200 word drabble: Glory

Written for avatar_500 prompt #44, Yellow.

Summary: To Zuko, the war had always been a distant thing.

Warnings: Dead bodies, genocide, you know usual Avatar stuff.


Glory

The light shone down from a hole in the ceiling.  Zuko stared down at the floor stones, yellow in the southern summer sun, yellow and warm, like they weren't strewn with bodies.

His eyes rose, following the line of armored, red-clothed skeletons and scattered, cracked and rusted helmets.  At the end, there was a heap of dust and broken wall, and saffron cloth holding bleached, clean-picked bones in the light from the broken ceiling.

In the western temple, there hadn't been any bodies.  Vaguely, he remembered reading about the soldiers dropping them over the edge of the cliff.

He couldn't stand.  His legs wouldn't hold him.  The wall behind him felt like water, like he was falling right through it, right through the floor, right through the mountain and the pile of bones.

He closed his eyes.  He turned around.  He did everything he could to make the bodies and bones invisible, make them go away.  His uncle stood, admiring the faded figures on the walls, and Zuko's feet marched, his body following.  His armor pinched.  He could feel it pulling him down.  His uncle looked up.  Zuko swallowed and couldn't breathe.

He met his uncle's eyes.  "There's nothing here."