Avatar: The Book Of The Phoenix

Parlay

The parlay took place at the shattered gates of Bin-Er, where the wide pavilion walkway met the city's main entrance. Smoke still drifted from smoldering buildings, but the fighting had paused—both sides holding their breath while the leaders spoke.

Zuko and King Xuo approached first, flanked by a small delegation: a dozen Earth Kingdom royal guards in green armor and a handful of Fire Nation soldiers loyal to Zuko, their red cloaks stark against the gray ash. Behind them, the coalition forces waited in formation—earthbenders ready to raise walls, firebenders prepared to attack.

On the other side of the gate, Rokkun waited with his own group. Azula stood at his right, arms folded, expression unreadable. Oghuz loomed to his left, axe resting on his shoulder. Taijuk leaned against a broken pillar, bow slung across his back, a lazy smirk on his face. Behind them, a line of Nomad warriors in mismatched armor and war paint watched in silence.

Zuko stopped a dozen paces from the gate. His eyes found Azula first.

"Azula," he said, voice flat and cold.

She inclined her head slightly. "Zuko."

Then his gaze shifted to the man beside her.

Rokkun met it with a slow, familiar grin—wide, confident, almost boyish if not for the hard edge behind it.

"And this must be Khan Rokkun..." Zuko said quietly.

Rokkun threw his head back and laughed—rich, unhurried, the sound rolling across the smoke like he was greeting an old friend at a tavern.

"Offended doesn't even cover it," he said,
spreading his arms in mock hurt. "After all the times we sparred in the palace gardens? After all the nights we snuck out to drink stolen tea and talk about conquering the world?" He tilted his head, grin sharpening into something wicked. "Or have you scrubbed your old friend Aarslan from memory so thoroughly you don't even recognize the man who once beat you in every single duel?"

Zuko's breath caught. Memory slammed into him—two boys racing across training mats, blades clashing, laughter echoing off stone walls. Aarslan—Rokkun—had been his closest companion for years. Then the war took them in different directions.

Zuko had assumed Rokkun died in some forgotten battle. He had mourned him, quietly, like so many others.

"You were supposed to be dead," Zuko said, voice rough.

Rokkun shrugged, still smiling. "Disappointing, isn't it? But I've always been hard to kill. And clearly—" he gestured to himself with a flourish, "—I've been busy staying alive in style."

King Xuo stared between them, stunned. "You... know each other?"

Zuko didn't look away from Rokkun. "We grew up together. Trained together. Until the war tore everything apart."

Rokkun's grin softened—just a fraction. "And look at us now. You, the Fire Lord who tamed the world. Me, the Khan who's going to burn it down and start over."

He stepped forward, boots crunching on broken stone. "So. Let's skip the pleasantries, shall we? You want Bin-Er back. I want it to stay mine."

Zuko's voice was steady, but tight. "This city is Earth Kingdom territory. The war ended five years ago. You have no claim here. Surrender. Leave. Or we will take it by force."

Rokkun laughed again—this time louder, head thrown back like he'd just heard the best joke of his life.

"Claim?" he echoed, spreading his arms wide. "I don't need a claim, Zuko. I take what I want. And right now, I want this city. I want the west. And when I'm done with the west..." His grin turned razor-sharp. "I'll want the Fire Nation back. The real Fire Nation. Not the weak, apologetic version you've turned it into."

Oghuz stepped forward, axe resting on his shoulder. "You talk too much, boy. The Nomads don't kneel. We burn."

Taijuk smirked from the side. "And we're very good at burning."

Xuo's voice cut through. "You will surrender this city, or we will bury you beneath it."

Rokkun looked at the king with mock surprise. "King Xuo, I presume? Nice to finally meet the man who let his kingdom rot while Zuko played peacemaker."

He turned back to Zuko. "You really think you can stop me? You, who begged the world for forgiveness? You, who turned your back on your own people?"

Zuko's hand drifted to his swords. "I turned my back on conquest. On cruelty. On everything you still worship."

Rokkun's grin faded slightly. "And that's why you're losing. You forgot what it means to be Fire Nation."

Azula finally spoke, voice calm but cutting.

"Enough. This is pointless. You want the city? Take it. We'll see who's left standing."

Zuko looked at her—really looked. For the first time in years, he saw something flicker behind her mask. Not regret. Not sorrow. But something close.

"I don't want to fight you, Azula," he said quietly. "Not again."

She met his gaze. "Then leave."

Rokkun stepped between them, grin returning. "She's right, old friend. Leave. Or stay. Either way, this city stays ours. And if you want it back..." He spread his arms wide, swords glinting in the sunlight. "You'll have to go through me."

No one moved.

The wind carried the distant sound of catapults being loaded.

Zuko looked at Xuo. The king's face was stone.

Then Zuko looked back at Rokkun—at the man who had once been his closest friend.

"No," he said.

Rokkun's grin widened.

"Then let's dance."

The parlay was over.

The war had begun again.

And this time, it would not end quietly.