the day you fill his entire room with tiny rubber dildos, enough to make an army.

You’re just about to elaborate with another (hopefully) ominous sentence when a familiar voice calls out your name from afar.

You turn to see Holly heading your way, her usual bright energy radiating even from a distance. Next to her is a boy you don’t recognise at first, but when he comes into view you realise he’s the brother you met the other day. 

“Hey,” you greet, waving as they approach. Cole glances at you questioningly but stays quiet.

Holly’s eyes flick to Cole, curious. “Who’s your friend? Is he…?”

You spot the perfect opportunity and take it, turning to Cole with a sickly sweet smile. “Oh, where are my manners?” Taking a step closer, you thread your arm through his. “This is Cole.” You bat your lashes for effect. “My boyfriend.”

The words that leave your mouth feel like poison, and you immediately feel like you’ve taken a nosedive straight into the fiery depths of hell. In your peripheral, you can feel Cole glance at you, his smirk widening.

Bastard.

Holly’s jaw drops. Her brother rolls his eyes at her reaction, crossing his arms. You recall his name starting with an L, trying to scrounge up his name from the tangled ball of yarn you call a memory when he suddenly speaks. 

“Calm down,” he says casually, shrugging like he’s commenting on the weather. “They’re probably just soulmates. You don’t have to make such a big deal out of it.”

Holly scowls, swatting at the hand he’s using to poke her arm. “I know that, Leo. I was just surprised to see her, that’s all.”

The sudden mention of it makes you flinch. Fake dating or not, the fact that the truth is out there in its purest form of the word soulmates is enough to trigger the nerves in your chest. After spending so long denying it, you’re suddenly supposed to accept it?

Leo notices your reaction and shrugs again, unbothered. “Holly told me about you not finding your soulmate. Till now, I guess.” His gaze darts to Cole, “Honestly, it’s not everything people make it out to be. Besides, the whole thing is overrated anyway.”

The ease in his tone catches you completely off guard. For a moment, you forget Cole’s smirk or Holly’s wide eyes. Your lips twitch upward into a small, genuine smile. “You’re not wrong,” you admit softly, meeting his gaze.

Leo’s grin widens ever so slightly. “Glad someone gets it.”

Cole, apparently done being ignored, steps forward and extends his hand. “Cole,” he says, flashing a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Leo takes his hand, shaking it firmly. “Leo. I’m this dumbass’s brother,” he elaborates, gesturing to Holly who looks ready to shove his head into the wall. You wish you could do the same to your fake boyfriend.

Your gaze flickers to their hands, catching the subtle shift in Leo’s expression; a raised brow, the slightest tilt of his head. It’s quick, almost imperceptible, but you see it. Intrigue.

The handshake ends, and Leo steps back, his expression slipping back into its usual nonchalance. Holly doesn’t seem to notice anything as she starts talking to Cole about something you barely register.

“Oh, wait,” you say, digging into your bag. “Do you have Instagram? I should follow you.”

Leo nods, pulling out his phone as you exchange handles. Just as you confirm the follow, Cole’s voice cuts in, laced with over-the-top concern.

“Babe,” he says, the word so dripping with mock affection it’s almost painful. “You’re following another guy on Instagram? I’m starting to feel... jealous.”

You shoot him a side-eye glare that he ignores entirely, his grin widening. You can practically hear the smugness dripping off his words. Fighting the urge to shove him into the nearest wall, you plaster on an exaggerated grin. 

“Jealous?” Leo echoes, smirking slightly.

“Of course,” Cole replies, slinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling you closer till you’re all but squashed against his chest. His very broad, muscular chest. “My Snugglebug here doesn’t just hand out her Instagram to anyone, you know.”

Snugglebug. 

I’m going to kill him. Slowly. Painfully.

“Oh, but my love,” you say, voice sugary sweet as you lean into him, batting your eyelashes. “Don’t be jealous. You’re the only one for me.”

Cole’s smirk falters for a split second, and you know you’ve struck a nerve.

“Good,” he replies, recovering quickly. “Because I was thinking of getting us matching Instagram bios. Something like, ‘Forever & Always’.”

Holly bursts into laughter, while Leo watches with what you can only describe as amused bewilderment.

“Oh, that’s adorable,” you coo, patting his cheek. “But I was thinking something simpler. Like, ‘My Rock’.”

“Perfect,” Cole echoes, his voice dripping with mischief as he gently tilts your chin to face him. “I’ll change mine to ‘My Light’.”

Oh. Oh, he’s dead.

Holly clutches her stomach, still laughing, while Leo shakes his head. “You two are... something,” he mutters, his tone dripping with amusement.

You force a smile, plotting Cole’s imminent demise. “Aren’t we just?”

Cole squeezes your shoulder lightly. “The best couple, right?”

“Oh, come on,” Holly finally bursts out, half-laughing. “You two are insufferably cute.”

“Cute,” Leo echoes, though the shit-eating grin on his face makes you want to bury yourself six feet under and pray no one ever comes to your funeral. Scratch that, no funeral needed for your demise.

You step away from Cole, letting his arm drop, and shoot him a glare that promises retribution. He just grins back, smug as ever.

“Let’s go,” you mutter, grabbing your bag from him and stalking past Holly and Leo.

Behind you, you hear Cole chuckle softly. “Anything for you, Snugglebug.”

You don’t look back, but the intense heat in your cheeks are enough to tell you he’s won this round. 

It’s only after you board the bus after waiting for ten minutes, hike up the mountain stairs (you’d gotten used to it at this point), and stormed past a perplexed Zane to grab some water and chug it down that you finally deign Cole with a scathing glare after the agony of silence.

“What’s wrong Snugglebug?” The bastard’s as smug as ever, leaning against the counter with a knowing smile. He tilts his head innocently, though his eyes gleam with mischief. “Did you want to take it to the next level? Change our Facebook status to ‘Taken’, perhaps?”

If not for the fact that the glass you’re drinking out of being classified as monastery property, you would’ve hurled it at his head without hesitation. Instead, you take a deep breath, set the glass down with no more than a soft clink, and plaster the tiniest smile on your lips. 

“Cole?”

He’s wary now. You take a step toward him, the very picture of serenity when he suddenly takes a step back, slowly moving away to the other side of the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” You ask sweetly, watching him awkwardly smile back in response as his arm scrambles for something behind his back. “What’re you looking for, Cole?” 

“Nothing,” he says, though you pick up on the smallest of trembles in his voice. “Just… loving how relaxed and completely okay with everything you are. Have I ever told you that you’re the best out of all of us?”

“Not at all,” you hum, stepping closer and closer to him until he’s flattened himself to the refrigerator door, looking down at you hesitantly. “The best, you say?” 

“Mmhm.” He nods slowly, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Your lips twitch ever so slightly, lifting your hand up. His eyes widen, gaze fixated on your hand as it swings down toward him.

And lands on his shoulder in the form of a gentle pat. 

“Okay.” He watches you move away, heading to the sink to wash the empty glass. “I’m gonna go to Master Wu’s class now. You’re on bodyguard duty for the whole week, right?” 

You can sense how flustered he is when he mumbles out confirmation, turning around and watching him stiffen noticeably when your eyes meet his. “Sounds good!” You chirp, placing the rinsed glass onto the dishrack and leaving the kitchen without another word.

— — — — — — 

“Here’re the rubber... ducks you ordered.” 

Zane holds out a small, nondescript package. His tone is neutral, but the slightest tilt of his head gives away his curiosity.

It had been two days since the whole fake boyfriend debacle with Holly and Leo, with Cole behaving more quietly ever since you cornered him against the fridge. He’d laid low, keeping jokes to himself and bristling each time you sent an emotionless smile in his direction.

But this morning, he’d seemed back to his old self, slipping in snarky little comments about your relationship. 

Earth Ninja or not, you were thisclose to snapping the next time he referred to you as Babezilla in front of Kai.

But right now, you have more important things to focus on. Like the package in Zane’s hands.

“Thanks!” You say, grabbing the bag from him and clutching it to your chest like it’s some precious heirloom whilst grinning like an absolute madman.

Zane doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He just... stares. His eyes linger on the tightly wrapped block in your arms. You’re pretty sure if you poked him he’d teeter right before falling.

You can practically see the gears turning in his head, calculating every possible reason for your delivery. When his eyes narrow ever so slightly, you know you’re dangerously close to being interrogated.

You pat his shoulder, offering him your best reassuring smile. “Don’t ask.”

He blinks, his head tilting further. “But I wasn’t—”

“Don’t.”

Zane lets it go, though the way his brow furrows suggests this will remain an unsolved mystery he’ll revisit later.

Fat chance, my guy.

Clutching the bag tighter, you make your way toward Cole’s room. His music isn’t blasting through your head like it usually does when he’s nearby, a sure sign he’s out on patrol. Perfect.

As you reach his door, you take a deep breath, preparing for the task at hand. Operation Dildo Baggins was officially a go. You’d been sitting on this idea for a while with no official target, and now, with Cole’s recent antics (antics being the kindest possible way to describe the utter humiliation and embarrassment you’d been subject to with nicknames like Snugglebug, Babezilla, and worst of all…Babycakes), it felt like the perfect time to strike.

Slipping inside, you survey the space. His room is a mess, but it’s a mess you can oddly appreciate. Weights in one corner, a pile of laundry in another, and his bed unmade. The mattress practically has a Cole-shaped indent in it, while pillows lay haphazardly around.

You pull out the bag and unzip it, grinning at the contents. Tiny, brightly colored rubber dildos, all varying in size, shape, and shade. Some even had glitter. A stroke of genius, if you said so yourself.

Now, where to start?

You’re halfway through Operation Dildo Baggins when a sharp inhale makes you freeze. You slowly turn, expecting to be busted by Cole himself, when you see a wide-eyed Jay and Kai in the doorway.

Jay’s lips are parted, his gaze darting to the opened package on the floor, where its contents are spilling out, while Kai stands there with his arms crossed, one brow arched in silent amusement.

You glance from the sparkly pink palm-sized dildo in your hands to the two of them, trying to form a coherent explanation. 

“...It’s not what it looks like.”

Jay erupts into a fit of giggles, pressing himself against the open door while he chokes on a shaky inhale. Kai steps inside, admiring your handiwork. You relent. 

“Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like,” you relent, stepping down from the footstool you’re using to hide one of them above the closet. “It’s revenge. Or as I like to call it, Operation Dildo Baggins.”

Jay lets out an absolutely unhinged wheeze, sliding down the door frame as he laughs uncontrollably. “Dildo Baggins?” he chokes out between gasps. “That’s — oh my god — that’s genius.”

Kai strolls in, folding his arms as he surveys the chaos of tiny rubber dildos strewn across Cole’s room. “So,” he drawls with a smirk, “does this have anything to do with you being called–”

“Don’t,” you cut in sharply, jabbing a finger at him before he can utter the cursed nickname. Your glare is enough to make him pause. “I still have a coupon for another bag.”

He wisely shuts up.

“Anyway,” you continue, clutching the sparkly pink offender in your hand, “if you two idiots are here, you might as well help.”

Jay perks up immediately, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, I am so in,” he says, practically bouncing as he steps over to inspect the pile, picking up a few he deems worthy. Kai shrugs, amused, and picks one up, flipping it idly in his hand.

“Alright,” you announce, “we’ve got to be smart about this. No obvious spots. Think subtle, think devious.”

Jay nods enthusiastically, like you’re outlining the master plan to a heist. “Subtle and devious. Got it.” Then, with an impish grin, he holds up Cole’s clear shower gel bottle, tilting it slightly to reveal the viscous blue liquid inside. “Ooooh, this is a good spot.”

You gape at him. “Jay–”

Before you can finish, he unscrews the cap and carefully slides in a few glittery dildos, where they sink and swirl lazily in the gel like the most ridiculous snow globe. He beams proudly.

“Perfect,” he declares, holding it up like a trophy.

Kai snorts. “That’s evil.”

You groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Teamwork truly does make the dream work,” you mutter, but you can’t help the small grin tugging at your lips as you snatch the bottle back and shove it into Cole’s shower bag.

“Focus, team,” you say, regaining your composure. “We’ve still got plenty more to hide.”

Kai tosses a dildo into the air, catching it with ease. “I call dibs on his sock drawer.”

Jay claps his hands together, rubbing them like an evil mastermind. “And I’ve got ideas for his weights.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve assembled the worst accomplices in history, or maybe the best. Either way, the amount of gleeful scurrying, whispered plotting, and the sheer evil glint in their eyes makes you think you’ve found your partners-in-crime for life. Operation Dildo Baggins had been an unparalleled success.

By the time you’re done, it’s time to unwind in the game room, the massive TV already aglow with the chaos of Overcooked’s cartoonish kitchen. Jay thrusts a controller into your hands while Kai rummages through the kitchen for snacks. They’d insisted you stay for dinner, and honestly, how could you refuse? A day of dildo-hiding makes a girl hungry.

“Okay, new plan,” Jay says, resetting the level for the third time. “You stay on cooking duty. I’ll chop, Kai delivers. We’ve got this.”

“Pretty sure you said that the last two times,” you deadpan, cracking your knuckles and adjusting your grip on the controller. “And yet, here we are.”

Kai returns with a bowl of chips, plopping down beside you. “Third time’s the charm,” he says, tossing a chip in his mouth. “Now stop arguing and start chopping.”

The game begins, and chaos ensues. You’re barking orders like a drill sergeant. “Jay, the tomatoes! KAI, THAT PLATE IS BURNT. WHY IS IT BURNT?!”

Jay is in another fit of giggles as he accidentally throws a perfectly good onion into the trash. “It slipped!”

“HOW DOES AN ONION SLIP?!”

“Guys, calm down–” Kai starts, but you cut him off, voice rising in desperation. “No calming! DELIVERY! We need that plate out NOW or we fail again!”

The door opens behind you, but you’re too focused on the timer ticking down and the chaos on the screen to look. The sound of a water bottle being uncapped and a few long gulps makes you hyper-aware of his presence, though. Not to mention the fact that you’d heard the faint melody of his usual playlist approaching the monastery which had made you accidentally throw away a good pot of cooked rice.

Cole.

You can feel his gaze on you, but there’s no time to address him. Not when Jay’s standing in the middle of the screen holding a pot and doing nothing useful.

“Jay, fuck off! Kai, DELIVER THE PLATE!”

“I’m trying!” Kai protests, nearly tipping over his drink in real life as he frantically mashes buttons.

It’s no use. The timer runs out, and the screen flashes a giant FAILED in bright red letters. You drop your controller with a groan, leaning back against the couch.

“That’s it. I’m done. You two are hopeless.”

“Hey,” Jay protests, “I’m great under pressure! Just… not in a fake kitchen.”

“You’d starve if we ever got trapped on a deserted island,” you mutter, reaching for a chip.

“Looks like you’ve got everything under control here.”

Finally, you glance over your shoulder. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, his water bottle in hand, watching you with that infuriating smirk. Also, he was wearing a sleeveless tank top which, you hate to admit it, looked good on him. But also, his arms had the slightest sheen of sweat. 

In conclusion, gross and yucky.

“Care to back that up with action, or are you just here to talk shit get hit?” you shoot back, crossing your arms.

“Oh, I’d destroy you,” he replies smoothly, taking another swig of water.

You snort. “Please. You’d fold under pressure faster than Jay did when I asked him to deliver a plate.”

“Hey!” Jay protests, only to pause. “Okay, that’s fair.”

Cole chuckles, setting his water bottle on a nearby table. “You sure about that? I’ve got quick reflexes and perfect hand-eye coordination. I’d mop the floor with you, just like I did when we sparred.”

“Big talk for someone who hasn’t even touched the controller,” you retort, a spark of competitive energy flaring up in your chest. “Also, I totally let you win.”

“Oh, this I’ve got to see,” Jay interjects, scrambling to set the game to player-versus-player mode. He tosses a controller to Cole, who catches it effortlessly.

“I’m not kidding,” Cole adds as he strides toward the couch. “You’re about to witness greatness.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you scoff. “Hope you’re ready to eat my dust.”

Before you can say another word, Cole leaps over the back of the sofa in one fluid motion, landing right beside you. You blink, startled by the sheer grace of it, but quickly mask it with a scoff.

“Fancy moves won’t save you here, Brooky boy,” you mutter, gripping your controller tightly.

“Oh, I don’t need fancy moves to beat you,” he says, leaning slightly closer, his smirk infuriatingly confident. You shove him away with disgust, suddenly aware of how close you are. Before you can move away, however, Kai makes himself comfortable and manspreads. You roll your eyes.

“Bring it,” you reply easily, choosing your avatar.

Jay, already giggling in anticipation, hits start. “Let the carnage begin!”

The match starts, and the game becomes a blur of chaotic, fast-paced action. Your fingers move furiously over the buttons as you fight to keep up with Cole’s surprisingly sharp gameplay.

“You’re getting slow,” he taunts, the familiar chime of bells signalling completed orders going off non-stop for both sides.

“Slow?” you hiss, eyes narrowing. “I’m just warming up.”

Kai leans back with a laugh, munching on chips. “This is better than TV.”

For a moment, your eyes dart to your competitor. Cole’s leaning slightly forward, his full focus on the screen, brows furrowed in concentration. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, that stupid smirk never quite leaving.

Then, it hits you. The scent.

It’s faint at first, but the more you notice it, the stronger it becomes. A warm blend of spiced cinnamon and vanilla, rich and inviting, like stepping into your kitchen during Christmas to sneak a few cups of hot chocolate with your mother. A pang of nostalgia washes over you, unbidden and completely out of place. You shake your head slightly, trying to ignore how oddly comforting it feels.

How does he smell this good when he hasn’t even showered yet?

Your avatar stumbles on screen, moving erratically as you remain stuck in that memory. Cole notices instantly.

“Losing your touch already?” he snorts, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

The sound of his voice yanks you back to the moment. “What? No!” you snap, glaring at him as you hastily mash buttons to catch up.

“Sure looks like it,” he teases, that insufferable grin widening.

Without thinking, you shove him with your shoulder. He barely budges, laughing as he nudges you back. Your heart is racing in your chest, though you quickly chalk it up to the pressure of the game. 

The timer on the screen counts down to the final seconds, and your competitive streak kicks into overdrive. Your fingers fly across the controller as you focus all your energy on completing as many orders as possible. The kitchen on screen is pure chaos with ingredients on every inch of floor space, chopped cucumbers everywhere, pots almost overboiling, but somehow, you’re thriving in it.

Also, a part of it is on fire but with five seconds left, you’re prioritizing getting the food out rather than extinguish it.

“Come on, you’ve got this!” Jay cheers, leaning forward in excitement.

“Not a chance in hell,” Cole counters, his tone light but determined.

With a final flurry of button-mashing, the round ends. The results start to tally, both of you subconsciously leaning forward in anticipation. When the screen reveals you’d beaten him by two completed orders, a triumphant cry tears itself from your throat.

“I am unstoppable!” you declare, throwing your arms up like you’ve just claimed the title of world champion.

Jay hits a button on the controller, triggering cheers from the speakers. Kai sets off a party popper he somehow produces on cue. Confetti rains down, and you take a mock bow, basking in your victory.

Cole leans back on the sofa, swirling his water bottle in one hand, a soft grin playing at his lips. “You’re really proud of yourself, huh?”

“Obviously,” you say, spinning around to face him. “Beating you at anything is worth celebrating.”

His grin widens, and there’s a flicker of something in his gaze. Amusement, sure, but also a hint of challenge. “It was beginner’s luck.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Excuse me? I’ve been playing this longer than you’ve been doing your ninja stuff.”

“I’m just saying,” he drawls, sitting up straighter. “If we played again, I’d wipe the floor with you.”

Kai lets out a low whistle. “Oh, he’s laying it down now.”

Jay, grinning from ear to ear, grabs another controller. “This I have to see.”

Your eyes narrow at Cole, your competitive streak kicking into overdrive. “Fine. Rematch. But let’s make it interesting.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, like a bet?”

“Winner gets to change the loser’s contact name for them. No swapping, no amendments. The name has to be kept and can only be changed through official Overcooked Betting.” 

Cole eyes the hand you put forth, waiting patiently for him to shake it and accept the terms. 

He takes it.

The stakes are set, controllers gripped, and tension hangs in the air as the rematch begins. The sound of clattering plates and sizzling pans fills the room, each of you hyper-focused on the chaos of the Overcooked kitchen. You’re determined to hold onto your victory streak, while Cole, equally motivated, keeps throwing glances your way, his smirk bordering on smug.

“Focus on your side, Cole,” you snap, dodging his attempt to distract you as his elbow inches closer to your ribcage. You swat it away with your arm, using the side of your head to bonk his shoulder.

“Multitasking is my specialty,” he shoots back.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Cole stealing glances at you between frantic moves, his expression equal parts focused and amused. You push harder, refusing to let him win.

Jay and Kai are on the edge of their seats, munching snacks as if watching the most gripping movie of the year.

When the final seconds tick down and the scores flash on the screen, you let out a loud groan. He’d beaten you by one order.

“No!” you cry, dropping the controller in defeat.

The tension leaves his body, relaxing against the couch with the air of an accomplished man. “Hand it over.” He puts his hand out to you, palm side up. You eye it, wondering if it’d be too late to order more rubber dildos. 

“A bet’s a bet,” Kai reminds from beside you. Groaning, you fish out your phone from your pockets and toss it into his hand. He unlocks it easily, having seen your password before during another study session where he’d kept himself occupied with books while you furiously rushed an overdue essay. 

With every ominous tap tap tap of his fingers against the screen, you bristle. His expression is infuriatingly focused, as if he’s crafting a masterpiece.

When he hands your phone back, you snatch it and glance at the new contact name. Your eyes widen in horror.

He’d changed the contact name from ‘Cole Brookstone - Ninja’ to ‘Cole <3’. It’s so simple, yet the heart he’d added after his name makes you wince. Your fingers ache, inching toward the edit icon before he hums disapprovingly. 

“Can’t change it,” he remarks offhandedly, peering down at his nails with a frown. You can see the corners of his lips struggling to remain turned down, knowing full well the bastard is busy laughing his ass off internally. “You made the rules, not me.”

“Fuck you.” 

“You wish.” His childish retort eggs you on, and you stick your tongue out childishly in turn. He makes a face, only to stop when you raise a fist and hit his side - lightly. He groans in exaggerated pain, clutching his waist. 

“How could you, Babycakes?” 

Jay’s loud gasp makes the heat rush to your face and coloring your ears crimson, narrowing your eyes. You can practically see Jay’s expression as he files away this juicy tidbit for later use.

“You did not just call me that,” you hiss, jabbing your finger at Cole’s chest.

“What? It’s your nickname for me,” he says innocently, though his eyes gleam with mischief. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

“That was not my nickname for you!” you snap. “It was–”

“Oh, I know,” Cole interrupts, cutting you off with a smirk. “It was ‘Cole Brookstone – Ninja.’ So professional. So... boring. I thought we meant more to each other than that.” He blinks innocently as he looks at you, his smile bordering on evil.

“Boring?” you echo, your tone dangerously low.

“Yeah.” He shrugs casually, like he isn’t goading you on purpose. “No creativity, no flair. Just straight-up boring.”

Your jaw drops, and you lean forward, pointing a finger at him. “Excuse me? You don’t get to talk about creativity when you put a heart after your own name. How is that not boring?”

“It’s not boring because it’s cute,” he counters smugly. “And admit it, you winced because you thought it was cute too.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Kai’s voice cuts through the bickering before you can let loose a string of curses you’re pretty sure would’ve gotten you banned from being around the monastery’s classes for elementary students.

“Okay, enough.” He steps between the two of you, holding up his hands like a referee breaking up a particularly petty fight. Also, he’d somehow produced two yellow uno cards from seemingly thin air, waving it at you both in warning. “You’re acting like toddlers fighting over crayons.”

“He started it,” you grumble, folding your arms.

Cole snorts. “Oh, grow up, Pumpkin Pie.”

Kai sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then, as you part your lips to fire back, he glances at you, a meaningful look in his eyes that reminds you of your earlier enacted revenge.

So, you press your lips together, taking a deep breath. Think mini dildos hidden in his pillow. Think glittery ones floating in his shower gel.

Suddenly, all the tension leaves your body, and you open your eyes with a serene smile.

Cole notices the change instantly, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “What’s that face?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say calmly, turning away from him with a shrug. “Just decided to be a good sport and a role model for the younger generation.”

Kai catches the edge of your smirk and shakes his head, muttering, “You two are exhausting. Not even Nya was this much trouble growing up.”

Cole watches you carefully for a moment longer before relaxing back into the sofa, though the wary look doesn’t completely leave his face. “You’re up to something,” he mutters.

“Maybe I am,” you reply, not bothering to deny it. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

He frowns, aout to say something before you’re interrupted by Zane walking into the room wearing an apron that’s an almost offensive shade of bright pink. You have to double check to make sure you’re not just seeing things. 

“Dinner is ready,” Zane announces before scanning your faces. “Have I interrupted something?” 

No one moves or responds. The mention of food acts like a switch flipping in everyone’s heads.

“Nah, you’re good buddy,” Kai groans, standing and stretching dramatically. “I’m starving.”

“Same,” Jay says, bounding after him. He throws a playful arm around Kai’s shoulders as they head for the dining room. 

You follow at a more leisurely pace, Cole casually falling into step beside you. Neither of you speaks, the earlier bickering melting into a comfortable silence as the scent of freshly baked bread and herbs fills the air.

When you reach the dining room, the table is set with steaming dishes spread across it. Master Wu, Nya, Lloyd, and Pixal are already seated, pausing their discussion when you all enter. 

For a moment, you notice the way Master Wu and Lloyd change their grave expressions into a wide smile, though there’s still a solemn tint to their eyes. Part of you bristles, but curiosity is easily buried by hunger. 

Without a second thought, you and Cole gravitate to seats next to each other. It’s unconscious, natural, and nobody comments on it outright, though Nya raises an eyebrow as she glances between the two of you.

You happen to look up and meet her gaze, raising a brow in silent question. She just smiles and looks away to chat with Jay.

“Wow,” Lloyd says, leaning forward to inspect the spread. “Zane, you’ve outdone yourself. Again.”

“Is that herb-crusted salmon?” you ask, practically drooling.

“And garlic knots,” Cole adds, pointing to a heaping basket.

“Correct,” Zane replies with a slight bow of his head. “I’ve also prepared a vegetable medley with a lemon-butter glaze and rosemary roasted potatoes.”

“It smells amazing,” you say, eagerly reaching for a garlic knot.

“Smells amazing?” Cole laughs as he piles his plate high with potatoes. “It looks like a five-star restaurant in here. Zane, you’re spoiling us.”

“Preparing meals for my friends is not spoiling,” Zane replies evenly. “It is an expression of care.”

“You’re the best, Zane,” Lloyd says, already chewing on a piece of salmon. “Seriously, I don’t think I could go back to eating instant noodles after this.”

“Not with Zane around,” Pixal chimes in, a small smile tugging at her lips. “He would somehow make them gourmet.”

Jay leans toward you, whispering theatrically, “Don’t let him fool you. Zane’s just trying to make sure we can’t eat anywhere else without missing him.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Nya teases, nudging Jay with her elbow.

“Not complaining,” you quip, popping a piece of garlic knot into your mouth and groaning. “Oh my god, this is ridiculous. Zane, how do you make everything taste so good?”

“Precision,” Zane answers simply.

Cole nods, as if Zane’s simple explanation made more impact than any of Master Wu’s advice ever did. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Zane is the kitchen ninja.”

“More like the ninja chef,” Nya says, smirking.

“Or the ninja of nourishment,” Lloyd adds, earning a snort from Jay.

Master Wu chuckles softly, his hand resting on his teacup. “It is good to see you all enjoying yourselves. Bonding over food is an ancient tradition.”

“Especially when the food is this good,” Cole says, digging into his plate with gusto.

“Damn, leave some for the rest of us,” Nya says. You can only stare with begrudging respect as she spears a roasted potato off of Cole’s plate with a cartoonishly long fork that extends to his plate without the need of standing up. She catches you looking at it, grinning widely as she pops the stolen goods into her mouth. “Like it?” She asks through mouthfuls, carefully waving it around. “Crafted it in the workshop today.”

“Hey!” he protests, but it’s half-hearted. 

“Sharing is caring,” Pixal says lightly, passing a dish to Lloyd, who is too focused on his meal to notice her amused smile.

You scoff playfully. “Not with these potatoes. If you guys aren’t fast enough, I might empty the whole thing.” Glancing over when you feel a nudge, you roll your eyes at Cole’s earnest gaze. “Fine, I suppose you can have a piece.”

Kai gags. “The couple are so sweet it’s disgusting.”

“Not a couple,” You and Cole automatically reply in sync, shovelling more food into your mouths and munching. You don’t have to lift your head to see the sceptical glances exchanged, putting aside your usual snarky replies to focus purely on enjoying every bite of Zane’s cooking. 

“You wonderful, wonderful man-droid.” You mumble out between bites. Zane nods his head in humble thanks, Cole muttering a similar sentiment. 

The rest of the meal passes in a flurry of light-hearted jabs and never-ending enthusiastic praise for Zane’s culinary talents (all of which which the man-droid rightfully deserves). Plates were cleared, dishes stacked, and as the group slowly disbanded to their own devices, you found yourself lingering in the quiet warmth of the dining room, helping Master Wu wipe down the table.

“Thank you for letting me stay for dinner so often,” you said, glancing at him with a soft smile. “And for letting me hang out at the monastery so much. It’s… nice to be here.”

Master Wu paused mid-swipe, his wise eyes crinkling with warmth. “The monastery welcomes those who find comfort within its walls.”

You tilted your head at his cryptic tone, sensing there was more to his words. “That’s… oddly specific.”

He chuckled softly, folding the cloth in his hands. “You are exactly where you are meant to be, young one. Even if the reason has not fully revealed itself yet.”

You frown, your brows knitting together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gives you a knowing look, one that somehow carries both gravity and lightness. “You will understand when the time is right.”

Before you can press further, the sound of footsteps draws your attention. Cole appears in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets with a relaxed grin.

“Ready to head out?” he asked, his voice casual but his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long.

You glance back at Master Wu, who merely nodded as if to say the conversation was over.

For now, that is.

“Yeah,” you say, grabbing your jacket and stepping toward Cole. “Thanks again, Master Wu.”

“It is always a pleasure to have you here,” he replies with a small bow, his tone warm. “Safe travels.”

Cole holds the door open for you as you step out into the cool evening air. Comfortable silence falls over you both like a warm blanket, walking toward the doors. The stars twinkle above, and there are barely any clouds above you both to obstruct the view. 

One of the perks of living on the peak of a mountain, you suppose.

“Did Wu drop one of his cryptic wisdom bombs on you?” He asks after a beat, his tone teasing.

You huff in amusement. “Something like that.” You pause, tugging your jacket. “Do you ever understand all that weird cryptic stuff he sometimes spouts? Just last week he was telling me about not jumping out of a well.”

Your response elicits a laugh from him, the sound deep and easy. You find yourself smiling at it, a warmth in your chest as you look at him. “Honestly?” He sighs, hands deep in his pockets as you make your way down the stairs. “I just smile and nod, then just hope I’ll figure it out somehow.”

“Really?” Your interest is piqued. “How about when you saved the world and all that? Couldn’t have done it without deciphering his mysterious sayings.” 

He grins. “You should’ve seen the way we were all racking our brains, trying to understand what he was saying. It was worse at the start, before we all knew Lloyd was the Green Ninja.”

“Worse? How?” you ask, your curiosity pushing a teasing smile to your lips as you both reach the end of the stairs and make your way over to the bus stop.

Cole shakes his head, his grin widening. “We were clueless, running around like headless chickens. Wu would drop some riddle about balance or destiny, and the rest of us would argue for hours about what it meant. There was this one time–” He breaks off, laughing to himself.

“What?” you prod, nudging his arm gently.

“There was this one time Wu told us we had to ‘look inward to find the strength to move forward.’” He mimics Wu’s calm tone, his expression mock-serious. “So naturally, Kai thought it meant we needed to meditate or something. He sat us all down in a circle and tried to lead a group meditation. Jay couldn’t stop cracking jokes, and Nya fell asleep within five minutes.”

You burst out laughing at the image. “What about you?”

“I just sat there thinking about how hungry I was,” he admits, shaking his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Turns out, all Wu meant was that we needed to believe in ourselves. But, you know, saying that plainly wouldn’t be very ‘Master Wu.’”

“Of course not,” you agree, grinning. “Mystical vagueness is his brand.”

As the two of you reach the bus stop, you glance at him. “So… did all his cryptic advice ever help? Like, for real?”

Cole nods, his expression softening as he looks at you. “Yeah, it did. Sometimes not right away, but it always made sense when it mattered most. Like when we were trying to stop the Great Devourer… or when we were facing the Overlord. Those were times when his words stuck with us, even if we didn’t get them at first.”

The bus pulls up, and the two of you step on. Cole fumbles briefly, patting his pockets with a furrowed brow before finally pulling his transit pass from his back pocket. “When you travel by dragon, bus passes don’t exactly come to mind,” he mumbles defensively. You roll your eyes with a playful smile as you both settle into seats near the back. As the city lights blur past the window, you glance at him again, catching the thoughtful look on his face.

“What about you?” you ask, leaning slightly toward him. “Was there ever a moment where something Wu said clicked for you?”

He smiles, but it’s a little more subdued this time. “Yeah. Back when we were stuck in the Cursed Realm, Wu told me, ‘A leader doesn’t just carry others; they let themselves be carried, too.’”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “What did that mean?”

“It meant I didn’t have to do everything alone,” he says quietly. “Back then, I felt like I had to shoulder everything for the team. But Wu was right. Being a leader means letting the people around you support you, too.”

You let the thought sit for a moment, then give him a small smile. “Sounds like solid advice.”

“It was,” he agrees, glancing at you with a faint smile of his own. “Even if it took me a while to figure out.”

The two of you share a quiet moment, the conversation lulling into another comfortable silence as the bus hums along. It’s only when you notice his reflection in the window with his expression relaxed, the corners of his lips slightly curved… You feel the odd warmth in your chest again.

“Thanks for sharing,” you say softly, your voice barely above the hum of the engine.

He glances at you, his grin returning, playful now. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not usually this talkative.”

“Oh, I won’t,” you reply, smirking. “Wouldn’t want you to ruin your mysterious tough-guy image.”

The bus finally reaches your stop and the both of you tap out. Your apartment building is within view, but a part of you lingers, your footsteps slower as you approach. “Got any plans for next Saturday?” 

You hum in thought. “Only to pick up the cake I ordered a while back.”

“Oh. I’ll tag along.” You glance at him, mildly surprised at the statement. He catches your look, raising his brows in question. “I gotta stock up on croissants. It’s been ages since I had some of his cinnamon rolls too.”

“Where do you even find the space for all that and not gain weight?” You ask, though it’s more to yourself in jealousy than an actual question. Unfortunately, he hears it.

“Having a gym in-house does wonders when you can’t sleep.” His voice is tinged with something you recognise instantly — sorrow. You’re about to ask, but decide against it when you see the look on his face. 

“You can pick me up in the afternoon then,” you say lightly, looking at a random streetlight. He hums in agreement. “And let’s try not to match again.”

That gets a chuckle. “Don’t you mean ‘try not to copy me’?” 

“You’re impossible.”

The lift is only a few paces away. You feel him stop, turning to see one hand shoved into his jacket pocket, the other hanging loose at his side. His posture seems effortless, but there’s something steady about it, like he’s rooted to the spot. The faint light from the hallway catches the curve of his smile, his gaze soft and lingering, almost bordering on fond as he looks at you.

“Goodnight, Snugglebug.”

Scoffing, you enter the lift and press the button to your floor. “Goodnight, Brookstone.”

For tonight, you’ll let him get away with this one.

— — — — — — 

It’s around midnight by the time Cole reaches the monastery. He’d taken his time on the way back, stopping by a convenience store to pick up some pre-cooked chicken breast, planning to microwave one as a snack after tonight’s gym session.

He grabs his headphones from the lounge but pauses, setting them back down onto the table. 

She’d probably be asleep by now, right?

He leaves without his headphones, entering the gym where Lloyd is busy doing his usual sets. Both of them were the more regular visitors, having encountered the other far too many times at odd hours to instinctively understand the dark rings under their eyes and haunted tinge in their gaze. 

“So,” Lloyd breaks the silence, glancing over as he lowers the speed on his treadmill. “Your soulmate, huh?”

Cole exhales sharply, the weight of the question hitting heavier than the bench press he’d just finished. He’d been waiting for Lloyd to bring it up but didn’t expect it to be now, in the middle of their usual workout session. “Yeah. We’re not exactly eager about it either,” he says, walking over to the bench and starting a few stretches. His tone is casual, but there’s a hint of tension in his shoulders. “It won’t impact my duties.”

“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting that.” Lloyd raises his hands in assurance, though his thoughtful gaze is now fixed on his teammate. “I’m just saying, it must be exciting, right? Meeting the person you’re supposedly destined to be with.”

Cole snorts, shaking his head. “Destined. Right.” He shifts his position, stretching out his arms. “It’s not like that. We’re just... soulmates in name. That’s it.”

Lloyd hops off the treadmill, grabbing a towel as he narrows his eyes at Cole. “Sure doesn’t seem like it’s just a label.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cole asks, arching a brow.

Lloyd shrugs, leaning casually against the nearby wall. “I mean, you’re... different around her. Like when you got all defensive when Kai tried to eat her fries the other night.”

“She was clearly going to eat them!” Cole protests, the words spilling out faster than he intended.

“And how you knew her favorite bubble tea order?” Lloyd adds with a sly grin.

Cole freezes for a second before recovering with a huff. “She mentioned it once.”

“Uh-huh.” Lloyd tilts his head, his smile widening. “And that time you made sure to save her a spot during movie night, claiming it was ‘just coincidence’ when she showed up?”

“Coincidence,” Cole insists, though the tips of his ears are turning pink.

Lloyd’s smile falters, his expression softening. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?” Cole mutters, crossing his arms defensively.

“How much you notice about her.” Lloyd’s voice is quiet but steady. “The little details. The way you remember stuff she’s only said once, or how you pay attention to what makes her laugh or what annoys her. It’s not just about being soulmates, Cole. You care about her, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t—”

“Last week, when she complained about being cold, you handed her your jacket without thinking,” Lloyd cuts in, raising a brow. “No one even asked you to. And don’t tell me that’s just duty or being polite.”

For a moment, Cole doesn’t say anything, his jaw tightening as he looks away. “It’s... nothing. She’s part of the team. That’s all.”

Lloyd lets out a soft laugh, pushing off the wall. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. Just don’t wait too long to figure it out. Soulmate or not, people don’t stay in one place forever.”

Cole scowls at his retreating back. “For the record, this is worse than when Master Wu tried giving us the talk about the birds and the bees.”

He can vaguely make out the casual “deal with it” that Lloyd remarks as he turns a corner. Rolling his eyes, he shoves all lingering remnants of their conversation into the back of his head before continuing his workout.

After two more hours pass, he finally decides he’s had enough, heading to the kitchen where he’d dropped off his chicken breast from earlier, waiting for the microwave to heat up when he spots a text from you that he’d missed.

He picks it up, reading it before his brows furrow in confusion.

What’s a Dildo Baggins?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — 

Jet is his name, with dark and calculating eyes, scanned you with an intensity that seemed to strip away any pretence. It took all the energy you had in you to keep up the falsehood of being from the Water Tribe. Maybe it was due to the fact that you’re a girl (and a pretty one at that), that he decides to believe you and even recruit you into the Freedom Fighters.

It’d been an exhausting few weeks since then, and he’d relaxed a little more around you, even going as far as the occasional flirting. The dull throbbing of your injuries had eased during the time spent, but there wasn’t any opportunity to run away.

Any time you even brought up the mere mention, Jet would chuckle and brush it off, everyone else acting as if you’d been around them for ages. You gave up quickly. Instead of finding the opportunity to leave, perhaps the opportunity would find you.

Now, however, you’re currently camping out in the trees, waiting for the perfect moment to strike the camp below. 

Fire Nation soldiers had set up a base near your hideout, and Jet had tasked Smellerbee and Longshot to spy on them, waiting for the opportune moment to take them out. Did you feel any guilt towards attacking them? Not particularly. Your childhood left much to be desired, and you had almost nonexistent loyalty to the Fire Nation itself. 

You wait patiently among the rest, willing your body to stay completely still to avoid rustling the delicate leaves surrounding you. Your body stiffens even more, however, at the sudden voices you hear approaching the camp.

“Hey, Sokka’s instincts, would you mind-”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Look guys, I’m tired too but the important thing is that we’re safe from the Fire…Nation…” 

Oh spirits. How did they get here? 

You recognise the trio that stumble upon the camp at perhaps the worst timing, the boy’s voice trailing off once he spots all the soldiers around them. They instantly throw off their bags, running away. You hesitate, weighing the pros and cons of heading down to help. 

Sure, one of them is the Avatar that would hopefully end the war, and the girl seemed to be pretty nice last time you saw her. But the boy in front with the ponytail? Last you remember, he had a stupid, smug smirk on his face when he flew off on that bison of theirs.

…Maybe he could use a lesson in survival. 

You glance briefly at Jet, spotting a faint smirk on his lips as he holds his hand up, signalling to wait. Once the trio are surrounded by the flames with nowhere else to escape to, he tilts his head in intrigue when he sees the girl waterbend to extinguish the flame on the boy’s shirt. 

“You? Won’t hurt us?” Upon hearing the captain’s words, Jet brings his hand down, Longshot acknowledging and firing a shot that hits the soldier in the dead centre of his chest. You roll your eyes, taking it as the signal to move. 

Jet draws his swords, leaping down from the tree and landing on two guards. You join him by using a nearby vine, knocking out another soldier in your path. The both of you manage to take out a few soldiers before realisation hits, one crying out in warning that the rest are in the trees. 

You spot a soldier about to swing his sword at the trio, running over and jumping, using your leverage to kick the soldier away. You land deftly in front of them, the girl clapping in admiration as you dust off the dirt that had gotten on your shirt. 

“Avatar. Water Tribe people.” You acknowledge with a firm nod. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Hi! I’m Aang!” The kid introduces himself with a bright smile. 

“And I’m suspicious.” The other boy frowns at you, taking a protective step in front of the two. “Get away from her.” 

“Sure,” You shrug, “Talk to you later. Gotta fight anyway.” You gesture to the ongoing chaos behind, running off to join the rest. You make quick work of the rest of the guards, fluid but graceful movements from years of dance finally useful for real-life situations. 

Your hidden weapon comes in handy, when a soldier manages to knock your usual one out of your hands. You arch backwards, narrowly dodging a sword to your face and plant your left hand firmly on the ground below you, using your right to pull out the hidden dagger in your boot and slash his arm at the joint. He cries out in pain, letting go of his weapon and grabbing his arm to stop the bleeding. 

You’re about to knock the soldier out when Jet comes in and punches him firmly in the jaw, causing him to fall to his knees and collapse on the ground like a limp doll. “Thanks,” You say reluctantly. He accepts it with a grin, casually making his way to the girl whose eyes you swear just got bigger when he stops in front of her. 

Figuring he had the situation with the Avatar sorted, you head over to Sneers who’s organising the rations that the soldiers had placed in one of the tents. “What’d they have?” You ask, nodding to the large crates he’s prying open. 

“Not much. Just the usual chicken, dried pork, sausages…noodles! Score!” He cheers, lifting up the packets in the air like a newborn baby. 

“Looks like we’ll be having a good dinner tonight,” You grin, noticing Jet gesturing to each member of the team. When it comes to you, you simply hold your arm up in a wave, pretending not to notice the glare that the older boy is giving you. Hopefully he won’t remember you.

You didn’t even remember his name either, so maybe it’d work out in your favour. 

“That was pretty cool, the way you took out all the soldiers just now.” Aang makes himself known with his cheery question, as if he didn’t just witness blood being shed. 

“Thanks. I try,” You smile down at him, suddenly getting the urge to ruffle his hair (or lack thereof). 

“Sorry about earlier,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “Sokka can be a little…paranoid.” You glance at the boy you can finally place a name to whose arms are crossed, staying far away from anyone while keeping a sharp eye on each person. Especially you. 

“You really think so?” You joke, attention caught by The Duke who brings over a barrel. He uses a crowbar to pop open the lid, peering inside. “Jet, these barrels are filled with blasting jelly!” You call out, spotting the familiar bombs inside. You had your fair share of military knowledge, having stayed around Zuko on the ship who discussed his plans freely in your presence.

“And these boxes are filled with jelly candy.” Pipsqueak announces happily. 

“Also good. Let’s not get those mixed up.” Jet chuckles. 

“We’ll take these back to the hideout.” You begin loading the barrel onto the wagon that the rest hid in the greenery before your attack, Aang doing his best to help. You take the boxes from him with a laugh. “Easy there kid, why not get someone to help?” 

“I’d ask Sokka or Katara but... They’re kinda occupied.” He admits. “Wait, you guys have a hideout?”

You wanna see it?” Jet overhears Aang’s question.

“Yes, we wanna see it!” Katara answers instantly with an eager gaze. 

“Looks like we’re all getting a field trip.”

— — — — — — 

“We’re here.” 

“Where? There’s nothing here.” Sokka says sceptically, surveying the area with a suspicious gaze. Jet grabs a rope and holds it out to him. “Hold this.”

“Why, what’s this do?”

You watch, smiling ear-to-ear as the rope immediately pulls up, the boy’s yells echoing through the forest. “Grab ahold of me Katara.” Jet holds his hand out. She takes it eagerly, and he tugs her close to his chest before letting the rope pull them both up. 

“Do they know we’re still here? They do, right?” You whisper to Longshot who just shrugs, bringing down the barrels of blasting jelly. Rolling them onto the platform takes little effort, stepping onto it and allowing the machinery to pull both you and the barrels up into the trees.

“It’s beautiful up here!” Katara exclaims, admiring the auburn leaves that surround the entire base. 

“Beautiful, and the Fire Nation can’t find us here.” You stiffen at Jet’s words, almost bumping into Sokka who shoots you a withering glare. You chuckle awkwardly, scurrying off to your small tent a short distance away from the exit while the rest explore the hideout. 

“So much for not being found by Fire Nation,” You mumble under your breath upon entering the tent. The pure irony of their entire movement being based on staying hidden from the very nation you’re from has given you amusement from time to time, but the scathing glares and dark words as they speak of how to destroy the people makes you shudder at times.

Sitting down on the small stool next to the makeshift bed makes a slight squeak, every muscle in your body tensing as you wait with bated breath. No other voices seem to be nearby, allowing yourself to carefully pull out the small bag you’d kept hidden away under a messy pile of spare parts and other things picked up in the forest.

What’s left of your few belongings remains in the tattered bag you escaped with, the once vibrant red now a dull scarlet, a product of the sea’s vicious waves. The pure panic that struck you upon waking up here for the first time had quickly subsided once you found your mother’s old bracelet tangled up at the bottom of the frayed ends.

The fabric dangles from your hands, a bright green bead that’d never lost its lustre remaining firmly in the middle. Your fingers stroke the ends, fastening it to your other wrist through the knot that you’ve re-tied countless times.

It rests on your bare skin, traces of a smile lingering on your lips. Allowing yourself a little more time, you stare aimlessly at the ceiling. The Avatar had found this group of Freedom Fighters, and with it, a Fire Nation girl. Not that they know it of course, but who’s to say they wouldn’t react negatively upon discovering this fact?

Of course they’d react badly. You scoff at yourself for even entertaining the possibility of otherwise. You wouldn’t put it past that Water Tribe boy to bludgeon you to death if he even had an inkling of a suspicion.

The small boy had caught you off guard at first though. Who would’ve thought that the one to ‘save the world’ would be someone who looked no older than the youngest maid in the Fire Lord’s palace. 

A ribbon catches your eye from the corner of your room. You stand up, holding the remains of what you’d managed to snatch away from the other camp you’d raided before Jet and the rest burned it down. 

A tiny part of your heart aches, realising that your gaze has lingered on it for a second too long. Letting it go, you watch it drop to the floor, the shadows consuming whatever colours there are left. Glancing at the tent’s entrance once more, you keep a keen ear out as you entertain the beginnings of an idea.

A very risky one.

No footsteps.

Good.

Inhaling shakily, you snap your fingers once, twice, then thrice. The tiniest of flames flickers to life on the tip of your finger. The way it bobs and sways with the gentleness of your slow exhale brings a soft smile to your face. 

It’s been so long since you’d been able to do any form of bending. It’d been like suppressing a part of you; one that longed to be free and meet the sun once more. The green bead reflects the light of your flame, giving yourself the joy of a few more seconds before extinguishing it. 

Fire Nation.

It’s a moniker you’ll never be able to escape, no matter how much you try. One day you’re bound to slip up. The best part? It’d be in a group of people who hate the Fire Nation to death.

Well, at least you’d die with the achievement of having gotten Zuko to drink alcohol. 

The memory draws a chuckle, shaking your head in amusement as you remove the bracelet from your wrist, stashing it securely inside the wrapping that binds your chest. Heading back out, you’re surprised to see that it’s already close to the end of the day.

“There you are!” You take a step back at the sudden presence of a young boy who suddenly hangs upside down in front of you, with nothing but a vine to support his weight. “I was looking all over for you!”

“Bad Aang! What did I teach you about strangers?”

It’s almost painful, the way he tries to act like a big, tough leader. “She’s not a stranger though, she’s part of the Freedom Fighters!” Aang blinks owlishly at the older boy who frowns so deeply that you’re pretty sure it’s gonna become a permanent fixture in his face.

“That’s not my point.”

“He’s right,” You interrupt, ignoring the way he scoffs. “You shouldn’t trust people so easily, like Stocka here.”

“What did you just call me?” He says indignantly, his chest puffing up with pride. “My name is Sokka, Son of Hakoda from the Southern Water Tribe.”

Aang looks between you both, unsure of how to approach the conversation or even interject. A cold smile settles on your lips, maintaining your composure as you observe the skin on your fingers. “Right, right. So you’re like, a prince?” 

“Huh.” As soon as his ego is somewhat stroked, he deflates slightly. “I suppose you could say that. I could be the lord of…”

“Snow… and ice…? Wow. I bet thousands of girls must be bending over backwards to meet you. That’s so weird, being around you must’ve lowered their standards.” You pipe up cheerfully, your barbed words practically a dagger striking through him with each word.

“So, are you gonna join us for dinner?” Aang asks hopefully. Your icy demeanour melts at his innocent smile, nodding your head. “Don’t worry Stocka, we’ll save a seat for you,” He adds, walking away with you.

Sokka’s face flushes with a mixture of anger and humiliation. He lets out a cry of indignance, though you ignore it and continue chatting away with Aang who’s more than excited to show you his airbending.

— — — — — — 

Being on the receiving end of someone’s sceptical gaze isn’t the most ideal way to start off the night, yet here you are. Sokka’s jaw is tense, but his eyes burn with a calculative look that sifts through each word you speak, searching for the lies. 

Though, his choice of weapon does help in not taking him seriously. 

“Calm down, ice-brain.” Rolling your eyes, you take another mouthful of the stew that Smellerbee had made for dinner duty. “If you continue pointing your spoon at me, who’s gonna help feed you since you clearly can’t do anything by yourself?”

A snort breaks the silence, Sokka officially directing his glare toward his sister who instantly ducks her head, though the way her shoulders shake doesn’t help in hiding her intentions. You spot her breathing deeply, before looking back up with a calm smile. “Stop pointing your spoon at our saviour, Stocka.”

“Not you too!” He points at her in offence, accidentally flinging some of the soup onto her face. She reaches up and wipes it off her cheek with a blank expression, clear emphasis on the way she flicks it off her hands. He freezes, slowly lowering his spoon back to the bowl and continuing to eat with a grumpy scowl. 

“Sorry about him,” She apologises with a weary sigh, pinching the space between her brows and massaging it. “He can be…a handful.”

“Please, I’m sure it’s harder on you, being blood-related and all.” You remark dryly, though the pity is your voice is very much real as you eye her pathetic brother shovelling the food into his mouth. 

Sokka frowns, clearly unimpressed by your little jab. “Yeah, well, having to deal with a suspicious girl who won't even tell us the truth doesn't make it any easier.”

You arch a brow, meeting his gaze head-on. “Really? I haven’t exactly seen you around the forest much either, so you should take all of that,” you gesture to his entire being, “make like a fish, and swim away.” You lean back slightly, feigning relaxation, though the tension coils tightly inside you. You needed to stay on edge. Needed to stay focused on your escape.

He scoffs. “You just pointed to all of me.”

Katara sighs, clearly exhausted by the constant back-and-forth. “Would both of you stop? It’s not helping.”

You can’t help but cast a sideways glance at Jet, wondering if he’s picking up on the thinly veiled conflict between you and Sokka. His trust in you had come too easily, and while you hated the Fire Nation for its cruelty, you hated the idea of being used as Jet’s tool even more. You needed to escape—not just from this place, but from the tangled mess you found yourself in.

Sokka grumbles something under his breath, but his glare doesn’t leave you. His distrust, though annoying, wasn’t entirely misplaced. After all, you weren’t planning on sticking around.

Still, you couldn’t help but take one last shot. “Don’t worry, Sokka,” you say with a smirk. “I’m sure your sister will find a way to manage without you babying her every second.”

He opens his mouth to fire back, but the sound of Jet’s voice cuts through the tension. “You both make a great team.” His grin is wide, but his eyes settle on you with an intensity that’s hard to read.

Jet’s trust was suffocating. You knew he believed in what he was doing, but the longer you stayed, the more it felt like a trap closing in. You had to find a way out, but every glance at the darkened forest reminded you that freedom was only a fleeting illusion. The Fire Nation might be cruel, but at least you knew it. You knew your place in it.

But maybe not anymore. After what happened with Zuko, you’re pretty sure he’d place you under arrest if you were even within three li of him. And that’s if Uncle Iroh’s around. “So, what’s your story? I’m pretty sure the Avatar didn’t just make a pit-stop here to gather some firewood.” 

Aang pauses his chewing. “We’re trying to get to the Northern Water Tribe, so I can find a teacher and learn waterbending.” Your heart all but stops, practically falling into the depths of your stomach as Jet vaguely gestures to you.

“You got one right here, don’t you?”

Letting out an awkward chuckle, you try to ignore the scrutinising gaze Sokka’s set upon you, like a hawk intently studying its prey. “Exactly! Katara, aren’t you teaching him anything? I don’t know what you learn from that guy,” you lazily gesture to Sokka once more, “but I don’t think it’s helping you get there.”

He frowns at you, still clearly suspicious of your true intentions. Luckily, he bites at the bait you’ve desperately thrown out in an attempt to steer the conversation away. “He learns a lot from me!” He protests, pointing his spoon at Aang. “Don’t you??”

Aang doesn’t answer. 

Sokka’s mouth is let agape in shock, the smaller boy patting his shoulder gently. “Aw, don’t say that Sokka! If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have met all these great people!” 

“Exactly,” Jet spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Stay as long as you need.”

“Unfortunately, we have to leave tonight.” Sokka huffs, standing up. 

“Oh, of course! Wouldn’t want you to miss saving the world and all,” You smile brightly, excited at the prospect of them leaving so you’d (hopefully) never have to see him again. “Have fun! Safe travels!” You pick up the bag they’d left near you and hand it to him. “Bye bye now!”

“Sokka, you’re kidding me! I needed you on an important mission tomorrow.” Jet chuckles, and you notice Aang and Katara haven’t moved an inch from their seats. Your shoulders slump in defeat, and you toss his bag to the side with a huff with Sokka’s hand still outstretched. 

He glares at you. “What’s your problem?” 

“Don’t blame her, she’s just got a lot on her plate, ever since she washed up ashore from the water tribe. Besides, I thought you guys didn't have much bad blood, being from the same tribe and all.” Jet points out. You’re in the middle of swallowing your drink after sitting down, choking from his sudden revelation. 

“I’m sorry, water tribe?” Katara asks you curiously. Now all three are looking at you, two of them with mere confusion, and there’s Sokka. “I didn’t know you were from the same Nation.”

“Those are Smellerbee’s clothes. She just borrowed and altered them.” Jet shrugs, scooping another spoonful of soup. 

“Water tribe, huh?” Sokka marches up to you. He stops beside your frame, his shadow looming over you. The way he’s looking at you makes you want to shrivel a little inside, closing your eyes with a curse aimed at the spirits in your head. “Interesting. Who’s your chief?”

“Are you seriously being suspicious of her right now? She’s done nothing but help us since we got here, and you’ve done nothing but be a waste of air.” Katara scolds her brother who crosses his arms with an annoyed grunt. He reluctantly moves away from you.

She turns to you with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about him, he’s kind of on the edge lately. His ‘instincts’ are how we ended up here in the first place.”

“No problem,” You manage to summon a brief smile, waving it off. “I’m just glad you’re safe from him now.”

“I wish,” She snorts, turning away to face Jet, getting distracted by his biceps. The sight makes you turn away, nausea hitting at the fact that she finds him attractive. Forcing it down though, your gaze finds its way back to the boy beside her.

His dark, tousled hair falls effortlessly over his forehead, giving him a roguish charm that draws attention. A sleeveless vest showcases his toned arms. You unexpectedly meet his eyes, warmth instantly flooding your cheeks when you realise that you’ve been caught staring. 

All attention is drawn to you when you stand back up with a convincing yawn, lifting your arms in a stretch. “Wow,” You blink a couple times, “it’s been a long day. Guess I’m more tired than I thought. Night everyone!” 

Upon walking away, everyone else resumes their activities, but you can sense two sets of eyes on your back. One being the water tribe boy as expected, but the other catches you off guard. 

— — — — — — 

Yet another night that’s spent in the same old tent, under the same roof as a bunch of kids who want nothing more than to tear down anything to do with the Fire Nation. It’s a wonder you even got any sleep the whole time you’ve been here. 

Unfortunately, the noise outside startles you awake. It’s been awhile since you’d slept so lightly, the last time being when you’d just gotten exiled. Fun times, you smile grimly. Making sure that all your stuff is stashed away securely, you push past the tent flap and step into the sunlight.

As you prop your hand above your eyes to shield them from the sudden brightness, you hear a loud whoop. Aang is free falling, having jumped from a branch high above. A glider pops out from the staff he always carries around, manoeuvring smoothly around the multiple branches and leafy surprises the trees always had in store. 

You watch him with a small smile, until he spots you and beams. His hand waves excitedly, slowly descending till he lands in front of you. “Someone’s cheerful today.” You ruffle his head until it suddenly hits you that all you’re feeling is skin.

Retracting it with a sheepish smile, he grins up at you regardless. “I don’t mind it.” Embarrassment isn’t how you wanted to start the morning, but now that it’s over and done with, may as well get some breakfast.

Eating breakfast in the form of bread and bland leftover stew is still a drastic change as ever from the flavourful spices of the dishes cooked many a time in the ship’s kitchen. You disguise the disgust with a forced smile, swallowing down the dry bread and taking a swig of water from the canteen you’d tied to your waist.

“Morning meeting’s starting,” The Duke reminds you. You finish the remains of your breakfast in a hurry, unable to hide the groan that slips out from the tacky texture. You stand up with your bowl in hand, noticing Sokka making his way over. 

Embarrassment might have been how you started off your morning, but who’s to say a little humour wouldn’t help? 

Pushing past him without so much as a muttered apology, you shove the empty bowl into his arms without an explanation. He’s left gawking at your back, looking from you to the bowl, then at you once more as his expression morphs into one of annoyance. 

The irritation sound he makes is enough to make you smile, rushing over to the tent. However, the tent flaps flutter slightly, the morning breeze carrying hushed words that make your movements stutter to a stop.

“You’re sure the dam is weak enough?” Jet’s voice is low. You move a small step away from the entrance, heart pounding as you strain to catch more of their conversation. 

“Yeah,” Smellerbee replied, her voice uncertain. “But Jet, are you sure about this? We’re talking about an entire village. Not everyone there is a soldier.”

“They’re Fire Nation. Every one of them is responsible for the suffering they’ve caused. Do you think they care about the lives they’ve destroyed? We flood the village, wipe them out, and send a message. It’s the only way to make them pay.” His response is cold and immediate, sparing no thought for the innocent.

It’s enough to make the blood in your veins turn to ice. 

Flood the village? Wipe them out?

Smellerbee’s hesitant voice is small, almost afraid to say her thoughts.. “But… Jet, there are families down there. Kids. They didn’t choose this war.”

A long silence follows before Jet speaks again, his tone colder than before. “Collateral damage. Every war has its casualties. If we don’t do this, they’ll keep coming. This is the only way to protect what’s left of our world.”

You’re not sure if you’re still breathing at this point. 

The boy who’s supposed to stand for freedom and justice now sounds like the very monsters that live within the walls of the palace. Countless whispers of palace officials discussing the lives of their subjects as if they were mere fodder for entertainment.

But... Is he wrong?

Collateral damage... 

The words echo, twisting in your mind, but part of you feels a sick understanding. The Fire Nation has destroyed everything. Your home, your family, your future. Haven’t they earned this? They’ve caused so much pain, left so many scars. 

Maybe he’s right.

The thought that follows doesn’t catch you off guard as much as you’d expected it to, an odd calm taking over when you picture Ozai’s face warped into the very picture of despair as his kingdom burns before him.

With you at its forefront.

But then, another thought cuts through the haze. Innocent people. Families. Kids. You picture them—faces you’ll never know, lives that aren’t part of the war but will be shattered by it. 

Your chest tightens with uncertainty, the earlier sensation now washed away and replaced by a lingering sense of doubt.

Do they even deserve your sympathy? 

The Fire Nation has hurt you, and so many others. Maybe this is justice. Maybe this is the only way to make them understand the suffering they’ve caused. Isn’t this what war does? Forces hard choices on all of us?

But even as you think it, a knot of guilt settles in your stomach. If we start doing what they do, if we make excuses for harming the innocent, are we any better than them? You bite your lip, torn between the deep-rooted hatred that still burns inside you and the flicker of doubt gnawing at your conscience.

Jet’s voice comes back to you, firm and resolute. “This is the only way to protect what’s left of our world.”

Our world. The words feel distant, hollow. It’s ironic, really. What good is a world without the people you love to live it with you? A world built on the backs of innocents, on blood and destruction? You swallow hard, the weight of the decision pressing down on your chest.

You could tell someone—stop this before it’s too late. But you hesitate, hands clenched into fists. Maybe it’s not your place to stop it. Maybe the Fire Nation deserves this. Maybe they need to know what it feels like to lose, to suffer. 

Shouldn’t they suffer, too?

The silence stretches as the battle rages inside you. Your heart screams at you to do something, to stop this madness, but the anger—the deep, festering anger—tells you to let it happen. Let them feel the pain you’ve felt.

But then, you take a shaky breath, feeling a chill spread through you. 

If I let this happen, what does that make me?

Taking a deep breath, you back away from the tent flap and turn, your mind racing with a singular thought: Get out. Get away from here. 

There’s only one way to survive, and that’s to run. 

Unfortunately, the spirits seem to not be on your side. Just as you turn, prepared to sprint off away from the forest, you bump face-first into something warm and solid. Groaning, you shove off whatever’s in front of you as an automatic reflex, flinching when your hand meets skin.

“What the- are you kidding me right now?”

Just great. First you overhear a plot to murder an entire village right after a less than satisfactory breakfast, and now the water tribe boy looks like he’s about to fight you. Maybe the little prank you pulled this morning might have contributed.

“Sorry,” your rushed apology draws his attention, grabbing your arm before you can run off elsewhere. You glance up, already annoyed. “What do you want? I already apologised.”

“Exactly,” he snorts, scanning you up and down with a sceptical raise of his brows. “You? Apologise? Are you okay?” He looks from you to the tent flap suspiciously. 

A cold sweat runs down your neck, eyes darting anywhere but at him as you try to compose yourself. “I’m fine,” you snap, snatching your arm away. “I’m just…hungry?”

“Right,” he says slowly, the memory of your empty bowl being shoved into his hands simultaneously coming back to the both of you. “Hungry.”

“That’s not- why am I even talking to you?” Running a hand through your hair in frustration, a sudden chill makes your heart stop, turning to see Jet outside the tent. He’s waiting patiently, though now you can spot a dangerous glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. 

“Hey, we’re waiting on you both. Come on in.” 

Hesitating, you glance at Sokka who brushes it off, shrugging as he walks over. Jet gives you an ominous smile, heading inside first. Your fingers slowly curl into a fist, trying to calm your pounding heart. 

You can’t let them know that you’d overheard everything. You can’t risk it. Not now. 

So, you square your shoulders and take a deep breath, walking straight into the tiger’s den.

Everyone else is already assembled, standing in their usual positions. You move to stand beside Smellerbee who raises her brows at your presence. “Why’re you here?”

“I wasn’t aware that she’d been kicked out from the Freedom Fighters.” Jet speaks, his voice commanding attention from the group. “Otherwise, what rule is there that prevents one of us from being around?” 

Buying into his words, they all nod. Save for Sokka of course, who merely stands to the side with dissatisfaction. Now that the issue of your attendance is sorted, the briefing begins. You pay attention, but occasionally get distracted by the sounds the water tribe boy is making with every word, mocking Jet’s instructions.

After the meeting concludes however, you’re quickly approached by the very person you’re trying to avoid. You can sense his eyes on you from the very beginning, trying not to let his gaze get to you as you head to the exit as fast as you can. 

It truly seems that the heat of fortune abandoned you along with whatever miniscule amount of luck that’s gotten you this far. Your footsteps falter at the call of your name, turning to see Jet. 

“Yes?” 

Even a single word is barely able to brush past your lips without the slightest of trembles. If he notices, he doesn’t bring it up as he grins. “I’ve got another mission for you. Follow me.”

Against your better judgement, you follow. Wrestling with the already existing knot of unease in your chest, your instincts practically scream at you to get out. “I’m guessing this isn’t another supply gathering mission.” The words fall from your lips before you can stop them, covering your mouth as your eyes widen in pure shock.

Luckily, you’re already in a secluded area of the hideout (probably not a good thing, in retrospect). “You’re right,” he turns, his expression dark as the air suddenly grows heavier, “it’s not.”

Oh, sparks. I’m gonna be murdered, aren’t I.

The tension twists tighter as Jet begins explaining his plan—something more dangerous, more extreme. You try to focus, but your mind races with doubts and fears. This isn’t right. The Fire Nation may be the enemy, but this... this feels like too much.

However, this isn’t the right time to escape. It’s not the right time to speak up about anything. The best chances of your survival would be to play along for now, and run when an opportunity presents itself.

If it doesn’t…well, you’d just have to make your own.

So you follow along, making sure to stop by your own tent to pack everything you own and stashing it away under a pile of leaves near the tree you’d already marked a while back after claiming you needed to relieve yourself. That excuse had been enough for Jet to let you slip deeper into the forest, away from their watchful eyes.

Now, though, they’ve cornered Sokka, who’s discovered their plan. It’s incredible, really. You can’t help but think that this actually makes things easier. With the Avatar and his companion distracted, the only person left to finish off is him.

“There are people living there, Jet. Mothers, fathers, and children.” Sokka’s voice rings with conviction as he spots you trying to hide behind Pipsqueak. He takes a step closer, meeting your gaze, and you flinch at the intensity of his stare. 

He hones in on that lapse of weakness, trying to continue making eye contact whilst arguing against Jet. Without realising it, your fingers curl around the handle of your dagger, your eyes fixed on the ground beneath.

“I can’t let you warn Katara and Aang. Take him for a walk. A long walk,” Jet scoffs. He pauses when you step out of Pipsqueak’s shadow, approaching the three of them with daggers in hand. He allows the ghost of a smile to shadow his lips, raising a questioning brow when you stop them.

“Wait,” they stop at your sudden call. Sokka glares at you, hints of hurt and betrayal in his eyes. However, your own are passive when you glance down at him, tucking the daggers away. “I’ll come too.”

A moment passes before Jet nods. “Meet us back at the reservoir.” He states simply, leaving without another glance back. Pipsqueak holds on tightly to the boy’s arms, ensuring he wouldn’t get the chance to run away while Smellerbee bound his wrists.

The trees all look identical. If you weren’t with the other two more seasoned fighters, you’d have gotten lost multiple times over. “How can you do this? How can you just stand by and watch innocent people die?”

“They’re not innocent,” You spit back, barely managing to hide the grimace on your lips. Luckily, Smellerbee and Pipsqueak were in front, trusting you to hold the fort down at the back. 

Sokka had been relentlessly trying to raise even the slightest ounce of sympathy, hoping that perhaps one of you would release him from his binds. “So much for being one of the good guys,” he hisses. 

The tense movements of Smellerbee’s arms and Pipsqueak’s gritted teeth reveal all you need to know. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself before lifting your hand and swinging with all your strength.

A loud slap echoes through the recluse forest, Sokka stunned into silence as the other two turn in pure shock. He lifts his head with blank eyes, processing through the large red handprint on his cheek. “One more word out of you and I’m going to throw you into the river with a heavy rock tied to your ankle. Not even your sister will be able to save you.”

His parted lips that are about to hurl an insult at you shuts immediately, pure hatred and anger in his gaze. The corner of your lips lifts in amusement. “I’ll take care of things here.” You address the other two who nod silently, unable to refute.

You grab the excess rope from Smellerbee’s hands, dismissing them with a nod as you continue to trudge ahead, yanking the now silent boy behind you. Finally, a red imprint on the trunk of a tree catches your eye.

A while back before the Avatar and his group showed up, you’d done a little exploring of your own, having marked potential escape routes with red. The colour was easily camouflaged with the burnt orange leaves, making it perfect to use. 

Plus, with the Freedom Fighters under the impression that you’re from the Water Tribe, it’d never occur to them that you were the one to place the markings. At the most, they’d probably jump to the conclusion that Fire Nation soldiers were around.

“What is your problem?!” Sokka yells at you while you tie him to the tree. It’s taking all the willpower you can muster to not punch him in the abdomen so he’d be less quiet. It’s unfortunate that the impact from your earlier slap had worn off, but you didn’t really feel like doing it again.

He does, however, quieten a little when you smile sweetly at him, showing no trace of compassion as your fingers grip the rope, tying it extra tight to the point the wind is knocked out of his chest.

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” He scowls, trying to use his tightly bound feet to kick up at your ankles. You shake your head, glancing around before deciding that he could suffer for a short while longer before putting your plan in action.

You squat down, picking up a branch and using it to draw tiny doodles in the dirt. “You know, your instincts aren’t totally bad.” Despite his anger and obvious hatred for the enemy, his ears practically perk up at the compliment. “But you just have to change…this.”

“You just gestured to all of me,” Sokka huffs. “What’s that matter to you anyway? You’re just a traitor.” He practically spits the last part in your direction with narrowed eyes. 

How did he even make it this far?

Dismissing the question with a shake of your head, you stand back up and take a step closer. His face is inches apart from yours, trying not to reveal his discomfort by looking anywhere except you.

You study him closely, using a finger to poke his cheek. “What’re you even doing? You’re supposed to be the bad guy.” He says sarcastically. “Do I have to tell you what to do too?”

“If your instincts are so good,” his breath hitches when you lift the tip of your dagger, brushing it against his shoulder, “you should’ve figured out who I was earlier.” 

Watching him squirm is enough for now. Hopefully this would discourage him from following you. Placing the dagger back in its sheath, you walk behind him. No one else seems to be around, you decide, scanning the forested area you’re in. It should be safe for now.

You hold up your index finger, willing the small flame to dance atop of it. Fire comes to life, tiny but powerful in the right hands. This time, those hands are yours. You bend down and hold your finger against a few of the binds, letting the rope act as fuel for the controlled flame on your finger as it eats away at the material, loosening them slightly. 

Surely that would be enough for him to escape, right? Unless he really has no muscles…likely possibility, but still.

A gasp cuts off your train of thought, and you flinch when you spot his wide eyes. “Fire Nation.” He barely whispers it aloud before you instinctively react, slapping his cheek harshly. “Ow!” He groans. 

“One more word and I’m leaving you to die.” You threaten lowly, taking a step back.

He nods with a scowl, though it’s not like he has any other choice but to agree. “Fire Nation.” He mutters, barely within earshot as you begin to walk away. A sigh pushes past your lips, choosing to let it go. 

Maybe it was a bad decision to let him go. Remnants of Jet’s plan lingers in your memory, squeezing your eyes shut as you bend down and pick up the hidden bag from earlier, hoisting it onto your back and starting your trek out of the forest. 

However, the thought still haunts you. It’s not your position to do anything, you remind yourself. Surviving is hard enough, helping others only adds to it. Besides, you’d already made your peace to be the bystander in this situation.

But was saving Sokka part of your plan in the first place?

A shaky breath escapes, staring up into the clear sky, partially shrouded by the surrounding trees. All you have to do is keep going, to keep running. That way, you’ll live to see another day in a world which doesn’t want you to.

Whether it’s guilt or curiosity driving you, your feet move faster than your thoughts as you race back toward the cliff overlooking the Fire Nation village. The sunlight filtering through the leaves up ahead beckons you—just a few more steps, and you’ll know for sure.

Your breath catches in your throat, and before you realize it, the world tilts violently. The ground rushes up to meet you as you stumble. A quick glance down shows a tree root having caught onto your foot, causing your fall. 

Face, meet ground.

Pushing yourself off the ground with a soft grunt, you pause right before pushing past the bushes as familiar voices drift to you on the breeze.

“The Fire Nation is gone, and this valley will be safe.”

A mild pang resounds in your chest, fingers clenching the hem of your shirt. Your right hand lays flat on the trunk beside you, eavesdropping on the conversation right next to you. Crouching slightly, you squint past the leaves to see Jet pinned against the very tree you’re leaning against, covered in ice that creeps down his arms and legs. 

“It will be safe, without you.”

Inhaling sharply, you duck back down behind the tree, the rustling covered by the growl of whatever animal it was that Sokka’s now sitting on. Katara’s voice is filled with pure joy as she cries out her brother’s name in relief.

“I warned the villagers of your plan just in time.”

“What?”

As much as you hated to admit it, maybe releasing him was the right course of action after all, even if it wasn’t in your initial plan. Realising that the corners of your lips have lifted into a smile, you instantly frown, trying to scrunch your features into anything but. 

“At first they didn't believe me. The Fire Nation soldiers assumed I was a spy. But one man vouched for me, the old man you attacked. He urged them to trust me, and we got everyone out in time.”

Hearing his testimony draws a soft chuckle from you, covering your mouth quickly in shock. Your body tenses, ready to sprint away in case they heard you. Luckily, Jet’s outraged reply draws their attention instead, your chest practically collapsing in on itself in relief. 

“Sokka, you fool! We could've freed this valley!” 

“Who would be free? Everyone would be dead.” Sokka voices the very thoughts that beare themselves in the forefront of your mind, nodding in agreement.

“You traitor!”

“No, Jet. You became the traitor when you stopped protecting innocent people.” 

Unable to contain your curiosity, you bend down and peer through the leaves once more to catch a glimpse. Unfortunately, your mother’s bracelet that you’d adorned on the way here snags on one of the branches of the shroud of leaves.

As you fumble to free it, a small twig snaps off in your hand.

You freeze. The loud crack reverberates through the air, and dread curls in your stomach. Glancing nervously at the opening in the leaves, you debate whether to keep watching.

Maybe it truly is curiosity that will kill you one day, you decide.

 Steeling yourself, you peer through the gap again—only to lock eyes with Sokka.

Your breath catches, your lungs refusing to work for a beat. Panic flares. You flinch, snapping back into motion and running in the opposite direction. Did he see you? You’re not sure. The blood rushing in your ears drowns out any rational thought as your feet fly over the forest floor.

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe they were too distracted to notice.

Even when you finally stop, chest heaving and sweat dripping down your face, your heart refuses to calm. You hold your breath, listening for the sounds of pursuit, but there’s only the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves. No one’s following.

Exhaling sharply, you take a moment to collect yourself.

Whatever. You’d done your best and so did they. It’s just better judgement on your part to have helped him, after all. So in a way, you’re the one that saved the village, right?

Right.

The thought cheers you up a little. You adjust your bag, pull out your compass, and check the direction. The needle wobbles before settling west. It’s almost hard to believe you ran into the Avatar and his group. Of all the people in the world… What were the odds?

How would Hanoh react if she found out?

Maybe she’d hit your back with a frown, chiding you for not being more careful. Or maybe she’d laugh and pat your head like she used to before you got banished. Maybe she’d ask why you didn’t go with them. 

Sokka’s sharp blue eyes flash in your mind, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. That Water Tribe boy is by far the most irritating person you’ve ever met—second only to the self-proclaimed Crown Prince, of course. Not that you’re particularly fond of either of them. Sure, Sokka’s reactions were amusing, but only for a moment’s distraction.

Trees surround you, but their appearance is starkly different from the ones you know. Instead of vibrant green leaves and dark brown bark, the ones around you are of a dark grey, their roots curled and twisted above ground as if the soil itself were filled with poison.

It must be a dream.

You smile. Maybe it’s the stress of your gap year almost concluding with practically no results to show other than your travels, but one could attribute the giant spider in front of your eyes as the product of a nightmare.

After all, it could just be your brain rationalising all your anxieties and unresolved emotions into a creature of horrors. The spider approaches with caution, its beady eyes analysing whether or not you need to be bitten and paralyzed.

Not like it’d do anything in the first place, you’d be happy to simply lay there and accept them, knowing that they’re all just in your head. Perhaps being bitten by it would somehow give you a sort of ‘awakening’ in coming to terms with your unacknowledged yet plausible fears.

If therapy were a subject, you’d have aced it with flying colours and extra credit to boot from the amount of psychoanalysing you’ve just done.

But unfortunately, as your fingers fiddle with the silken thread that’s begun to weave around your body that feels a little too realistic to be a product of imagination, an inexplicable sense of dread consumes your senses like a tidal wave that’s arrived too late. 

It’s not a dream.

Glancing from the cocoon that’s already woven up to your thighs to the sharp fangs dripping venom, any cry for help dies in your throat. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, but your body remains frozen.

You try to pull one leg free, but the silk only tightens, binding your movements with every subtle twitch. Your mind races, logic and fear clashing, struggling to convince yourself this can’t be real. But the prickling sensation on your skin as the spider's fangs inch closer to it is unmistakably so.

Panic bubbles up, the urge to scream trapped beneath the weight of paralysis. Your gaze darts around, desperate for anything that could help. A branch, a stone, a break in the webbing; but all you see is endless darkness and twisted shadows.

Just as the spider shifts, a flicker of movement catches your eye. A shadow, swift and silent, slipping through the trees. You want to call out, but your voice is caught, locked behind a wall of terror. The spider's attention wavers, one of its legs pausing mid-air as though sensing something nearby.

Then, a glint. A flash of metal slicing through the darkness. Before you can process what’s happening, the creature rears back, a soundless scream stretching across its mandibles as it stumbles. You feel a force pulling at you, the sharp sound of a blade slicing through the silken webbing just as your vision blurs with panic and relief.

Your body is lifted up by a pair of strong yet thin arms, your hands automatically clinging to their shirt. Only what meets your touch isn’t the cotton material you’re familiar with, but the firmness of leather. 

Your eyes drift upwards up to see the face of your saviour, only for the breath to catch in your throat once you do. His beauty is almost paralysing — a cascade of golden hair frames a face that seems carved from light itself, jaw sharp and eyes piercing. You’re so stunned that the only word you can manage is a breathless, disbelieving, “Legolas?”

His brows knit together, a flicker of surprise crossing his features as he registers your words. But before you can say more, your vision blurs, the world dissolving into darkness as his face; half surprise, half confusion, fades from view.

— — — — — — 

“-in the forest. She knew me, Tauriel. She called me by name.”

You lift your head, blurry vision clouding your focus as you come to your senses. The last thing you remember is seeing the very figment of fiction standing right in front of you. A wave of scepticism washes over you for a fleeting moment, wondering if you’d somehow died in your sleep and gone to hell.

It’s the only way to explain the bizarre nightmare you’d just had, after all.

As your vision clears with a few shakes of your head, you become aware of something soft covering your body, and the rays of sunlight beaming through the open windows. It’s a stark contrast to your nightmare from earlier. Your hand reaches to your throat, gently feeling it as if ensuring you’re still alive. 

“You’re awake.” 

The sudden voice startles you, instantly sitting upright as your hands curl into fists. How did a stranger get into your apartment?

But when you see who the intruder is, your jaw drops.

“Legolas.” His name, filled with pure disbelief, falls from your lips, and it suddenly occurs to you to look at your surroundings. Your eyes dart from the vanity mirror next to the door decorated with shining jewels, and sizeable emeralds encrusting the bedframe you’re in.

You part your lips, still processing the room that’s probably worth more than your entire family. “This isn’t my apartment.” You stare at the elf sitting next to you, reaching out a hand in wonder. 

Is he real?

His hand grabs yours, stopping you from pinching or poking his face. He shifts, discomfort crossing his face momentarily though traces of it remain in his gaze. “How do you know me?” He asks, a hint of perplexity lacing his voice as he leans forward, genuinely intrigued by your reaction.

A freakishly tall cosplayer? A D&D player who's really into the role? What if this is a TV show and you're just getting pranked or something? You nod at the last possibility. It had to be something like that, it's the only thing that would explain all this so far.

“Okay, this is all very funny, but if this really is a TV show, I’m expecting a huge reward for my reactions.” You watch as Legolas’s brow furrows, the corners of his mouth twitching in a mix of confusion and amusement. It’s almost as if he’s trying to comprehend the absurdity of your words while remaining serious.

“What are you talking about?”

Ignoring his question, you scrutinise him, adjusting yourself so that your hands rest under your chin, elbows propped up by your bent knees. “How’d you get his hair colour so accurate? The bleaching process must’ve been absolutely insane.” You comment, watching him flinch away from your touch, making you grin.

“I hope you know that kidnapping is illegal though,” you continue, your tone light yet pointed. “And I’d really appreciate the appearance fee on whatever show this is. Is it YouTube? I can subscribe to support it. I gotta show this to Mom for sure. This set is incredible!” You marvel at the lavish set around you, gesturing to the bed. “I mean, these diamonds? They look so real!”

Patting your body to find your phone, you realise that the old, oversized shirt and shorts you use as pyjamas have been replaced with a tunic with the pattern of vines embroidered across your abdomen, and a pair of pants that fit you almost perfectly. 

What the-

Narrowing your eyes, you snatch up the blanket and scooch back. “Okay, who changed me? That’s crossing a line, buddy. Me being passed out does not equal consent.” Your voice wavers slightly as doubt creeps into the cracks of your confidence.

Am I really awake right now?

Instinctively, you start patting down the bed and your new clothes, continuing the search for the comforting weight of your phone, but it’s nowhere to be found. A small spike of panic rises before you quickly brush it off. They probably confiscated it for filming, you reason, trying to steady your nerves. Wouldn’t want me leaking the ultimate Lord of the Rings production before the big reveal, right?

“His Majesty has called for you to bring the human to him.” Another beautiful elf cosplayer appears in the open doorway. You stare at her pointed ears in momentary fascination, only to be pulled out of the bed by the wannabe Legolas.

“Hey, what the fuck? I can get out of bed by myself, thank you very much.” You pull your arm back in annoyance, the elven girl from earlier casting you an odd look. Her hand reaches for the sheath attached to the belt on her waist, only to falter when Legolas holds up a hand. 

You follow them both in a daze, speechless from the wonders you pass by on the way to wherever they’re taking you. The air is filled with the scent of flowers and vibrant greenery in every corner of the place.

They must’ve spent close to a million dollars on the set alone.

Finally, you enter a pair of huge doors that open silently. You’re almost hidden behind Legolas’s towering build, the grandeur of the throne room washing over you in a wave of disbelief. 

“Yup, I’m dead.” You confirm with a lighthearted air, practically feeling your soul leave your body at the sight. “I’m dead and this is heaven. Or hell. Or in between, I don’t know.”

You spot the slightest twitch in the corner of Legolas’s grim expression, doing his best to hide his amusement from your words. Seeing a figure clothed in white that sits on the throne in the middle of the room, you blink a couple times, your brain registering his appearance.

“My Lord,” Legolas begins, stepping forward and gesturing toward you. “This is the human I found lost in the dark forest.”

Thranduil's sharp gaze narrows at you, and he leans forward slightly, a hint of disapproval etched on his features. ““A human in Mirkwood? They do not stray here without reason, Legolas. You should have left her to the mercy of her own kind.”

Legolas straightens, a hint of defiance in his tone. “But she knows me by name, and her demeanour is unlike that of any human I’ve encountered before.”

You watch the exchange, a mix of confusion and intrigue swirling within you. The way they speak, the elegance of their movements, and the grandeur of the throne room feel all too real to be a TV show. The cogs in your brain creak and groan as they turn, piecing together the fragments of the bizarre situation you’ve found yourself in.

“Wait.” Your brain stutters. The puzzle pieces finally fall into place, staring straight at the elven prince who looks back at you with raised brows. “If you’re actually Legolas, and you’re,” you gesture lamely to the elf on the throne, “Thranduil…”

Oh my god.

Oh. My. God.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” A laugh wrecks itself free from your chest, staggering backwards. “Am I in Lord of The Rings? The Hobbit? Is Sauron still evil?” This must be a dream, you think desperately, pinching your arm to test reality. Pain flares, but the confusion only deepens. 

Maybe I hit my head?

Legolas approaches you with concern in his eyes, but you flinch away, hands curling into fists as you assume a somewhat defensive position. The weight of their gazes almost makes you crumble. They’re real. They’re not just characters in a movie. Or cosplayers.

You’re in the Hobbit world, and this isn’t a prank. The realisation hits you like a punch to the gut. Your mind spins, grappling with the truth that this is no fantasy — it’s your reality now.

It crashes over you like a wave, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of pure disbelief.

This is insane. 

Your breath quickens as you watch Thranduil, regal and imposing, speak in a voice that sends chills down your spine. What if this is really happening? What if I can’t go back? Everything is muffled, unable to process anything that he says.

You blink rapidly, feeling the panic clawing at the edges of your mind. “No, no, no… this can’t be real…” Your voice trails off, and you find yourself staring at Legolas, at the exquisite throne, and at Thranduil’s intrigued yet guarded expression.

“You,” gesturing to the king of elves so casually would’ve probably cost your life, but right now you couldn’t care less. “Has Smaug attacked Lake-Town yet? What about the Ring, or whatever it’s called?”

Thranduil’s expression hardens, eyes narrowing. “You speak of events you should not know, human,” he states coldly, his voice laced with authority. “Your knowledge is… troubling. Why would you possess such insight into our affairs?”

The realisation dawns on you, a creeping dread that what you said could have dire consequences. You’d spoken too fast, too urgently for it to be seen as idiotic ramblings. You take a step back, the room suddenly feeling smaller, the walls closing in as Thranduil’s gaze pinches your chest with an unyielding grip.

Your lips part and close like a goldfish gasping for air, mind racing for ways to undo the fatal mistake made. The room spins slightly, disorienting you further. 

What have I done? 

Based on his reaction, none of what you’ve said has taken place yet, which means that it’s only going to get worse from here now that he’s heard.

Thranduil leans forward, the regal facade slipping away to reveal something darker. “Speak the truth,” he commands, each word measured and heavy. “How do you know these things?”

You swallow hard, panic bubbling in your chest. “I—uh, I just… I read the books. I mean, it’s not like you can keep secrets when you’re famous, right? Everyone knows about you and your kingdom and the dragon!” The frantic pace of your words makes you sound desperate, and you can hear the tremor in your voice.

Legolas’s brows furrow in worry as he steps closer, but is stopped by one of the guards whom his father waves a hand toward. You’re in a throne room with a king who holds the power of life and death in his hands, and you’re just a human who dropped into this world with knowledge that shouldn’t exist.

“What if I’m just a casual reader?” you babble, desperately trying to grasp at straws. “I mean, there are millions of people who love your stories! This has to be some kind of mix-up, right? I can’t be the only one that's read them! Sure, I might've only read the books when I was 16, but that should still count for something, right??”

Thranduil’s piercing gaze only intensifies. “Your flippancy in the face of such gravity is alarming. If you truly are a mere mortal with fanciful tales, you would not speak of such matters so easily.”

“I swear, I didn’t mean to-” you start, but the words get caught in your throat, overcome by a wave of nausea.

“Enough!” Thranduil’s voice reverberates through the chamber, commanding attention. His gaze sharpens, narrowing as he scrutinises you. “Your words bear the weight of knowledge that should not belong to a mere human. You speak of events that could unravel the very fabric of our history.”

A chill creeps down your spine, a mixture of fear and confusion. “But I-”

“Do not interrupt,” he snaps, his tone leaving no room for defiance. “You are a mystery to me, and mysteries are not to be trusted lightly. You may not be a spy, but the truth of your origins and how you came to know such things is troubling.”

“I can explain! I’m not a threat! Please-”

Thranduil raises a hand to silence you, his expression stern. “Your incoherence and wild claims only heighten my concern. Until I can ascertain the truth of your existence and intentions, I cannot allow you to roam freely within my realm.”

He stands, your heart sinking as he parts his lips.

“Seize her!” he commands, his voice resolute. The guards move forward, their expressions grim and unyielding. Legolas can only watch helplessly as you’re dragged away to the dungeons, your limp body and watery eyes staring at the ceiling.

— — — — — —

Maybe if you squint hard enough, the rock-hard floor would eventually become the emerald-encrusted bed you’d woken up on the first day you arrived here. Barely flinching when footsteps walk past your cell, you continue staring blankly at the ceiling.

Your back had grown numb to the stone floor, but you hardly noticed anymore. Days blend together, differentiated only by the creak of the cell door as someone delivers your meals; meals that remain untouched. 

At first, you'd begged anyone who would listen, voice hoarse from calling out for an audience with the king or even just a glimpse of Legolas, desperate for answers or even a small sign that you hadn’t simply vanished into some twisted nightmare.

But they never came.

Over time, your voice grew softer, your pleas weaker, until they faded entirely, swallowed by the plaguing silence of the dungeon. Now, you simply lie there, unmoving, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling, hoping that if you stare long enough, the rough stone might blur into something familiar or even comforting.

A shiver runs through you as a cool draft drifts in from somewhere in the dark. You barely register it, too accustomed to the damp cold that’s seeped into your bones over time. The floor is firm, pressing into your spine, yet you can’t bring yourself to shift or even curl up for warmth. Movement feels meaningless.

Time is a cruel, slippery thing. At first, it dragged, each hour stretching into an eternity, every moment a fresh reminder of how confined you were. But now, it blurs, slipping past in uneven stretches you can’t track. One blink, and days have vanished. Another, and an agonizing moment stretches forever.

It’s almost laughable, really. Just days ago (though it feels like a lifetime) you’d pounded on the cell door until your fists were raw, shouting until your throat burned, desperate for someone, anyone, to hear you. To acknowledge you. To see you. You’d begged, reasoned, demanded, your words spilling out like a broken dam.

But the silence was louder. It swallowed you whole.

The footsteps echo again. Slow and deliberate. You know the sound well by now, the rhythm of someone entering the cell, but you don’t bother looking. They leave a plate, same as always, then retreat without a word. Maybe if you close your eyes, you could almost pretend you’re back home. Almost.

But the ache of hunger remains, the chill lingers, and the weight of your isolation presses heavier with each passing day. You sink deeper into yourself, mind drifting as a desperate form of escape, retreating further and further from the reality of your situation.

It’s nightfall when someone approaches your cell once more. You’d mentally counted the number of times they delivered your food today. This one, however, sounds different. It’s a few seconds of silence that pass by before someone calls out to you in a hushed voice.

“Human, wake up!”

The lilt of his voice is vaguely familiar. You huff. As if Legolas, of all people, would come down here. If he wanted to, he would’ve already done so. But a part of you stirs, buried hope rising to the surface. 

Sitting up is difficult, your self-starvation having resulted in a weakened body. Empty eyes look to the door, only to widen at the sight of golden hair. “Legolas?” His name comes out in a whisper. You refuse to blink, fear gripping your chest at the thought of him disappearing the moment you do.

“What have the guards done?” He murmurs, shock in his eyes as he takes in the gauntness of your cheeks and the prominence of your collarbones that peek out from beneath the now dirty tunic.

“They didn’t do anything,” you mumble, sudden shame flooding your cheeks in a rush of warmth. “I just didn’t eat…”

Legolas’s brow furrows, his gaze softening as he watches you turn away, your voice barely audible. He hesitates before kneeling down. His movements are careful, almost as though he's approaching a wounded animal.

“That is no way to survive here,” he says in a gentle reprimand. “This may not be your world as you claim, but that doesn’t mean you must waste away in it.”

A small, bitter laugh escapes you, though it lacks any real humour. “What else am I supposed to do? No one believes me, and your king thinks I’m a threat just for… knowing things.” Your dry throat makes the words come out hoarse, swallowing down whatever saliva you can muster to lubricate it.

Legolas studies you for a long moment, something akin to compassion flickering in his eyes. “Perhaps my father was… hasty in his judgement,” he murmurs. “If you truly pose no danger, then it would be unjust to keep you here like this.”

He straightens, the resolve in his gaze hardening. “I will speak to him. I cannot promise he’ll be easily swayed, but I will do what I can to ease your burden. No one should be left to suffer like this.”

Your head snaps up, a glimmer of hope fighting its way through your weariness. “You would… do that?”

“Do not misunderstand,” he says, voice firm but kind. “I know not what brought you here, nor do I fully understand your knowledge of our affairs. But you have not acted with malice. You look more like a soul displaced than a threat.”

For a moment, he seems almost conflicted, as though something deeper drives him to help you. He lets out a sigh, his hand hovering above the branches that make up your cell gate, almost touching but not quite. “Eat, regain your strength. I will speak to my father. Perhaps… Perhaps there is another path.”

He leaves as quickly as he arrives, the only trace of him the empathetic advice he’d given you. You glance from the now empty hall to the tray of bread and roasted vegetables that had probably become cold by now.

The first thing you grab, however, is the clay cup filled with crystal-clear water. You never knew water could taste so sweet. It’s gone in seconds, and you place the now empty cup beside you before attacking the coarse bread with an almost primal ferocity. 

At first, you think it’s just the sensation of the food, like a lump that sticks in your throat, or a catch in your breath. But then you notice the tremor in your hands, and a strange wetness slipping down your cheeks.

You freeze, a piece of bread still clutched in your hand, and touch your face cautiously. Your fingertips come away damp, and the reality sinks in: you’re crying. It’s not the sobbing kind, nor the loud, cathartic release you’d seen in movies. Instead, it’s quiet and constant, like a river that refuses to stop flowing.

Somewhere between the exhaustion, the loneliness, and the fear you’ve tried to ignore, the tears found their way out, and now they refuse to stop. So you sit and allow them to fall, quiet sniffles echoing through the lonely cell.

I want to go home.

After your tears subside, you continue eating with a sense of calm. Legolas is right, you reason as you bite into a chunk of carrot. I have to eat to survive, so I can go home again. I’m sure he’ll find a way. He’s Legolas, after all.

The tray is soon cleared of all food, and you stumble to the door, placing it nearby. Laying back down on the floor once more, you gradually succumb to the lull of sleep, hoping that when you open your eyes again, the sight of a familiar window by your bed will greet you like an old friend.

— — — — — —

“You’re kidding me.”

The very elf king guy that had you confined to this cell stares down at you with thinly veiled disgust in his eyes when the words slip from your lips. Before, you would’ve probably collapsed at his feet, trying to beg for your life in a strange and unfamiliar world. 

But now? A spark of anger triggers something in you. With all the energy your body can muster, you slam yourself against the cell door, fingers curled around the sturdy bars that secure you inside. “Let me out,” you grit your teeth, pissed off by the calm expression on his face.

“You spoke of the One Ring.” He ignores your pitiful attempt at intimidation, shifting ever so slightly as he stares at you. “Elaborate.”

You swallow hard, throat suddenly dry as the weight of his gaze pins you in place. “I—I don’t know much,” you stammer, the words tumbling out despite your attempts to stay composed. Right. He has the power to end your life with a flick of his hand.  “Only that… the One Ring is tied to Sauron somehow. I remember that it’s… powerful, dangerous.”

Thranduil’s expression doesn’t shift. His eyes are as cold as ice, studying you with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

“What else do you know?” His voice is low and unyielding, giving no indication of his thoughts. “You spoke of Smaug as well. And mentioned Sauron. Speak clearly, human.”

You let out a shaky breath, mind racing as you try to recall the scattered bits and pieces from books you barely remember. “Smaug… he’s alive, somewhere… in the Lonely Mountain.” 

The details are hazy, like faded ink on an old receipt stored away in your wallet. “But I don’t know much else, only that he’s… a dragon,” you add, voice trembling. “And Sauron… I remember that he’s evil. That he… corrupts things.” You look up, frustrated by the gaps in your own memory. “I’m sorry. I’m trying, but I read about this so long ago, and a lot of it is… gone.”

For a moment, silence hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Thranduil’s gaze sharpens, silently weighing your words, assessing whether to trust your confusion or see through it. Then he leans forward, his face unreadable.

“Why, then, do you speak of these events as if they’ve already happened?” he presses, his tone probing but controlled. “The dragon, the One Ring. You speak of them as if they are matters of history, yet they are our present. I find your lack of knowledge… puzzling.”

The truth of his words only magnifies the anxiety twisting inside you. How can you explain the concept of a book…a story, even, from another world? How can you convince him that you’re not some spy, or a witch wielding forbidden knowledge?

“I know how it sounds,” you say slowly, struggling to keep your voice steady. “I sound… deranged, I get that. But where I’m from, all of this. This whole world…it’s just a story.” The words leave you, barely a whisper. “You, Legolas, even… Sauron. You’re part of a book.”

At that, Thranduil’s expression grows colder, as if his patience is waning. “And what purpose would such a… ‘story’ serve?”

You hesitate, trying to find words that would make sense to him, though you can barely understand it yourself. “It was… a tale of good and evil. Of heroes, villains. I read it when I was younger because it was assigned reading. But this,” you gesture around you, the dungeon walls, the cold stone floor, “none of it felt real. I didn’t even think it could be real.”

Thranduil regards you for a long, unreadable moment, then shifts slightly, his stance regal yet filled with disdain. “You will remain here until I determine whether you are a danger to my realm,” he declares, sharp and final. “Your knowledge, whether madness or truth, must be contained.”

“But I’m not a threat!” you protest, hands gripping the edge of the cold metal. “I don’t know enough to change anything. I’m just… I’m just trying to understand.”

“If you possess knowledge that should not exist in your mind, that alone is reason for caution,” Thranduil replies, unmoved by your desperation. He takes his leave, walking away with that unnerving composure of his.

“Please-” Your plea comes out choked. “At least let me take a bath.” It’s truly absurd, the fact that luxuries like hot showers and soaps you’d once taken for granted are now things you have to beg for.

He stops, turning his head slightly. He nods once to the guard stationed nearby, granting your request. Relief floods your body in waves, barely able to believe he’d agree. The guard steps forward, taking the set of keys from his belt and unlocking the door. Your body is too weak to fight, and Thranduil is most definitely aware of this. 

It’s also probably why he’s letting you have this one thing.

As you’re led down the stone corridor, you catch sight of other elves passing by, each one casting curious, wary glances in your direction. You shrink under their stares, feeling painfully out of place. When you reach a chamber outfitted with a small basin of steaming water and a cloth, your breath catches at the sight.

“Thank you,” you murmur, feeling the words slip out almost unconsciously as the guard averts his gaze, giving you privacy to bathe.

The water is lukewarm, but it might as well be a luxury spa as you scrub away days' worth of dust and weariness. You close your eyes, letting the water drip down your face, imagining for just a moment that you’re back in your world. A place with warm showers, comforting scents, and familiar sounds. But no matter how hard you try, the ache in your chest remains, reminding you of where you truly are.

You take your time, hoping to savour every second of it, every drop of water and gentle brush of the cloth. But too soon, it’s over. The guard’s footsteps echo softly as he approaches, a subtle indication that your time is up.

After dressing in the simple, clean tunic provided, you’re led back through the winding corridors, the fleeting moment of peace slipping away as reality settles in. When the heavy cell door shuts behind you, sealing you once more in cold stone. 

— — — — — —

Another week slipped by. Thranduil continued his irregular visits, each time pressing you for information. You’d combed through (almost) every scrap of detail you could remember, hoping it might eventually lead to freedom. But even with your best efforts, the gaps in your memory remained stubbornly intact.

To hold on to some piece of yourself, you started working out in your cell — pushups, sit-ups, anything to keep moving. At least now, you could understand why gym bros were so committed. Without the endorphins from the exercise, you probably would have unravelled by the fifth or sixth day.

Legolas had visited again a few nights ago. His expression held a quiet regret as he admitted he hadn’t yet persuaded his father to release you. Still, he’d managed to convince Thranduil to transfer you to a more comfortable cell, a small victory in his eyes.

But the surprise on his face when you declined almost made you laugh.

Honestly, you’d given up hope that he or anyone else could get you out. Instead, you’d decided to rely on your own wits, piecing together hazy recollections of events that would eventually bring familiar characters to the dungeons.

When the dwarves arrived, you’d just need to bide your time until Bilbo found the barrels or some other escape opportunity presented itself.

You had no idea how long it would take. But if you’d endured this long, what was a little more waiting? Based on the hints Legolas had dropped about recent events across Middle-earth, you estimated the timeline was closing in on Thorin’s arrival. With any luck, the moment to escape would come soon enough.

The winding passageways had become familiar as well, Thranduil having given you more opportunities to bathe in exchange for the information you provided. (Though, you suspect it has more to do with his senses being compromised by your stench when he’d drop by for questioning)

Roughly two hours (or more, you can’t really tell at this point) after you had returned to your cell, hair damp from the bath and skin scrubbed clean, loud cries echoed through the cold, stone corridors of the dungeon. The sounds were chaotic and jarring. Gruff voices raised in anger, the clanking of metal chains, and the thud of heavy boots against the floor resounded in your ears, cutting through the usual silence.

The unmistakable voices of the dwarves, rough and determined, reached you as they were dragged into the dungeons, each cry echoing with a mix of defiance and dread. Each heartbeat of yours is like a drum until an entire marching band is practically playing in your chest. 

You raise your head from where you sit, staring at the wall opposite with weary eyes as you hear loud protests and bodies being harshly pushed into the neighbouring cells.