Chapter Text
The sea lay flat and dark beneath the moon. Zuko glared at the horizon. He had been there for over an hour. Most of the crew slept below, but a few soldiers kept watch.
One year. An entire year of searching, and nothing to show for it.
They had chased petty rumors along the Earth Kingdom coast. A supposed airbender sighting in a fishing village had turned out to be a street performer with wires and sleight of hand. They even ventured to the remote islands outside the western air temple, believing they might find a lead, to no avail. The absence of any trail at all after investigating these areas was the worst part.
He pushed the thought aside. It did not matter. The Avatar existed. He had to.
Footsteps approached behind him, making soft ceramic clicks. "Still awake, nephew?"
Zuko glanced back. His uncle held two cups of steaming tea.
"Someone has to be." Zuko turned back to the horizon. "We can't afford to miss anything."
"I doubt that the Avatar will appear before you tonight." Iroh stepped beside him and offered a cup. "If you must, don't freeze while you wait."
Zuko accepted the Jasmine tea.
They stood together in silence. Iroh drank, untroubled. Zuko held the cup but did not drink.
"Perhaps," Iroh began, "the airbending Avatar perished long ago. If so, the cycle would have turned again. A waterbender from the Southern Tribe, or the Northern-"
"No. If a new Avatar had been born, we would know. After a hundred years, there would have been signs." He turned to Iroh. "The same Avatar is still out there. He's just biding his time. Training. Waiting to overthrow us."
"That is another possibility." Iroh shrugged and took another sip of tea. "If you intend to continue this search for another year, you should not neglect your training."
"I'm not."
"Tomorrow morning, we will continue working on the basics. Your fire is strong, but unfocused."
Zuko's grip tightened around the cup. "I need power. If the Avatar survived a hundred years, he has had a lifetime to prepare. I can't waste time on fundamentals."
"Do you believe that you will have an advantage over an Avatar who has mastered the basics of firebending and more after a hundred years?"
"Well… no…" Zuko frowned. "I've trained since I was a child."
"So have many avatars before. If you face an experienced Avatar as you are now, you will lose."
Zuko looked away, not liking the obvious truth. His free hand curled at his side.
"I say this not to discourage you." Iroh's tone softened. "A tree growing on a weak foundation will eventually fall."
The waves slapped against the metal hull.
Iroh watched his nephew. A year ago, he had hoped time away from his father might loosen the boy's grip on his father's command. It had not. Zuko clung to it with the same inflexible will Ozai had.
Suddenly, the air shifted. The wind vanished. The moonlight warped.
Zuko's cup slipped and shattered on the floor. "What…"
"Zuko." Iroh moved instantly, stance widening. "Something is wrong."
The ocean distorted, shaking their vessel. Sound compressed until Zuko could hear nothing but his own pulse.
Shouts erupted below. Soldiers spilled onto the deck. "Secure the engines!" someone shouted. "Shut down the boilers before-"
The ship lurched.
Not with the sea. Not with the wind. It was seized and pulled from every direction at once. Metal groaned. The smokestacks shuddered, and railings twisted behind him.
Zuko dropped and grabbed the rail. Two soldiers slid across the deck and crashed into the opposite side.
"Hold fast!" Iroh stood near the center of the ship, planted, one hand braced against the chaos.
Another wrenching pull. The deck buckled. Metal plates split outward. Zuko threw himself aside as part of the superstructure collapsed where he had been standing.
"Zuko!" Iroh's voice broke. "You have to jump. Now."
"I'm not leaving you!" Zuko clawed his way closer. Broken metal bit into his palms. The ship was tearing itself apart.
"Nephew. Please."
Something tore through the vessel.
Zuko saw Iroh reach for him, feeling helpless. Then the world changed. Cold light tore across his vision. The deck vanished. "Uncle!"
Light fractured. Zuko saw Iroh disappear. Then darkness closed in. Zuko fell through.
#
Zuko woke up cold and in pain. Blood trickled along his hairline. He managed to push himself up as he blinked, forcing his vision to steady.
Dark water lapped nearby, a bay maybe. The air smelled thick and acrid.
'Uncle!' Zuko staggered to his feet. He turned in a full circle, seeing more stone and scattered debris. "Uncle! Uncle, where are you?" No answer.
He could also see no signs of his ship or his crew. It was just him, alone.
Zuko sat down to try to think. The ship had been torn apart. Iroh had been there, reaching for him, and then-
Nothing. Zuko shoved the thought aside. His uncle was alive. He had to be. Iroh was strong. A master firebender. A general. He wouldn't die from a storm.
He lifted his head.
Beyond the shoreline, he could make out strange structures and lights.
Zuko stared.
The Earth Kingdom was known for building large structures. His Uncle had told him about the walls of Ba Sing Se being high, but this was different. There were hundreds of these vertical buildings.
He started climbing upward. At the top, he froze.
The city sprawled out before him was overwhelming. Fast movement caught his eye. "Carriages?" Dozens of them rolled along the streets without Ostritch horses or any other creature pulling them.
Zuko's chest tightened.
This wasn't the Earth Kingdom. This wasn't anywhere he knew.
People moved below, hunched beneath umbrellas and dark coverings. Even from this distance, their clothes looked strange. Nothing marked them as Fire Nation or Earth Kingdom or anything else.
With no other choice, Zuko made his way down into the city.
#
Up close, he felt boxed in by the buildings. The city seemed an odd gray. The chemical fumes of the horseless carriages as they passed irritated his nose.
One rolled by close enough to make him flinch. He caught a glimpse of someone inside. 'How is it moving?' He was aware of the advancements in steam engines back home, but this seemed impossible.
A cluster of people hurried past him. Zuko stepped aside, watching them. Their varied facial features stopped him. Skin tone ranged from pale white to dark brown. Some reminded him vaguely of the Earth Kingdom. Most didn't resemble anyone he knew.
'Where am I?' The usually stoic Zuko would have started interrogating someone for answers, but his resolve was shaken. They weren't speaking in any language he was familiar with. When he tried to find some sort of sign, he couldn't read any of it. The symbols were utterly foreign.
A man passed close by, and Zuko hesitated. "Excuse me. I need… Where am I? What city is this?"
The man looked up. His eyes flicked to Zuko's scar and spoke quickly. [What do you want?]
Zuko's stomach sank. "I don't… " He tried again. "I'm looking for someone. An older man. He would have-"
The man interrupted. [Chinatown is on the southside, buddy.] The man shoved past him and hurried away.
Zuko hadn't understood a single word. Conversations rose and fell in that same alien tongue. A woman spoke sharply into a small black object pressed to her ear. Everyone was speaking it. All of them. When people saw him, they were immediately intimidated by his armor and scar and kept walking. Some assumed he was either a super villain up to something.
To think that somewhere in this city, his uncle might be searching for him and facing the same problem.
Elsewhere
Iroh's back ached, but thankfully, nothing felt broken. Small mercies. He then felt small fingers rifling through his pockets. Someone was trying to rob him! Iroh opened his eyes to a young boy crouched over him, no more than ten. His face carried hints of Earth Kingdom ancestry, but his clothing was unfamiliar.
The boy’s fingers closed around something inside Iroh’s inner pocket. Coins, most likely. The last of what he had carried when the ship- Iroh sat up.
The boy recoiled, clutching a handful of Fire Nation coins. Then the child bolted quickly.
"Stop!"
Age had not dulled his speed. Iroh moved and caught the boy by the back of his jacket.
The child yelped and tried to escape. ["Let go of me, old man!"]
"You will return what you have taken, and you will apologize."
The boy shouted back, twisting in his grip.
Iroh changed to a tone that once made hardened soldiers straighten in their tracks without question. "I said, return my coins and apologize. Now."
The effect was immediate. The boy went still. His eyes widened, and something flickered across his face. When he spoke again, Iroh could understand. "Yes, grandpa. I'm sorry…"
The boy reminded Iroh of Zuko at that age. All sharp edges and bravado wrapped around fear.
Zuko.
The last image Iroh remembered was his nephew’s face, twisted in terror as the ship tore itself apart. Then there was nothing but falling here. Wherever here was.
Iroh’s grip loosened, though he did not release the boy yet. He held out his free hand.
The child hesitated, then dropped the coins into his palm. Three fire-brass pieces.
"Thank you." Iroh set the boy down and released his jacket. "Apology accepted."
The boy stumbled back, eyes fixed on the ground.
Iroh turned his attention outward.
The alley opened onto a narrow street lined with shops and stalls. Signs hung everywhere. He could recognize the smells of restaurants and herbalists.
People flowed past in steady numbers. Their faces could have belonged to the Fire Nation or the Earth Kingdom, but their clothing was nothing like traditional dress.
And the language. He heard his own tongue spoken plainly, but more often the same clipped, foreign speech the boy had used. Some people shifted between the two without pause.
Iroh blinked. He was a fish out of water here. needed context. Information.
The boy lingered nearby, uncertain. Iroh studied him again. The too-thin frame. The worn jacket.
A street child? Ba Sing Se had been full of them.
Iroh spoke slowly. "What is your name?"
The boy blinked. "Danny."
A strange name as far as Iroh was concerned, but no matter.
"Danny," Iroh said, inclining his head. "I am Iroh. Tell me where I am."
"Chinatown," Danny replied, as if it were obvious.
Iroh blinked.
"In Gotham? Gotham City."
Iroh blinked again. He looked back at the street. At the signs in his language hanging beside scripts he could not read.
"I see," he lied. "And the language you spoke before. What is it called?"
"English," Danny said. "You don’t speak English?"
"I am afraid not." Iroh smiled faintly. "I seem to be very far from home."
Danny hesitated. Something like sympathy crossed his face. "A lot of people here don’t speak English."
"I hope so." Iroh watched the street. Carriages without animals passed by, humming softly. Artificial lights buzzed overhead despite the daylight.
"This city," he asked, "is it large?"
"Huge," Danny spread his arms. Then, simpler, "Millions of people. Chinatown’s just one part."
Millions.
Iroh didn't think the entire Earth Kingdom had such a population. Was the child lying or just misinformed?
"Do you have a home here?" he asked.
Danny’s jaw set. "I do okay."
"I am sure you do." Iroh reached into his sleeve and drew out a small cloth pouch. Inside were a few more coins and tea leaves.
He took out one coin and offered it. "For your trouble."
Danny stared at it. Now that the kid looked at it closely, it wasn't any American coins. Still, it looked antique enough to try to sell at a pawn shop. "Thank you, sir."
Iroh returned his pouch. "Perhaps you can help me another way. I am looking for a boy. Older than you. Light skin with a ponytail. A scar on the left side of his face."
Danny shook his head. "Not sure, mister. Gotham’s too big. If he’s here, he could be anywhere."
"I thought as much." Iroh inclined his head. "Thank you."
Danny hesitated. "You should stay in Chinatown for tonight. If you don’t speak English and you don’t have money, it’s gonna be hard. Not all of Gotham’s safe. Not at night. It’s better than it used to be since the Bat, but still."
"The Bat?"
Danny glanced around. "He comes out at night. Goes after bad people."
A guardian, then. Iroh had known such spirits before. "I am glad this city has protection."
Danny shrugged. "Just don’t do anything stupid."
"I will try not to," Iroh said, smiling.
Danny disappeared into the crowd.
Iroh stepped out of the alley.
A woman hurried past, juggling bags. One slipped. Iroh caught it and handed it back with a small bow.
She blinked, then replied in his language. "Thank you, elder."
"Of course," Iroh said.
She hesitated. Kindness was sparse and had surprised her.
Iroh continued walking. At a corner, an older man struggled with a metal grate. Iroh offered help. Together, they freed it.
The man grunted approval and offered a paper cylinder. Iroh declined.
Taking another look at Iron and his traditional clothing, he could infer he was another Chinese immigrant. "Not from here?"
"Yes," Iroh agreed.
"Thank you. Do be careful."
"I will," Iroh said.
The man locked up and disappeared inside.
Gotham. A city of millions. And somewhere within it, Zuko was alone.
With Zuko
Zuko had been walking for hours, and judging by the orange tint in the sky, it was near sunset. Now he was getting hungry.
The neighborhood's strange lanterns were sparser, leaving long stretches of darkness.
He was passing a small shop when he heard the voices.
Judging by the tone, it was some sort of confrontation. Curious, he stopped and listened.
["-told you last week, Chen. Protection doesn't pay itself."]
["I don't have it."] The second voice was older. ["Business has been slow, I need more time-"]
["Yeah, well, time's up."]
Something heavy hit wood with a grunt of pain.
Zuko peered through the grimy window.
Inside, three big men had cornered the shop owner.
One of them jabbed a finger into the owner's chest. ["You think this is negotiable? You think we're asking?"]
The owner, Chen, apparently, had hands raised. ["Please, I just need another week. I can get you half now, the rest-"]
["Half?"] The man laughed. ["You hear this guy? Thinks he's in a position to bargain."]
The other two chuckled.
Zuko had seen it before. In occupied Earth Kingdom towns, soldiers were known to take advantage of the people.
Under normal conditions, he would keep walking. This wasn't his fight. He didn't know these people. He needed to stay safe and find his uncle.
The leader shoved Chen hard. The old man stumbled, and the leader laughed again.
However, if Zuko wanted help, he would need to make a positive impression. Perhaps this shopkeeper would repay a debt of gratitude.
The bells above the door chimed as the prince stepped through. All four men turned to look at him.
Zuko met their eyes without flinching. "Leave. Now."
The leader was confused. ["The hell did you just say?"]
One of the others snorted. ["Kid doesn't even speak English. Look at him, thinks he's some kind of ninja or something."]
["Probably fresh off the boat,"] the third one added with a laugh. ["Lost his way to the kung fu tournament."]
Chen, still pressed against the counter, understood perfectly. He looked at Zuko for help.
Zuko didn't need to understand their words to recognize mockery.
The leader took in the clothes, scar, and armor. ["Oh man. This is adorable."] He glanced at his companions. ["You seeing this? Kid thinks he's somebody."]
["Probably stupid, thinking he's some hero,"] one of them muttered.
They were laughing now, already writing him off as a threat.
The leader turned back to Chen. ["Where were we? Oh right. You were about to-"]
He reached out and shoved Chen again. The old man hit the floor.
Something in Zuko's chest went cold. The visage of his uncle overlapped with the man.
The leader became irritated. ["Alright, kid."] He pulled out a strange metal object. ["You want to play hero? Let's see how that works out for you."]
Zuko stared at the supposed weapon. It consisted of a metal barrel with a handle. The man pointed it directly at Zuko's chest. Zuko's instincts screamed, and he moved.
The weapon was louder than a firework. Something shot past and shattered the glass. The projectile had been fast but not as fast as some of the pebbles Earth Kingdom insurgents could launch. That weapon was dangerous if he wasn't careful. The man kept his finger on the trigger.
Zuko didn't give him the chance to fire again. He closed the distance. Training took over. Muscle memory from hundreds of sparring sessions, from real fights in occupied territories where hesitation meant death. The obvious threat had to be eliminated first.
Zuko snapped out a hand and locked onto the man’s wrist. A twist redirected the muzzle.
The trigger clicked anyway.
The second bullet tore a fresh hole in the wall.
Zuko took advantage and drove a knee into his gut. The gun was free and slid across the floor.
The leader doubled over.
A knife flashed from Zuko’s left. To his right, another thug brought a pistol up.
Zuko dipped under the slash. His leg swept and clipped the knife-man behind the knee. The thug pitched forward, and Zuko caught the arm to drive him down, face-first.
The third man fired.
Zuko just turned in time. The round kissed his left shoulder, ripping cloth and skin. Heat and sting flooded the joint. He rolled to a crouch, fire blooming in both hands.
He snapped his wrist. Flame cracked across the room and coiled around the shooter’s gun hand. The man howled. The pistol fell, and he cradled his hand.
The leader was fumbling for another weapon.
Zuko closed the distance.
A wild swing came at his head. Zuko slipped under it, stepped in, and drove his palm into the man’s center. Zuko followed with an elbow to the jaw. The man hit the ground in a heap.
The knife-man tried to push up. Zuko pinned his wrist with his boot. The thug yelped and went limp.
The shooter stayed backed against the wall, as he stared at his hand.
Zuko stood over them, chest heaving, fists clenched.
Across the room, Chen hadn’t moved, not a bit afraid of Zuko, while grateful for the assist.
Somewhere outside, a scream cut through the smoke.
He turned toward the shattered window. People ran past, yelling in fear.
Then another sound threaded in beneath the shouting.
Sirens. Far off, closing fast.
Zuko’s throat tightened. He didn’t know what they were, but every instinct told him the same thing: leave. He looked back at Chen. Chen flinched.
"I…" Zuko tried, and the word fell apart in his mouth.
The sirens swelled.
Zuko turned, threw himself through the doorway. He counted fast: a dozen men and several hand cannons. He couldn’t win cleanly. Running wasn’t an option either.
The leader barked an order and snapped his hand toward the blown-out window. Two gunmen lifted their weapons.
Zuko threw himself left as the first shots punched into the shop. Wood popped and shredded. More glass tinkled down. He hit the floor hard, rolled, and came up behind a heavy shelf, heat gathering in his palms.
Chen yelped and scrambled for the back room.
Boots crunched through the doorway.
Three men pushed in. Zuko waited, one step, two, until the first crossed the threshold. Then he snapped his arm out.
Flame surged across the shop at chest height. All three recoiled and dove.
One didn’t clear it.
Fire licked up his jacket. He screamed, slapped at himself, then dropped and rolled to snuff the flames.
Zuko used the opening. He lunged past the shelf, caught the second man with a rising kick, and sent him crashing into a display case. Glass burst outward. The man folded and didn’t get back up.
The third came in faster than Zuko expected, crowbar already swinging.
Zuko twisted, but the metal clipped his injured shoulder. Pain was like someone had driven a spike through the joint. The flame in his hands stuttered.
The man hauled the bar up again.
Zuko shoved both palms forward. Two streams of fire slammed into the thug’s chest and shoulders, driving him backward through the doorway.
He hit two of his own men. All three went down.
Zuko stepped through the jagged window frame. Rain struck his face and ran warm where it mixed with blood.
The men outside froze. A few took a step back.
["What the"] one of them managed.
["He's a meta!"] Another shouted. ["He's a goddamn meta!"]
The leader’s eyes widened. ["Shoot him! Now!"]
Four guns rose.
Zuko moved first. He swept his arms, and a sheet of fire roared up between him and the muzzle flashes. The guns went off.
Two men broke immediately, dropping their weapons as they ran.
Zuko let the wall collapse and struck through the gap. Fire condensed into a punch and hit the nearest gunman square in the chest. It threw him back into a parked car.
Another rushed in from Zuko’s left with a bat. Zuko caught the swing on his forearm, impact jarring his bones, then drove his other hand into the man’s sternum and fired at point-blank range. The thug flew backward.
["He's gonna kill us all!"] Someone screamed.
Three more bolted. The leader shouted after them, voice ragged, trying to drag courage back into the street.
Zuko’s breath rasped. Blood ran down his fingers. One more mistake and he’d be on the ground.
The leader lifted his gun with a trembling hand and fired.
Zuko tried to turn with it. Too slow. The round tore along his ribs. He stumbled, hand slapping to the wound.
Suddenly, something hit the street between them.
The leader didn’t even realize until he was yanked backward into the shadows.
Zuko tried to find the source.
Then the street erupted. Men shouted. Guns fired into the shadows. One thug flew sideways and dented a car door with his body. Another dropping unconscious before he hit the ground. A third raised his weapon toward a rooftop and crumpled without firing.
Zuko edged toward the broken window.
The leader staggered into the center of the street. ["Where are you?! Show yourself!"]
A shadow dropped from above behind the leader in a crouch.
The leader whirled, gun coming up.
The figure's hand snapped into the leader’s wrist. A clean crack. The gun clattered to the pavement. The other hand seized his collar and slammed him.
Zuko stared.
The figure rose, rain streaming off black armor and a cape. White slits turned toward Zuko. He wore a bat-shaped mask.
Zuko’s throat tightened.
The figure didn’t speak and observed Zuko. Bodies littered the street. Every man down, still breathing, none of them trying to get up.
Sirens wailed somewhere behind the buildings, closing fast.
The bat-masked head snapped back to Zuko. A gauntleted hand rose, palm out. Then, a sharp cut toward the alley behind them.
Move. Now.
Zuko’s jaw locked. He didn’t take orders from strangers.
But the sirens were close. Two blocks, maybe less. And this thing had dropped a dozen armed men in seconds like it was nothing.
The figure stepped in and put itself between Zuko and the street. It wasn't a request. Zuko turned for the alley. He moved into the narrow gap between buildings. The figure followed. He ducked under a fire escape and kept going.
Then the sirens cut out.
Zuko put his back to the brick wall. He turned.
The figure stood at the mouth of the alley.
Zuko straightened anyway. Pain could wait. He met those white lenses and didn’t look away.
"What do you want?"
Before Zuko could react, the figure crossed the gap in two strides. A gauntleted hand locked around Zuko’s wrist.
"What,"
Something shot upward. Zuko looked up in time to see a cord snap toward a higher roof.
Then the world yanked sideways.
The rise hit his gut like a punch as the line hauled them up.
They reached the building’s lip in seconds. The figure landed in a crouch and dragged Zuko over the ledge.
The figure let go and stepped back.
Zuko straightened and kept space between them. For a long moment, neither moved.
Then the figure spoke, in Zuko’s language. "Who are you?"
Zuko went still. The mask’s white lenses gave him nothing to read. His jaw tightened. "No one you need to worry about."
"Are you sure?" The figure reached for his belt and produced a roll of gauze, holding it up for Zuko to see. "If I don’t close that wound, you’ll drop in minutes. Help me, and I help you."
Zuko’s gaze dipped to his shoulder. Blood had soaked through his sleeve. The stranger was not wrong. He looked back up. "What do you want to know?"
"Start with your name."
Zuko hesitated, then forced it out. "Zuko. Prince of the Fire Nation."
The figure’s head angled slightly as he unwrapped the gauze. "Fire Nation. Can’t say I’m familiar."
"Not a surprise." Zuko swallowed hard. "I’m not from here. Everything is different. There was a…" He gritted his teeth as liquid stung across the torn skin. Alcohol.
"What happened?"
"One minute I was on my ship." His throat tightened. "The next thing I knew, I was on the shore of this city. My uncle was with me when it happened. He’s somewhere out there. I need to find him."
The figure gestured to a squat ventilation unit near the roof’s edge. "Sit."
Zuko lowered himself onto it. The figure knelt and started working with efficient hands.
"You control fire?"
Zuko said nothing.
The figure paused, fingers still on the bandage. "Something like that is dangerous."
"It’s what my people are known for. I’m trained," The antiseptic bit again. "I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t ask to be here."
"You started a fight in a convenience store," the figure said, resuming his work. "You burned three men badly enough to send them running, and you caused a panic. That doesn’t look like a visitor quietly searching for family."
Zuko’s jaw flexed. "They were hurting an old man. I wasn’t going to walk away."
A low sound, almost a hum, came from behind the mask. "Why not?"
Iroh’s voice flickered through his head. He refused to hand this man anything that could be used against him. "Because it was wrong."
The figure studied him. "For what it’s worth, you didn’t kill anyone."
"No." Even a year into exile, he had not crossed that line yet. 'Could have…'
"You could have."
Zuko knew what his fire could do. "I’m not a violent murderer."
"Judging by the armor, you were a soldier."
Zuko didn’t correct him. He had trained for war most of his life. In the Fire Nation, boys entered military training young age. As a prince, he had started younger still.
"Pretty young," the figure added.
Zuko stared out at the city. "Unless someone stands in my way or tries to kill me, I won’t burn them alive. That isn’t honorable."
#
The figure finished the wrap, secured it, and rose. "You’re in no condition to wander. Come on."
Zuko blinked, thrown. "What?"
"There’s a safehouse nearby." The figure held out a hand. "You need rest. We can talk after."
Zuko stared at the offered hand, then took it. The grip was firm, controlled. The figure hauled him up without effort.
"Hold on."
Before Zuko could ask what that meant, the grapnel fired again. The roof fell away. They dropped into the open air and swung between buildings.
Two blocks later, the figure guided him through a window.
The safehouse was simple and clean with a bed. There were strange devices around, but he digressed.
"Rest. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Your body needs time."
Zuko sat on the mattress. "I'm not hiding while my uncle is out there. I need to find him."
"You don't even know if he's here."
"He's here. I know he is. And I'm not going to stop looking until I find him."
The figure tilted his head slightly. "Even if it means bleeding out in an alley?"
"Even then."
The white eyes studied him. "You'll get yourself killed, or worse, someone else."
"If I'm going to find your uncle in a city of millions, you need to help me help you. What's his name?"
Zuko’s chest tightened. "Iroh. He's older. Heavy build. He was wearing red and gold robes when we-when we got separated. He's..." Zuko stopped, throat tight. Ever since his banishment… "He's all I have."
A single nod. "I’ll look while you rest." He started walking away.
"Wait… Why are you helping me?"
Batman looked at the scarred boy softly. "Because you’re injured, alone, and trying to find your family. That’s enough for me."
Zuko wasn't sure what to say. "Who… Who are you?"
The figure turned back. "Batman."
Zuko repeated the name in his head. Strange, but everything here was strange.
"Sleep, Zuko." With that, Batman shot a grapple from the window and into the night.
Zuko sat in the quiet room. Somewhere in this city, his uncle was out there and this Batman was going to look.
Zuko lay back, eyes fixed on the ceiling until the lines blurred. Then he shut them and let exhaustion pull him under.
#
Batman crouched on a fire escape two blocks from where he had left Zuko. Rain ticked against his cowl while he sorted through what he knew.
Zuko’s native language was tonal. Mandarin, most likely. Even so, the phonemes and cadence tripped flags in his database, closer to older dialects than anything spoken in modern Chinatown. The boy looked East Asian. His clothing, layered robes and plated armor, spoke of tradition and discipline. A culture that expected its children to carry steel.
If Iroh had a military background too, and if he had come through the same displacement that dropped Zuko into Gotham, he would move toward something familiar. Toward safety. Toward people who could understand him.
Chinatown.
Batman dropped to the alley and cut through the Bowery’s back lanes, heading south. The reasoning held. Unless Iroh was making noise, and nothing in Zuko’s description suggested a reckless man, he would gravitate to the one neighborhood where the language would not mark him as helpless. Where signs might be readable. Where he could ask for what he needed without miming it.
Food. Shelter. Information.
Batman spent the first hour on the residential blocks. Nothing special reported.
He moved on to the commercial streets.
People here knew of him well. Shopkeepers he had helped. Vendors who had watched him shut down protection crews.
He stopped outside a closed herbalist. Mr. Zhao was turning the lock.
"Looking for a new arrival," Batman stepped into the edge of the streetlight. "Older man. Traditional robes, red and gold. Heavy build. Speaks Mandarin. No English."
Zhao froze with the key in place, then glanced over his shoulder. Of those 5, it barely narrowed down the people he sees daily. The clothing, however, was unique. After a beat, he nodded. "Maybe the tea shop," he said. "Two blocks east. Golden Lotus. The owner said an old man helped her move crates earlier. Asked for tea, nothing else."
Batman inclined his head. "Thank you."
Zhao finished locking up. "He in trouble?"
"No."
"Good." Zhao pocketed the keys and walked away.
Batman moved east.
Two hours of dead ends, and then the city finally offered a clean line to follow.
The Golden Lotus sat on a quiet corner, its sign painted in traditional characters. Warm light bled through the windows despite the late hour. Inside, an older woman wiped down tables. Near the back, broad shoulders filled a chair. Fire Nation-like robes. Hands cupped around a mug.
Iroh?
Batman held across the street and took inventory. The man sat easily. Relaxed posture, alert eyes. He spoke to the owner when she passed, with a gentle gesture and an open expression.
Seemingly him.
Batman stepped out of the shadows and crossed toward the Golden Lotus.
The locals were well aware of what to do when Batman stepped into the Golden Lotus. They looked away and minded their own business.
The owner looked up from behind the counter and saw Batman scanning the room and fixed on the man near the back.
Iroh sat with both hands around a ceramic cup. Unknown to others, the previously tepid tea was brought back to a boil.
As Zuko said, he had unique robes, and a borrowed coat hung over his shoulders. Batman stopped a few feet from the table.
Iroh’s grip tightened upon seeing the hero. "You are the one they call the Bat?"
"I am."
Iroh set the cup down and placed his hands on the table in plain view. His gaze moved over the man's armor. "I have heard stories. A protector who moves in shadow. A figure of fear and hope." He paused. "What brings you to my table?"
"I’m looking for someone. Older man. Gray hair. Traditional robes, red and gold. Heavy build."
Iroh huffed. "Heavy?"
"Not my words."
"In any case, that could be many people in this neighborhood."
"It could," Batman easily saw the same Fire Nation emblem on his clothing. "But does the name Zuko mean anything to you?"
Iroh went rigid. "Where is he?"
"I'll take that as a yes?"
"He is my nephew. Where is he?"
"I found him injured today. I treated him and left to find you on his behest."
Iroh drew in a breath and held it. "How badly?"
"Treatable wounds, minor burns, blood loss. He’ll live. He's worried about you as well." Batman’s tone softened. "He wouldn’t rest until I agreed to search for you"
Iroh closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, relieved. "Thank you. For finding him. For keeping him safe."
"He did most of that himself."
Iroh’s mouth twitched. "He is stubborn. And reckless. But I know that there is a good heart inside of him." He stood. "Please, take me to him."
Later
Zuko continued to rest in his bed until there was a sound at the door. He snapped his head, hoping it wasn't a possible intruder. When it opened, he struggled through the pain to push himself upright. "Uncle…"
Iroh breathed a sigh of relief and gave a light hug.
Zuko gripped his coat. "I didn’t know what happened to you."
"I am here, Zuko. I am here."
"I didn’t know if I’d find you."
"You did." Iroh pulled back, "Or you found someone who could."
Zuko’s eyes flicked to Batman at the doorway. "I thought I’d lost you."
"It will take much more than a random storm to get rid of me," Iroh said. "We are together now. That is what matters."
Zuko nodded.
Iroh studied the bandages around his shoulder and ribs. "I was told you were hurt. How did this happen?"
"I’m fine. It’s nothing. I just…" He swallowed. "I thought I could gain an ally." He refrained from saying that the old man he helped reminded him of Iroh.
"You did well, Prince Zuko."
Zuko’s jaw tightened. He nodded once.
"Come," Iroh said softly. "Lie down for now." Zuko complied, and Iroh sat beside him. "I am proud of you."
Zuko turned sharply. "For what? Getting hurt in a fight I started?"
"For not giving up in this strange land, even when you were alone and afraid. That takes courage."
"I wasn't afraid…" he lied, looking away. The worst of the fear is finally easing.