Avatar: The Book Of The Phoenix

The Traitor

The midday sun beat down on Xanadu's encampment, shimmering off the polished crimson of the guards' armor and turning the air into a stifling haze. Within the cool, dimly lit command tent, a tension hung heavy, thick as the dust swirling around the feet of the guards who had unceremoniously dragged Taijuk inside.

He swayed slightly, the remnants of last night's revelry still clinging to him like a foul shroud—his clothes rumpled, his face a mask of grime and a hangover's despair, a fresh bruise blooming on his jaw from the rough handling.

"You summoned me, Lord?" Taijuk slurred, his voice thick with liquor and fear, his eyes bloodshot and darting.

Rokkun sat near his desk, his towering frame casting a long shadow, his sleeveless tunic revealing arms corded with muscle and scars. His long copper hair fell loose, framing amber eyes that fixed on Taijuk with chilling intensity. A flicker of contempt crossed his face as he surveyed the disheveled warrior, his cocky grin emerging like a blade from its sheath.

"I did," Rokkun said, his voice a low growl laced with mocking charm. "Look at you, Taijuk. Pathetic. The once-great warrior, now a stumbling mess reeking of cheap rice wine and regret. What's happened to you? Lost your fire in the bottom of a bottle?"

Taijuk mumbled an incoherent response, his gaze darting around the tent, avoiding the Khan's scrutiny, sweat beading on his forehead despite the shade.

"In case you haven't noticed," Rokkun said, his voice rising with calculated menace, "my sons are missing. Where were you the night of the feast?"

Taijuk blinked, momentarily disoriented, his hand trembling as he wiped his mouth. "I... I was in my tent, with a servant girl," he stammered, his voice regaining a semblance of composure, though his eyes betrayed the lie.

Rokkun scoffed, leaning forward, his grin sharpening into something predatory. "Servant girl? Cute story. So why is it, then, that when the Earthbenders raided our camp, you were absent from the battle? While my men bled and died?"

"I... I was sleeping, my lord," Taijuk mumbled, his voice dropping to a whisper, his knees buckling slightly under the weight of Rokkun's stare. "I had drunk too much the night of the feast."

Rokkun's eyes narrowed, his charm turning cold as ice. "So as a consequence," he said, his voice dripping with venom, rising from his seat to tower over Taijuk, "you let your brothers push back a raid alone, allow my sons to be kidnapped, while you sleep off your stupor like a worthless dog?"

Taijuk bristled, a spark of defiance igniting in his hazy eyes. "What are you getting at, Rokkun?" he demanded, his voice hardening, though his hands clenched to hide the shake.

Rokkun leaned in close, his breath hot on Taijuk's face, his presence overwhelming like a storm about to break. "The night of the raid," he said, his voice a low, menacing growl that sent a shiver through the tent, "the Earthbenders knew exactly when and where to attack. They had help from the inside—someone who sold us out for what? A pouch of silver? A promise of mercy?"

Taijuk recoiled, his eyes widening in disbelief, sweat now pouring down his face. "You suspect a traitor?" he asked, his voice trembling, a bead of blood trickling from his lip where he'd bitten it.

"I do," Rokkun replied, a chilling smile playing on his lips, his hand shooting out to grab Taijuk by the collar, lifting him slightly off the ground. "And I've narrowed it down to my inner circle. It'd be a damn shame to double-cross me, Taijuk. After all we've given you—battles won, glory shared. I'd hate to make an example of you... slowly."

"My loyalty is pledged to you, my Lord," Taijuk gasped, his gaze fixed on the floor, his body shaking under Rokkun's grip. "I would never dream of it."

"Let's hope not," Rokkun hissed, his voice a venomous whisper, releasing Taijuk with a shove that sent him stumbling back. "Because if I find out otherwise, I'll make sure you burn from the inside out."

He looked Taijuk up and down once more, disgust evident. "Out of my sight."

Taijuk stumbled backward, his mind reeling, a fresh cut on his hand from scraping against the tent pole in his haste. He cast one last, desperate glance at the Khan, his face a mixture of fear and defiance, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth from biting his tongue. He knew then that Rokkun's suspicion, however unfounded it seemed, had fallen upon him like a death sentence. And he knew that his life, already spiraling out of control, was about to take a dangerous turn.

Taijuk shambled out of the Khan's tent, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, the sun's glare blinding him as he emerged, aggravating the throbbing in his skull. The air shimmered with heat, but Taijuk felt a chilling dread creeping into his bones, his hangover now laced with raw terror. This was too close. Rokkun, with his uncanny instincts and thirst for power, would not let this go. It was only a matter of time before he pieced together the truth, before he realized Taijuk was the traitor—and the consequences would be brutal, a slow execution to serve as a warning.

He had to act fast. He needed to warn his contacts, to get them to safety. He needed to disappear, to vanish into the shadows before Rokkun could strike, his hands stained with more blood.
With a newfound urgency, Taijuk made his way toward General Shoka's tent. The General, a grizzled veteran with eyes that had seen countless battles and bore scars from fire and steel, sat outside, his gaze fixed on the horizon, a pipe clenched between his teeth, smoke curling like spirits in the air.

"Ah, Taijuk," Shoka greeted, his voice a low rumble, noticing the turmoil etched on Taijuk's face—the pallor, the sweat-soaked clothes, the faint tremble. "You look like you've seen a spirit, boy. What is it?"

Taijuk hesitated, then poured out his fears in a torrent of words, his voice cracking. "Rokkun knows it's me," he blurted out, his breath ragged. "I'm almost certain he knows I had something to do with Sozin and Viszla's disappearance."

He explained the encounter with Rokkun, the chilling accusations, the thinly veiled threats, the grip that had left bruises on his collarbone. Shoka listened intently, his expression growing grimmer with each passing word, his pipe forgotten as ash fell to the ground.

"Then you must leave," Shoka urged, his voice low and urgent, glancing around to ensure no eavesdroppers. "Do so under the cover of night. Are your partners still holed up in the swamp?"
Taijuk nodded, his hands shaking. "They are."

"Good," Shoka replied. "Meet them there. You must disappear, Taijuk. Vanish into the shadows before my son can strike—before he makes an example of you in ways that'll haunt the camp for years."

Before Taijuk could respond, Shoka handed him a small, heavy bag, its contents clinking with the promise of gold—and blood money. "This is for your troubles," Shoka said, his voice gruff with emotion, his eyes shadowed with regret. "And as your final payment. Don't look back."

Taijuk looked down at the bag, his eyes wide with a mixture of gratitude and despair, the weight of it pulling at his injured hand. He knew this was likely his last interaction with the General, his last connection to the life he once knew. He thanked Shoka, his voice choked with emotion, then turned and fled the encampment, the shadows of the approaching night already beginning to lengthen, his footsteps hurried and uneven, leaving a trail of dust and dread.

His future was uncertain, his freedom hanging by a thread, the sting of betrayal burning like a fresh wound.