The harsh midday sun pierced through the gaps of Ain's shabby bamboo walls, painting lines of light on the swirling dust inside. Zuko sat slouched in a corner of the cramped hut, his once-regal cloak now dull, ragged, and smeared with dirt.
"What is this supposed to be?" Zuko muttered under his breath. "Even the palace hounds eat better scraps than this."
Ain, sitting cross-legged not far away, locked eyes with him in silence. In the corner, Ain's mother sat quietly, her wrinkled hands clenching the edge of her worn cloth, afraid of every word that might come out of her son's mouth.
Zuko shifted his gaze. Something caught his eye — an old, battered notebook half-buried beneath a piece of torn cloth. He leaned forward, snatched it up, and flipped through the pages. Lines of cramped handwriting, strange sketches of symbols and numbers, and notes of half-finished ideas stared back at him.
"What's this?" Zuko murmured, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "A Null who writes? Since when did rats like you learn to read and scribble?"
Ain tensed. In a flash, he leaned forward and slapped the notebook from Zuko's grasp.
"Give it back. That's… mine," Ain said, his tone low but iron-edged.
Zuko gave a dry laugh, tossing the notebook onto Ain's chest. "Relax. I'm just curious. Whatever schemes you've buried in that ragged brain of yours, I'm not here to steal them. But I do wonder—can you really change anything?"
Ain hugged the notebook tight against his ribs, his eyes locked onto Zuko's with the same cold defiance that had burned since the day he saw a piece of moldy bread thrown in the mud.
"I don't need you to know," Ain said, voice steady. "I only need time. And maybe… a crack in the wall."
Zuko leaned back, kicking the empty wooden plate with the tip of his boot. He chuckled, a rough, bitter sound echoing in the silence.
"Time? You think time favors Null? You think the nobles will wait while you daydream in this hole? They'll snuff you out before you even strike a spark."
Ain remained silent. He turned to a page in the notebook — a scrawled design for a tiny generator, notes about mana, and cryptic sketches of how to draw light from the dark.
Ain's mother finally found her voice, a whisper rough as dry leaves.
"What are you two planning? Are you going to kill the king? Burn the walls? Drag my boy to die in your madness?"
"No, Mother," Ain answered softly but firmly.
Zuko smirked and bowed his head slightly to the old woman.
"Mother, all I want is for Null to live like humans — not livestock. If that means breaking the walls, so be it."
He pushed himself up and grabbed his tattered cloak. Sunlight poured through the holes in the roof, catching on his dark eyes — young yet already full of a dangerous resolve.
"I'll prove myself to you, Ain," he said. "If you've got brains, I've got the mouth. I can talk my way through guards, whoresons, or the king's pet mages. You build the bones — I'll make sure no one tears them apart."
Ain slowly rose too, the notebook clutched to his chest like a heartbeat.
"You want to be my ally?" he asked flatly.
Zuko met his stare and nodded once.
"Not your ally. I'm your nail in the nobles' throats. When they think they've won — I'll be the hammer that drives it deeper."
Outside, the sun still scorched the mud lanes and broken fences. But inside this hut of woven bamboo and dust, a spark glowed, fed by two outcasts who had nothing left to lose — and everything left to set aflame.