Avatar: The Book Of The Phoenix

Rokkun's Sacrifice

A week had passed since the Phoenix Legion's desperate counterattack against the combined armies of Fire Lord Zuko and Earth King Xuo. The fleeting taste of victory had soured, crushed by relentless enemy reinforcements that ground the conflict into a brutal stalemate. Bin Er's streets lay scarred, its walls battered under the weight of siege towers and earthbending assaults.

In the dim war room, Oghuz's voice cut through the heavy air. "We're out of food, Rokkun," he said, his tone grim, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. "The wounded pile up, and our supplies are gone. We can't treat them."

Rokkun stood by the window, his face pale, bronze hair matted with sweat. The ravaged city sprawled below, smoke curling from smoldering ruins. "We can hold," he rasped, voice fraying with defiance. "We must."

Azula, seated silently until now, leaned forward, her golden eyes steady. "Holding Bin Er is a death sentence, Rokkun," she said, her calm voice belying the urgency beneath. "We're surrounded, outnumbered, outmatched. We need to retreat, join the Southern Army, and crush the Coalition later."

Rokkun's gaze snapped to her, searching, a flicker of frustration in his amber eyes. "Retreat?" he growled. "Abandon our people to those vultures?"

"It's our only path," Azula pressed, her voice sharpening with rare pleading. "You know it's true."

Rokkun stared at the floor, jaw tight, the weight of her words sinking in. Holding Bin Er was futile—a trap of stone and fire. But leaving his people to Xuo's mercy twisted like a blade in his chest. He was their Khan, forged in cruelty, yet bound to protect them.

A spark of a plan ignited in his mind. He straightened, voice resolute. "I'll stay."

Azula's breath caught. "No, Rokkun, you can't!"

"I'll be the distraction," he said, eyes burning with grim determination. "Xuo wants my head. If I hold the line, you'll have time to get our people out."

"But what about you?" Azula's voice cracked, raw with fear.

Rokkun stepped closer, cupping her face, his thumb tracing her cheek with a tenderness that belied his warrior's edge. "I'll survive," he murmured, voice soft but unyielding. "I've faced worse."

He leaned in, kissing her deeply, a fierce, lingering press that stole her breath. Azula clung to him, her heart hammering. Over months, her fire had entwined with his—loyalty, perhaps love, binding her to this man who'd become her anchor. The thought of losing him tore at her core.

"Go," he whispered, pulling back. "Oghuz, Taijuk, lead our people out. Now."

Tears brimmed in Azula's eyes, a rare fracture in her armor. "Rokkun—"

"Go!" His command was iron, cutting through her protest.

With a final, anguished glance at the man she'd grown to love, Azula turned and fled, tears streaking her face. The pain of leaving him was a wound deeper than any blade, but she knew he was right. Oghuz and Taijuk followed, their faces set with grim resolve. They had to save their people, racing toward the harbor as the siege's roar—cannons, earthbending, and war cries—echoed around them, a grim omen of the sacrifices to come.