The Fire Nation Prince

Chapter 35: Return of Yogan

There was no sound.

No air.

No warmth.

Just black.

Aang blinked and opened his eyes into nothing. The stillness was suffocating, a void stretching endlessly in every direction. He looked down but saw no feet, no ground. Just himself, floating.

“Where… am I?” he asked aloud, though no echo came.

His thoughts raced. He had been waiting. In Omashu. Waiting for Bumi to return.

Then nothing.

And now… this.

Then, suddenly, a voice, calm and flat, but unmistakably alive:

“An airbender.”

Aang turned.

There, floating a few meters ahead, was a man, middle-aged, tall, weathered by time. His eyes were sharp and studying, and the blue arrow tattoo on his head matched Aang’s own, except the ink was faded, cracked with age. His clothing was a strange amalgamation of styles: Fire Nation armor, Air Nomad robes, Earth Kingdom leathers… a patchwork of identities. The leather on his shoulders had the rusted insignia of a symbol Aang did not recognize.

”Who are you?” Aang asked, instinctively shifting into a defensive floating posture.

The man did not answer directly. His sharp and gray eyes scanned every part of him like a predator studying a deer.

“So you’re the current vessel…” he muttered, not entirely to Aang.

”Whose vessel?” Aang asked, cautiously.

“Where is the other one?”

“What other one?”

“The foreigner boy. He doesn’t belong. The one with a storm inside his soul.”

”I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aang said, baffled.

The man frowned.

“You will ruin my glorious return. He’ll sense you. I won’t allow it.”

With a swift flick of his hand, wind spiraled unnaturally around his palm, and with a push, he struck Aang square in the chest.

The air left Aang’s lungs.

A flash of white engulfed his vision.

And then…

Nothing.

Yogan stood silently in the black once more.

But he was not alone.

A second voice, familiar and lined with menace, echoed through the void:

“So I was right… you have been having company.”

Yogan didn’t turn. He didn’t need to.

”Kano,” he muttered, his voice half-exhausted, half-annoyed.

The abyss began to ripple, as though heat rose from a fire not yet visible. Shadows folded into themselves until the cloaked form of Kano emerged from the darkness. A faceless hood, pitch black robes, the symbol of a twisted lotus marked subtly on the hem of his sash.

”You lied,” Kano said.

”I lie often. You’ll have to be more specific,” Yogan quipped, his staff spinning lazily in one hand, as if to hide the tension forming in his spine.

”You said you were alone.”

“I was. Until the wind blew in a child.”

”You know the rules, Yogan. This is not a place for wanderers.”

“And yet I am here. Still.”

A pause.

Then Kano stepped closer.

”The Master will not tolerate such actions. The master has kept to his part of the deal Yogan, we can always re-negotiate the terms. Though I doubt, the current inhabitants outside can handle the negotiations.”

“You are not my prison warden,” Yogan snapped. “This place isn’t controlled by any of us. He came. I didn’t summon him.”

”And yet now he has seen this place. It doesn’t matter how. The terms were very clear, there will be consequences for his presence here.”

Yogan’s expression hardened.

“Then let him know.” His voice dropped. “Maybe it’s time the world remembered why it feared what came before Raava.”

Kano’s hood tilted, curious, as though sensing the weight behind the words.

“Don’t get ideas, Yogan. You may be ancient… but you are still sealed.” Kano warned. “No body even knows who Raava is, let alone you.”

Yogan stepped forward, his eyes suddenly glowing dim red, the arrow on his head flickering like a coal ready to catch flame.

“That seal weakens every time one of you comes here to remind me of it.” Yogan warned. “One day soon, I will return to the outside world.”

Silence.

Then Kano said,

”You won’t be warned again.”

And he vanished, swallowed by the dark, leaving Yogan to drift in the silence.

He exhaled.

Again, alone.

His fingers tightened on his staff.

He had waited for a long time.

Now, two vessels had touched the abyss in under a month.

One carrying the soul of a boy who was more than a boy.

The other…

Her.

He looked up into the endless dark above.

“It’s coming. I just need more time…”

***

The wind shifted softly over the manicured hedges of the Omashu royal garden, carrying with it the sweet scent of roasted scallion cakes and pickled plum rice balls. Somewhere nearby, a turtle-duck splashed into the koi pond, disturbing the still surface. The midmorning sun had climbed gently above the stone walls, bathing the palace grounds in a warm golden hue.

Aang’s eyes shot open.

He jerked upward with a gasp, nearly knocking over the carefully arranged picnic spread beside him. His hand immediately reached for his chest, then his neck, then the air around him, still here. Still real.

Still breathing.

“Aang?” Katara asked, eyebrows furrowed. Her hand had already shot out to steady him, the way she always did. “Are you okay?”

“What in the name of steamed sea prunes was that?” Sokka mumbled around a half-chewed rice ball. “You just passed out mid-chew. Like-plop. No warning.”

Aang sat there frozen, blinking at the sky. He didn’t answer at first. He could still feel the chill of the void pressing on his skin, the emptiness around him, the man’s voice echoing in his ears…

”So you’re her current vessel...”

Katara leaned forward, brushing back a loose strand of hair from her face. “Aang, talk to us. You scared us.”

Aang shook his head slowly and rubbed his eyes. “I-I was somewhere else.”

Sokka raised an eyebrow and leaned forward with exaggerated concern. “Like… mentally, emotionally, or spiritually? Or did a bad dumpling just drop-kick you into the Spirit World?”

“No,” Aang said slowly, “It wasn’t the Spirit World… at least, not like I’ve ever known it.”

He looked between them, then down at his gloved hands, flexing them like he wasn’t sure they were still attached. “It was just… black. Everywhere. No color. No wind. No sound. Just me. Floating.”

Katara’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What happened?”

“There was a man,” Aang replied, glancing off to the koi pond like the reflection there might show him something. “Middle-aged. Airbender tattoos. I’ve never seen him before, but…”

His voice trailed.

“But what?” Sokka prompted.

“I knew him,” Aang said at last, his brow furrowing. “Or-I felt like I did. There was something in the way he looked at me. Like I was part of something I didn’t understand. Something old. Ancient.”

Katara and Sokka exchanged a glance.

“Did he say anything?” Katara asked gently.

“He called me… a vessel. He said I was her vessel.”

“Who’s her?” Sokka asked, now fully interested and suspicious. “That’s usually not a good sign in spooky ghost realms.”

“I don’t know,” Aang admitted. “But he also asked about someone else. A foreigner. He said I’d ruin his return if I stayed. Then he shoved me, and I woke up here.”

Katara reached for his hand and gave it a small squeeze. “You’re safe now. Maybe it was a dream…”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Aang said, firmer this time. “I felt the air. I heard his voice. His tattoos… they were real. I saw the bend of the wind when he moved his arm. He was an airbender, but… different. His clothes weren’t like the Nomads. Not the monks. Nothing like what I know. They were… everything.”

“Everything?” Sokka asked, licking plum sauce off his thumb.

“Fire Nation armor. Earth Kingdom fabrics. Even bits of Water Tribe stitching. And still, the arrow tattoos like mine.”

Sokka sat back and exhaled. “So we’ve got some mysterious Airbender super ghost…”

“Who isn’t a ghost,” Aang interjected.

“...fine, not-ghost, who lives in the nothingness and shoves kids around. Classic,” Sokka muttered.

Katara tilted her head, concerned. “Could he be a past Avatar?”

Aang shook his head again, more unsure than before. “Maybe. Maybe not. But he wasn’t like Roku. Or Kyoshi. There was no glow. No spirit energy. Just him… and something in him that felt… off.”

He went quiet.

“What if he was trapped?” Aang wondered aloud. “Trapped like I was. Or worse. Like he’s been there a long, long time.”

Katara sat in silence for a moment before offering him a small, hopeful smile. “Then maybe you were meant to see him. Maybe there’s a reason. A connection.”

“Yeah,” Sokka added, chewing again. “Or maybe your brain needed a nap and picked the most terrifying way to get one.”

Despite himself, Aang gave a weak chuckle.

But inside, the unease gnawed at him.

He looked like an airbender…

But he wasn’t.

And he knew something.

Aang looked up at the horizon beyond the garden walls. The wind brushed against his cheeks once more. Warm. Familiar. Safe.

But for the first time in a long while, it didn’t make him feel comforted.

It made him feel watched.

[A/N: Can’t wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on .com/saiyanprincenovels.]