It was the icy fingers of cold wind, prodding him from a gap in the blanket, that woke Zuko from his sleep. He had gone to bed exhausted; seeing off his friends and staying awake for too long, terrified by what laid ahead.

He pulled the blanket tighter around him and repeated his mantra, as well worn as prayer beads of the devout by this point.

The war is over. You are Fire Lord. The world is safe. Your friends love you.

Zuko repeated the words over and over but still, his body began to tremble. Except for this time, he knew it wasn't the fear. It really was cold.

CLANG!

The metallic sound made him sit upright, his heart pounding in his chest as rapid as a bird's. It was dark and he could not see, but he knew that sound. And now, he recognized the scent of the frigid air.

Holding up a hand, as if he were waiting for the darkness to hand him something, Zuko hesitated. His hand shook - the cold was very persistent - and he swallowed hard in his dry throat.

"Please." He said, beseeching the darkness. Please let this be a nightmare.

He breathed out a flame and illuminated the room.

It was tiny and metal, with the familiar tapestry of the Fire Nation emblem hanging on the wall next to where his bed lay.

It was the small cabin of a warship.

Zuko immediately extinguished the flame and his hands went into his hair. His breathing hastened erratically, and he felt his blood slam through his veins. It both warmed and numbed him, this physical panic that draped over him as a new blanket.

The ship he had taken to the South Pole had been much the same. But this was over, he had already done this. He could not do it again.

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his hair. It hurt, but he still was not waking himself.

Abruptly, he let go and brought his hands down slowly. He looked at them, only able to see the faint whiteness of his skin in the dark.

He didn't have this hair back then.

Lightly touching his face, he brought his fingertips to his cheeks. Tapping in a wide circle, he had to force them upward with a conscious thought.

When he felt the space, his hands jerked away and he scrabbled backward into the wall. It was cold and he had hit it hard enough to bruise his spine, but he only felt the stillness of his heart. His breath left him and his inner fire dimmed.

Then all at once, the air returned and Zuko was gasping.

He didn't have his scar.