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IT IS DARK. And it takes Nari an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was because her eyes are closed.
That explains why she can't see the source of pain that pricked at the very center of her forehead, like a ripple in water or a needle dropped into silk. And after her fight with Ryo, she takes this defensively– her arms strike the bed hard, eyes sudden to snap open as she throws herself forward. But there's no threat, no danger, no nothing. In fact, the very bed Nari wakes on is the same one from her room on the sloop Zuko directed months ago.
She looks around. Nothing is out of place, though the room itself has been lived in; a drawer that isn't fully shut, a crinkle in the rug before her bed, kohl uncapped on her vanity. Something in the obviously fake scene brought her an overwhelming sense of peace– back then, terrible things did not happen. Sure, the Avatar would slip from their hands like sand, but life ran its course over a pathed, clear path.
Now it was just overgrown woods in the dark of night. No light, no direction, no easy way through.
Iroh would say something wise about that, had he...
Wait.
Wasn't Nari just fighting Ryo on a Lei Tai platform? Had he just mentioned Akio, shot fire at Zuko? That was only a few seconds ago, right? So why was she here?
Her forehead still itches. When it crinkles with the onset of confusion, Nari's stomach drops. And so does her bed. She plummets down a black abyss, guts clenched and shoulders snapping, until the softened cot she sat on became a hard, solid rock. There was nothing else to her surroundings besides a cold temperature and the round slab of earth her rear crashed into.
A flash of light. It's bright, blinding, headache inducing. And then it's the courtyard of the Royal Palace. Calm gardens, gentle wind hitting the wisteria trees as their scent carries through the humid air. It's thick with redemption when Nari finds she's still stranded on the Lei Tai platform, and a shadowed opponent approaches.
No face. Nothing too distinct. Just an outline of Ryo's figure– messed up hair, broad shoulders, bandana and all. 'Fire' is her first instinct. A brash white flame sprawls from her fingertips, burning hot and wild. It covers the expanse of the Lei Tai, the expanse of the garden. Flowers burn to ash, simmering with her colorless flame, smoke thick in the air. Surely she struck her target, surely Ryo is down.
No. Ryo isn't down.
When the smoke clears and the fire dissipates, Ryo doesn't shrivel up in pain, he doesn't lay wounded on the crusted earth like his own brother once had. Because it wasn't Ryo who stalked her presence, it was Zuko. Prince Zuko. Clad in his formal, royal gear. The scar on his face still lingers, age just the same as when she last saw him. But there is innocence in his flaxen eyes, thrown wide with terror, and his hair has grown to a full length ponytail as if his honor had been regained.
