Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’m moving this story—and my work as a whole—to AO3. FF is now overwhelmed with bots and scammers (my inbox has been flooded with an average of twenty spam messages a day, which is absolutely insane).

I’d also like to thank the author Angel Wraith for inspiring me to write this story. Make Me Feel is by far my favorite ATLA fanfiction, and I highly recommend giving it a read.

If you happen to be reading this, Angel—hi! I hope you’re doing well!

Book One : Family

Chapter One : Stranded

A year, Azula had remained sane that long, she counted day after day, despite the drugs, the "treatments", the psycological harassement. She kept track of time, looking for the day she would finally get revenge on Zuko and the Avatar.

No more dear brother, she had never treated him lower than he was, an idiot, yet he had thrown her into this hell. This madhouse created and run by sadist who hapilly welcomed "rejects" of the whole nation and made sure they were taken care of quietly.

The patient were all "women", assuming you count in people who identified as one. They had all been sent here for different reasons, spoke out of turn, expressed deviant ideas ... or attempted to claim and or defend their birthright. In Azula's case it was the later, and as the fire princess she was receiving very specific care.

They were too careful in their surveillance, she never managed to grasp freedom a single time, the staff savoured every second of her torment. They announced her brother would be visiting, that she had to be presentable for such an occasion, whatever they gave her sure didn't help her to make her look sane.

The tea cups she had been presented didn't either. She knocked the plate against a wall and pointed out to Zuko that she was in a straightjacket, and thus found very insulting that he expected her to drink like an animal.

His Kyoshi warriors or whatever they were called didn't hesitate to "teach" her how to behave in front of his majesty ... they were even using chi blocking moves, Ty Lee betrayed her to the very end. Zuko took his time to order them to stop, Azula was barely conscious then.

A week later she woke up, strapped into a chair, with the avatar holding her head, what happened then was a universe of pain, followed right after by a dreadful feeling of emptiness.

She didn't understand what happened until she heard the guards talking outside of her cell. "He finally did it, the doctor convinced him hahaha."

"No way, so that's why the avatar visited?"

"Yes, prince Zuko requested to "pacify" his sister, so he asked the avatar to do the same thin than he did to fire lord Ozai."

"That's almost sending shiver down my spine, but now she is even more pathetic than a non-bender."

Something broke inside Azula, she couldn't believe it ... yet she realised it was her new reality. Her fire, her inner self, Agni's gift, her individuality, gone. So Zuko didn't even consider her as a sentient being? The Avatar most likely didn't either, so much for following the air benders ways and refusing to kill.

No instead he condemned her to a cursed existence, even worse than it could already be.

Azula, now devoid of pride and will, decided that the best option she had was to die and move on. If she was lucky, she would not give anyone the opportunity to witness her demise.

What she didn't know was that someone was in fact watching, and had taken a very special interest into the physical plane's affairs ever since Ozai's defeat.

The fire princess had starved herself for two day now, the pain was horrible, but she was too physicaly exhausted to indulge it. She heard how people saw their lives flash before their eyes at the twilight of their life, Azula expected this kind of experience to happen quickly, it didn't quite go that way. Instead she could only think back of her worse moments.

The looks full of fear and disgust her mother didn't bother to hide, how she whispered to servants about her deepest fears and desires. It all culminated this specific moment when Ursa told Lo that she should have ended her pregnancy with Azula while she could.

Her pursuit of the Avatar, her brother betraying him, her friends betraying her, this water savage taking away her victory, her own people taking the side of Zuko, the fire sages lying and declaring him the winner or the Agni Kai.

And last, this agonizong minute, during which the Avatar- ... she couldn't explain what he did, Azula was missing her fire, a part of herself was gone forever. Putting her in hell wasn't enough, no, he had to reap away her soul and force her to live as a half person.

Azula closed her eyes, her head was pounding, she begged for this madness to end.

"Are you dead yet?" The voice was foreign, it didn't belong to any of the guards she knew. Azula willed her body to move and stand up, she had to defend herself, alas her legs couldn't even support her anymore. "Good, you still have some voluntee in you." The princess looked up, she didn't remember it was so dark ... no, this wasn't natural.

She blinked a lot, trying to force her eyes to adapt to the darkness but it didn't work. "Breath, I am not her to hurt you, quite the contrary. Save your strenght, you will need it."

"Show yourself !" Azula ordered the voice, the shadows in the room shifted, taking shape, then life. A spirit the princess concluded, it's body was dark as a bottomless pit, it looled mostly humanoid, but it had no feet, Azula thought of a spider, but with only two legs it should not be able to stand up. She saw a pair of straight sharp horns, white glowing eyes, no iris, no pupil, just two glowing orbs, no nose, no mouth ...

"I'll go straight to the point," the voice said, calm but grave, like a blade being unsheathed in the dark. "Tonight, if you choose—you will die. Or… you shall escape."

Azula snorted, low and bitter. Her shoulders shook with quiet laughter that didn't reach her eyes. Of course. Her last delusion was theatrical. How fitting. "That's it, then. I've completely lost it," she muttered under her breath, still chuckling. "A hallucination with flair. How dignified."

"What's so funny?" the voice asked, tone flicking into curiosity. "My horns?"

She tilted her head back against the cold wall, letting her laughter die into a hollow smile. "I don't care anymore. You, Mother, Zuko, even the Avatar… You won. I'm broken. Is that what you wanted to hear?" Her voice cracked—just slightly—and she clenched her jaw, as if angry with herself for the sound.

The silhouette remained still, watching in silence.

She sneered. "What, no triumphant monologue? That's all it took to shut you up? If I knew surrender would quiet the voices, I'd have done it long ago."

"…You think I'm not real?" The question carried a note of something... wounded. As if insulted.

Azula's lips curled. "Please. Don't pretend you're original. I've seen enough ghosts to tell the difference. Did you run out of nightmare fuel, or just recycling now?"

The figure shifted ever so slightly, head tilting in what could only be interpreted as disdain. "Then permit me to demonstrate that I am no ghost."

Its arm rose slowly, deliberately. Azula's eyes narrowed as it reached for her, but she didn't flinch. She refused to give it the satisfaction. If it was fake, it couldn't hurt her. If it wasn't… well, she was done being afraid.

Then she felt it—cold at first, then strangely warm, and then the sensation of something dissolving. Her straitjacket disintegrated where its fingers passed, crumbling into fine ash that drifted to the floor.

She blinked. Then again. Her arms dropped, numb from disuse but free. Slowly, mechanically, she raised her hands, pressed them to her face. To the wall. Real. Solid.

No dream had ever done this.

The spirit stepped back, its glowing eyes steady. "Now," it said, voice firmer, "are you disposed to listen?"

"H-How…?" Azula breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands were still hovering near her mouth, trembling.

"I just do," it answered coolly, with a flick of impatience. "And I am offering you a path out of this place."

Azula tried to push herself upright. Her legs betrayed her instantly, and she collapsed back onto the bed with a strangled grunt. She looked up at the spirit, eyes narrowed, chin lifted with what dignity she could muster. "Why would you help me? What game is this?"

"I cannot explain everything now," it replied, folding its arms, weight shifting like a shadow across water. "It would take too long. And it is not safe. There are reasons spirits are forbidden from interfering. I'm trespassing. Soon, others will notice."

She watched it carefully, eyes gleaming with old fire beneath layers of exhaustion. "You need me. You want a vessel. A willing one."

"Yes."

"And you came to me… like this," she gestured vaguely at herself, bitter. "Pathetic. Powerless."

"I did," it said, without hesitation.

Azula leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, lips curling into something between amusement and menace. "Then maybe I should be the one making demands."

The spirit's head dipped forward ever so slightly. Not quite a nod. More like a twitch of irritation. "We don't have time to waste," it said, a sharp edge entering its voice. "Once you're free, we'll negotiate terms. Agreed?"

She let silence stretch, weighing her options. Then her smirk deepened. "Right."

"Good," the spirit said, already moving to the side. "I'll provide you with energy. We can leave without raising too many alarms—"

"No."

It stopped mid-sentence. "…No?"

Azula straightened slowly, spine rigid, a spark flickering behind her tired eyes. "I'm burning this place to the ground."

The spirit did not move, but its eyes dimmed slightly in what could have been confusion—or concern. Azula continued, her voice sharpening like the edge of a blade. "No one else gets to live this nightmare. Not again."

It remained silent, clearly unconvinced.

Azula's gaze was steel. "And," she added with cruel precision, "it'll make it easier to cover our tracks. No survivors. No evidence. Just ash."

That got a reaction. The creature's face twisted—not with anger, but into a grin. A monstrous one, wide and full of wicked glee despite lacking a mouth. "I will allow that."

Before she could speak again, it placed a hand on her head. Azula gasped.

Power surged into her like a wildfire through dry grass. It wasn't like bending. It was primal—liquid lightning in her blood, a firestorm ripping through her veins, burning away weakness and fear in one glorious, violent rush. Her fingers clenched. Her back arched. Her fire returned—not just the bending, but the will.

The spirit stepped away, gesturing to the door with an open hand.

Azula rose.

Not fully aware. Not fully in control. But her body moved—guided by something deeper. Something feral. There were screams. Then flame. Then blood. And smoke, rising like a pyre for all the years she had lost.

And at the end, an explosion that cracked the night open like a drumbeat of liberation.

Then—darkness.

Azula stirred, her body aching as if it had been rebuilt from ash and splintered bone. Her back pressed against something solid—cold, unpolished stone. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of earth, smoke... and blood.

A flickering glow danced across the cavern walls, casting soft amber light that wavered with every breath of air. Shadows shifted, stretching like long fingers.

"Zirin, the Fury is awake," a voice said—young, brash, and too loud for the stillness.

"Don't just call her that, Chiyou!" another voice hissed—calmer, sharper, older perhaps. "She's not some weapon."

"She did kill a lot of those bastards..." Chiyou muttered. "And she still smells like it."

"Well you try bathing someone who's unconscious and twitching in her sleep," the second voice snapped.

Azula flinched at the sound. Their words buzzed through her pounding skull, each syllable a spike against her fragile state. Her throat was dry, raw, as if she'd swallowed fire. She tried to speak, but only a weak breath escaped.

A gentle hand touched her forehead, dabbing something cool and wet against her skin. The sensation made her shiver.

"Easy," the voice said again—softer now. "You're safe. You've been through a lot... just like the rest of us."

Azula blinked, her vision still unfocused. Two figures sat nearby—women, or girls maybe, barely older than Ty Lee. One was holding a damp cloth; the other leaned against the cave wall with crossed arms and wary eyes. They weren't guards. They weren't spirits. They were... real. Real people. Real survivors.

Azula's fingers twitched, and then curled into fists. Her nails dug into her palms. Her body felt alien—raw with stolen energy, every nerve humming with a distant echo of the firestorm she had unleashed. Her stomach churned at the memory: the screams, the heat, the way her hands moved like they belonged to someone else.

Her breath caught in her chest.

She was free.

And she didn't know what to do with that.

"You're safe now," the cloth-holder whispered again. Her voice was kind—sickeningly so. "It's okay to cry. We all did."

Azula's gaze snapped to her, golden eyes hardening.

Cry?

Princesses do not cry.

She wanted to laugh in her face. To sneer, to bark some venomous line about weakness, about control, about never letting them see you break. But her throat tightened instead, choked with something sharp and bitter she couldn't swallow.

It built inside her—pressure behind her ribs, behind her eyes. She clenched her jaw. Gritted her teeth. She wouldn't. She couldn't—

"It's better," Zirin said softly, "when it's tears of joy."

That did it.

The words slid under Azula's skin, past the iron armor she had worn since childhood. Past the cruelty, past the pride, past the fire. They struck something fragile, something scorched and forgotten. Her breath hitched. She turned her face away, but it was too late. The tears came. Hot, silent, shameful.

They traced the contours of her face like they had been waiting years for this one escape. Zirin said nothing more. She just sat beside her, still and steady, like a flame refusing to flicker. Azula hated her for it, and yet... she didn't move away. She allowed herself the tears. Just this once.

The next time Azula woke, she felt… well. As well as she could, at least. The fire was gone, extinguished completely. But something else caught her attention—something better. Food. Real food. Not bland, drug-laced gruel, but something warm, spiced, edible.

She sat up slowly, muscles stiff. The cave was dim, the smoke long cleared. Zirin and Chiyou were nowhere in sight. Instead, a third woman stirred a pot with a wooden spoon, her head resting lazily in her hand. Half her scalp was shaved clean, the other half hanging in uneven strands. She didn't even look up when she spoke.

"Hmm? Awake again? You going to drift back off, or actually stay conscious this time?" Her voice was flat, disinterested—like she couldn't decide whether she cared.

Azula didn't bother answering right away. Her throat was dry. "Food," she rasped, voice rough from disuse, eyes fixed on the pot.

The girl scoffed, but got up and approached, holding out a spoonful of soup. Azula's hand shot forward, almost snatching it before the girl pulled back slightly.

"We already ate. I made extra in case you woke up. Oh—and it's been three days, by the way." She said it like it was no big deal.

Azula was already halfway through her fourth mouthful before the information sank in. Her eyes flicked up sharply. "Three days? And there haven't been any patrols?"

"There have. We're hidden well, though." The girl shrugged, stirring the pot again with deliberate boredom. "We'll move tonight, just in case. Judging by how the whole place went up in smoke, I doubt they've got records left—assuming anyone survived to check."

She extended a hand without looking at Azula. "Name's Ningka. I was your third cellmate to the left."

Azula's body reacted before her mind could catch up, a flicker of memory flashing through her mind—distant screams, cold stone walls. She hesitated, then slowly reached out. "I don't think we ever saw each other."

Ningka gave a dry, sad chuckle, rubbing the shaved side of her head. "Not a pretty sight, right?" She glanced away. "I got the gentle treatment. The girl across from me… didn't. Pretty sure she didn't make it."

Azula's chest tightened. A pang of empathy threatened, but she swallowed it down hard. "Who else escaped?"

"Just me, Zirin, Chiyou, and…" Ningka gestured vaguely, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"You don't know who I am?" Azula's voice sharpened, the noble edge slipping in despite her effort to keep it steady.

Ningka smiled kindly, tilting her head. "Heard of the infamous 'Fury' next door, sure. But never caught your name."

Azula's lips pressed together. She dropped the spoon back into the pot and turned away without a word.

Ningka shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Girl, that place really did a number on your trust issues." She said it gently, voice softening, but her eyes watched Azula carefully.

Azula's jaw tightened. She stared at the cave wall, voice clipped and tense. "It's not—just… leave me alone."

But Ningka didn't move. Instead, she settled down beside her quietly, shoulders relaxed but still close enough to offer some kind of support. "I'm not trying to be your friend. Just think… if I were in pain, I'd want someone to at least pretend to care."

Azula exhaled slowly, her gaze flickering back to Ningka. "Why were you there? You don't seem like a…" The word monster hovered unspoken in her mind. "…psychopath."

Ningka's lips curved faintly into a sad smile. "Got a bit of a temper. Explosive, even." She chuckled dryly. "Friends used to call me a firecracker. Then the bullies came. I snapped once, just once. That was enough." She looked away briefly, then back. "My parents sent me away, and the healers 'tamed' me. I'm tired of fighting. I just want to live quietly."

Azula rolled her eyes with a dry laugh. "The world is full of idiots. Are you a firebender?"

"I wish." Ningka shook her head, fingers tracing patterns on her knee. "Something's off—I make explosions, not flames. My parents tried instructors. We didn't make sparks."

That earned a genuine laugh from Azula—short, harsh, unexpected.

"Let me guess: the explosion at the asylum… that was you?"

"Nope." Ningka puffed her chest proudly. "All Chiyou. Her masterpiece, she said. Though I doubt she'll get another chance to top it."

Azula wondered quietly—Combustionbending? Could be. She wouldn't even know the term.

"What about you? Crappy childhood?"

Azula's voice dropped, quieter now. "Something like that."

Footsteps echoed in the cave as Zirin and Chiyou returned, arms full.

"We brought back treasure!" Zirin announced with a wide grin, hoisting two bundles of meat wrapped in rope.

Ningka sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. "Salty. Where'd you find that?"

"Stole it," Chiyou said plainly, already slicing the meat.

"Thanks, Lieutenant Obvious." Ningka rolled her eyes with a smirk. "Where did you steal it from?"

Zirin tossed a bundle toward Ningka along with a knife. "Supply cart headed to the palace. So yeah—we just stole the Fire Lord's breakfast."

Azula suppressed a smile. Zuko's going to be hungry this morning.

"Chiyou made her scary face," Zirin added with a laugh. "One guard fainted."

"I did not make a face," Chiyou muttered, crossing her arms but unable to hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

"Sure you didn't." Zirin swiped a slice and ate it in one bite. "Ugh, slow down. We didn't bring water."

Azula's limbs felt heavy. The warmth, the conversation—it all lulled her again. They were… tolerable. She didn't dislike them.

Then a voice whispered—so close it was like a breath against her ear.

"While I appreciate your new allies, we have much to discuss."

Azula stiffened, eyes darting nervously. The creature.

"Calm now," it coaxed softly. "Wouldn't want to scare them, would you?"

The others noticed her sudden tension, pausing their chatter.

"Uh… this isn't another episode, right?" Chiyou asked, taking a cautious step back.

Azula waved a hand dismissively. "I felt something brush my back. Probably an insect." Her voice was steady, confident—a lie.

Zirin chuckled softly and passed her a slice of meat. Azula accepted it gratefully, hunger biting sharper than fatigue.

"Good," the creature whispered again. "Now, your fire. I doubt what the Avatar did can be reversed… not simply. But I know entities who might help. We must meet them."

Azula turned away, voice lowered to a whisper. "Where?"

"Our first stop is the Forgetful Valley."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Never heard of it."

"Tch." The voice sounded irritated, amused. "One of the most sacred places in your nation. Forgotten, of course. It lies in the Eastern Isles. I'll guide you."

Zirin caught the exchange and frowned. "Something wrong?"

Azula's eyes narrowed slightly, voice clipped. "Nothing of concern."

"Geez. You're always off by yourself." Zirin clapped a hand on her shoulder, smiling warmly. "Relax! It's over. We're free."

No, Azula thought fiercely, not until every last one of them pays.

Zirin tilted her head, voice light. "Can we at least get your name?"

Azula hesitated, the weight of her situation pressing down like a stone in her chest. Powerless. No fire, no weapon—just fragile flesh and brittle pride. The thought of Zuko finding her again made her stomach tighten; he wouldn't hesitate to recapture her, drag her back to the cage she'd barely escaped. But these girls—Ningka, Zirin, Chiyou—they had skill, strength, and something she could still use. Potential allies in a game where trust was a luxury she couldn't afford.

Her gaze flicked over their faces, searching for weakness, for loyalty—but found only cautious determination. She swallowed hard, willing herself to push down the fierce pride clawing at her throat. But not as Azula. Not yet.

"My name is Asura." The word slipped out, soft but steady, like a secret she was barely willing to share.

Agni forgive her. A year in that asylum, surrounded by cruelty and silence, was starting to crack even her sharp edges.

Zirin's face broke into a wide, triumphant grin. "There we go!" she said, voice full of genuine joy. "See, girls? Patience pays off."

Azula couldn't help the small scoff that escaped, brows knitting tightly as suspicion flared. "So you were pretending to be nice just to get a name."

"Me? Never." Zirin laughed softly, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Though it was either that or we call you Fury."

Azula's gaze sharpened. "You will use 'Asura.'"

"Got it. Sura," Zirin said with a playful smirk.

Azula winced inwardly at the nickname—too lighthearted, too much like Ty Lee's endless cheer. But it was discreet, and for now, that was enough.

Zirin turned her attention to their supplies, eyes sharp and calculating. Azula followed her gaze, noting the bundles of stolen meat, the sparse tools.

"We've got enough to last a few days," Zirin declared confidently. "Now we just need a direction—far from anything royal or military."

"Then we head east." Azula's voice was low but firm, a sudden spark of command flickering back to life. She paused, scanning their faces for hesitation or dissent. Finding none, she pressed on. "How far to the nearest harbor?"

"There's a small town, seven kilometers north," Chiyou replied without hesitation, her tone practical.

"Perfect. We'll steal a boat." Azula's eyes gleamed with a mixture of calculation and anticipation.

Ningka's lips twitched into a rare, almost shy smile. Even after everything, no firebender could fully suppress that spark of life.

"What kind of boat? Fishing?" she asked, curiosity brightening her voice.

"Exactly." Zirin nodded, tapping the map etched in her mind. "Soldiers use mass-produced steamships. But fishermen? They rely on wind and oars. In terms of speed and stealth, we'll outrun them easily."

"And even if we're spotted," Ningka added, voice dropping to a whisper, "they won't waste an airship on us, right?"

"Not unless we kidnap nobles or loot something significant." The trio murmured their agreement, the plan solidifying with every word.

The plan was solid. They would move that night.

For the first time in a year, Azula felt it again—that cold, fierce edge of purpose.

She was back in business.

Night draped its velvet cloak over the small town, muffling sounds and sharpening shadows. Years of peace had softened the edge of military discipline, even dulling the vigilance of the town's militia. The once rigid patrols were now lethargic echoes of their former selves. Azula noted this silently, her mind already spinning plans to correct such complacency when the time came. But for now, survival came first.

The four girls moved like ghosts through the darkened streets, slipping from one shadow to another with practiced ease. Every step brought them closer to their goal. Earlier that day, Zirin had ventured into the town with Chiyou in tow. They had found exactly what they needed: a small, nimble boat—fast enough to evade notice, discreet enough to escape the gaze of any careless sentries.

Best of all, it was nearly unguarded. At least, by Azula's exacting standards.

So far, the night had been mercifully quiet. No patrols crossed their path. No unwanted eyes lingered too long. Her new "allies," as she grudgingly acknowledged them, proved their worth more than once. Ningka especially surprised her—despite all her claims of wanting peace and quiet, here she was, weaving expertly through alleyways, avoiding patrols like a native born to these streets. Azula couldn't help but note the irony; "done fighting," indeed.

But the docks were another matter. A new obstacle awaited: six guards, slumped in the moonlight, their laughter and loud voices carrying easily in the still air.

"Are they actually drunk?" Chiyou whispered, lips curling into an exasperated sneer. The eye-roll that followed spoke volumes—she already knew the answer.

"Damned human factor," Ningka spat under her breath, eyes narrowed in disgust.

Azula's irritation simmered just beneath the surface. These careless fools threatened to ruin everything she had painstakingly arranged. Her escape, her freedom—jeopardized by the incompetence of drunken soldiers.

Then Zirin broke the tense silence with a pointed finger. "Luck's on our side." She nodded toward a pile of barrels, roughly lashed together, worn and weathered. After a quick sweep for patrols, she moved forward, the others following close behind.

"Beer," she announced with a satisfied grin, tapping one barrel lightly.

Chiyou crossed her arms, clearly impatient. "Can we get back to the plan now?"

Azula's lips twitched in a faint smirk as she glanced toward the barrels and then at the drunken guards nearby. She caught Zirin's eye and said quietly, "We're gonna need someone with enough authority to get these men in trouble. Use any means available—get creative."

Zirin gave a quick nod, a mischievous spark lighting her eyes. Without hesitation, she slipped into the shadows, moving with a fluid grace that caught Azula's attention. The princess arched a brow in surprise—she hadn't expected such ease, such natural command of presence from Zirin.

Minutes later, Azula watched from the edge of the dock as Zirin approached a figure in the distance, a purposeful sway in her step, the faintest trace of a practiced smile playing on her lips. Her voice carried just enough softness and urgency to pull in the passerby. Azula could almost hear the silent script unfolding: concern, frustration, just the right touch of vulnerability. Zirin was overdoing it—dramatic hand gestures, a slight quiver in her tone—but just enough to stay believable.

Meanwhile, Azula and the others moved with quiet precision. They nudged one barrel loose, letting it roll silently into the guards' line of sight. The soldiers, swaying and laughing, couldn't resist investigating the sudden disturbance.

Then came the crash—the barrel smashed open, sending a river of beer gushing across the dock and spilling into the dark water below.

"What's going on here?!" a harsh male voice roared.

The guards froze, faces blanching as a stern sergeant emerged, eyes sharp and demanding. Standing beside him, four young women watched closely—Azula's face shadowed beneath a hood, her gaze calculating every move.

Zirin returned, stepping forward with practiced ease and a convincing air of distress. "We're staying with a friend," she explained softly, voice trembling just enough. "They hurt their leg, and it's been hard for them all night. The noise from these men was unbearable, so I went to ask them to quiet down. But when I found them... they were practically swimming in beer."

Azula caught herself wincing at the little theatrical flourish Zirin threw in—almost too much, yet somehow perfect.

The sergeant's brow furrowed, torn between irritation and a sense of duty. Driven by protocol—or maybe a desire to impress the women—he strode toward his troops, who were caught red-handed.

"You idiots! What do you think you're doing?" the sergeant barked, his voice booming across the dock.

"S-Sergent, it wasn't us!" one guard slurred, swaying precariously as he tried to steady himself.

"You reek of alcohol! Don't lie to me!" the sergeant growled, stepping closer, his broad frame casting a shadow over the trembling men. "You'll be doing push-ups until that foolishness is out of your systems!" His tone brooked no argument, and the sheer weight of his presence silenced all protests.

Grumbling and muttering curses, the guards were hauled away, their stumbling steps echoing against the wooden planks as they disappeared into the shadows.

Zirin turned back with a victorious smile, throwing her hands up for a celebratory "team clap." Azula joined, though her smile was tight, her eyes cold and calculating.

Chiyou shook her head, voice low. "I almost feel bad for them."

Azula's sharp retort cut through the air. "Don't." Her gaze hardened. "They earned this. Maybe discipline like this will finally teach them some sense."

With the immediate obstacle removed, the group shifted focus back to the boat bobbing gently in the harbor's dark waters. Ningka climbed aboard with sure-footed grace, her hands grasping the thick rope that controlled the sail.

"Alright, serious question," Ningka said, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Does anyone here actually know how to navigate a boat?"

Azula squared her shoulders, voice steady and commanding. "We'll improvise."

Almost immediately, regret gnawed at her resolve.

The boat lurched violently as they narrowly missed a hidden sandbank, jolting everyone onboard and sending a ripple of startled gasps through the group.

Then the waves came—not just rolling water, but a gnawing queasiness twisting in their stomachs. Azula's head spun with every unpredictable sway, her vision swimming slightly. Chiyou and Zirin exchanged pale, uncomfortable looks, their usual composure slipping.

Only Ningka remained steady, her expression bright and unbothered, almost reckless as she grinned at the helm, eyes gleaming with excitement.

Azula's gaze lingered on her, unease flickering deep within. Ningka's grin was wide and confident—bordering on reckless.

Just like a pirate, Azula thought bitterly, only far less charming.

They had sailed for hours, the boat gliding just off the shoreline under a pale, forgiving sun. A soft breeze teased the sails, carrying with it the briny tang of salt and the faint sweetness of wildflowers blooming nearby. Ningka had swapped places with Chiyou once her stomach had settled, and the others—including Azula—lay sprawled, each lost in quiet respite.

Azula's chest rose and fell with steady breaths, but beneath the calm surface a spark of satisfaction flickered. Far from the suffocating grip of her past, free from Zuko's obsessive hunt, she allowed herself a small, bitter smile. She pictured him tearing at his hair in frustration, desperate to trap her once more. Let him stew in paranoia for months—enough time for her to reclaim the fire that had been stolen.

"Ah, if we're back to the main course then…" The familiar voice of the creature murmured softly, it's words hung almost unfinished as a heavy darkness tugged at Azula's eyelids.

Her vision blurred, then shuttered closed, surrendering to an otherworldly sleep.

When her eyes reopened, Azula found herself standing in a place that bent all reason. The ground beneath her feet was a surreal blend—stone and grass fused seamlessly, twisting vines stretched upward, unraveling into drifting sand and powder as if gravity itself had fractured. The air hummed with quiet power, vibrating softly against her skin.

A whisper drifted like a breath against her ear. "We have to settle our agreement."

Azula's head turned slowly, her eyes narrowing.

Beside her, a figure coalesced—a creature shifting fluidly between solid and mist, its head leaning over her shoulder like a living shadow.

Azula instinctively stepped back, fingers curling into a guarded fist at her side, muscles tensing. "What is this place?"

The creature's form shimmered faintly as it spoke, voice low and steady. "This is a projection of the spiritual realm. Since I freed you, we have been watched. My interference is limited—my actions noticed, and forces move to stop me."

Azula's patience frayed, and she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear with a sharp flick. "Cut the cryptic riddles. Get to the point."

The creature's eyes gleamed with ancient weariness as it regarded her. "Your world is dying—not from war or famine, but from the recklessness of a spirit who taught the Avatar forbidden knowledge."

Azula's brow furrowed. "You mean—"

"Yes. The power to grant or strip mastery over the elements. This knowledge was meant to be kept secret by the spirits—guarded, not shared. Humans are greedy; they already hold enough power to destroy their own world."

She folded her arms across her chest, lips pressed into a thin line. "Do you possess such knowledge?"

"No. And even if I did, I lack the strength to sever a mortal's connection to the spiritual realm."

Azula's skepticism sharpened like a blade. "Setting aside your uselessness, what war do you speak of?"

The creature's tone dropped, heavy with sorrow. It sank slightly, as if the weight of history pressed down on it. "The war is over. Spirits fled after your family decimated anything sacred to them—dragons, once revered, were hunted near extinction. Now, spirits have nothing left to fear... except one."

"Who?" Azula's voice was sharp, her gaze steady.

"When the Avatar nearly died at your father's hands, its spirit took over. The chaos drew everyone's attention—all but one spirit, who seized the moment. This spirit knows the forbidden knowledge and craves only chaos."

Azula's nostrils flared, frustration tightening her features. "I don't care for spiritual games."

"But the world is shifting," the creature insisted, its voice low but urgent. "Spirits will return, one way or another, and the next year will decide if that return is salvation—or catastrophe."

"For whom? Why involve yourself? You seem to know far too much for your act." She narrowed her eyes, stepping slightly forward, jaw clenched.

The creature's form pulsed softly, its gaze locking with hers, unblinking. "Spirits can inflict horrors beyond imagining. What you suffered for a year is but a whisper of what is possible." Azula felt a chill ripple down her spine. "The Avatar could have simply killed your father. But no—he committed an unforgivable act, twice. Severing a connection to bending curses a soul. Like your father, you have become a husk—cut off, cursed, unable to access the spiritual realm."

"You said this isn't the spiritual realm," she said, voice low.

"No. Only a projection."

"The difference?" Azula arched an eyebrow, folding her arms tighter.

"To spirits, you do not exist here—unless they cross the threshold, which most cannot. You remain unseen, untouched."

"And you? You said others noticed."

"They did. But by binding to your mind, I share your invisibility." The creature's eyes softened just a fraction, as if offering a fragile bond.

Azula's jaw clenched tight, her fists tightening at her sides. "I will not be your vessel."

"Not a vessel," the creature replied gently, "Without me, you cannot reconnect to the spiritual world. Trust me—that fate is worse than you imagine." Its gaze drifted toward a distant horizon, where a soft blue glow pulsed like a heartbeat.

Azula's eyes followed, drawn despite herself.

"Forgetful Valley lies ahead," the creature said softly, voice nearly a whisper. "A vast forest, one of the last sacred grounds left unspoiled by humans. You must seek the Mother of Faces there. Even if she cannot heal you, her ancient wisdom will guide you to others who can."

Azula's brow furrowed deeply, lips pressing together. "Can I expect more help? This task feels immense."

"I will be your guide." The creature's form began to waver, fading like mist in the morning sun. "But now—wake up, princess. Wake up."

"Asura? Hey, Sura." Zirin nudged Azula's shoulder gently, her voice soft but urgent. The sharp chirping of birds filtered through the air, signaling they were close to land. "We found a small village. Ningka's aiming for the shore. We've still got some money left to get more supplies."

Azula blinked, forcing her eyes to adjust to the morning light filtering through the sails. "How long have we been sailing?"

"Worried you slept more than one night again? Haha, you didn't go unconscious, nothing to fear. Ningka and Chiyou took turns at the helm to get us as far as possible," Zirin replied, a hint of teasing in her tone.

"Yeah, smooth sailing all the way," Ningka said, as she eased the sail down, eyes scanning the horizon. "Though I have no idea where we are. Definitely not Earth Kingdom, but somewhere far east of the Fire Nation."

Azula stretched, her limbs stiff from rest. "Far enough to rest for a couple of days if needed." Her gaze settled on the village sprawling along the shore—a scattering of wooden houses with steep thatched roofs, smoke lazily curling upward from chimneys. No signs of military patrols. No banners or guards. She nodded. "And no military presence here."

The boat slid softly onto the sand, the anchor dropped with a quiet splash. Chiyou secured the vessel, and the group stepped ashore, their boots sinking slightly into warm, sun-baked earth.

"Am I the only one getting strange vibes about this place?" Chiyou murmured, eyes narrowing as she scanned the quiet streets.

Zirin and Ningka exchanged a glance and shrugged, but their stiff postures betrayed unease. Azula felt it too—an almost electric sensation prickling her skin, as if dozens of unseen eyes watched from shadowed windows and hidden corners. Her gaze darted, sharp and calculating.

The village itself looked peaceful enough. It was alive—not empty or dull—but more secluded than Ember Island, quieter, less touched by the bustle of larger cities. The buildings leaned slightly with age, their weathered timber telling stories of generations. Children played barefoot by a small stream that cut through the village, their laughter mingling with the soft rustle of trees in the breeze.

The people were plain in dress and manner, their smiles polite but cautious. After only five minutes of wandering, Azula's group had already attracted attention, greeted with curious waves and polite nods as if they were an oddity—a novelty.

If Azula didn't know better, she might have found it boring.

"Oh look! An open theater!" Azula stopped, eyes catching on a simple wooden structure built into a gentle slope, its stage framed by ropes and pulleys.

She searched for Chiyou, who was nearby, and her interest deepened despite herself.

"Really? I've only seen one in my life," Ningka said, stepping closer to peer inside. "Looks impressive—for a village so far from any great city."

Zirin stood before a worn wooden board. Azula joined her, squinting at the faded letters.

"That's their program. They perform a lot," Zirin said casually.

Azula's eyes scanned the schedule. Two things struck her like thunder: the name of the troupe—and more chillingly—the name of the village itself.

Hira'a. Her mother's village.

She blinked, swallowing down the shock. Fate, it seemed, had led her here.

But then her gaze landed on the title of the next play: Love Amongst The Dragons.

A cold numbness crept through her limbs. Memories surged unbidden—summers spent under Ember Island's warm sun, the annual night at the theater, the villagers watching their mother's favorite play. Zuko's grumbles about the local actors butchering the story. The whispered laughter, the stolen moments acting out favorite scenes with May and Ty Lee. Her mother's quiet, sad gaze as she watched Azula take the stage, eyes full of something almost like envy.

"The water spirit role would suit you better."

"No. I would never be the villain. Villains always lose."

"Even the color of your fire matches."

"No. My fire is beautiful."

"Why do you always give your brother the bad role?"

"Do you want me to be the monster?"

Suddenly, the world tilted. Azula crumpled, hitting the ground hard. Her companions rushed to her side, panic flaring in their voices.

"Is she having a seizure? An episode?"

"Couldn't she have told us she was sick?"

"Roll her on her side! She might choke!"

A deep voice joined the chorus—stern, questioning. "What happened to her?"

The voices swirled incoherently as Azula's consciousness slipped, but one word floated clear—"Noren." The name from the play, from her childhood.

"-Noriko! Need water!"

It had never been this bad before. Why was this different?

Softness enveloped her like a cloud. Warm hands adjusted her position, wrapped a cloth around her, tucked her in carefully.

One last blurry image hovered—her mother's face, gentle and unyielding.

"Everything is going to be alright."

Since when had a ghost ever said anything that didn't hurt?

Zuko was furious. His sister was gone—most likely dead or on the run, a loose cannon capable of sparking another war or committing an unforgivable act out of sheer tantrum. Despite commanding the might of the Fire Nation, he felt powerless, as if his influence had dwindled to nothing more than whispers from exile days.

"You're going to set something on fire at this rate," Mai said from the doorway of his office, arms crossed, her voice sharp with restrained impatience. "There's nothing else to do but wait."

"Wait?!" Zuko snapped, his voice cracking like a flame. "When Azula is out on her own? She's dangerous, Mai. You don't just wait when someone like that's loose."

Mai stepped in, her gaze steady. "And you're not going to go hunting for her yourself, nor will anyone else. You have to accept that. The military isn't going to chase ghosts."

Zuko ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "Right… but it still puts me on edge. She's my sister. What if she's planning something worse than I imagine?"

"She's lost her fire," Mai said quietly, almost softer. "I know Azula well enough to say that if she's lost her fire, she might be more likely to disappear… or worse, consider ending things herself rather than face dishonor."

Zuko scoffed, the word "Azula" and "suicide" clashing violently in his mind. "That's absurd. Azula isn't that weak. She's the most ruthless person I know."

Mai's lips twitched into a smirk. "You always say that, but people change. Especially when the world turns against them."

Zuko shot back, "I have to make hard decisions every day. It's easier when you can just weigh the consequences over the coming days at most."

"Oh, how tragic," Mai said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "My boyfriend, the Fire Lord, burdened with 'hard decisions.' Tell me, Zuko, do you ever tire of being the tragic hero?"

Zuko's eyes narrowed. "If you think this is a joke, maybe you should take a closer look at the documents on my desk."

Mai's expression flickered with annoyance but she masked it quickly. "I'm expected to meet with the Minister of Agriculture soon," she said smoothly, shifting the topic. "He's livid. And I use that word deliberately, about the absurd amounts of wealth being funneled to the Earth Kingdom."

Zuko pretended not to hear, focusing instead on the scrolls before him.

Mai pressed on. "He's right. These taxes are bleeding our people dry. Not everyone profited from the war effort. Many are starving while reconstruction benefits a few. Peace hasn't made life better for most."

Zuko's fingers tightened around a parchment. "I cannot simply abandon the reconstruction effort. We must atone for our—"

"Sins? What sins?" Mai cut him off sharply. "Your popularity is plummeting, Zuko. I've seen people begging on the streets. You tell me that's atonement?"

Zuko's jaw clenched. "I don't want to continue this conversation."

Mai sighed, stepping back toward the door. "Then don't. But you need to start listening—before it's too late."

She paused, then added quietly, "Zuko, you're not just Fire Lord. You're supposed to be a leader who sees the people, not just politics."

He looked up, meeting her gaze, and saw the frustration behind her calm exterior.

As Mai left, the silence stretched between them. It was moments like this—moments charged with truth and tension—that reminded Zuko how different they really were.

Zuko's thoughts churned long after Mai's footsteps faded. She was infuriating—but not entirely wrong. The weight of rebuilding, of maintaining peace through bleeding tribute and compromise, had left him exhausted. The people are suffering, he admitted, but what's the alternative? Let the Earth Kingdom fester and wait for another war? He ran a hand through his hair, glaring down at the capital below. The Fire Nation looked tamed, but he knew better. It was simmering. So was he.

And Azula. The name tasted like rust. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but resentment dug deeper. If she was dead, it should have been on his terms. If she was alive, she was a threat—one he should've neutralized long ago. She made her choice, he told himself. She always does. But doubt lingered like smoke in his lungs. He had chased peace at the cost of power—and now even that peace felt as fragile as paper.

Outside, Mai walked briskly down the corridor, wind catching the edge of her cloak. She had tried to be patient with Zuko. Really, she had. But listening to him justify bleeding the Fire Nation for some abstract moral debt was getting unbearable. "Atonement," he called it. "Balance." All it sounded like to her was weakness dressed in diplomacy. He was too soft—on the world, on himself, and worst of all, on his sister.

Azula. Mai clenched her jaw. Zuko still spoke of her like a lost cause worth finding. But Mai had seen enough to know better. That girl wasn't lost—she was what happened when power met madness. She remembered Azula's voice, the venom-laced mockery: "Zuzu is an idiot. I can't imagine what you see in my brother." She'd never answered back then. Maybe because she didn't know. Maybe because Azula wasn't wrong.

Back then she should have said, "He's just the lesser evil." But even that felt generous now, and truly, she liked his kindness, he had his way to reach people ... But now they were all playing roles in a crumbling play, villains wearing crowns and titles. If Zuko wanted to torch the Fire Nation from the inside out to feel noble, Mai wasn't going to hold the match for him. Not anymore. He had to learn from his mistakes one way or another.

Azula woke up in the spirit realm—again. This time, it was a forest. Gnarled trees towered over her, their twisted branches filtering a strange, pulsing light. She wasn't surprised. They were approaching Forgetful Valley, and the spirit clearly had something to say.

"I apologize," it began.

Of course. She didn't know what for, but the word alone was enough to spark irritation—and right now, irritation was better than confusion.

"Go on, then," she said coolly. "Let's hear what noble reason you've conjured up for dragging me back into this foggy mind prison."

"You were having a panic attack," the spirit said, calm but firm. "When you saw that theater schedule, your mind unraveled. I tried to intervene. Tried to suppress the worst of it. But you resisted harder than I expected. It drained you."

Azula stepped closer and jabbed a finger toward its chest. "Never do that again."

The spirit raised its hands. "Understood. But don't pretend it wasn't necessary. You were losing control. I was trying to preserve what you still have—your composure, your allies, your purpose."

That struck a nerve. Azula turned away, but her thoughts twisted tightly. Why here? What were the chances that the place she was supposedly meant to recover her fire just happened to be near Ursa's village?

"This isn't a coincidence," she snapped. "You brought me here on purpose."

The spirit's tone darkened. "You think I care where your mother was born? The energy in this region predates the Fire Nation itself. The valley is ancient, powerful—untouched by your empire's maps or borders. If Ursa came from nearby, that's chance. I don't care about your family."

She glared at him. "You should. Everyone else seems to."

The spirit tilted its head. "Do you fear another breakdown? Is that it? Or are you afraid you'll find something here—something true—and won't be able to ignore it?"

Azula's voice was flat, dangerous. "I'm not afraid. I'm not weak."

"Not like your brother, then?"

She struck before he could finish. Her fist connected with the side of his face, and the spirit staggered back, flickering like a flame in wind.

"…Fair," it muttered, rubbing its jaw. "I provoked that."

"I'm leaving," Azula said, already turning.

"Fine. But don't delude yourself, Princess," the spirit called after her. "You're stronger than the rest of them. You always were. Your mother feared you, your uncle never trusted you, and your brother never understood you. And your father—he didn't want to break you. He wanted to use you. He saw what you were: pure fire, without hesitation."

Azula stopped, just for a breath, her back still turned.

"I don't need your commentary," she said.

"No," the spirit replied. "But you need to remember who you are. And what you're meant to become."

She walked away without another word, pushing through the thick silence of the trees. Her mind was a whirlwind—but her spine remained straight, her steps sharp.

There was still no fire in her hands.

But the storm in her chest was far from gone.

This cycle of waking up in unfamiliar places was getting exhausting. This time, it was a small room with low ceilings and a bed barely long enough for her. There were toys scattered across the wooden floor—stuffed animals, a few dolls, and carved wooden figures. A child's room. Lovely.

She tried to recall what had happened after her breakdown.

Right—she'd lost control. The others had caught up with her. Someone had kept her from choking on her own vomit. Then a man had arrived—probably the one who brought her here. A healer, maybe. Or his wife. Someone had cared enough to not let her die.

A soft thud snapped her from her thoughts. It came from the shelf. Someone was hiding. She could hear the anxious breathing.

"Get out and face me," she said, instinctively. Her tone came out sharper than intended—more suited for an assassin than a child.

A small girl, no older than eight, crawled out sheepishly from behind the shelf. So that's what she was afraid of. Great. Now it looked like she'd been startled by a child.

The girl approached the bed slowly, wide eyes studying Azula with unnerving curiosity. She didn't look scared—just fascinated. Azula didn't like it.

"What?" she asked. "Now you're nervous?"

"N-No! It's just..." the girl fidgeted. Azula exhaled slowly. No need to snap. Not here. Not now.

"Look up when you speak. Don't slouch. You can talk, can't you?"

The girl gulped, then nodded. "I... I was supposed to be at school. But I was curious, and Mom told me not to bother you, so I... Did I wake you up?"

Skipping school? Interesting. Maybe this kid wasn't as soft as she looked. Azula felt a flicker of approval.

"No. But your breathing is too loud. If you want to sneak around, cover your mouth with your hand. Don't hold your breath—it only makes it worse. Small adjustments. They matter."

The girl blinked. "What else?"

Azula frowned. "What?"

"How else can I improve?"

Before Azula could answer, a woman entered carrying a tray with a bowl and some fruit. She paused at the sight of the girl beside the bed.

Azula braced herself. She expected scolding—maybe yelling. That's how Ursa would've reacted.

But instead, the woman just sighed with a patient smile. "Kiyi, darling, our guest needs rest. Don't wear her out."

Azula tensed. The child—Kiyi—had no idea how lucky she was. That tone of care... it was foreign. And unbearable.

"This gift must've cost a fortune, Azula. A little Earth Kingdom girl would have cherished it."

Ursa's voice echoed in her memory. But had she ever asked what Azula wanted? Had Iroh? No. They assumed, and when she didn't fit their mold, they punished her for it.

Azula flinched slightly as the woman—Noriko, likely—gently placed a hand on hers.

"You're cold. Do you need more blankets? You had a fever when you arrived, but it's dropped. I'm relieved."

Azula didn't respond right away. The soup still steamed in the bowl.

"It's a local recipe," Noriko said. "Not the best tasting, but it helps fight off infection and weakness."

"Why—?"

"Oh!" Noriko chuckled. "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Noriko. This is my house. Your friends brought you here with my husband. Said you collapsed. The heat's been awful lately—especially with the humidity. I imagine you're not used to it."

"I..." Azula hesitated. That warmth again—it threatened to reach beneath her armor. She couldn't allow it. "I thank you for your assistance."

"It's nothing, really. What's the point of living in this world if we don't at least try to make it a bit better?"

It sounded like something out of a naïve fable. But Azula couldn't deny that honest people were often the most efficient—if not the smartest.

"Where are my..." She paused, searching for the right word. Servants? Subordinates? No—too cold. "...friends?"

"They're helping my husband patch up the barn. There's an extension we're building. They offered to help in exchange for food and shelter. A fair deal."

Azula nodded. Somehow, even unconscious, she had secured resources. Not bad.

"We won't be staying long," she added. "I promise."

Noriko only smiled and placed a hand on her forehead. Azula flinched slightly as Noriko's hand brushed against her forehead, gentle but unexpected.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended—defensive, not curious.

Noriko didn't seem fazed. She smiled, calm as ever, and let her hand linger just a moment before pulling it away. "Hmm? Just checking your temperature. You're cooler now, but you need rest. And lots of water. Dehydration's no joke in this heat."

Azula opened her mouth to reply, but her nose twitched. A faint, acrid scent curled through the air—burnt wood.

Noriko stiffened. "Oh no... the furnace!"

She turned on her heel. "Kiyi, show our guest the bathroom and where the fountain is, would you? I'll be right back!"

With that, she swept out, skirts brushing the floor as her footsteps faded quickly down the hall.

Left alone, Kiyi turned toward Azula with wide, excited eyes. She giggled, clearly pleased with herself, and scampered toward a small crate near the wall. She rummaged through it and pulled out something clumsily stitched, holding it up like it was a prize.

"This is Kiyi!" she declared.

Azula blinked. The doll was clearly handmade—lopsided, uneven, but handled with care. Its yarn hair stuck out in odd directions, and its dress, though crooked, matched the one the girl wore.

She held it out without hesitation. Azula took it delicately, examining the uneven seams, her fingers brushing over the rough stitching. "You named your doll after yourself?"

Kiyi grinned. "It's such a good name, I used it twice!"

Azula allowed herself a small exhale—just shy of a laugh. She glanced from doll to girl. The resemblance was, frankly, unsettling. "The haircut's different."

Kiyi puffed her cheeks. "I tried to give her a new style. Didn't go great."

Azula handed the doll back with a slow motion, her expression unreadable. "I had dolls too."

"Did you like them?"

"No. I had a habit of removing their heads."

Kiyi stared at her.

Azula looked at the window. "I didn't like what they stood for. While my brother was being gifted hand-forged blades, I was given toys... soft things. I thought if I trained, learned to fight, maybe Father would take me seriously." Her eyes darkened. "He didn't. Parents can be... strange. Always expecting. Never satisfied."

There was a pause. Kiyi shifted on her feet, gripping her doll tightly.

"I don't really know what you mean," she said quietly. "Mom and Dad aren't like that. I asked for a firebending teacher once—for my birthday—but they told me I hadn't shown any signs yet. Later, I heard them talking... they just couldn't afford it."

Azula turned to face her. "You think you're a bender?"

"Of course I am!"

"How do you know?"

Kiyi drew herself up with as much pride as an eight-year-old could manage. "I got really mad one time and—"

The door slammed open.

Azula barely had time to react before a tangle of limbs and shrieking teenage voices tackled her.

"You're alive!" Zirin cried, throwing her arms around her like a thunderclap.

"Don't scare us like that again. It's annoying," Chiyou huffed, but her hands clung tightly.

"You're weirdly heavy, you know?" Ningka muttered from somewhere near Azula's ribs.

Azula groaned and tried to peel them off, one hand pushing at Zirin's forehead, the other trapped under Ningka's elbow. "Alright, enough. I can't breathe. You've achieved sufficient physical contact."

"Ten more seconds!" Zirin pleaded, hugging tighter.

"No."

They stayed for twelve.

Azula sat up straighter as they finally pulled away, smoothing her hair with the dignity of a half-drowned cat. "You're insufferable."

"Oh, don't be such a mood, Sura," Zirin said with a wink. "Noren's awesome. His wife is the sweetest. If we help them fix the barn, we can stay a few days. And we get fed."

Azula narrowed her eyes. "You're bartering my collapse into lodging?"

"It's practical," Ningka offered with a shrug.

"Right..." Azula muttered, massaging her temple. "At least you made yourselves useful while I was unconscious."

"A compliment?" Chiyou gasped. "Somebody write that down!"

Azula turned toward her slowly. "How dare you—"

"Dinner's ready!" Noriko's voice rang through the open doorway. She smiled warmly. "Asura, do you feel well enough to join us?"

Azula paused, collecting herself. Then she stood with practiced grace, like her strength had never faltered.

"Yes."

Azula couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten surrounded by so many people. Not truly. There had been dinners on Ember Island with Zuko, Mai, and Ty Lee—but that wasn't the same. No, it went back farther than that. Back to when she was still small, her grandfather Azulon still alive, her mother present, and her father... well, scheming. Her uncle had been there too, a looming presence, kind but unreadable. Her cousin, Lu Ten, had perhaps been the one family member she hated the least.

Contrary to what others used to whisper, Lu Ten had not been "the one holding them together." There was nothing to hold. The Fire Nation royal family had never been a family—only a collection of ambitions bound by blood and duty. The concept of kinship had no place in the hearts of men like Azulon or Ozai.

Now, sitting on the floor of Noriko's modest home—because their small table couldn't seat everyone—Azula found herself ringed by warmth and light chatter. People laughed. Arms bumped. Food passed hand to hand. She watched them all, quiet, her spine straight as ever despite the exhaustion still clinging to her bones.

She hadn't realized how much she might have craved something like this. But of course... it was only possible because they didn't know who she was. If they did, this kindness would dissolve in an instant. All these smiling faces would twist with betrayal. They'd turn on her the way everyone always did.

Something soft bumped against her arm. She looked down.

Kiyi stood beside her, holding out a plate. "Moshi?" the girl offered, brows raised in hopeful sincerity.

Azula blinked, then nodded and picked two dumplings. Kiyi beamed like she'd handed her a crown.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," Noren said, glancing toward Zirin. "A few extra hands are always helpful—between repairs and construction at our house and rehearsals with our group, we're stretched thin."

"Oh, dear," Noriko sighed playfully, "we've performed Love Amongst the Dragons so many times, I'd hope you know your lines by now."

Noren sat up straighter, mock-affronted. "It's not about me! It's about the audience. If we weren't so dedicated, they wouldn't bother coming all the way out here. They'd just go to Ember Island instead—and I refuse to let those hacks perform in our place."

Noriko laughed softly and nodded. "The actors there don't put in much effort anymore. Tourists keep the seats filled, so they don't try. They've grown lazy."

She turned to Asura—Azula—and added, "I imagine you may have heard of it yourself?"

Azula gave a small, neutral nod. She'd seen it all. Over-rehearsed lines. Hollow performances. Masks worn only half-heartedly. How fitting, for a nation of illusion.

"If you don't mind me asking..." Noren said suddenly, his tone curious but not sharp. "Where exactly do you come from? You did appear from the sea, after all."

"Oh, well, we—" Zirin began brightly.

Azula tensed.

"—are travelling to the colonies," Ningka cut in smoothly before Zirin could say too much. "With the war ending, it might be easier to find work there."

"Didn't you hear? The Earth King and the Fire Lord have been… in conflict about the colonies." Noren's voice dropped as he glanced toward his wife, his brow furrowing. "They cannot agree on who should hold control over them." He shook his head slowly.

Azula's eyes narrowed, the weight of the news settling heavily on her. Oh great, she thought bitterly, the perfect way to end the day — a full report not only on Zuko's absolute moronic blunders, but also this puppet king they call Kuei.

Noren continued, gesturing with an open hand as if to emphasize the absurdity. "People are worried it would spark a new conflict… It's ridiculous, really. People from the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom have been living in peace there for years. The local governors even encouraged the use of earthbending despite the ban. I even heard one of them married, and his daughter is an earthbender."

Azula's jaw tightened. If neither Zuko nor Ozai could see the potential there, they didn't deserve the throne.

Chiyou, poking at her bowl with a chopstick, muttered darkly, "Great. No matter where we go, troubles follow us."

Noriko's gaze softened, concerned but polite. "You all seem quite young to be traveling on your own." Her eyes lingered just a little too long. A beat of silence. Then—unexpectedly—it was Zirin who answered.

"Far enough." There was no sharpness to it, but no space for follow-up either.

Noriko caught the tone and nodded. "I see." She smiled again, gracious and warm. "Well, we've got some jam left. Anyone interested?"

The mood shifted again. A few hands went up. The conversation rolled on.

The rest of the evening passed in gentle rhythm—local gossip, updates on trade, small talk about politics. Kiyi looked increasingly bored, poking at her food or staring out the window. Azula watched her from the corner of her eye.

When she was that age, she'd been desperate to join adult conversations. But if it wasn't her grandfather scolding her for being too young, it was her father dismissing her words entirely. "A princess shouldn't waste time on things she doesn't understand," Azulon had once said.

She still remembered Ursa's expression when he'd said it—tense, quiet. The silence of a woman biting back a scream.

Azula had thanked her mother for removing that man from the world sooner than nature would have. Had Azulon lived longer, he would've married her off the moment she bled.

Kiyi, at least, had been spared that fate.

Still, Azula couldn't tell whether the girl was uninterested in the adults' talk—or if she simply didn't know how to be part of it.

Noriko and Noren's barn was comfortable enough to spend the night, but Azula's mind refused to rest. The nightmares clawed at her, relentless—she feared waking up only to find herself back in hell.

Eventually, she gave up on sleep and slipped outside for a walk. The village was calm now—no sign of night life, the complete opposite of bustling cities like Caldera or even the tourist-filled Ember Island. Her thoughts drifted to that night at the Fire Lord's beach house… she tried to be honest then, something she rarely allowed herself.

Honesty means vulnerability, she reminded herself. You don't win with sincere words—only with strong, undeniable logic.

Soft sobbing broke the silence. Following the sound, Azula found Kiyi alone under the moonlight, wrapped in her nightdress. After a moment, the fire princess stepped closer.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Azula's voice was quiet but firm.

Kiyi gasped and spun around, her face relaxing when she saw it was Azula. "I—I couldn't sleep."

Azula made a wild guess. "Nightmare?"

She considered the other possibility—that the girl had wet her bed—but decided not to mention it.

Kiyi hesitated, then looked up at Azula with wide eyes. "You too?"

Azula smirked despite herself and sat down beside the girl. "I'll give you this—you're a clever brat. What's bothering you?"

Kiyi pulled her knees up, hiding her face against her chest. "There are these mean boys at school… they keep bullying me, but I don't want to tell my parents. I don't want to bother them."

Azula frowned, irritation flickering across her face. "Is your teacher that incompetent, he can't keep order?"

Kiyi shrugged weakly. "When I tell him, he just says, 'Boys will be boys,' then sends me away."

Azula felt a slow burn of anger. Incompetence was a poison she hated.

"Be better than them," she said sharply.

"How?" Kiyi's voice trembled.

"Make them submit. Assert your dominance. Hurt them so badly they never rise from the ashes of their shame." She had the feeling these words had been used before, not in the same context though.

Kiyi's eyes grew wide. "But… but they're so much stronger than me. And I'm alone."

Azula's gaze sharpened. "You're a firebender. Use your gift."

Kiyi looked away, ashamed. "I don't know how."

Azula rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Ugh… fine. I don't like pathetic people, so I guess I'll have to make sure you're at least a decent firebender."

Kiyi's eyes opened dangerously wide. "You… you would teach me?"

Azula was about to refuse but found herself stuck with an eight-year-old clutching her arms around her chest. She softened. "What are you—"

"Thank you, thank you so much," Kiyi sobbed, burying her face into Azula's side. The fire princess allowed it—no witnesses, and, truth be told, it felt good.

For once, Azula slept a dreamless night.

Chapter Text

I'm so glad I moved to AO3—no more bots! The story also seems to be pretty well received, which is encouraging. I really need to fix my writing schedule... or just my overall organization. I somehow started writing chapter 3 before finishing chapter 2, which makes no sense. Still, I'm happy with how it's coming together so far, so let's keep it going!

Book One : Family

Chapter Two : Attachment

Her first day in Hira'a began with a sharp rooster call echoing through the village. The foreign screech jarred Azula awake. She blinked at the wooden ceiling, wondering if Ursa had endured that same sound every morning—before Ozai had, quite literally, stolen her away.

Zirin, Chiyou, and Ningka stirred from their makeshift beds with about as much grace as Azula managed—though of course, she ensured she was properly composed before rising.

Noriko and Noren greeted them in the living room with a breakfast of fresh fruit. Noren mentioned plans to continue working on the barn through the morning; in the afternoon, he and his wife would rehearse for the village play. Everyone was invited to watch, of course.

Azula considered venturing into the so-called Forgetful Valley. But for now, it felt wiser to gather more information—especially from locals she could trust more than the cryptic spirit that had been haunting her mind. Besides, she had offered Kiyi her firebending guidance. A few days of rest wouldn't hurt.

Noriko set her teacup down and stretched with a soft sigh. "We should be on our way. Kiyi, are you ready to depart?"

The girl cast a furtive glance at Azula—so loaded with nervous hope that even a death row prisoner might have seemed less desperate. Curse the kid for trying to find any flicker of empathy in me, Azula thought. Still… maybe sizing up those bullies might help guarantee total dominance.

"May I join you, Noriko? I'd like to explore the village a bit," Azula offered.

"Are you sure you're not just finding an excuse to dodge hard labor?" Chiyou quipped, earning a sharp glare from Azula.

"Oh, of course!" Noriko replied brightly. "Kiyi's school is just on the outskirts."

That earned a smile from Kiyi, who dashed off eagerly to get ready.

Their walk began at a steady pace, with Azula and Noriko exchanging little conversation. Kiyi, meanwhile, darted ahead—laughing, meeting with other children, chatting like she belonged in a world Azula never had access to. Agni, how many of them are there? Hira'a was clearly larger than most of the anonymous Earth Kingdom villages Azula had passed through, but seeing so many children in one place felt... alien.

When they reached the school on the village's edge, Azula stared. This is a school? At best, it looked like a poorly maintained goat pen. The main building was just a repurposed house with one oversized room to squeeze in every child in the village. No stone walls. No courtyard. Just a fence, a couple of trees leaning in from the nearby woods, and open grass.

"Are you a city person, Asura?" Noriko asked.

Azula gave a nonchalant shrug. "I grew up in the capital. My school looked like a fortress compared to this."

Not even close.

Noriko gave her a kind smile. "Then I guess it's far less intimidating."

But the building itself had never been the issue. Not back then. It had been the other children. Azula had simply made them learn who was in charge. It worked so well that Mai had offered her loyalty and skills unprompted. A shame, really, that Azula had pushed her toward Zuko. Discarding such a valuable asset out of—whatever. Pride? Spite? It hardly mattered now.

Her gaze drifted back to the children. Kiyi showed no signs of worry—laughing with a group of girls, then waving to some boys who passed her on their way inside. No tension. No fear.

Did she lie to me? Azula scoffed. Of course she did. The brat probably made it all up for attention.

"We should head back," she said abruptly. "Didn't Noren say there was work to do?"

"Of course," Noriko replied. "I also have some groceries to pick up on the way. We've got four extra mouths to feed—an extra pair of arms would be helpful."

Anything to avoid manual labor, Azula thought. Still, she nodded and followed Noriko through the market stalls that lined the central street.

She wondered briefly how much money actors could make in a year. Judging by Noriko's casual spending, it had to be more than Azula expected.

"Ah! Fresh bangus fish. I'll fry it for lunch," Noriko exclaimed, lifting a shimmering fish from a vendor's basket.

Azula barely noticed. Her attention was on a small pile of Dragon Paw fruits. "You want some?" Noriko asked.

Azula nodded absently.

Noriko bought a dozen and motioned for her to follow. They were nearly home when Azula finally spoke again. "Is something on your mind?" Noriko asked, noting her silence.

Azula gestured toward the forest. "What do you know about Forgetful Valley?"

Noriko froze. Her gaze locked on the treeline ahead. The shift in her expression was immediate—shock, hesitation. They were alone on the path. The village noise had faded behind them.

"Why… are you asking about the forest?"

Azula shrugged. "Call it curiosity."

For the first time since their meeting, Noriko looked genuinely disturbed. Trapped. Her body was tense, jaw tight. Azula sensed the change, and it intrigued her. Had she touched on something sensitive? Personal?

"This place is… dangerous," Noriko said finally. "You shouldn't venture in there."

"Why is it dangerous?" Azula pressed.

Noriko physically recoiled. "Have you been there yourself?"

"Asura, please… there are things we simply cannot talk about."

"So you have," Azula said, reading her carefully.

She weighed her options. Why hide her intentions now? If Noriko had firsthand knowledge, this was valuable.

"I need to know what to expect. There's something I'm looking for."

Noriko's mouth fell open in quiet horror. Before Azula could continue, the older woman suddenly lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Azula's shoulders in a tight embrace.

"Asura—You… you're a wonderful person," she stammered. "Whatever happened to you, please… think about it. There are people who care about you."

Azula stood frozen. What nonsense was this? She hadn't pushed the woman that hard—barely even raised her voice.

"You have nothing to gain from disappearing like this," Noriko whispered.

"What are you talking about?!" Azula shoved her off. "Disappear? What—what is this? A trick?"

"You… You're not going into the forest to… to end it?" Noriko's voice trembled.

"Uh?"

Noriko and Azula returned to the house just long enough to drop off the groceries. Without wasting a breath, Noriko led her down toward the coast, the path quiet except for the waves ahead. They stopped where the ocean met the land, salty wind brushing their hair, the gulls crying above. It was there that Noriko finally explained.

Forgetful Valley. To most, it was a cursed ground. A place whispered about in hushed voices. A forest people entered when they no longer wished to be remembered—when they wanted to vanish entirely. In other words, suicide.

Of course, Noriko had panicked. Of course, she thought Azula had such intentions. The tension made sense now.

"It's not as uncommon as you'd think, Asura," Noriko said gently, staring out over the gray water. "Everyone knows… when someone walks into that forest alone, they usually don't come back. And they don't want to."

"I assure you, I have no intention of doing such a thing." Not anymore. Never again.

Noriko turned to her. "Then… why? Do your friends even know what you're planning?"

"No, they don't." Azula's gaze narrowed. "I'm seeking a being called the Mother of Faces."

Noriko's eyes widened. "The Mother of— You seek to change your identity?"

"No." She needed help. And Noriko, shaken though she was, could offer another perspective—one untouched by spirits with unknown agendas. Azula knew the spirit bound to her was listening. Probably disapproving. But after everything it had withheld, she wasn't going to trust it blindly. Not anymore.

"I've… developed a condition," she said carefully.

The Avatar used forbidden knowledge to rob me of my fire, she thought. And apparently turned me into some kind of abomination.

"I believe the Mother of Faces could offer counsel. She might know how to fix this."

Noriko looked at her carefully. "Are you… sick?" she asked softly. She meant dying. Azula could tell.

"I'm not," Azula replied, her voice measured. "But it's something that's been bothering me. I believe only someone as knowledgeable as an ancient spirit can answer my questions."

Noriko said nothing at first. Instead, she turned and began walking slowly along the beach. Azula followed, the sea breeze tugging at her hair. She remained silent, but suspicion grew. It was obvious Noriko was leading her away from the village. The walk stretched on, minute after minute, and the fire princess's patience thinned. This woman had no more reasons to stall—no more fears about Azula's motives—so why wouldn't she just speak?

Finally, Noriko did. "There is a spirit who serves the Mother of Faces. A great blue wolf. Deep within the forest, there are ponds—great, ancient ones. The Mother of Faces takes seasonal walks between them. Sometimes, when the sky glows at night, people believe it's a signal. That she's moving between ponds. The wolf acts as her guide, ensuring the path is safe."

"So I just have to find and follow that wolf," Azula concluded at once.

"It's not that easy, Asura," Noriko warned. "The valley is kept by spirits. Wild animals roam freely. The flora is unlike anything in our world. Humans do not belong there."

Maybe not. But Azula had a guide already.

"I'm strong enough," she said flatly.

Noriko reached out and grabbed her arm. "If you leave now, it'll be useless. The Mother of Faces won't be moving again for a few more days. The sky glowed the night before you and your friends arrived. She'll likely move again by week's end. Can you wait and prepare properly before you go wandering into that forest?"

Azula scowled. Another delay. She'd come so close to progress—just to find herself a step behind once again. Of course.

"You and your friends can stay as long as you like," Noriko offered gently. "I promise."

Azula hated this. The village, so peaceful it felt alien. Noriko's kindness. Kiyi's annoying smiles and pranks. Her own lack of fire. The empty pit inside her. None of it felt right. She clenched her fists, turned toward the sea, and screamed. Then she kicked at the water, her stance slipping—and with a splash, she landed flat on her back.

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.

A princess does not cry.

She tried to suppress it, but the feeling reminded her too much of Zuko, alone in the gardens, sniffling like a child while Ursa comforted him.

A hand touched her shoulder.

Noriko's fingers gently tilted her chin upward. "Being angry helps," she said. "Sometimes we need it to see what we're missing. If you need more time, I'll stay here. But if not, how about we head back and make lunch for everyone? They worked hard this morning."

Azula brushed the hand away. She didn't want Noriko's help. She didn't deserve it.

But she was right. Maybe cooking would help clear her head… even if she'd never actually cooked a single thing in her life. That was always someone else's job. Someone beneath her.

Azula found the activity strangely satisfying—and not just because she was methodically slicing open a fish or dissecting vegetables with clean, efficient strokes. There was clarity in the motion. A focus. A purpose. She and Noriko worked side by side in a quiet kitchen bathed in the bright light of midday, sunbeams cutting clean through the open windows and laying golden strips on the floor.

"You have very steady hands," Noriko noted as she uncorked a small clay bottle of sesame oil, pouring a generous line into a sizzling pan. The smell rose quickly, warm and nutty. She handed Azula another ripe tomato. "You should try painting."

Azula glanced at her. "My mother never allowed me to do anything that wasn't 'fit' for a princess," she said, cutting without looking. Her hand never faltered. "I'm not a patient person. I need something…"

"Thrilling?" Noriko suggested, shaking the pan slightly, the oil hissing as she tested the heat with a pinch of flour.

"Yes. Exactly." Azula sliced faster now, blade tapping a rhythm on the cutting board. "Then my father let me do the things I craved—but he didn't allow mistakes. It was always perfection. Nothing else. People called me a prodigy."

She paused to wipe her hands, then switched to a sharper knife. "I am a prodigy. I just don't know if I should be glad he pushed me to my limits… or if I should've tried to find my own rhythm."

She sliced with renewed speed—too fast. One cut dragged slightly, the angle just a bit off. She exhaled.

If I had gone my own way… maybe I'd have ended up like Zuko. Banished. Scarred. Losing the war, pretending to win a moral victory. A failed Fire Lord who couldn't rule his own shadow. She smirked faintly. Put that way, I prefer what I got.

Noriko had stopped slicing onions. She turned slightly, the sunlight catching on the edge of her brow. "Your father doesn't sound like… a parent."

Azula's hands slowed. "What do you mean?"

"I'd never force Kiyi to become someone else just because she could. Or because it would make me feel better."

Why can't you be normal? Ursa's voice crawled out of the back of Azula's mind. She blinked, knife still in her hand.

"My father was the one who made me. Nothing more," she said, quieter. "I didn't grow up surrounded by people who loved me. Not really."

"Could you pass me another bowl?" Noriko asked, not pushing. Azula handed it to her without comment. Their hands brushed briefly.

"For how long have you been with the others?" Noriko asked, gently dropping sliced shallots into a pan, the sizzle returning with a hiss.

"A week, maybe." Azula leaned back against the counter. "Zirin wasn't lying when she said we all came from nothing—or at least, wanted to get away from what we had. None of us had much left to lose. Except our freedom."

Noriko stirred the fish now lying golden in the pan. "And what about me? Would you call me a friend?"

Azula stilled, one hand on the drawer handle. She studied Noriko for a long second. The woman gave her a crooked smile.

"It feels like you're assigning me a test," she laughed softly.

Azula allowed herself a brief grin. "My father raised me to have high standards."

She returned to slicing the last tomato. "But yes… I may consider you a friend."

Noriko reached out and pressed her hand to Azula's shoulder—not forcefully, just enough to ground her.

"You've done great, Asura."

Azula didn't reply. Noriko turned her focus to the stove again, flipping the fish with practiced ease. Azula took the hint and walked off to gather the bowls, cups, and chopsticks. She moved a little slower now, feeling something unfamiliar settle in her chest.

Not warmth. Not safety. But something like… quiet.

Noren and the girls returned just as Azula and Noriko finished their preparations. The scent of crisped oil and herbs lingered in the air. Azula barely had time to plate the fish before the front door creaked open.

Noren looked freshly dusted, a small streak of dirt on his cheek the only sign of his labor. The girls, on the other hand, looked like they'd crawled out of a dragon moose's armpit after a midsummer stampede. Azula was deeply satisfied with her decision to spend the morning in the kitchen.

"Kill me now," Zirin groaned, collapsing onto the living room floor like a punctured waterskin.

"No, me first," Ningka countered, flopping down beside her, equally dramatic. Chiyou said nothing. She passed them both without a word and headed straight to the kitchen sink to splash water on her face.

Azula tilted her head. "Noren… what did you do to them?"

He beamed, proud as a badger mole. "Well, we finished the barn!"

"In a single day?"

"Chiyou is basically a master architect," he explained. "Knew exactly what beams could be reused, how to anchor the roof, even how to reinforce the walls with materials from around the property."

Azula glanced toward Chiyou, who was now leaning silently against the counter, sipping from a cup of water. She said nothing, eyes downcast.

"She doesn't like to talk about it," Noren added more softly, "but her parents were both builders. Traditional Fire Nation style—arches, load-distribution, things like that. She picked up a lot growing up."

Azula raised an eyebrow. "So this means we won't be sleeping under a hole in the ceiling anymore?"

Noren chuckled. "Oh, it wasn't that bad, was it? It didn't even rain!"

"It could have," Azula muttered, thinking of the soggy, half-rotten roofs she'd endured in the Earth Kingdom. "And I have better things to do than test my immunity to mildew." Despite how rude her comments must have sounded, Azula proceeded to hand everyone their plates. The scent of seared bangus, fresh herbs, and softened tomatoes filled the house. She noted Noriko setting aside a portion, carefully sealing it for later—most likely for Kiyi's dinner.

That reminder hung uneasily in Azula's thoughts. She had offered to teach the girl firebending. At the time, it felt like a calculated gesture, a measured reach across the gap. Now, she wasn't so sure. There was no real proof that Kiyi had lied. And that night—no one fakes tears like that. Not even her.

"The sun looks a bit off to the west," Noren said, glancing toward the window as he stood and dusted off his pants. "We should head to the theatre. The others might already be there."

"Of course. Don't forget the masks!" Noriko called, disappearing briefly into her bedroom and reemerging with a bundle of colorful cloth and lacquered wood in her arms. As she passed through the living room, she turned to the girls with a warm smile.

"If anyone's interested and not too tired, you're free to come watch us rehearse."

Ningka groaned and sank deeper into the floor cushions. "I'll cheer you on in my dreams."

Chiyou gave a noncommittal grunt and stayed curled near the open window, catching what little breeze she could.

Zirin, on the other hand, perked up almost immediately. "You're doing a play? I'm in." She stretched dramatically, then trotted off to rinse her face.

Azula hesitated for half a breath. She wasn't sure what to expect from a rural acting troupe—but she had nothing else to do, and something about Noriko's invitation tugged at her curiosity.

These actors were more than decent. They were good.

Azula leaned against the back wall of the open-air theater, arms crossed, eyes narrow. The Ember Island players—those buffoons—had nothing on this troupe. Their stage was a simple platform of sanded wood, and their budget clearly razor-thin: costumes were modest, props nonexistent, and not a single firebender in sight to enhance the performance. Unlike the gaudy spectacles on Ember Island that relied on cheap pyrotechnics and overacted melodrama, these performers relied on precision, restraint… and masks.

Every actor wore one, no exceptions.

Norem, speaking with practiced cadence, wore the Dark Water Spirit mask. That did not help Azula's mood, considering Zuko had made it his secret persona. Watching him move behind that blank, grinning face unsettled her more than she expected. The memory of the original mask—Zuko's mask—sank its teeth into her nerves like a ghost she hadn't quite exorcised.

Noriko played a secondary role, one Azula recognized from old tales: the Painted Lady, a spirit of mercy and protection, an ideological rival to the Blue Spirit's chaotic neutrality. Her voice, though softened by the character she played, still carried strength. Graceful. Measured. Fitting.

But what puzzled Azula most was that neither Noriko nor Norem had taken the lead roles. Instead, those parts had been handed to two younger performers—barely adults from the look of them. They were competent, even promising, but lacked the gravitas Noriko commanded naturally. Why surrender the spotlight to lesser talent?

Was this humility? Or another part of Noriko's strange philosophy—stepping back to let others shine?

Azula wasn't sure if it was admirable or naive.

The actor playing the Dragon Emperor stood center stage, voice ringing with clear, trained strength as he recited his lines word for word.

"Though I was trapped in the body of a mortal, you willingly gave me your heart! I cannot help but give you mine in return."

Azula's eyes narrowed. Without meaning to, her lips moved in silent tandem with the Dragon Empress actress:

"Only with your glory hidden in false form could you finally recognise my devotion."

It was a scene of devotion and mutual revelation. And then they embraced. A neat, circular ending—one of those fairytale closures that left the audience sighing.

And they lived happily.

Not ever after. Azula knew better. No one had the right to that in reality.

Still, when the troupe broke into soft applause, the fire princess didn't roll her eyes. She respected precision, and these performers had delivered it.

"That was great everyone, let's talk about how it went," Norem called out, gathering his actors into a loose circle near the stage. "I'm sure we can find a few things to improve."

Offstage, Noriko pulled off her mask, exhaled deeply, and ran a hand through her damp hair. She approached Azula and Zirin, who were seated in the shade of the front row, the light dimming as afternoon slipped into early evening.

"It gets pretty hot under those masks," Noriko said, smiling as she fanned herself. "What did you think of the play?"

"THAT WAS AMAZING!" Zirin practically exploded, leaning forward with wide eyes. "The end made me cry! And the fight choreography—and that dance scene, and—"

Azula crossed one leg over the other and adjusted her gloves with calculated calm. Right. Zirin was easy to please, completely enraptured. Not that it was a bad performance—in fact, Azula had seen far glossier plays with half the soul. Still, watching emotional declarations and romantic symbolism wasn't exactly her idea of a thrilling afternoon.

Noriko must have picked up on her restrained demeanor. "Asura, I have to stay here for a while longer. Kiyi should be getting out of school soon. I'm sure she'd appreciate someone meeting her."

Azula's jaw tensed slightly. Another errand. Another walk under the hot sun for the sake of a girl who still might have lied to her face.

"Sure," she replied coolly, just enough tone to let Noriko know it wasn't her dream assignment. "I can do that."

Noriko offered a soft laugh and touched Azula's arm briefly, a silent thanks. Then she turned and rejoined her fellow actors, slipping her mask back over her head as she faded into their circle.

Azula stood, adjusted the hem of her robe, and walked off toward the school path—toward the brat. She still considered giving Kiyi firebending lessons if the girl behaved. If she turned out to be a frustrated, angsty student like Zuko—always complaining, never understanding the point until it was too late—well, Azula had no patience for that. Perhaps making Noriko's daughter cry wouldn't be productive, but she also couldn't allow tears to be used as leverage.

That trick didn't work on her. Not anymore.

The school came into view, and that's when she saw them: Kiyi, already outside, flanked by two unfamiliar men. Rough-looking, unsavory types. Wrong posture. Wrong expressions. The way one of them gripped the girl's arm—too tight to be casual, too careless to be safe.

And there were no other children or teachers nearby. The courtyard was still. Too still.

Azula narrowed her eyes.

School hadn't ended yet.

Something was wrong.

She didn't charge. Zuko would have. Zuko, ever the self-styled hero, would have shouted something idiotic and run headfirst into whatever was unfolding.

Azula watched. Observed. Calculated.

She had conquered Ba Sing Se without a single soldier. She didn't need fire to defeat worms.

Quietly, she followed.

The trio led Kiyi into the edge of the forest, just far enough off the road to be hidden from wandering eyes. The girl didn't resist, but Azula noted the tension in her shoulders, the panic she was trying—poorly—to suppress.

They stopped.

Kiyi found herself backed against a thick-barked tree, its mossy roots curling around her feet like the grip of some ancient spirit. She didn't cry. Not yet. But her breath came fast—Azula could see the rise and fall of her small shoulders, the way her fingers curled into fists that were far too soft to defend anything.

Her eyes darted between the three men. Like a trapped animal.

"Let's make this quick," the leader said, cracking his knuckles as he stepped closer. "The coins, girl."

Azula paused mid-step, narrowing her gaze. Coins?

A shakedown? That was all this was? Grown men cornering a child for loose change? Azula's rage bubbled up, seething just under the surface. Pathetic. Cowards. Scum who couldn't face a fair fight if their lives depended on it. She shifted her weight forward, ready to spring. Her hands twitched, longing for fire—just a spark. Not to kill. To burn. To remind. But she waited.

"I-I won't do it anymore," Kiyi said suddenly.

Azula's breath caught.

The girl's voice trembled, brittle as glass. But she stood straighter than expected, even as her knees quivered.

"Sorry?" the brute replied with a mocking tilt of his head. "I think I didn't hear that right."

"I won't steal the troupe's money anymore!" Kiyi shouted, her voice cracking in defiance.

Azula blinked.

She… what?

So this wasn't some random mugging. Kiyi had been stealing. Skimming coins from Noriko and Norem's troupe—and these men, whoever they worked for, had been collecting the fallout.

The leader burst into laughter, thick and guttural like gravel in a rusted pan. "Look at the bug trying to make itself look strong, hahaha!" His foot came up fast. Azula saw it before it landed. Still, she flinched as the man drove his heel into Kiyi's ribs.

A dull thud echoed through the trees.

Kiyi crumpled, breath wheezing out of her like air escaping a punctured skin. She hit the ground hard, arms curling around her side, teeth clenched.

Azula gritted her jaw, muscles tightening across her shoulders. She'd seen that look before—on servants who displeased her father. On children punished for mistakes they didn't even understand.

But seeing it on Noriko's daughter stirred something colder. Sharper. Not guilt, but fury that this little corner of the world—this quiet village, this harmless child—had managed to make her feel anything that resembled guilt. She clenched her fists, her nails diggin into her palms.

The man leaned down, his breath foul even from a distance. "Now you listen very closely. If you don't cooperate and pay your parents' dues, we won't only be burning down their little theater..." He pressed his hand against the tree beside Kiyi's head. "We'll make a house call. Just to be sure they can't ever act again. Do you understand?" Kiyi didn't answer, but the tears running down her face were enough for the men.

Azula's eyes burned—not with fire, but something just as dangerous. So. Not just thieves. Enforcers. The kind of worms who hide behind bigger ones. Noriko and Norem were in debt, and these men were collecting through the daughter.

And the daughter… was too proud to tell them.

That's what the tears had been about.

Azula's breath slowed as the pieces clicked into place. The sobs that night hadn't been a manipulation, or guilt-tripping. They'd been real—choked and silent and hiding something deeper than fear. Shame. A cry for help from someone who hadn't known how to ask for it.

Strong, Azula thought, her jaw tightening. Stubborn. And strong.

She mentally incinerated every bitter assumption she had made about the girl. Not because she had to—because Kiyi had earned it.

The men laughed a little more as they finally turned away, their boots cracking branches underfoot, vanishing deeper into the woods.

Azula waited.

Long enough to be certain they wouldn't double back. Long enough to feel the full weight of what she had nearly failed to stop.

Then she moved.

She hurried to Kiyi, who was still curled on her side in the roots of the tree, breath shallow and lips trembling. Her fingers dug into the dirt, face pale with pain. She wasn't crying anymore—just blinking, stunned and quiet, like her body had forgotten how to function.

Azula dropped to her knees, slipping an arm gently under Kiyi's back and turning her carefully onto her side. "Don't try to sit up," she whispered, voice low and even. "Focus on your breath. You need to ease it. I know it hurts—but if you lose control, it will only get worse."

Kiyi nodded, a jerky little motion. Her chest hitched, but she tried. Inhale. Out. Inhale again—slow, measured, but still wet with the occasional sob.

It took minutes. Long, slow, frustrating minutes.

Azula didn't rush her. Didn't let go.

When Kiyi could finally breathe without gasping, she licked her lips and looked up.

"You… you heard everything?" she asked, voice hoarse.

Azula looked away, just for a second.

She should've stepped in sooner. She should've roasted them to ash the second she saw Kiyi pinned against that tree. If they had done more—if they'd used knives or fire—Azula would have never forgiven herself.

You're not Zuko. You're better. You're smarter. You're supposed to act like it.

"I needed to know what they wanted," she said, her voice sharper than intended. She tried again, gentler this time. "If I'd jumped in too fast, they could've run. They might've used it as leverage. I couldn't risk letting them disappear. "She met Kiyi's gaze. "Do you know who they work for?"

Kiyi shook her head. It was a tight, bitter movement—more frustration than fear. Azula recognized it. That was the look of someone who hated being helpless.

"It's alright," Azula said, hand brushing dust gently from Kiyi's sleeve. "Everything's alright now. I know what they want. I know how they think. And they're not strong. Not really." Kiyi stared at her, confused. "You have nothing to fear," Azula said again, this time with the quiet intensity of a promise. Her eyes burned with the fire she didn't yet show. "I'm going to destroy them."

The hardest part wasn't chasing the men off or steadying Kiyi's breath.

It was walking back into Noriko and Noren's house, Kiyi crying softly in Azula's arms.

The door had barely opened before Noriko rushed forward, face pale with alarm. Azula didn't speak—she simply handed Kiyi over with surprising gentleness. Her arms felt oddly empty afterward.

Once Noriko had soothed her daughter and tucked her into bed, the rest of the house fell into tense, hushed murmurs. The group gathered in the living room, the late afternoon light sharpening into long, blade-like shadows through the paper walls.

Noren ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "I knew money was going missing. At first it was little things—small coins from the till, things we blamed on poor bookkeeping—but lately..." He shook his head. "It's been obvious."

"And we thought it was some dumb thief," Noriko muttered, voice low and shaking with restrained fury. "Children are supposed to lie about sweets and broken vases, not criminal threats." She clenched her fists. "We have to call the army. They'll help—"

"We—We can't!" Zirin blurted, almost tripping over the words. Her face was pale, her voice strained with something deeper than fear—panic. "They wouldn't care. Not about this, not about some backwater village and a few performers." She was clutching her sleeves again, knuckles white.

Azula was quietly glad the idea had been brushed aside, even if the reasons were personal. Ningka and Chiyou, however, did not seem to agree. They stood a little straighter, less afraid of consequences—maybe because they feared less the possibility of being recognised and sent back to another asylum.

"They wouldn't bother coming all the way out here," Zirin continued, her words coming faster now, as if afraid someone would stop her. "Not for some thugs. We should handle it ourselves."

Noriko and Noren exchanged a long, hesitant glance. Their doubt was visible—two adults trying to weigh the lives of their child and community against a moral line they weren't sure they could cross.

Azula spoke up, folding her arms. "Even if we received help, it would take too long. And if they sense trouble, they'll vanish. We need to make them think Kiyi is still under their thumb. That she'll follow their demands."

"I won't let you use Kiyi as bait," Noriko snapped, voice brittle with tension.

"She doesn't have to be," Azula said calmly. "They only expect her to leave school. That's all. We'll be waiting. They won't get within ten paces before it's over. She can stay here, out of sight. Just tell her teacher what happened—he won't mind her absence."

Noren exhaled slowly and nodded, just once. "I'll talk to our troupe members. Some of the villagers too. Just in case it gets messy." He turned toward Azula. "You said there were three of them. Did any look like benders?"

"No… And even if they were, I doubt they'd risk fire on Kiyi. Burning her would have left marks. Evidence."

Noriko flinched. Her hand gripped the edge of the table.

Azula realized her error. "I shouldn't have said it that way," she added, a little quieter.

"No..." Noriko shook her head slowly. "No, you're right. It's horrible, but it's the truth. If you hadn't been there… Kiyi could have sunk deeper into their clutches."

"We'll make sure this ends," Noren added grimly.

From the kitchen, Ningka opened drawers and shifted through cutlery before holding up a modest-sized carving knife. She eyed it, unimpressed. "Don't you have anything… bigger?"

Noren's brow rose as he stared at the girl who still hadn't fully regrown half her hair. "How much bigger?"

Meanwhile, Chiyou sat lazily on the floor, a bundle of twigs in her lap. With the flick of a finger, she lit each one in turn, then snuffed them with practiced ease. "Just tell him you're looking for a sword."

"What she said," Ningka replied, not even glancing over.

Noriko didn't like seeing two of her sweet girls acting like they were preparing for battle. It felt wrong, but she said nothing. There was a storm coming, and maybe, just maybe, these girls were the only thing standing between it and something worse.

At least Zirin wasn't sharpening blades or lighting kindling.

And Azula…

Azula was gone.

She had slipped away unnoticed while the others were focused on planning. Noriko frowned slightly when she noticed, but she didn't call out. There was only one place the fire princess could have gone.

Azula sat quietly on the edge of Kiyi's bed. The little girl was curled on her side, facing away, her breathing soft and even. She had fallen asleep. Peacefully, for now. Azula stared at her back in silence. A thread of anxiety tugged at her thoughts. Would she dream of it? Would it come back to her in the dark? She hoped not. She prayed it wouldn't.

"You have nothing to feel guilty about," Noriko whispered gently as she entered the room. She crossed the floor with quiet steps and sat down beside Azula, her eyes fixed on her daughter.

"That's the thing..." Azula's voice was low, rough around the edges, like something she hadn't used in a long time. "I care about her. And I don't understand why. I'm not used to this. I don't think I've ever truly cared about anyone in my life. Not like this."

She didn't look at Noriko. Her gaze stayed on Kiyi.

"It's not natural for me. I was told I'm a monster. My mother said it to my face. My uncle, my brother—they knew it. And maybe they were right." She exhaled, as if something inside her chest had finally cracked. "So why does it feel like I want to burn the world down just because some worthless thugs laid a hand on her? Why do I want to protect her when—when it gains me nothing in return?"

Noriko didn't flinch. She reached out and took Azula's hand in hers, gently but firmly, like she might grab a blade and refuse to let it cut.

"Maybe," Noriko said softly, "because your mother failed to give you the love you deserved… and some part of you is trying to give that love to someone else. Someone you see hurting. Someone who matters to you, even if you don't understand why yet."

Azula shook her head. "That makes no sense. I don't even know her. She's your daughter. Not mine. It shouldn't matter to me."

Noriko gave a faint, knowing smile. "Asura, love doesn't follow rules. It isn't earned by blood or titles. It's grown. Chosen. Built." She glanced at Kiyi. "What you experienced today, what she went through—it tied something between you. And no, it doesn't make you her mother. But it does make you someone who cares."

Azula was silent.

Then, almost too quietly to hear:

"…So I'm not going insane?"

"Quite the opposite," Noriko said. She squeezed her hand again. "You're making progress."

Azula stirred in her sleep. She was truly exhausted from the stress surrounding Kiyi's situation, yet something prevented her from resting peacefully. Her consciousness drifted once again into the Spirit Realm—or at least a projection of it. The strange creature was nowhere to be seen. The forest had lost its glow. Noriko had been right about the Mother of Faces' traveling cycle.

However, something else now caught Azula's attention: an ominous red glow coming from a larger crater in the distance.

The fire princess approached the edge of the crater. At the bottom, she spotted the spirit, staring silently into a red, glowing pool. Faint voices echoed from within it. Drawn by curiosity, Azula carefully descended into the crater. As she moved closer, the voices became clearer—familiar. Zuko. Ozai. Herself.

She peered down at the pool.

There was an image in the reflection: a vision of the past—the last war council before the solar eclipse.

She remembered it all too well.

Zuko had just entered the room. Late, of course.

Ozai glanced at one of his generals. "Good. Now that we're all here… General Shinu, your report."

"Thank you, sir," the general began, pacing slowly across the wide map laid out before them, displaying troop movements and strategic positions throughout the Earth Kingdom. "Ba Sing Se is still under our control. However, earthbender rebellions have prevented us from achieving total victory in the Earth Kingdom."

The Fire Lord's only visible reaction was a slight furrowing of his brows. "What is your recommendation?" he asked—not because he cared for the general's input, but out of a sense of formality.

"Our army is spread too thin," Shinu explained. "But once the eclipse is over and the invasion defeated, we should transfer more domestic forces into the Earth Kingdom."

It was a fair assessment. Years of fighting and annexing vast territories had stretched their military thin. The Earth Kingdom's sheer size made complete domination nearly impossible. Azula recalled the lessons drilled into her mind since childhood—tactical history, military logistics, and the basic truth: while the Fire Nation had technological superiority, the Earth Kingdom could endlessly replenish its forces. The Fire Nation, by contrast, was an island empire, limited in both population and manpower.

Evidently, her father shared the same understanding. He didn't seem impressed by the general's recommendation.

"Hmmm," he mused, before turning to his right.

"Prince Zuko, you've been among the Earth Kingdom commoners. Do you think adding more troops will stop these rebellions?" The Fire Lord's voice had sounded neutral—but with Ozai, neutrality was never truly neutral. It was always hard to tell whether he was asking a genuine question or laying a trap.

Zuko's reply was equally measured and cautious. He was starting to learn, perhaps not fast enough.

"The people of the Earth Kingdom are proud and strong. They can endure anything, as long as they have hope," he replied earnestly.

"Yes, you're right," the Fire Lord had responded smoothly. "We need to destroy their hope."

Azula had not expected her father to agree with Zuko. They clearly didn't mean the same thing, but still—the seed was planted. She could remember the cold wave of fear that swept over her. The thought of Zuko gaining their father's approval, after years she herself had spent earning it, was intolerable. Mother never gave her anything. Father's approval had been all she had.

She remembered trying to steer the conversation back in her favor.

"Well… that's not exactly what I—" Zuko had tried to clarify.

"That's not enough." she had interrupted, her tone icy. "You should take whatever remain of this hope and burn it to the ground. Kill any glimmer of fighting spirit that still hold strong in their hearts."

At the time, it had seemed like the only logical solution. Even with Ba Sing Se fallen and the king dethroned, resistance still simmered—cities, towns, scattered villages all refusing to bow. Transferring more troops might have produced a symbolic victory, one that looked clean on paper—but it wouldn't erase the problem. The only efficient solution left… was a purge.

What had she been thinking back then?

Perhaps she had forgotten she was speaking to Ozai.

"Yes… yes, you're right, Azula," her father had said with approval. His voice hadn't even sounded particularly menacing back then—just calm, resolute. But his smile had been something else: calculated, cold, and quietly monstrous.

He stepped down from his throne and approached the massive map laid across the table.

"Sozin's Comet is almost upon us. And I sense an opportunity. Legends say even the most basic firebenders are endowed with power a hundredfold. No one will be able to stop us."

"What are you suggesting, sir?" General Shinu had asked, hesitating.

"When the comet last came, my grandfather, Fire Lord Sozin, used it to wipe out the Air Nomads. This time, it can be used to destroy the Earth Kingdom once and for all."

He walked directly to the center of the war table, his fingers brushing across enemy territory as though he were wiping it off the map.

"From our airships, we will rain fire upon everything they hold dear—farms, livestock, cities, and any remaining resistance we encounter. From this, a new world will rise from the ashes… a world where only the Fire Nation remains. With me as its supreme ruler."

The water in the pool splashed. Its red hue vanished in an instant—the spirit had noticed Azula and must have ended the vision on purpose.

"You should be resting," it scolded.

Azula was shivering. This was her doing. If the Avatar hadn't defeated her father—No. She shook her head. She had only been ensuring victory back then. War is war.

She slid down to the bottom of the crater, glaring at the spirit.

"And you shouldn't be prying into my memories," she snapped. "I didn't give you permission to dig through my head like it was some kind of puzzle."

The spirit chuckled. "Are you angry because I did so? Or because I just confirmed that it was your idea?"

"I—What?"

"Ending the war with fire. It was your doing. You pushed Ozai to make it happen."

"N-No, it—it was Zuko who—"

"Ultimately, you made the final push. That's something humans are very good at. There's a desire for destruction buried deep in your minds. You all want to see the world burn. Why do you think no one ever openly opposed your father? Because they feared him? Because they were loyal?"

The spirit drifted around her, its voice shifting from one ear to the other.

"They followed his plans because that desire—that instinct—was at its peak. And you, Azula… you wished to be at his side more than anyone else. You wanted to see what was rightfully your plan brought to life. But even he couldn't share all the glory."

Azula stared blankly as the words dug deep.

"You tried to feel satisfied because he gave you the role you'd been desperate for your whole life… and it still wasn't enough. You, all alone, in that empty palace, surrounded by frightened servants… no more family."

Azula fell to her knees. "Enough… please, just… enough…" Her voice cracked. "You—You're right."

Spot on. Every word.

Of course she had wanted to burn the Earth Kingdom. That's why she had been angry, wasn't it? Not because the plan was evil—but because it wasn't hers anymore. Ozai had denied her glory. Again. And again, she had been left behind. Alone. Dumped in a remote palace on what felt like a mere island compared to the empire he had envisioned—the scorched Earth Kingdom.

"You're right, okay? I know I'm a monster. You can say it a hundred times more, what else will it change?"

The spirit recoiled slightly, retreating into a sudden, contemplative silence. Its form stilled, glowing faintly in the dying light. Then, without meeting her eyes, it looked down into the still, darkened pool, as if searching its depths for clarity.

"Would you mind answering a question for me?" it asked at last, its voice gentler now—low and unthreatening. "I'd like to have your… input."

Azula looked up, strands of hair clinging to the sweat along her temples. Her face was pale and drawn, as though each breath she took cost her something. The air around the crater was thick and unmoving, still heavy with the spiritual heat of the vision they had just witnessed. The red glow had faded from the pool, but the memory of it—molten and angry—still pulsed faintly in the stones beneath her.

"What would you say is the value of a single life?" the spirit asked, evenly.

Azula blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of the question. And yet, even in its plainness, she felt the careful trap lying beneath its surface—like pressure beneath ice.

"What do you mean?" she asked warily.

"I mean it as it is," the spirit repeated, deliberate now, like a teacher drawing out a lesson. "What is the value of a single life?"

She scoffed and shifted, rising halfway to her feet before sitting back down again. She wrapped her arms around her knees, drawing herself in as if bracing against a cold she couldn't see. Her gaze dropped to the surface of the pool—still, dark, and reflectionless.

"People are defined by their birth," she muttered, more out of habit than belief. "Commoners remain commoners. Only those born into greatness can achieve greatness."

The spirit tilted its head. Its gaze sharpened slightly, though its tone remained flat.

"...Is that really what you think?" it asked. "That doesn't sound like an honest answer. Perhaps try again—not as the fire princess who ruled through fear and privilege, but as Azula the wise… who observes, prepares, and anticipates."

It turned slowly as if to walk away, each step echoing faintly against the scorched stone like a judgment leaving her behind.

"It depends on their actions," Azula said suddenly.

Her voice was quieter now. Less defensive. More uncertain.

The spirit halted mid-step. It turned back toward her, eyes catching the flicker of the ambient light.

"Go on."

Azula hesitated. Her hands gripped her arms more tightly, her fingernails pale against her skin. She glanced up at the sky above the crater—black and endless, as if even the stars had chosen not to witness this conversation.

"A person can be born into greatness and still fall into nothing," she said at last, voice level, but fragile. "My brother was born a prince, just like me. But he failed at everything. He was weak. Always behind. And yet… people call him honorable now. Because of what he did. Because he changed."

Her lips curled slightly, bitter and dry.

"And someone like me? Trained to be perfect. Raised to lead. A firebending prodigy… and I still ended up hated. Exiled. Forgotten."

She closed her eyes for a moment, shoulders tight, as if speaking those words aloud made them more real.

"So maybe a life isn't measured by what it's born to be—but by what it chooses to do. Maybe that's why Kiyi matters more to me than I want to admit. Because she chose to protect her family. She chose to be brave, when she had every reason not to."

She paused. Swallowed.

"Maybe I envy that."

The silence that followed was not empty—it was full. Full of things unspoken, wounds not yet healed, truths neither condemned nor forgiven.

The faint crackle of the fire pool was all that remained, and a dry wind stirred the treetops above, rustling the dead leaves like parchment-thin memories.

Azula's breath came out slow, barely audible, the weight of vulnerability pressing down like a hand on her chest.

"I have no doubt this is what you believe," the spirit said softly, almost mournful. "And it is closer to truth than you might think. But let me offer a thought."

It turned its gaze back to the pool, its reflection shimmering faintly on the dark surface.

"Consider livestock," it said. "Humans breed them, feed them, fatten them, slay them, consume them. What is a life worth to a being that believes itself superior?"

Azula's eyes widened slightly. Her mouth opened, but no words came.

"The answer is not as simple as it appears, is it?" the spirit continued. "To me, this is how much a life can be worth: a meal. A convenience. An expendable resource."

Its voice dropped, more solemn now, touched with a bitterness that made Azula wonder if the spirit had once been something else entirely.

"And that is how humans assign value, too. To you, it is birth. To others, wealth. Or beauty. Or power. You give and strip value like breath—fleeting and conditional."

A gust of wind stirred the ashes in the crater, and Azula turned her face away slightly, as though trying to hide from its sting. Guilt coiled in her chest like smoke, curling tightly around her ribs.

She looked down again, voice barely more than a breath. "Then what is my worth?"

The question lingered in the stillness like a confession, fragile and raw.

Not just a query—but a wound.

The spirit studied her for a long moment. Its eyes shimmered, catching reflections that weren't only from the firelight—there was something older there, something ancient and knowing, flickering like embers beneath a layer of ash.

"That..." it said at last, its voice quiet but unwavering, "remains to be determined." Then, unexpectedly, it let out a soft laugh—light, almost warm, like wind brushing gently through leaves scorched by war. "It seems I've begun to understand how you work," it said, tone less accusatory now, more curious—almost kind. "You project your hate onto others, not solely to make them fear you... but because, deep down, you want to see how they truly see you." Azula flinched, just slightly. "Perhaps you're not seeking control," the spirit continued, circling her slowly, "but honesty. A rare and precious resource in your world... and also a brutally honest mirror." It stopped beside her, looking down not with judgment, but something closer to caution. "Be careful with it," the spirit said softly. "Honesty can cut far deeper than fear ever could."

"I'm not going to school today?" Kiyi asked innocently, her voice light but tinged with suspicion.

"No, Kiyi," Noriko replied gently, kneeling to her daughter's level and brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She was trying to sound cheerful, but the tension in her smile betrayed her. Azula could tell the child wouldn't buy it for long. "Mommy will stay home with you. We can play that card game your father bought last week—would you like that?"

"I don't know..." Kiyi muttered, hesitating. Then her face lit up. "Oh! Asura promised to teach me how to firebend today!"

Azula rolled her eyes. Clever enough to sense something was off, but still too naive to grasp the full picture. "I'm afraid Asura will be busy today," she said, glancing at Noriko, who quickly picked up the cue.

"Sorry, kid," Azula added, crouching slightly. "I've got important business in town. That'll have to wait. But I promise—we'll get started tomorrow, alright?"

"Yeah!" Kiyi beamed. Her joy was genuine, and somehow that made Azula's chest ache.

Without fully realizing why, Azula reached out—hesitated mid-motion. Her hand floated for a heartbeat, uncertain, before settling stiffly on Kiyi's shoulder. She didn't even know what she'd intended. A hug? A pat on the head? Where had that impulse even come from? But Kiyi smiled at the gesture, seemingly content with the awkward touch.

Enough sentiment. Azula straightened and cleared her throat, falling back into command. "Alright, girls," she said to the group. "We've got work to do."

The four of them moved out, heading in the direction of Kiyi's school. Noren peeled away at the edge of the village to gather support from a few trusted townsfolk.

As they walked, Zirin kept throwing glances at Azula—furtive at first, then increasingly obvious. Azula felt the stares and didn't bother pretending she hadn't.

"I do bite, you know," she said flatly. "So if something's on your mind, you might as well say it. Or do I have something in my hair?"

Zirin's face flushed. "No—no, it's just... you're a firebender?"

Azula's eyes narrowed slightly. Please don't dig, she thought. She was beginning to genuinely enjoy Zirin's company—enough to feel the risk of her seeing too much.

"Of course I am," Azula answered smoothly, flipping her hair as if to remind them all of her pedigree. "I'm just... not in the right mindset to produce any flames at the moment." She delivered the lie like a trained actress—poised, measured.

Zirin tilted her head. "Oh. Something on your mind?"

Yes. More than you could possibly know.

"No," Azula said aloud instead, adding with a lazy shrug, "Maybe just a complete lack of motivation on my part."

A horrible lie, so transparent it almost made her wince. The truth was obvious—she was on edge, tense, burning with repressed fury. If she had her bending, those bandits wouldn't even get a second breath. She wouldn't hesitate. Not this time. She'd scorch the earth if she had to—lightning included—just to erase the memory of Kiyi's bruises from the world. She didn't say any of that. She just walked faster, the others following behind, unaware of the imaginary fire building in her with every step.

Azula approached the school pavilion with the steady stride of someone used to authority. She had business here—though not the kind she relished. The man she spotted by the entrance must have been the teacher. Early thirties, she guessed. Friendly-looking, if you believed in such surface readings. He was calmly counting children as they filed into the building, nodding absently when they greeted him.

"Are you Kiyi's teacher?" she asked, her voice cutting clean through the morning air as she neared.

The man turned, adjusting the collar of his faded tunic. "Yes, I'm Ewan. And you must be with the group staying at the Kamuris', yes?"

"You seem well-informed," she noted, folding her arms.

Ewan offered a small smile. "Children talk. Everything that happens in the village eventually ends up in the schoolyard—sometimes before it even happens."

Azula didn't smile back. "So how did you fail to notice Noriko's daughter was being coerced into stealing from the acting troupe?"

His expression faltered—not dramatically, but enough. A tightening at the corners of his mouth, a brief flutter in his eyes.

"She what? I... I swear I noticed no signs—no bruises or change in her demeanor. Kiyi's always been such a sweet and bright child. If I'd seen anything wrong—any indication of distress—I would have alerted her parents immediately, I promise!" His words tripped over themselves in his rush to defend himself. "You said she was forced to steal? By whom? Why? Are Noriko and Noren alright?"

Azula narrowed her gaze. Something in his posture made her pause. He seemed sincere—but sincerity could be the most dangerous mask of all. She kept her voice even.

"No. A group of men—strangers, likely from outside the village—have been collecting her regularly. You must've noticed she often left well before the other children?"

Ewan adjusted his stance, more composed this time, slipping back into practiced calm. "Yes, well... our school hours are somewhat flexible. Most of the children stay and play afterward, but I assumed Kiyi was just returning home to her parents for rehearsal prep. Nothing suspicious about that."

Nothing clearly suspicious. That was the problem.

"Of course," Azula murmured, her voice unreadable. "In any case, I came to let you know that Kiyi won't be attending today. She fell ill last night."

A twitch. Subtle. His eye. He didn't buy it.

But after what she'd just told him, it was the most reasonable lie he could expect.

"Right," he said with a nod, brushing his hands against his sides. "I'll... keep that to myself. Best to avoid stirring gossip. You'd better keep her safe."

With that, he waved her off and slipped inside, closing the school doors behind him with a quiet thunk.

Azula turned back toward the square, boots crunching lightly against gravel. The girls were waiting near the edge of the square, half in shadow. The spirit appeared beside her like a gust of breath—silent, unseen by the others. He leaned near, voice brushing her ear like cold mist.

"This... teacher," he whispered, "he reeks of misintent and hidden thoughts. Did you not feel it?"

Azula didn't answer. Of course she had. But she wasn't about to let herself spiral again. She had spent too long caught in her own suspicions, consumed by ghosts of betrayal and paranoia. Not now. Not again. She was better than that. She had to be.

Ningka sat on a low stone wall, carving something out of a rough piece of wood with a knife that looked far too large for the job. She didn't look up. "What did he say?"

Azula crossed her arms. "First impression? Either Kiyi is a masterful liar, hiding all traces of distress… or that man is painfully incompetent. I can't decide which is worse. Either way, once we find these bastards, it won't matter ... And Noren's friends?" she added, scanning the buildings discreetly.

Chiyou responded without turning her head. "They're posted in the houses around the school. Don't look at the windows—might tip someone off."

She gave a series of subtle glances—just enough to suggest where the lookouts were hidden. Azula nodded, the edges of her mind crackling with tension. This was the calm before the fire.

And it wouldn't stay calm for long.

School ended early in small villages like this one. There were no grand halls, no rigorous schedules, no looming institutions pressing down on the children's futures. Most of their parents were farmers or craftsmen—people who needed their children either to carry on a trade or simply to help. It was a rhythm older than cities themselves. Simpler. Harder.

Kiyi, however, had no such demands placed on her. Noriko and Noren were performers, artists—the kind of parents who encouraged creativity, not chores. Still, Noriko had told Azula that Kiyi insisted on staying for lunch with the other children. Said she liked being around them, liked the chatter and laughter. Wanted to make friends.

But now... Azula wasn't so sure.

With what they'd uncovered, it was impossible to tell whether Kiyi's choice to linger at school was born of innocence or subtle manipulation. Perhaps she had truly wanted connection. Or perhaps it had been a shield—something to buy her time, to appear normal, to deflect suspicion. Azula could relate. All too well.

She had been taught early on that lying was a necessity, not a flaw. A tool of survival, not deception. Guilt never followed a well-placed lie. She could wear masks better than most could wear truth.

Pretending had always come easily to her. Testing people's limits—pressing until they cracked, until their polished civility fractured and their contempt for her slipped through. Most people feared her because they saw her as a weapon. Some pitied her because they saw the child beneath the armor. And others… others had cared. Or pretended to.

You miscalculated, Mai had said.

Azula clenched her jaw at the memory, the words a splinter she could never quite dislodge. No. Not this time.

She wouldn't miscalculate again.

But something was wrong.

The children had trickled out of the school nearly an hour ago, their voices loud and playful as they scattered into the village. And yet the ones Azula and her allies were waiting for—the bandits—never came. No figures lingered at the edges of the schoolyard. No hushed conversations. No stolen glances. The trap was set, the bait untouched.

Zirin fidgeted with the edge of her tunic, eyes constantly flicking from window to path. Ningka had gone quiet—her knife still but clenched. Even Chiyou looked uneasy now, scanning rooftops with a hunter's restraint.

Then Noren appeared, jogging across the dusty road toward them, breathing fast but steady.

"They're not coming," he said, voice pitched low and clipped with frustration. "I've had eyes posted all along the back roads. Not a single sign. We wait here any longer, we're wasting time."

Azula narrowed her gaze. "They must have been tipped off."

"Maybe," Noren admitted. "Or maybe they changed the meeting spot. But they're not coming for Kiyi today." He glanced at the others. "Everyone keep your heads down for now. We'll regroup tonight."

The silence that followed clung like smoke.

And then—there was smoke.

A thick, rising column of it, dark as spilled ink, curling up from deeper in the village. It twisted into the sky in slow spirals, greedy and deliberate.

Noren turned first, a sharp curse under his breath. "Is that—?"

Azula's breath caught in her chest. Her eyes locked onto the direction—

Noriko's house.

A beat of absolute stillness.

Then:

Kiyi.

Azula was already moving, boots kicking up dust, heat blooming behind her sternum. It wasn't fire. Not yet. But something older. Colder. Deeper.

She had miscalculated.

Again.

Chapter Text

This took forever to finish, but I am really satisfied with the final state of chapter three. It's just a lot of Azula being Azula and not being a prodigy at learning how humans work.

Book One : Family

Chapter Three : Turmoil

The royal palace of Caldera was in turmoil. Zuko had just received word from the colonies: Earthbenders from nearby villages had gone beyond empty threats and were now actively engaging in sabotage and violent protests to express their discontent with Fire Nation occupation.

He had, of course, requested support from King Kuei—but his pleas had so far fallen on deaf ears. If Zuko didn't know better, he'd say the Earth King wasn't exactly encouraging these attacks, but he certainly wasn't against them either—not if they served to pressure the Fire Nation into relinquishing control of the disputed territories.

It felt like a low blow, especially after everything they'd fought for to secure this fragile peace. Did it truly mean so little?

Frustrated, Zuko snapped another writing brush in half. He forced himself to breathe out slowly, taming the anger that simmered in his chest.

He hated paperwork. He often wondered whether Ozai had left most of it to his ministers—men who had likely been terrified into handling it perfectly, if they valued their families... or their limbs... or their faces.

That train of thought led him—inevitably—to his psychotic sister.

The hospital where she'd been committed had been reduced to rubble. A detachment of the army had been dispatched to comb through the wreckage, searching for any evidence to confirm whether Azula was dead... or alive and on the run. So far, progress had been slow. At first, Zuko could ignore it—but as the days dragged on, the possibilities began to haunt him. A week already. Too long.

Right on cue, Mai barged into his office.

"I just had a brilliant idea," she declared, far more animated than usual. Zuko immediately gave her his full attention. Seeing Mai enthusiastic about anything was rare enough.

"I found the perfect person to track Azula down. A mercenary from the Earth Kingdom—her name's June. She tamed and trained a shirshu that can—"

Zuko groaned and let his forehead fall to his desk with a dull thud.

Mai raised an eyebrow. "Okay. What was that for?"

"A few things," Zuko muttered. "One, that would've been a perfect idea. Two, I did work with her to catch Aang. And three... I might still owe her."

Mai shrugged. "So? She's a mercenary. Just pay her. You're the Fire Lord. That should—" She trailed off as Zuko crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, watching her expectantly. Slowly, realization dawned.

"She might ask what you already owe her... with interest," Mai said, rubbing her temple. "Interest scaled to your new title, of course. Let me guess—she'd demand one of the small islets near the eastern border, and a lifetime exemption from taxes?"

"At least," Zuko said grimly.

Mai sighed and sank into the chair across from him. "Forget it."

Zuko didn't like shutting her down like this—especially when it had been a good idea—but he wasn't ready to give up entirely.

"She works with Uncle now," he offered. "Maybe he could convince her to take the job as a favor?"

Mai arched an eyebrow. "Still going to bankrupt us, isn't it?"

"We'll recover," Zuko said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced.

Azula ran like a hunted animal, her breath sharp, chest burning, legs flying faster than she thought possible. The rising column of smoke that had first caught her attention had grown into full-blown flames by the time she reached Noriko's home. Half the roof had already collapsed. The barn—the one the girls and Noren had worked so hard on—was gone, reduced to smoldering cinders.

"Someone help!" Noriko's voice rang out from inside, raw and frantic.

Azula's blood turned to ice. She sprinted to the front door, yanked the handle with all her strength—no movement. She rammed her shoulder against it, once, twice—on the third try, with a sickening crack of splintered wood, it gave way and she stumbled inside.

The heat swallowed her whole.

Flames curled like vipers along the walls. The air was thick with smoke, acrid and stinging her eyes. Her exit collapsed behind her, sealing her in the inferno. There was no time to think. Only act.

"Noriko!" she shouted.

She found her in Kiyi's room, tied hand and foot with rope, her face pale and soaked with sweat. Alone.

"Where is Kiyi?!"

Noriko coughed, choking on the smoke. "Th-they took her!"

Azula's heart dropped, but her mind kicked into battle rhythm. Kiyi wasn't here. That meant she could still be saved.

She turned to untie Noriko, but a burning beam crashed behind her, splitting the room in half. No time. Azula threw Noriko over her shoulder in a fireman's carry and charged toward the living room—only to find more flames, more fallen beams. No path forward.

And no way back.

She stood there for a moment, the fire snapping at her heels, the weight of failure crushing her lungs worse than the smoke.

This is it, she thought bitterly. This is how it ends. Trapped like an idiot. After all the planning. All the fighting. I still fail.

A voice cut through the haze, low and clear.

"Heads up, princess. The physical plane does not limit me. And so, it need not limit you. Run toward that wall."

Azula didn't question it. Maybe it was desperation. Maybe faith. She felt something inside her spark—no, guide her, like the firm hand of a teacher correcting a novice's stance. She adjusted Noriko's weight, clenched her jaw, and ran.

She didn't hit the wall.

She blinked—and was outside.

Cool air hit her lungs. The fire was behind her. Noriko, still unconscious, was in her arms. The spirit was gone again.

Zirin reached them first, skidding to a halt. "Asura?! What—what happened? Where's Kiyi?!"

Azula gently lowered Noriko to the grass. "They took her," she said tightly, scanning the surrounding ground for anything—anything—that could point her in the right direction. "We need to search for clues. Fast."

Ningka was already using her knife to slice through the remaining ropes on Noriko's wrists. Her face darkened at the bruises. "Brutes," she muttered.

Noren arrived with several villagers. He dropped to his knees beside Noriko, cradling her like something sacred. "Noriko…" His voice cracked. She was breathing—barely—but she was alive. Still, it didn't ease the look in his eyes.

Because Kiyi was gone.

Not for long, Azula promised herself grimly.

"Hey! Come check this out!" Chiyou called, crouched near the grass. She held up a small, soot-smeared object.

Kiyi's doll.

Azula narrowed her eyes. Too obvious.

But this wasn't the work of clever criminals. These were small-minded thugs. The doll hadn't been dropped—it had been left. A message. A trail. Kiyi had done this.

Azula stood, gaze scanning the horizon. There—beyond the trees, cliffs loomed, jagged and distant, marking the edge of Hira'a's valley, the threshold between village and wilderness. "They're fleeing," she muttered. "This isn't just a ransom. They're escaping."

"We can still catch them on foot," Ningka said, already breaking into a run.

Azula followed. So did Chiyou and Zirin. The villagers would catch up if they could. But this fight—it belonged to them now.

And Azula wouldn't stop. Not until Kiyi was safe. Not until the men who dared to take her paid.

Kiyi stirred groggily, her head throbbing with a dull ache. Her body rocked back and forth awkwardly—she was slung over someone's shoulder, moving fast, jostled with each heavy step. The world bounced in rhythm with the man's pace, and for a moment, everything felt dreamlike and far away.

Then the memories struck like lightning.

The men. The fire. Her mother screaming. The ropes biting into her wrists.

Panic swelled in her chest, but she fought to keep it from surfacing. Struggling now would mean punishment—worse than anything she'd felt before. The chief of the group was terrifying, his strength overwhelming. If she wanted to survive, she'd have to wait for her chance.

Her arms were still bound tightly behind her back, but her legs… they were free. She tried not to draw attention to that fact. It might be her only chance.

Asura, she thought. She promised. She'll come for me. They all will. I know they will.

Up ahead, voices argued:

"Couldn't we have brought the balloon closer?" one grumbled.

"It's too noticeable, you idiot. The whole damn village is probably looking for us. You want the army too?"

Kiyi froze.

An air balloon. They're planning to fly away.

The thought chilled her more than the mountain wind. If they took her into the sky, even Asura wouldn't be able to catch them. This wasn't just about ransom. They wanted to vanish—and take her with them. Forever.

Her heart pounded. No. I won't let them. She remembered something Azula had told her, not gently, but clearly: "Hurt them so badly they never rise from the ashes of their shame."

The bandits reached the base of the cliffs—jagged and winding, a twisting maze of stone that Noriko had always warned her not to play around. Too easy to get lost.

She made her move.

With a grunt, Kiyi twisted sharply, sliding off the bandit's shoulder. Her legs hit the ground first, and with all the strength she could muster, she delivered a brutal kick between his legs.

The man howled and toppled backward, colliding with the others and sending them into a heap of flailing limbs. Kiyi didn't wait—she ran. Arms still tied, but her legs pumping with everything she had, she darted into the rocky crevices, ducking low, scrambling for higher ground.

She didn't know how far she went. Her lungs burned. Her breath came in shallow gasps. And then—

"Kiyi?"

She stopped cold.

That voice.

"Ewan-sensei?" she whispered, turning toward the sound.

He stood just around a rocky bend, bent at the knees to meet her level. Relief flooded her chest. Someone she knew. Someone she trusted.

"Agni, what have they done to you?" he breathed, stepping forward. "Come here. Let me see those ropes."

Without hesitation, she turned, presenting her bound hands.

It was a mistake.

The next moment, she was face-first in the dirt. A new rope tightened swiftly around her ankles.

She gasped. "Wha—?"

"I'm certain you'll behave now," Ewan muttered darkly. He yanked her up by the hair, and this time, the pain did make her cry out. "Because if you don't, I'll have to punish you. And it'll be worse than standing in the corner of the classroom."

The betrayal stabbed deeper than any blow. She choked on a sob, tears stinging her eyes—not from pain, but from utter despair.

She didn't fight when the other bandits caught up.

"Ah, you got her!" one called.

"You idiots nearly ruined everything," Ewan growled. "Can't follow the simplest orders…"

He raised a hand—and summoned fire.

The others flinched back. "S-Sorry, boss."

"Grab the girl," Ewan snapped. "And don't damage the merchandise."

Kiyi's breath caught. Merchandise? That word—it made her stomach turn. She saw the way he smiled at her reaction, predatory and cold.

Hands reached toward her.

Suddenly—screams. A burst of heat swept overhead. One of the men cried out and staggered back, clutching his arm.

More shouting. Fire bloomed behind the cliffs.

Kiyi looked up—her heart nearly bursting from her chest.

They came.

Asura. Zirin. Ningka. Chiyou.

Ningka charged like a storm, blade flashing as she struck out with a snarl. Chiyou tossed a pouch of actor's powder into the flames and created a blinding flash that sent another bandit scrambling.

"Damned interlopers!" Ewan cursed. He grabbed Kiyi and ran, dragging her backward toward the cliffside.

"No!" she screamed, kicking wildly, trying to make herself too heavy to carry.

"Will you stay still?!" he barked, slapping her hard across the cheek.

Zirin pointed up. "They're getting away! Asura—go! We'll hold them!"

Azula didn't hesitate.

Run.

She tore past the chaos. Past the fire. Past the shouts and the smoke. Her rage burned hotter than any flame. Her breath was steady. Her stride, perfect.

They were already ascending.

The war balloon hovered just above the ridge, lifting with slow grace. Ewan stood at the edge of the basket, holding Kiyi in full view—taunting her with helplessness.

"Kiyi!" Azula's voice broke as she skidded to a stop. The edge of the cliff crumbled beneath her boots.

Too high.

She could feel it—the old panic rising, the familiar claw of helplessness tightening around her spine. Her fists clenched. Her knees buckled.

And then—

"What is the value of her life?" the spirit's voice echoed gently in her mind. "How much would you give for this child?"

Azula's answer was instant.

"Everything."

"Then run. Run like fire itself. And jump. With me… nothing is out of reach."

She didn't think. Didn't doubt.

She ran.

And jumped.

Air rushed around her, a scream tearing from her throat. The world slowed, then warped. Her body should've fallen—but it didn't. Heat rippled beneath her feet. The air itself seemed to bend.

And then her hands slammed onto the edge of the balloon basket.

She scrambled up, eyes locked on Ewan's wide, disbelieving stare.

Kiyi gasped. "Asura?!"

Azula pulled herself over the edge, eyes blazing.

"You," she snarled, a feeling of electricity crackling along her fingertips, "are going to regret everything."

"What—what sorcery is—?!" Ewan stumbled backward, almost dropping Kiyi. His eyes bulged at the sight of Azula rising into the gondola, hair windswept, eyes burning with the same wrath that had once reduced battalions to ash. "You—witch! You're the one responsible for ruining everything!"

He thrust his arm out, fire bursting from his palm in a wild arc. Azula dodged with ease, slipping sideways and letting the flame pass harmlessly behind her. No form. No control. The man was flailing.

"You call that bending?" she sneered.

Ewan screamed in frustration and lunged at her, fists swinging. More fire, clumsy and hot, but without precision. Azula weaved between the strikes like a dancer, her feet rooted in perfect balance, her body flowing with the exactitude drilled into her since childhood.

He struck again, this time blindly. Azula caught his arm at the wrist, twisted, and brought her elbow down into his chest. The air rushed from his lungs with a grunt. She followed up with a kick to his side, sending him stumbling against the railing.

He recovered with another shout, throwing a blast of flame far too close to Kiyi. Azula reacted instantly, stepping between them and absorbing the heat on her back. Her own fire didn't come. It hadn't since—

No, she told herself. I don't need fire to end this.

She ducked under his next punch, stepped in, and delivered a knee straight to his gut. Ewan doubled over with a wheeze. Another kick sent him sprawling against the gondola's edge. He clawed at the railing.

"W-Wait!" he stammered, coughing. "We—we can work together! I'm useful! Look at what I could've achieved!"

Azula froze.

In a flash, she saw another man groveling—Long Feng, bowing to the Dai Li as they turned away.

The spirit's presence crept in beside her, its voice velvet and venomous. "Do it. He brought this upon himself. Who knows what he might do if left unchecked? A simple push. Let it end here."

"Murder," her conscience whispered. "And in front of the child."

"Don't hesitate," the spirit urged. "Don't pretend to be 'better' than him. This is the natural order. His life matters very little."

"Not to me," Azula whispered.

She stepped back.

"I won't end you, Ewan. You're not worth that," she said, cold as frost. "The villagers will do worse than I ever could."

She turned her back on him.

She was halfway to Kiyi when she felt the shift in the air behind her—the trembling desperation of a man whose pride could not survive defeat. She didn't look. She didn't flinch.

Come on, she thought grimly. Try.

Ewan screamed and charged.

Her heel snapped backward—one perfect, practiced motion. It struck him square in the chest.

The traitorous teacher's eyes widened in shock, and then he tumbled over the side of the balloon. His scream faded into the wind until it ended in silence.

Azula didn't look over the edge. She didn't need to.

"Ki—" Her voice cracked.

But Kiyi was already there, crashing into her, sobbing into Azula's chest with tiny, hiccupping gasps. Azula's body stiffened, unsure what to do—until her hands moved almost automatically, fumbling behind the girl to untie her ropes. Once the bonds were loose, Kiyi didn't let go. She wrapped her arms around Azula's waist and clung like her life depended on it.

Azula exhaled shakily and let her arms return the embrace. It was… unfamiliar. But not wrong.

"Is… is he gone?" Kiyi asked, voice barely audible.

Azula hesitated, weighing the truth. Then she bent down slightly, smoothing the girl's tangled hair.

"Yes," she said softly. "I sent all the bad men away. They won't hurt you anymore."

Kiyi squeezed tighter.

The spirit reappeared, standing on the edge of the gondola, gazing down at them both with its unreadable eyes.

"Do you understand now?" it asked. "The value of a single life."

Azula didn't answer.

"She must be… very precious. I wish I could understand. Just days ago, you were ready to sacrifice everything to reclaim your fire. Now, you give everything for her. Why?"

Azula's throat burned. She felt the sting of tears—and for once, she didn't fight them. They slid down her cheeks, hot and silent.

"Because she's worth it," she whispered.

There was no shame. No regret. Not even pain.

Just a strange, quiet peace.

She held Kiyi tighter. And for the first time in a long time…

She felt whole.

Kiyi had a lot of fun "piloting" the balloon back toward the great plains that separated Hira'a from the cliffside paths. In truth, her hands barely touched the controls. Azula stood behind her, one hand firmly gripping the stabilizing bar while the other gently adjusted the burner's lever. The little girl beamed with pride, fully convinced she was the one navigating through the sky.

"Just a bit to the right," Azula instructed calmly, keeping her tone even. She didn't want to frighten the child—or worse, lose altitude and crash into the rocks below. She didn't know the first thing about piloting a balloon and wasn't about to test fate. But pretending for Kiyi's sake… that was manageable.

"There—look!" Kiyi suddenly shouted, pointing excitedly to the left. "It's them! That's the others!"

Sure enough, across the plains, the familiar shapes of Zirin, Chiyou, and Ningka trudged forward, half-carrying and half-dragging the remaining bandits. The criminals were worse for wear—clothes singed, limbs bruised, pride demolished. They didn't look like villains anymore, just worn-out men who'd made the mistake of thinking they could prey on the wrong child.

Azula smirked, noting the swagger in the girls' walk, the casual way Ningka twirled her knife. The bandits weren't being escorted back—they were trophies.

The landing was... functional. Not graceful, not perfect, but not catastrophic either. Azula's grip on the controls tightened at the last moment, keeping the basket from tipping too far. As soon as it hit ground, Kiyi leapt out with a squeal of joy and ran into the arms of the other girls. There were tears, laughter, and an entire rush of relief that swept through them all.

One of the lead bandits, bound and gagged, glared up at them. "That little sh—"

A sharp thud cut him off mid-sentence.

Azula's boot connected with his stomach, sending him toppling over in a wheeze of pain. She stood over him, eyes narrowed and voice low.

"Watch your mouth. You should be thankful it's us delivering justice. If I had let the villagers decide…" she trailed off, letting the silence finish the threat for her.

But the moment she looked at the man writhing at her feet, her victory soured slightly. No amount of kicks would make up for the damage he'd done to Kiyi—to Noriko, to the sense of peace Azula herself had only just begun to understand.

Ursa would say this proves it, a voice in her head muttered. That I'm still the monster. That I only feel alive when someone else is on the ground in pain.

She clenched her fists.

"You did great, Sura," Zirin's voice cut through the fog. She approached with a grin, shaking Azula gently by the shoulder. "You really saved the day." The fire princess blinked at her. "Did… Ewan—?" Azula shook her head almost immediatly.

"Right," Zirin said, more quietly. "Good. Serves him right. He better stay in hell now… or we will cremate him for real." She snorted. "Twice-burned."

The line was terrible. No royal court would allow such humor.

But Azula laughed.

To her own surprise, it wasn't forced. It bubbled up from somewhere deep in her chest, sharp and short at first, then louder. Chiyou joined in with a loud cackle, Ningka rolled her eyes but chuckled too, and even Kiyi giggled, her face pressed into Zirin's side.

The bandits flinched at the sound of their laughter—at the bizarre, joyous noise rising from their captors.

Azula turned to face the horizon as the last light of day bled orange and gold across the sky. For the first time in what felt like years, she wasn't thinking of her failures, or her firebending, or her past.

For once, she was just… here. Laughing. Alive.

She felt happy.

Noren stood at the edge of the village with Noriko leaning heavily on his shoulder. Her steps were slow, but when she caught sight of her daughter, something seemed to break inside her. Whatever exhaustion or pain clung to her body was overridden by sheer maternal instinct. With a breathless cry, she stumbled forward, then broke into a run.

"Kiyi!"

The girl ran just as fast, her small arms stretched forward, feet barely touching the ground. When they collided, it wasn't a soft reunion—it was desperate, fierce, filled with sobs and the trembling panic of nearly losing everything. Noriko dropped to her knees in the dirt, clutching her daughter so tightly it looked like she might never let go.

Azula watched the moment unfold from just a few steps away. She didn't feel jealous. At least, she told herself she didn't. It wasn't envy. It wasn't regret. It was… something unfamiliar. A knot in her stomach, not made of resentment but of relief—powerful and strange.

This wasn't supposed to feel so monumental.

Victory—real victory—had always come with banners and silence, with bowed heads and broken enemies. She remembered standing on the walls of Ba Sing Se, looking down at a conquered capital, the Dai Li bowing to her will. That had been the pinnacle of her rise. She had won.

But that moment had felt hollow, the kind of empty triumph that came with a crown too heavy for anyone to wear.

Now here she stood, in a dusty village with ash still clinging to her sleeves, watching a mother cry over her rescued child, and it felt... like something greater. A different kind of power. Something that didn't come with fear or flames.

Noriko held Kiyi close for what felt like minutes, murmuring soft, broken words into her daughter's hair. Then, slowly, she lifted her eyes to Azula.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much."

Azula opened her mouth, but no words came out. She wasn't used to being thanked. Not sincerely. Not without some veiled expectation behind it.

Noriko stood and opened her arms. "Come here. All of you."

Ningka, still slightly winded from the chase, gave a crooked grin and moved in first. Chiyou followed with her usual smirk, somehow managing to make a group hug look like part of a prank.

Azula remained frozen, her limbs refusing to obey. Her thoughts clouded with confusion, her training screamed that this wasn't appropriate. She didn't belong there.

Then Zirin nudged her gently from behind, guiding her forward with a hand between her shoulder blades. Azula gave her a sideways glare, but Zirin only smiled and whispered, "Don't fight this."

And Azula didn't.

She let herself step into the circle. She let Noriko's arms rest around her. She let the weight of everything—not just the mission, but the doubt, the fear, the memory of who she used to be—slide off her shoulders, just for a moment.

Kiyi slipped between them all and latched onto Azula's leg like a barnacle, face buried against her thigh, still sniffling, still clinging.

And Azula—Fire Princess, fallen prodigy, runaway—lowered a hand to rest on the girl's head.

She didn't feel weak.

She felt human.

The spiritual world—or this strange projection of it—was a welcome change for Azula. Cool air drifted through the swaying grass, and the stillness brought her a quiet she never found in the waking world. No fire. No shouting. No stifling legacy pressing down on her shoulders.

And more importantly, he was here.

She found him wandering through the field, his form half-shadow, half-light, idly searching the ground like he'd lost something unimportant. His presence was heavy and calm, yet always on the edge of something darker.

"You're slipping more and more into the spirit realm," he remarked without looking at her. His voice was smooth and dry, like wind brushing against old stone. "I wonder how your father's holding up. He's been enduring this for longer than you, after all."

Azula crossed her arms and stared at him, unimpressed. "He's stubborn. I'm sure he's managing just fine wherever Zuko locked him up."

She stepped closer. "I wanted to—"

"Spare me the gratitude, princess," he said flatly, standing upright. His gaze found hers, amber and unreadable. "I didn't help you to earn your honor points or whatever nonsense you nobles call duty."

Azula blinked, then offered a smirk—tired, but genuine. "You helped me when I had nothing left. More than once."

"So?"

She sighed. "Fine. Nothing, then."

He nodded, satisfied. "Good. I helped you because I wanted to. It was also—" his mouth twisted into something just shy of a grin, "—immensely entertaining, watching that human scream all the way down."

Azula narrowed her eyes. "You're that kind of spirit."

"When you've been around as long as I have," he said casually, brushing phantom dust off his arm, "you learn to enjoy the little things."

She didn't respond to the jab. Instead, she squared her shoulders and asked, "I want your name."

That got his attention. He turned to her fully now, head tilting slightly.

"Hah. Took you long enough."

Azula frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You do this often. You memorize everything—faces, habits, voices—but rarely names. I bet you don't even know the name of the current Avatar."

Azula paused. "...No. I don't."

He smiled faintly. "Not important. I'm honored, in a way, that you consider me useful enough to ask now. My name," he said with a slight bow of mockery, "is Vaatu."

She didn't react at first—just let the name roll through her head, trying to decide if she'd expected something more grand or less pronounceable.

"Keep it to yourself," he added sharply. "No whispering it into ponds or shouting it off cliffs. Some names still carry... weight."

Azula raised an eyebrow. "Not a fan club kind of spirit, I take it."

"If only," Vaatu replied with a dry, humorless laugh. "There was a time I stood as an equal to a very powerful and influential spirit named Raava. Back then humans and spirits were still as close as neighbors"

Azula said nothing, but her posture shifted—attention sharpened.

"Raava fused with a human long ago," Vaatu went on, his tone now edged with something colder. "Since then, Raava and that human have become one. The Avatar you know is not just a person—they are the living embodiment of Raava's spirit in the mortal world." He paused, letting the weight of that settle. "They claimed the right to move freely between our realm and yours. Called themselves the bridge between worlds. Said it was for balance." The bitterness in his voice deepened. "They sealed most of the gates. Declared them sacred. Locked us out… then appointed themselves judge, jury, and more often than you think executioner."

Azula's eyes narrowed. "That sounds familiar."

"Oh, it should," Vaatu said. "Raava holds power over the elements. Over you. Have you ever heard of a being who can strip someone of their bending with a touch? Take from them what makes them whole?" Her jaw tightened slightly. "That is Raava's hand in action," he said, voice now low. "Disguised as justice. All accepted, because it wears a human face, the human may be learning over and over again but Raava just keeps getting stronger ... and bolder."

Azula stared at him, lips pressed thin. "And you're saying... they've broken your rules too?"

"Not just once. Twice. All in the same mortal year," he said, watching her carefully. "But of course, when Raava violates the natural order, it's called balance. When another spirit does it, it's corruption."

Azula studied him, weighing what wasn't being said. "So you're trying to start a revolt."

He smiled faintly, amused. "As a matter of fact—yes. But not for the reasons you think."

She exhaled and folded her arms. "Well. I got your name, and now your grievance. That's more than I expected."

"We've made progress," Vaatu admitted, turning toward the horizon again, grass brushing at his legs like water. "And I have more to give. But let it simmer, princess. The Mother of Faces won't show herself for a few more days."

Azula frowned. "And if I don't want to wait?"

"You could dive into one of her sacred pools and demand her presence," he offered with a sly look. "But I doubt you're prepared for the insult that would cause—or the fury that would follow."

Azula raised a brow. "How powerful is she?"

"If I told you to go fight a mountain," he said flatly, "would you?"

"…That powerful." The princess realised with a sigh.

"She is individuality. Every soul, every name, every face—hers to keep, hers to give. You wouldn't be fighting a person. You'd be fighting a concept."

Azula glanced sideways. "And you? What do you represent?"

Vaatu hesitated, a flicker of shadow crossing his features—an anger barely contained beneath a veil of avoidance. The wind stilled as if waiting for him to speak, but he said nothing.

Finally, his voice returned, dry and clipped.
"...You should go to sleep. Your student will be bouncing off the walls in a few hours."

Azula's scowl deepened. "We're not finished—"

He cut her off, voice low and sharp, almost a growl:
"Go. To. Sleep."

With that, he vanished in a swirl of shadow and a faint, bitter ripple of laughter.

The grass dissolved into mist. The sky paled and blurred. Azula's dream began to unravel.

But just before she slipped away, just before the veil claimed her—

"…Thank you, Vaatu," she whispered.

No answer came.

Yet in the heavy silence that followed, something inside her chest—long held tight—started to loosen.

The first thing Azula noticed when she woke was Kiyi, kneeling beside her, eyes wide and expectant. The brat wasn't smiling — no, her face was lined with worry.
"Sura? Are you awake?"

Azula blinked slowly, stretching out her fingers before replying, "Now, yes."

Kiyi leaned closer, voice soft and cautious. "Were you having a nightmare?"

Azula raised an eyebrow. "...Why?"

"You were saying weird things while you slept." The fire princess scowled inwardly — Vaatu was really going to make her seem crazy.

"Weird things like?"

Kiyi scrunched her nose, trying to recall. "Uh... something something... possession? You aren't possessed by a spirit, right?"

Azula suppressed a sigh. No, just renting out prime real estate in her mind to questionable spirits for a bargain of powers and bending recovery. "Preposterous."

"Pre-po-what?" Kiyi's brow furrowed.

"A grown-up word that means absurd."

The little girl pouted playfully. "How did you jump so high to reach the balloon then?"

Azula gave her a knowing glance. That was definitely Vaatu's doing — but how, exactly? She had a plausible explanation ready.

"If you produce flames from your feet to create pressure against the air, and you focus hard enough, any firebender can propel themselves into the air for a few meters."

Kiyi tilted her head, pointing out the obvious. "But there was no fire."

Clever little brat. Azula smirked, scooping Kiyi up and settling her comfortably in her lap.

"Well, that's a secret," Azula whispered, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "And if you don't keep it, no firebending lessons for you."

Kiyi giggled, eyes sparkling with mischief. "And we start right after lunch."

"What?" Azula blinked in surprise.

"That's my condition! You're not in a position to argue if I can reveal your secret at any time, right?"

Azula's initial reaction was irritation — how dare this tiny schemer wield such power over her? Yet beneath the frustration stirred a strange warmth, a grudging respect. The brat had a talent for manipulation, just like her.

A sharp edge of anger mixed with a flicker of pride swirled inside her chest, confusing her. She wasn't sure whether to be furious or amused.

After a long moment, she exhaled and said quietly, "Fine. Deal."

Noriko was still recovering from minor injuries inflicted by the bandits, and likely from the smoke she'd inhaled while trapped in her burning house. Ningka and Chiyou had stayed behind to keep her company and help care for her.

Meanwhile, the army had been called in to take the bandits away, much to Azula's discomfort. But it was the only logical choice for the villagers. It couldn't go wrong—they were clearly guilty. There would be no investigation, and with Noren acting as the figure of authority, everything would settle smoothly, like the steady flicker of a candle flame.

And that's how Azula ended up in charge of Kiyi... and maybe Zirin, who had happened to be passing by to "say hello" and apparently had nothing better to do.

"Short hair?" Zirin asked the fire princess, eyebrow raised.

Azula felt unexpectedly flustered. Why? She could look good in any style. Infiltrating Ba Sing Se as a Kyoshi Warrior had gone wonderfully well — Long Feng's schemes aside.

"Yes, Noriko did it for me last night. What do you think?"

"It makes you look more masculine. I like it a lot."

Masculine? Her friends had never called her that before.

Azula smirked quietly to herself. She thought Ningka and Mai might get along well — after all, Mai was a bored knife master, and Ningka was a sword enthusiast who tended to give up on anything she didn't think was worth fighting for.

As for Chiyou, Azula suspected she'd want to strangle Ty Lee for her ever-insufferable "positive" aura...

Zirin, though, would fit right in. She was the kind of person who could get along with everyone — unlike Azula.

So why was Zirin bothering to spend time with her of all people instead of Chiyou and Ningka?

That question lingered as the three of them headed to the plains behind the village, wanting to limit any bending-related incidents. Azula scanned the open space, stretched, and breathed in the fresh air.

"Alright, take your shirt off. We need to bask in the sunlight. The first step is to get you in the right mindset to produce fire—"

When she turned back around, she found not only Kiyi topless but also Zirin.

Thank Agni Zirin had wrappings to cover her breasts.

"What do you think you're doing?" Azula's voice sharpened, eyes narrowing as she folded her arms tightly across her chest, trying to keep her composure.

"Joining your firebending class," Zirin replied with an easy grin, stepping forward without hesitation.

Azula's gaze flickered involuntarily to Zirin's figure, and she bit the inside of her cheek, forcing her eyes away. "You already know how to firebend."

Zirin shrugged playfully. "Oh, come on, I need practice! Do you have any idea how long I've dreamed of burning—burning out of pure joy?"

Azula's jaw tightened, nostrils flaring slightly. "I don't care," she snapped, though her voice carried a thin edge of something else—annoyance, maybe embarrassment.

"Well, you should!" Zirin teased, eyes sparkling. "Come on, drop your shirt too!"

Azula let out a frustrated breath, glancing away as heat rose to her cheeks. "Agni, give me strength—" she muttered under her breath before yanking off her shirt with a sharp movement. "There. Satisfied?"

Zirin's smile widened, smug and triumphant. "Oh, more than you think."

Azula clenched her fists, scowling but unable to suppress the faint twitch at the corner of her lips. "Ignoring the disruptive elements of the class…"

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to keep calm. Teaching firebending without actually being able to bend herself was a challenge she hadn't expected to face so soon. The Avatar's curse had stripped her of her bending completely — but she wasn't about to let anyone see that.

"Alright, Kiyi," Azula began, fixing her gaze on the eager young girl. "Firebending is about more than just flames. It starts with your breath, your energy, and most importantly, your mindset. You need to feel the fire inside you, the drive that fuels it."

Kiyi tilted her head, curious. "What kind of drive?"

Azula hesitated, then shrugged. "Most firebenders use anger. It's… common. Anger pushes the fire out. But honestly? It's stupid."

Kiyi blinked. "Why?"

Azula's eyes darkened. "Because anger is a limited fuel. You can only run on so much rage before it burns you out completely. Firebenders who rely solely on anger end up exhausted, reckless."

Kiyi frowned thoughtfully. "So, what should I think about instead?"

Azula's expression softened just a little. "Think about what's most precious to you. What you want to protect, or what you desire more than anything. That kind of motivation—hope, love, determination—that's a fire that never runs out. That's what will keep your flames burning strong."

Kiyi nodded slowly, absorbing the advice. the young girl furrowed her brows, her earlier excitement dimming a little as she looked down at her hands. "But… what do you think about when you firebend, Sura?"

Azula froze.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly. It should've been a simple answer. She had always known what lit her fire — pride, power, discipline, and once, a desperate need to prove herself. But now?

She looked at her palms. Empty.

"...That's not important," she said too sharply. "You need to find your own answer."

Kiyi didn't press, but the disappointment was plain on her face. Azula turned away before it could affect her too much — or before it showed.

Zirin stepped in gently, kneeling beside the girl. "Hey," she said with a softer tone. "Want to try something different?"

Kiyi glanced up. "Like what?"

"Meditation." Zirin sat cross-legged in the grass. "It helps clear your mind and focus on what matters most. Not what others tell you to feel, but what you feel, deep down."

Azula was skeptical — it felt unproductive, indulgent even. But when Kiyi sat down opposite Zirin, mimicking her posture, she said nothing.

Time passed. The breeze stirred the grass. Azula paced silently, arms folded.

After a while, she crouched next to them. "Well?" she asked, gently this time. "Have you found it? That feeling — the one that burns brighter than anger?"

Kiyi opened her eyes slowly. "Yes," she whispered. "I think so."

"Then hold onto it," Azula instructed. "Feel it, breathe through it. Don't force anything. Just... try. Focus on the space in your palm. Imagine a flame, as small as a candlelight."

Kiyi nodded and raised her hand, concentrating.

Nothing.

Her brow furrowed in frustration. Still nothing.

Azula's instinct was to snap at her, to correct her posture, to drill discipline into her like her old masters had done with her. But she stopped herself. Kiyi wasn't her. And Azula… wasn't that girl anymore.

Zirin reached out with a quiet smile. "You've got it, Kiyi. Just a little more. Don't be afraid of it. You're already strong — just let it show."

Kiyi's lip trembled. And then—

A flicker. A spark. And finally, a small, golden flame curled into her palm.

She stared at it, stunned. Then the tears came.

"I did it," she whispered. "I did it—!"

She threw herself forward, hugging both girls at once. "Thank you! Thank you both!"

Azula froze, completely caught off-guard as Kiyi clung to her. For a moment, she had no idea where to put her hands — then slowly, awkwardly, returned the hug.

Zirin laughed softly, brushing a tear from Kiyi's cheek. "Told you."

Azula didn't speak. But something in her chest shifted — something warm. Not pride. Not power. Something quieter. And maybe, she thought, just maybe… it was enough.

"She produced flames on her own... must be the greatest day of her life," Zirin said, watching Kiyi proudly show off to her parents, her little hands curling fire like it was the most magical thing in the world.

"Yes... it must be," Azula replied, voice distant.

The scene triggered a memory — not of warmth, but weight. Ozai's arms lifting her high in the throne room, cold pride shining in his eyes. Not joy. Just expectation fulfilled. And behind him, Ursa, clutching Zuko close with a horrified look that said: What have we created?

"She has talent," Azula added, almost absently. "Kiyi can figure things out on her own. She assimilates quickly. If she ever seeks mastery, she could make a name for herself."

Zirin glanced sideways at her. Azula's face held its usual composure, eyes sharp and mouth a line — but the tone of her voice had shifted. Not admiration. Something softer. Something almost... sad.

"How about we go for a walk?" Zirin asked. "Just the two of us? Ningka and Chiyou are sticking around with Noriko. She's still recovering, and the soldiers can handle Ewan's thugs."

The idea felt like air after too long underwater. "Right. Lead the way."

Zirin took her to the beach. Their boat was still there — surprisingly untouched. They really should anchor it properly, but neither of them mentioned it. Too much else was in the air.

"It's like a dream to me," Zirin murmured as the waves lapped at their feet. "I never thought I'd be free again. Do you ever get nightmares? You wake up thinking you're still in your cell?"

Azula considered the question. "I thought I might. But something else has been... bothering me more."

Zirin gave her a sidelong glance, voice gentler now. "Let me guess. Something about your current lack of bending?"

Azula froze.

For a moment, everything inside her tightened like a sprung trap. Her jaw locked, her chest refused to expand, and her arms hung too still at her sides. Her heart pounded with a sudden and familiar dread — the kind that came with being seen. She wasn't ready. Not for the questions. Not for the pity.

She was not ready to say it.

But then Zirin smiled faintly and gave her a casual shrug.

"It's fine. I've had days like that too. You get in a mood and everything feels wrong — like your chi's clogged and your spark just won't light. It'll pass."

Azula blinked. She didn't answer right away. Only let herself exhale — slow, careful, guarded.

Zirin hadn't noticed.

She didn't know.

To her, Azula's silence was just that — silence, not a secret.

Azula nodded stiffly, swallowing back the ache in her throat. "Yes. A passing mood."

"Exactly." Zirin bumped her shoulder lightly against Azula's, still smiling at the sea. "Happens to the best of us." Zirin gave her a teasing smile before softening. "Let's talk about something else then. How did you end up at the asylum?"

Azula raised a brow. "You first."

"Sure." Zirin took a breath. "Ever heard the phrase 'Friend of Kyoshi'?"

"...No. Should I?"

"You will in a second." She turned to face Azula fully, brushing wet strands of hair behind her ear. "I like girls."

Azula didn't flinch, didn't react — but something in her gaze flickered. Understanding. Sympathy, perhaps.

"I told my parents," Zirin continued, stepping into the shallows. The ocean kissed her ankles. "Hoped they'd be supportive. But it's funny, you know? One second, you're the light of their lives. The next, you're a mistake they're desperate to erase."

Azula said nothing.

"They tried to 'correct' me. Arranged meetings with men. Then, when that didn't work, they sent me away. And the healers..." Her voice trembled slightly. "They went a step further. Said I just needed to understand what I was missing. So they showed me."

The water boiled around her feet, steam rising. Her face remained calm. Too calm.

"...How much did they hurt you?" Azula asked, voice low.

"Not as much as I wanted to hurt them." The boiling ceased. Zirin looked up with a half-smile. "But they're dead now. I'm free. And you — well, you don't seem to mind."

"I wouldn't care if you were in love with a fire ferret," Azula said dryly. "Our nation is so old sometimes it forgets how to breathe."

Zirin snorted. "You're not wrong. Oh, and the term 'Friend of Kyoshi'? Kyoshi had a bodyguard. They were lovers. That's where it comes from."

"Her bodyguard was her— oh." Azula blinked. "...Of course. History omits the interesting parts."

"Say," Zirin ventured with a sly grin, "you wouldn't happen to be—"

"No," Azula cut her off quickly. "I wasn't institutionalized for that reason."

But Zirin waited, and something compelled Azula to add more.

"My brother challenged me to an Agni Kai," she began, voice brittle. "I won. But he brought help. They struck when I was weak, chained me. Called it justice. And then they locked me up — to heal some 'affliction' he claimed I had. The truth is, he didn't care. He never did."

Zirin stared at her. "Your brother sent you there?"

"My mother left. Years before that. My father was..." —on his way to genocide, Azula thought— "...unavailable. I had an uncle too, but after losing his son, he collapsed inward. Clung to my brother. Everyone did."

"Sounds like your family's full of nutcases."

Azula shot her a glare.

"Other than you, I mean."

"...Me? Sane?" Azula gave a short, bitter laugh. "That's generous."

"What? You think you're not?" Zirin tilted her head. "Asura, you're more human than half the Fire Nation court."

Monster. The word echoed. Always.

"Human," Azula repeated. "I've done things—things I don't want anyone to understand."

"Things you regret?"

Azula turned. "Drop it."

"Fine, but—"

"I said drop it!" Azula snapped and stormed a few steps away down the beach.

Zirin sighed. "Well, if you're going to take it that way…"

She rolled up her sleeve.

Azula glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Zirin advancing with purpose. "What are you—?"

"I'm going to beat some sense into you."

"What?!"

"Don't 'what' me." Zirin grinned, fierce and far too casual for someone making threats. "You're spiraling. You're deflecting. And I'm not going to stand here and watch you dig yourself into a pit of 'woe is me' self-loathing."

Azula scowled. "You think hitting me is going to help?"

"Maybe not," Zirin said, raising her fist. "But it might knock that martyr complex loose."

And then she sucker punched her.

Azula staggered back a step, eyes wide. "You imbecile! You absolute—!"

She retaliated without thinking — a sharp, clean movement, one honed from years of ruthless training. Her elbow shot forward, caught Zirin right in the temple.

Zirin crumpled instantly.

Azula froze.

"Oh no."

The silence that followed was deafening — only the waves breaking against the shore gave any sign the world was still moving. Azula stared down at Zirin, her breath catching in her throat.

She knelt beside her with shaking hands. "Zirin? Zirin!"

The girl was breathing. Unconscious, but breathing. No blood. No visible bruises—yet.

Azula sat back in the sand and dragged a hand over her face. "Agni, what is wrong with me…"

She hadn't meant to hit her that hard.

She hadn't even meant to hit her at all.

This wasn't who she wanted to be anymore. And yet—here she was, standing over a friend she'd just knocked out cold.

"…She's going to kill me when she wakes up," Azula muttered.

Azula had dragged Zirin further up the beach and laid her down in the grass. She didn't mean to hurt her. She didn't mean to—... once again the princess checked the girl's pulse. Still breathing. Good. She hadn't committed murder.

"Do not feel guilty," came Vaatu's voice, drifting lazily behind her as he strolled into view, hands clasped behind his back, studying Zirin's limp form. "That's how the universe works. Forces oppose each other, and they produce a variety of results. In your current case, she showed you that you cared about her—and that you didn't really want to hurt her."

Azula clenched her fists. She didn't want to indulge the spirit's ramblings, not when she'd just knocked someone unconscious in the middle of a conversation. "If you're going to show up, you might as well be useful. Can you heal her?"

"That's not part of my skillset," Vaatu replied with what might have passed for a shrug, if his form obeyed physics.

"Oh, right. And what is your domain of expertise?"

Vaatu looked away, suspiciously silent.

"As I thought." Azula glanced down at Zirin again, her voice lower. "I just… I didn't want her to—"

"To say she didn't fear you enough? That you miscalculated?"

"N-No, I—"

"Yes, you do. You're so stubborn, you don't even realize why you're still standing next to her, waiting for her to wake up. It's not because you fear she'll tell others you're a monster. It's because you're afraid of losing a friend. An actual friend. One who doesn't expect anything from you—no throne, no perfection, no mask."

"I believe I told you to stop sifting through my memories."

"And I never explicitly said I would. Besides, I didn't need them this time. I know how to read people. And you, Azula, are uniquely difficult to read only because you lie to yourself."

"I'm not in the mood for—oh no. You're not seriously providing therapy—"

"Therapy?" Vaatu chuckled. "Please. You're a wreck. I'm not here to fix you—I'm just curious what kind of sunken ship I've hitched myself to. But, perhaps, that wreck contains hidden treasure—oh. She's waking up."

Zirin stirred, groaning faintly as she blinked up at the sky. "Did I win?"

Azula bit down the smile, though it tugged at the corners of her lips. "Let's call it a draw. Sucker punches aren't honorable."

"Anything goes in war," Zirin muttered, wincing with a grin. "It's kinda blurry. Can you move closer? I wanna see your cute face."

"Should I expect another headbutt instead?"

"If you're not fast enough, you might."

Azula rolled her eyes but leaned down anyway. "There. Satisfied?"

"Closer…"

"No."

"Oh, come on."

"As I said—I'm not into girls."

Zirin's smirk widened. "Are you certain about that?"

Unfortunately, no. Azula scowled at the thought. "Ten minutes ago you wanted to beat some sense into me. You need to pick a side—love or war."

"Why not both?"

"You're insane."

"Ata girl. We did both escape an asylum."

Azula sighed. "Let's get to know each other before we get into anything."

Zirin smiled up at her, bruised and radiant. "That's the most sensible thing you've said all day."

Azula and Zirin returned just as the sun was dipping behind the trees. Noriko spotted them from the porch—Azula supporting Zirin by the shoulder, both clearly bruised and scuffed. She didn't scold them. She wasn't their mother, and by the looks of it, whoever had raised them before hadn't done much good. Still, her tone was even as she greeted them.

"So. I'm not angry. You're both nearly adults… but should I be concerned?"

Azula waved dismissively as she helped lower Zirin onto a bedroll. "No. Just the result of an… argument."

"Yeah! And I won," Zirin added proudly, right before Azula tossed a cushion in her face to shut her up.

Noriko rolled her eyes. "Try to keep it down, Kiyi's sleeping. Did it really have to get physical?"

Zirin kicked Azula lightly. "Her skull's too thick. Words bounce right off. You have to hit her to make anything stick."

"Can we not talk about this?" Azula muttered.

"Asura is right," Noriko said gently. "You can't force people to open up. Sometimes, they're not ready. The best you can do is be there—make space, not noise."

Azula gave a faint shrug. "What she said."

Zirin groaned. "Yeah, yeah. Still don't like when she broods."

"I am not brooding! I'm just—" Azula's voice pitched up. "—putting a safe distance between us."

"See?" Zirin deadpanned. "Right there."

Noriko crouched next to her, placing a hand on Zirin's shoulder. "Giving people space is important, too. But if Asura's feeling even a little better, then I'd say you did no harm." She looked over at Azula. "Do you?"

Azula hesitated. "You could say so. I'm not exactly feeling like burning down a forest."

Progress.

Wait—no, that wasn't what she meant.

"No, no—what I meant is I don't feel like murdering anyone." That came out worse. "I just have things to think about and I'd rather think about them without digging them up for everyone to see."

"Well, then," Noriko chuckled, "I'd say you're doing just fine. Answers like that tend to come on their own. You don't have to rush it. Life unfolds how it wants."

Azula narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Was Noriko implying something? Had Zirin already corrupted her with one of her smug little theories?

"Fine. I'll wait and see."

She didn't expect Noriko to step behind her and wrap her arms around her shoulders in a warm hug. Azula stiffened at first—until the contact sank in, and she allowed herself to lean into it just slightly. She didn't flinch. That had to count as progress.

"Oh, by the way," Noriko said, "Noren and the girls should be here any minute. We've got a surprise."

Zirin perked up instantly, springing half off her bedroll. "Is it the balloon?! Are we keeping it?!"

"Haha, no dear. The army retrieved it already."

"Ah, Noriko," came Noren's voice from the hall. "Don't spoil it yet!" He entered, trailed by Ningka and Chiyou.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep this up," Ningka said as she plopped down between Azula and Zirin. She gave them a once-over. "What, did you two get into it with an armadillo bear?"

Azula and Zirin leaned forward at the same time to glance at each other. "Something like that," they said in unison.

Noriko and Chiyou tried not to laugh too loudly.

Noren arrived next, holding Kiyi by the hand. The girl looked half-asleep until she caught sight of Azula—then she broke free and flung herself into her lap without hesitation.

"What do you think you're doing?" Azula muttered as the child burrowed into her like a living blanket.

"You're warm."

With a sigh, Azula adjusted her, shifting Kiyi into a more dignified position.

"Good! Everyone's here," Noren said, clearing his throat. "Now… originally, the plan was to rebuild the house, but that'll take time. Noriko and I have been thinking. Before we make any big decisions, we wanted your opinion."

His voice grew more serious.

"All of you arrived here without warning. You came on a stolen boat—don't worry, I've known that for a while—and none of you have told us much about your lives before. That's fine. But things have changed."

The room tensed.

Noriko stepped in quickly. "We're not upset. Quite the opposite. Since you arrived, you've changed our quiet little world—for the better. Each of you brought something wonderful into our lives. So… if you weren't really heading for the colonies, and you have no other home—would you like to stay? With us? In Hira'a?"

The question hung heavy in the room.

Zirin was the first to break the silence. "Wait… you're asking us to live with you?"

Noriko nodded. "All four of you. Ningka, Chiyou, Zirin… and Asura."

Azula froze.

This wasn't in the plan.

Her path was clear. Meet the Mother of Faces. Recover her bending. Reclaim her throne. Rule.

And yet… why was she hesitating?

Zirin stood up slowly. "Noriko, Noren… You must know we've been hiding things. Not exactly lies, but—half-truths. We stole the boat, yes. But before that… our families locked us away. In a place that was meant to 'cure' us. We escaped. It wasn't clean."

Azula opened her mouth—to stop her—but the words didn't come.

Zirin continued. "We're not model citizens. We're not stable. We're criminals. We've been broken."

Noriko was quiet.

For a breath, Azula thought it was over. That everything was ruined.

Monster.

Freak.

Tyrant.

The old voices crawled into her mind.

But Noriko simply said, "I've seen no criminals here. Only people who've survived things they never should have had to face. Whatever their reasons, your families were wrong. All of them. And our offer stands."

Kiyi stirred and looked up at Azula. "So you can stay? Be like my big sister?"

Azula opened her mouth—

You're so mean. It's like we're not even siblings!

"You're the greatest, Asura!" Kiyi clung tighter. "Please stay!"

Ningka raised a hand lazily. "I just want a quiet life that's not too boring."

Chiyou chimed in, arms crossed. "Give me something to do and I'm not leaving either."

All eyes turned to Azula.

The one who always had a plan.

The one who always knew what came next.

But right now, she didn't.

Her lips parted. "I… I will stay."

No one questioned it.

Not even when her voice cracked.

Azula always lies.

They would spend their last night in the actors' house before moving the next day. Kiyi had been so excited… it hurt Azula even more to pretend around her. But being so young, she fell asleep quickly. The other girls followed soon after.

Azula, however, couldn't sleep.

The last thing she wanted was to drift into the Spirit World and have Vaatu rifling through her thoughts, dissecting them until he wrung a decision out of her. She turned left, then right, restless, seeking peace that wouldn't come.

Then — a flicker of light. A candle had been lit in the bathroom.

Her instincts kicked in. Azula sat up and scanned the bedrolls. Noriko's was empty.

She hesitated, watching the light. At least it gave her something else to focus on besides the chaos in her head. But the minutes dragged. Noriko was taking far too long.

Worry edged in. Azula rose and crept down the hall. As she neared the bathroom, she heard it — inconsistent breathing. Labored. Uneven.

Alarmed, she pushed the door open.

Noriko wasn't having a medical attack, but the sight still unsettled her. She stood frozen in front of the mirror, hands trembling, her nightdress loose around her. Her eyes were red — not from crying, but from not blinking. She looked… stuck.

Azula considered the possibility of sleepwalking. But something about the way Noriko held herself — rigid yet conscious — felt off.

Still, if she was sleepwalking, she should probably wake her. Gently. Azula approached slowly, careful not to enter her field of view too abruptly.

It worked. Noriko gasped sharply, her posture snapping back as if released from a trance.

"Wh-What—who—?" she stammered.

Azula quickly raised a hand to signal quiet.

Noriko nodded, breathing shakily. "Ah, I… I'm sorry if I woke you. I had a nightmare. Thought some water would help."

"I couldn't sleep either," Azula admitted. "How about some fresh air?"

"Nightmares too?"

"No. Just… questions I don't have answers to."

Noriko nodded again and gently took Azula's hand, leading her outside. The moon was high, half-full, but still strong enough to cast a soft silver light across the trees and rooftops.

"I keep having the same dream," Noriko murmured. "In it, I'm not… myself. I do something horrible. And a voice tells me it was right — that everything's fine. That I'm fine. But I'm not."

Azula kept her gaze on the sky. "What do you mean by horrible? Murder?"

"Oh, no. Not like that… I think I left someone behind. Someone important. But I never know who."

"Are you talking about Kiyi? Noren?"

"No. It isn't them." Her voice cracked with frustration. "It's maddening — always the same ache, but no face. And no, it's not my parents either. I remember nothing about them." Azula turned toward her, frowning. That… was strange. "I had ... I had some sort of incident. A year before Kiyi was born. I lost most of my memory."

That didn't help Noriko's case. If anything, it made Azula more alert. "You think your nightmares are those memories trying to come back?"

Noriko gave a slow nod. "And if they are… who did I leave behind? What kind of person does that? The guilt never leaves. And in every dream, it ends the same way — I'm staring into a mirror. But I'm not looking at me." She shook her head and looked away. "Sorry. I shouldn't dump this on you."

Azula was quiet for a moment. "No. I'm… glad you trust me enough to share it. It's only fair if I can share mine."

Noriko took Azula's hand again and gestured toward the treetops. Above the forest, the sky glowed faintly blue. It was a beautiful night. "You said earlier that you wanted to stay. But what about your goal?" Noriko asked gently. "Have you changed your mind?"

Azula looked away, jaw tense. "I can't make up my mind. Whatever I choose… it feels like I'm losing something."

Noriko's arm slid around her shoulders, warm and steady. "Don't look at it that way. Do what you need to. And if it doesn't work out, if everything falls apart… you can always come back home. We'll still be here to welcome you. Besides," she smiled softly, "I doubt Kiyi will let you go before she becomes a master firebender."

Azula gave a faint chuckle. "Probably not."

Noriko's voice dipped, thoughtful. "But still… is whatever you're looking for in that forest really worth the life you could have here?"

Yes, it was.

But it wasn't about that. It wasn't about peace. It was about not letting Zuko win — not after everything she had endured.

"It's not about you, Noriko. Or your family," Azula said. "It's personal."

"I understand," Noriko nodded. "I won't stop you. I just want to know you won't throw your life away chasing something that won't make you truly happy."

Azula stared at the sky, searching for answers that weren't there.

"…Do you think everyone deserves that? Happiness? Even someone truly bad?"

Noriko tilted her head in thought. "If their happiness doesn't come at someone else's expense… then yes. Everyone can change. If they really want to, and they're willing to try."

Azula thought of her father — quickly dismissed the idea. No, never him.

But herself? Was change truly possible for her?

"…Noriko?" she said after a moment. "What do you know about the Fire Nation princess?"

That clearly caught Noriko off guard. Her surprise was brief but visible, followed by a careful pause — like she'd suddenly realized she had to choose her words.

"Well… rumors say she was executed after the war," Noriko said slowly. "I never believed it. Everyone knows the previous Fire Lord was defeated by the Avatar. Some even say his firebending was stripped away." She shrugged. "People will say anything to make a story dramatic."

"No," Azula said flatly. "It's true. The Avatar can take away bending."

There was a beat of silence. Noriko turned toward her fully.

"Asura… how do you know that?"

Azula's voice was quiet. "Do you still believe what you said earlier? That we can be happy together? That people can change?"

Noriko didn't hesitate. She took Azula's hand again. "I haven't changed my mind. And I won't. If it's too painful to talk about—"

"No. I want to," Azula said, voice beginning to crack. "I need to. It's making me sick keeping it all in, and I think… I think if I tell you, it might help."

Her eyes welled up before she could stop them. She wasn't a princess right now. She wasn't anything.

"The others don't know. They don't need to," she whispered. "But I'm her. I'm the princess. My brother—he didn't know what to do with me after the Avatar gave him the throne. So he sent me to that asylum. He told the staff to make me 'normal.' And they tried. They tortured me for a year."

Her breath hitched. "Until— Until—"

Noriko moved without a word, pulling Azula into her arms. She held her tightly, one hand on her back, the other on her hair.

"Take your time," she whispered. "You're safe."

Azula clung to her like the words might slip away if she didn't hold on, she let herself take a moment to breathe, to calm the storm inside her. "He asked the Avatar to take away my fire. Zuko must have lost patience. They—they drugged me and strapped me to a chair. I don't remember everything, but it hurt so much… I had a chance to escape, and I took it. When I woke up, the others had dragged me out of the asylum while I was unconscious. The whole place was in ruins. We were free."

Noriko rubbed Azula's back gently. "So you're not exactly 'sick,' like you said the other day… You're searching for a way to get your fire back?"

Azula nodded, her head resting against Noriko's chest.

"There's a good chance the Mother of Faces could help with that," Noriko said softly. "But… what do you plan to do if you succeed?"

Azula's voice was low but fierce.

"Take back my throne. Become an only child. Destroy the Avatar for good."

A long silence followed.

"I'm not sure anymore… I—I can't let go of everything. I don't want to let them win—not after everything I've been through. My brother, the Avatar, my… my old friends… they deserve ten times the pain they caused me."

"You seek vengeance…" Noriko's voice was careful, gentle, but a part of Azula braced for rejection, daring her to pull back. "I understand. I don't want you to suffer more pain. But if vengeance is the only way you'll find happiness, then you should follow your instincts."

Azula looked up sharply.

"Stop it."

"What?"

"Stop using the right words."

"I don't understand."

"It's not normal. You're not normal! Every time I act against my own reason, I keep waiting for a blow that never comes. Why haven't you called me a monster yet? Why are you like this?"

Noriko didn't flinch. She looked Azula in the eyes.

"Because—even if I can't truly put myself in your place—I will never force my vision over yours. Instead, I try to share your experiences, your thoughts. Because I care, Asura. I can't imagine what people have done to you to leave you so full of distrust. Your pain leaks onto me, it burns my heart. But if I can make you smile, even just a little… I would be the happiest woman in the world."

Azula shook her head fiercely.

"No. No, you shouldn't. I hurt people around me. I do it all the time. You'll get hurt if you keep trying."

"No, Asura, you won't hurt anyone. In fact, the very fact that you say that shows the exact opposite. You wouldn't feel this way unless you cared—about me, about Noren, about the girls, about Kiyi. You have to let go of these fears, let yourself feel better. Everything will be fine."

Azula's breath hitched, her voice shaking with frustration and doubt. "And what if it all goes wrong? What if all of you end up hurt because of me? What if I ruin everything—again?"

Noriko's gaze was steady and unwavering. "Then we fight. We fight with everything we have to protect each other. Life's never perfect. It's a constant battle. Luck isn't promised. But it's easier to face the impossible when you're not alone."

Azula's heart thundered in her chest. She wanted to believe those words, but her mind screamed in chaos. How can she be so sure? The fear clawed at her throat, twisting into anger. "Why do you make me feel like I have to be something I'm not? Like I have to be strong and brave when everything inside me is breaking? Now I'm forced to hold it all together. Why did you have to put me in this position? Why now?!"

Noriko's voice was gentle but firm, wrapping around Azula like a fragile lifeline. "Asura, I have no expectations. I won't decide for you. You choose your path—follow your instincts."

Suddenly, the sky above the forest flared brighter, an eerie blue light washing over everything. Azula's chest tightened, her mind going blank as Vaatu's voice invaded her consciousness—cold, impatient, relentless.

"Not that I'm growing impatient about your time with this woman, but the Mother of Faces' wolf is on the move. He's searching for a pond so she can travel. You must go now, princess. You've wasted enough time."

Azula sprang to her feet, her body shaking, torn between rage and a desperate clarity. Her steps were frantic, propelled by something fierce and uncontrollable.

"I have to go now," she said, voice raw but determined.

"W-Wait! You can't just rush into the forest without preparation—"

But Azula was already running, her anger fueling her flight.

"Asura!" Noriko's voice called out, desperate, but Azula barely heard it. The fake name she'd chosen didn't matter anymore.

Because soon, Azula would be perfect again—no matter what it cost.

Chapter Text

I've always found it curious how much hate Azula receives. People really should give her more credit—she can handle almost anything thrown her way... except, of course, the actual scenario. Personally, I'd be shattered if I had to fight against destiny itself. That's the level of pressure she's under. Also, for the sake of consistency and world logic, there won't be any random Water Tribe characters in the forest—it never really made sense for them to be there in the first place.

Book One : Family

Chapter Four : Rebirth

The air was unusually still around the Fire Nation palace, heavy with anticipation. Zuko and Mai stood in the dim torchlight of the firebending courtyard, waiting. A late-night meeting had been carefully arranged — quiet, discreet, and far from the ears of nobles and ministers. After all, summoning a bounty hunter to the palace wasn't exactly the sort of business the Fire Lord could afford to make public.

It hadn't taken much to convince Iroh to contact June on their behalf — but what did concern Zuko was the exact persuasion his uncle had used. Knowing Iroh, it was likely a mix of gold, charm, and a veiled plea for peace. Unfortunately, June had never been the type to do charity work, it did take the end of the world to have her work for free, if only she understood how dangerous Azula remained.

A gust of warm wind brushed through the courtyard as the sound of hooves and clawed paws approached. Nyla's silhouette appeared through the smoke-like mist of the late evening, her muscled frame tense and alert. June sat atop her as casually as ever, her expression unreadable under the pale moonlight.

"Well, if it isn't Prince Pouty," she drawled as she dismounted. Her smirk widened when she saw Mai. "And you found someone to match your mood. How quaint."

Mai's glare could've peeled bark off a tree. Zuko didn't bother to respond, already exhaling the long sigh of someone prepared to endure more than he wanted to.

June raised her hands, grinning. "Alright, alright, I'm just messing with you. Hard to find clients who aren't already screaming or miserable. Now—shall we talk about the assignment, or the absurd amount of money you still owe me from our first encounter?"

"Let's get this over with," Zuko muttered, brushing past her. "You never did capture the Avatar, and that was the deal. Technically, I owe you nothing."

"But?" June raised a brow.

"But I'll be generous. You'll be compensated for your effort… within reason. Now, can we get to the actual assignment?"

She snorted. "Fine, fine. You want me to find your sister, right?"

"Hold on." Mai stepped forward, her tone as dry as sandpaper. "First, we want confirmation. We need to know if she's still alive… or if she died at the asylum."

June tilted her head with mock offense."I sure hope you did not call me all the way here only to have me confirm a death. Do you also need my signature on the certificate?" Neither the Fire Lord nor his girlfriend were amused. June rolled her eyes. "Sheesh, fine. But I'm asking to be paid in advance, then."

A chest filled to the brim with gold was brought out in silence. June gave it a brief glance, then motioned for Nyla to follow her as they departed for the asylum ruins.

The journey there had been quiet, but the moment they arrived, the tension returned tenfold. The once-imposing structure had been reduced to blackened stone and smoldering rubble. The acrid stench of ash and charred flesh still clung stubbornly to the wind.

Nyla snorted and shifted, disturbed by the scent.

"It's alright, girl," June said, placing a calming hand on the shirshu's snout. "It won't take long." She turned to Zuko and held out her hand. "Now, a sample please?"

Zuko handed over Azula's royal hairpiece — a scorched but intact relic of a different life.

"Excellent," June said, holding it just beneath Nyla's nose.

Immediately, the shirshu snapped to attention, her tongue flicking with restless focus. She began pacing the edges of the ruins, snout low to the ground, zigzagging through what remained of the asylum. Mai and Zuko followed her with stiff shoulders, neither saying a word — Zuko hoping Azula was still alive, Mai likely weighing the cost of both outcomes.

Eventually, Nyla let out a snuffing sound and started moving away from the asylum itself, following a scent trail that led toward the forested distance.

"June, is she—?"

"She's gone," the bounty hunter confirmed. "Could've moved away and died, sure. But if she had died around here, your soldiers would've found a body. I'd wager she's still alive." She gave a sharp whistle, calling Nyla back. "I suppose," June added with a smirk, "my services will be extended."

Zuko turned to Mai. She gave a small, resolute nod.

"My sister escaped about a week ago. I need you to find her—preferably as soon as possible." The fire lord instructed.

June tilted her head, her tone casual but cutting. "Afraid the high and mighty might start questioning your ability to keep the conqueror of Ba Sing Se in check?"

Zuko's jaw tightened. He didn't respond. Instead, he turned sharply and made his way back toward the waiting carriage, his cloak snapping behind him with each step.

Mai lingered. She stepped closer to June, her voice low, cold, and deliberate.

"Just so there's no doubt," she said, "she doesn't have to be alive for this contract to be completed. Understood?"

June blinked, eyebrows rising slightly. That part wasn't standard. She worked both kinds of jobs, but clients didn't always say it out loud.

"If it doesn't affect the pay—"

"It won't," Mai snapped. "And if you're having doubts, I can guarantee the payout will be… consequent."

June gave a small, dry laugh. "Now that's more like it." She swung herself back onto Nyla's back and patted the creature's flank.

"Time to work, girl."

With a powerful bound, Nyla leapt forward and tore down the trail, nose to the ground, tracking the scent of a ghost the world wasn't supposed to see again.

It would only take a few days at most to find the runaway princess.

Azula ran blindly into the forest, branches clawing at her arms, roots slipping beneath her feet, but she didn't stop. The further she got from Noriko, from the warmth of a false home, the clearer her objective became. There was no room left for hesitation. The Mother of Faces awaited — and with her, Azula's power.

The forest thickened rapidly. These weren't trees she knew — not even the ancient groves of the Earth Kingdom compared. Trunks twisted unnaturally toward the sky, gnarled and veined with pale, pulsating moss. The air buzzed faintly, as if charged by something unseen.

The Forgetful Valley.

This wasn't just wilderness — it was something else entirely.

Everything was too large, too vivid. Ferns towered like shrubs, and ivy wrapped itself around trees in spirals that made her dizzy if she looked too long. The plants breathed. The forest watched.

She kept her eyes forward. Ignoring the way the bark of some trees warped into vague, sorrowful faces. Ignoring the low chittering giggles that danced at the edges of her hearing.

She stumbled once and glanced up, catching sight of her reflection in a pool of dark water — except it wasn't her. The figure in the water wore royal robes and her old crown, eyes glowing amber with cruel fire.

"You're going the wrong way."

Azula didn't blink. "You're not real."

The reflection smirked, tilting its head, revealing ... something that looked vaguely like Mai. "Neither is your throne."

She turned away sharply and kept walking.

"That's the spirit." Vaatu materialized beside her, coalescing from a swirl of smoke that trailed lazily behind her shoulder. He walked rather than floated this time, feet brushing the mossy floor without disturbing it.

"You are walking on sacred ground," he said smoothly, gesturing at the shadows around them. "Spiritual territory. The Mother of Faces has walked this path many times. It lingers in the trees, in the rivers. Even the air remembers her."

"I noticed," Azula muttered, eyes flicking to a squirrellike creature perched on a branch. Its fur was snow-white, patterned with jagged blue lines like cracks in porcelain. It blinked at her with lidless eyes.

"You are being stalked," Vaatu continued with a tone that could almost be amusement. "The creatures of this forest — they have been… touched. Warped. Her essence spills into everything here."

Azula didn't respond. A soft voice, achingly familiar, whispered in her ear.

"Zuzu only tried to help you. You should have listened."

She froze. The trees swayed, whispering her name.

Azula ground her teeth. "He tried to erase me."

The whispering stopped. A beat of silence — then the forest rustled in approval. Or laughter. It was hard to tell.

"Do not engage with illusions," Vaatu advised, strangely gentle. "This place has no shortage of regrets. It doesn't need yours too."

"I'm not afraid of them."

"No," Vaatu replied, glancing at her sidelong, "but you are haunted by them."

She marched ahead, ignoring the flicker of blue flames that appeared in the distance — a trick, a memory, a trap. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. She kept moving, until even the hallucinations grew tired of being ignored.

The valley deepened around her, swallowing the light. The air became thicker, cooler. She could hear water now — slow-moving, like a distant stream.

"She's close," Vaatu said, finally lowering his voice. "The wolf will seek a sacred pond. That is where her vessel will manifest. Be ready."

Azula clenched her fists — powerless as they were — and pressed forward.

There could be no turning back.

"These patterns on their bodies…" Azula muttered as she stepped over twisted roots and skirted a massive vine-choked boulder. Her eyes kept flicking to the strange fauna — squirrels, birds, even insects — all bearing unnatural markings: masks, faces, teardrops, howling mouths etched in fur or feathers. Eyes blinked where no eyes should be.

She tried to look away — and failed. They pulled at her attention. Hypnotic. Watching her with familiar judgment. "Is she so obsessed about facial features?" Azula whispered harshly.

"It is not obsession," Vaatu murmured, his voice low and close beside her ear. "It is expression. The forest is her canvas. These forms are fragments of all who've passed through. Memories shaped into flesh. Go further right — I can feel a strong presence."

She changed direction, pushing through a thicket of unusually tall reeds that whistled as she brushed past. "Should I expect a fight?"

"If you do not give the inhabitants a reason to see you as a threat," Vaatu replied, "you will live."

Azula narrowed her eyes but said nothing. She'd started to retort — instinctively — only to catch herself. Her breath caught in her throat. There would be no lightning, no fire to back her fury. Just words, and in this place, they were too easily twisted.

"Spirits have always been stronger than humans," Vaatu continued coolly. "And for good reason. You are bound by time, by your limited senses. Your minds are fragile. So much weakness to exploit."

Azula sneered. "Do we have a single advantage against you?"

"Oh, quite." He chuckled. "Most of you are irritatingly stubborn. And thus, remarkably resilient. But if you are not prepared to understand how a spirit operates…" His eyes gleamed, flickering violet in the dimming light. "You may find yourself in a rather unfortunate predicament."

She followed his directions, threading through thick, knotted undergrowth. With each step forward, the air seemed to deepen — heavier, denser. Her breath came slower. She could feel something now. A presence. Not overwhelming, but subtle, insistent. As though invisible threads were tugging faintly at her skin, her thoughts, her facial muscles.

She frowned suddenly — not of her own will. Her expression twitched unnaturally for a moment before she clenched her jaw and forced it into stillness.

"Assuming it goes wrong," she hissed quietly, "what are the powers of the Mother of Faces?"

"I doubt she'll dirty her hands directly," Vaatu replied. "But she commands this forest like a queen bee her hive. If things go awry, the best thing you can do is run. And do not stop."

Azula's pace slowed. A whisper rustled past her ear like wind.

"Run? That's all you're good at now."

She didn't flinch. Not even when a shadow in the corner of her eye took the shape of Ty Lee, pale and sad-eyed, dangling upside down from a tree branch.

"We forgave you," the illusion murmured. "Why couldn't you forgive us? Do you really desire to end us?"

Azula's lips pressed into a hard line. She walked faster.

Another voice echoed through the leaves — this one sharp, with a rich, cold cadence. Her mother's.

"What have you become, Azula?"

She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

"Keep moving," she growled under her breath.

Vaatu merely floated beside her in silence, watching with vague amusement.

At last, the forest began to open. Azula stepped into a clearing — a strange, perfect circle carved into the madness of the woods. The moonlight slipped through the canopy above, silvering the moss-covered stones. And there, at the center, a great pool shimmered like liquid glass, completely still.

Azula's breath caught.

"The pond," Vaatu murmured. "This is where she moves between forms. Hold now — stay out of sight. He is about to arrive."

She crouched low behind a ridge of tangled roots, narrowing her eyes toward the far end of the clearing. The hallucinations had gone still.

Something was coming.

Azula scanned the clearing with sharp eyes, brushing aside a curtain of vines that hung like drapes of living moss. Just beyond, where the trees stood thinner and further apart, she spotted movement — massive and blue, gliding silently across the forest floor.

The wolf.

"That's it?" she whispered, eyes narrowing. The creature's presence sent a tremor through the air, as though the forest itself held its breath.

"Yes," Vaatu confirmed, his voice hushed and intent. "Now all we have to do is wait for him to—"

Before he finished, the great wolf approached the still pool and paused. He sniffed the air once, twice, long and deep — and then, without a sound, turned and walked away, veering into a different trail.

"That wretched—! Go after him! Quick!"

Azula didn't hesitate. She sprinted across the clearing, her boots pounding over roots and moss, branches lashing her arms. "Did he sense me?!"

"No," Vaatu answered with something dangerously close to a chuckle. "He changed his mind at the last second. Quite exciting, don't you think? The Mother is close. The wolf will not delay their ritual further. Do not lose his trail!"

The fire princess pushed herself harder. Her legs burned with effort — she had lost strength, endurance — but rage and obsession filled the gaps where fire once had. She caught up just in time to glimpse the wolf's back as he dipped his head to drink from a second pool, nestled in another clearing like a forgotten eye in the earth.

Azula stopped short.

The wolf saw her.

He lifted his muzzle slowly, and as the water fell from his fur, ripples spread across the pool's surface — and with them, pale ethereal masks bubbled up from the depths. Dozens of them. Smiling, weeping, blank.

Then the water split.

The Mother of Faces rose like a living monolith from the center of the pool, enormous and surreal. Her form was part tree, part veil, part dream. Bark-like skin twisted with countless faces — human, animal, ancient — all shifting in and out of visibility. Long strands of moss and kelp cloaked her from the waist down, dragging along the ground in rustling reverence.

Azula instinctively stepped back. Her hands curled into fists. She had faced armies and monsters — but this was something entirely different. She felt seen in a way that was not physical.

The spirit halted only a few meters away and slowly kneeled, her many eyes — carved into the folds of wood and bark — settling on Azula with eerie precision.

"Visitors are rare in this place," the Mother intoned, her voice like wind sweeping through hollow trunks. "Respectful ones… even less."

Her words carried no warmth — only warning.

Azula straightened, shoulders tight, mouth pressed into a line. She opened her mouth—then shut it. Her instincts screamed for control, for power, for fire.

Instead, she bowed.

Not deeply — she couldn't bring herself to — but low enough to acknowledge the truth of who stood before her.

"Do not anger her," Vaatu whispered inside her thoughts. "This one is older than your nation. She has no need for mercy."

Azula bowed to the ground before the spirit, her forehead brushing the mossy floor. It was a gesture she would never offer a person — not a general, not a king, certainly not her brother — but the towering presence before her demanded something deeper than fear. Respect wasn't just strategic here. It was survival.

"I am Azula," she announced, her voice clear but subdued. "Princess of the Fire Nation. I come with no ill intent regarding your home, nor toward the beings under your protection."

The Mother of Faces did not move, yet her presence seemed to shift — an unseen pressure in the air. "That remains to be proven…" Her voice was not loud, yet it echoed in every branch and stone. "I can see it — your mind has been touched. And by the Avatar, no less."

From somewhere inside Azula's head, Vaatu grumbled. "Tchh. Do not show any fear. She won't openly support the Avatar — she knows just as well as I do the weight of what he's done."

Azula raised her head only slightly. "It's true. I was… altered. I came here seeking your knowledge. And…" she hesitated, the words catching like thorns in her throat, "I even dare say your help."

"You want me to fix what he has done," the great spirit finished for her, with eerie calm. The Mother of Faces tilted her head, studying Azula like a painting with too many layers. "There is pain in you. Deep conflict. You came here to reclaim your fire… yet I sense your fear — fear that I might succeed in your request."

Azula swallowed. She hadn't admitted that fear aloud — not even to herself.

"I may only grant one wish," the spirit continued, rising to her full, towering height. Vines coiled and shifted along her shoulders as if breathing. "However… yes. I will give you a choice."

With a movement as gentle as falling rain, the Mother of Faces extended a limb — not quite a hand — and laid it softly against Azula's cheek.

The fire princess flinched, but did not pull away.

"You are the daughter of Ursa," the spirit whispered. "You inherited her sharpness… her sorrow." Her many carved eyes seemed to dim, flickering inward as if recalling a dream. "It feels as though it happened just yesterday…"

Suddenly, the forest changed.

From the mist and light, a vision began to form in the air beside Azula — an illusion, or a memory sculpted by spirit power. A projection like smoke and moonlight coalesced into the silhouette of a woman. She walked slowly through the woods — tall, graceful, with long black hair spilling behind her. She wore simple Earth Kingdom robes, and though her posture was elegant, her steps faltered, like someone not entirely whole.

Azula recognized her instantly.

"Mother?" she whispered, instinctively taking a step forward — but her foot found only mist.

"She came to me," the spirit said, "wearing a face not unlike yours. She sought freedom — from pain, from regret, from the burden of her memories." Another image flickered — Ursa again, kneeling before the spirit just as Azula had done. "She asked for a new face, and with it… I took her memories. She welcomed the erasure of her past."

The vision wavered — Ursa's face blurred, melted into a different one entirely. A new identity. The woman turned and walked deeper into the woods, vanishing like dew.

The Mother of Faces withdrew her hand. "And now, you stand where she once did."

Azula's throat tightened. The forest was quiet — too quiet. Even Vaatu was silent for once.

"Here is your choice, daughter of Ursa. I can grant you your fire — the power stolen from you, piece by piece. Or…"

The Mother of Faces lowered her voice, every word a thunderclap beneath the calm.

"…I can tell you the name your mother took after she became a stranger to you."

Azula said nothing. But her fists trembled.

The Mother of Faces stood patiently, her presence vast and unmoving, yet still somehow watching Azula with quiet intensity. Around her, the forest stirred — leaves rustling with no wind, faint faces flickering in the bark of distant trees.

Azula's breathing grew shallow.

One choice.

One path forward.

But two different losses.

Fire, the part of her that burned insisted — her legacy, her identity, her weapon. Without it, she was half-alive.

But the other half — the child — couldn't stop staring into the space where the illusion of Ursa had vanished.

Then, Vaatu's voice thundered inside her skull like a storm cracking over the mountains.

"It's a trick!" he spat. "Take back your fire, Princess. She only seeks to pacify the Avatar, to avoid his wrath by keeping you weak! She knows she cannot deny your wish, not without consequence—"

Azula trembled. Her fingers clenched in the damp grass.

The words she spoke next came not from certainty, but from a place much deeper — from ache, from longing.

"…Tell me about my mother."

Vaatu's voice fell silent — not out of approval, but out of disgust.

The great spirit did not hesitate.

"I offered her a new face… but also a new mind. She wished to remember only Ikem — her lover — and to forget everything else that bound her to her past life." She paused, but only for a moment. "She asked to forget her children."

Azula flinched, staggering back.

The words hit like a slap across the face.

Without a word, the Mother of Faces lifted her branch-like arm.

The mist thickened.

Out of it stepped Ursa — no, Noriko — walking through the trees like a dream. Her movements were soft, kind, familiar. She turned toward Azula, her face warm, and so unlike the woman she remembered.

Azula gasped. Her body locked. "No… no, you—" Her voice cracked. "You must be lying."

More illusions surged forth now — flickers of Noriko holding Kiyi, laughing beside Noren, then Ursa, turning away from a child in royal red.

"You want to hurt me!" Azula screamed, hands raised like claws at nothing. "You're doing this on purpose—!"

But the Mother of Faces didn't move to strike. She recoiled ever so slightly, not in fear, but in empathy.

"I cannot speak for Ursa's intentions," she said, gently. "But you are right about one thing — Noriko and Ursa are no longer the same. When I altered her, the person you once knew… ceased to be. Her soul remains, yes — but her spirit is different. She is not the mother you remember."

Azula dropped to her knees.

She was crying.

Not the tears of rage she was known for — but the broken sobs of a child who had finally accepted the truth.

"You mean… she's really gone?"

"With me, the one becomes many," the Mother of Faces replied. "Ursa is no more, if that is what you fear."

Azula barely nodded, her body sagging under invisible weight. She had expected clarity. Revenge. A purpose.

But now she was only tired.

So tired.

The wolf spirit had returned, standing silently by its master's side.

"I must go," the great spirit intoned, her voice quieter now. "The forest stirs. Be cautious on your way out of my domain, daughter of fire."

Azula's lips trembled, and through her sobs, she forced out the only words that came to her mind.

"…Th-thank you."

Once the Mother of Faces dissolved back into the pool, her towering form folding into mist and fading beneath the still surfaceS She was alone again. Surrounded not by enemies, not by ghosts, but by silence as it reclaimed the forest.

That was when Vaatu stepped forward, emerging like a fracture in the air itself — tall, serpentine, his tendrils curling with suppressed agitation.

"Why?" he hissed, his voice low but thunderous with disbelief. "Why did you let go of this opportunity? You could have had everything you wanted."

Azula stood with her back to him, her spine rigid, her fists still trembling. "I… I needed to know," she whispered.

Vaatu's form darkened, the forest behind him rippling like heat over flame. "That your mother is alive? Oh, of course. And now what? You'll crawl back to your little shack, cling to that impostor who doesn't even remember you? You'll fall into that vicious cycle of hallucinations and emotional delusion again, and for what? Are you satisfied now?"

Azula didn't answer right away.

She looked up through the canopy at the sky — at the moonlight filtering through the gnarled branches. For once, it felt clear. Not heavy. Not like judgment.

"I can't feel her anymore," she said quietly.

Vaatu paused. "What?"

"She's gone." Her voice cracked — but her smile didn't. It stretched wider, contorting into something bitter and triumphant. "Ursa is gone."

And then she laughed.

She laughed like fire — wild, reckless, louder than the spirits, louder than the dead trees. Her laughter echoed off the forest walls like a war drum.

"SHE IS FINALLY GONE!"

Vaatu said nothing, the crackling darkness around his body fading into unreadable stillness.

"I had such high hopes," he said after a moment, almost to himself. "You were so close to becoming complete again… a flame sharpened by pain. Do you still intend to reclaim your fire?"

Azula shook her head. "I don't think so."

She turned, and this time her steps were light. Lighter than they had been in years.

"Noriko was right. Maybe I don't need it. Maybe I already have everything I need."

Vaatu's form loomed behind her, shrinking only slightly, almost like a beast recoiling in confusion. "You would cast aside everything? Your birthright, your throne, your vengeance?"

Azula didn't stop walking. Her voice was distant but clear.

"I'm not your weapon, Vaatu. I never was."

He surged forward slightly. "And what will you be without me? A shadow? A half-being? You are severed from your true self. There will be consequences, Azula. The universe does not favor imbalance."

She waved him off with one hand, never once looking back.

"Find someone else to do your bidding."

And with that, she left him behind — a phantom among forgotten trees.

The air in the forest felt lighter.

But behind her, the darkness held its breath.

When everyone woke up the next day, Noriko found herself in quite a predicament. The questions came fast and relentless—where was Asura? What had happened to her? The only answer she could offer to quell their growing worry was a fragile one: "She went for a long walk to clear her mind. She said she'd return soon."

But that only seemed to make things worse.

By almost noon, Noren gently pulled Noriko aside, away from the others' ears. They had been delaying their move, holding out hope for Azula's return, but she still hadn't come back. His voice was low but edged with concern. "Where did she go? What if she had another attack, or got ambushed by bandits, or—"

Noriko's chest tightened, and regret gnawed at her for letting Azula go without pushing harder to keep her from venturing into the forest. "She's strong, Noren. I know where she went. And I think she doesn't want to be followed... She needs time. You know how I've been since we left... Please, trust me on this."

Noren exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as if trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "Noriko, it's—the forest is dangerous. I don't know what to say. If she really goes through with this… she might not return at all."

She looked at him, her eyes steady but weighted. "I know. But it's her choice. Was it ever mine?"

Noren remained silent, the memories he held unspoken lingering heavily between them.

"She will come back changed," Noriko continued softly, "that's a fact. We'll just have to deal with the details when she does. For now, maybe you should take the girls out. They need a distraction."

He nodded, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders. "Right... I'll take them to the theater, maybe get them into acting. That should help," he said with a weak attempt at a smile.

Before leaving, Noren leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Noriko's forehead—a silent reassurance—then turned away.

Noriko stayed still for a moment, watching the door close behind him, the weight of the unknown settling deeper in her chest. Her ears caught the soft footsteps entering the next room. She recognized the familiar weight—Kiyi. "How much did you hear?" she asked quietly, prompting her daughter to come out into the kitchen.

Kiyi padded over and wrapped her small arms tightly around Noriko's waist. "Why did Asura go into the forest?" she asked, her voice small and uncertain.

Noriko knelt down, brushing a stray lock of hair from Kiyi's face. "Asura had to go because she felt very sick."

"Because of us?" Kiyi's big eyes searched her mother's.

"No, Kiyi, no. Sometimes people just need to be alone for a little while. Asura will be back very soon, I'm sure of it. How about you go play with your father and the girls? Asura would definitely not want to come home to find you crying, right?"

A small giggle escaped Kiyi, and with a nod, she scampered off, her footsteps light and quick as she ran out of the house.

Noriko exhaled, the knot of worry tightening in her chest. She silently hoped Asura would indeed return.

She moved to the counter and opened a drawer, pulling out a knife. With four extra mouths to feed now, cooking had become a far more exhausting task. She was in the middle of peeling a potato when soft footsteps echoed through the quiet house. Each step was careful, almost hesitant. Noriko paused, listening intently, then turned slowly, spotting Azula standing just behind her.

"Have you found what you were looking for?" Noriko asked gently, her voice low, wary.

Azula's shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of her words heavy. "Not exactly." She hesitated before continuing, "I was offered two choices and... instead of my fire, I asked about my mother."

Noriko set the knife down with a soft clink on the counter, feeling an ache settle deep in her chest. She avoided Asura's gaze, unable to meet those conflicted eyes. "What... what did you learn?"

Asura's voice was almost a whisper, steady but distant. "That she is gone... she won't torment me anymore."

Noriko's breath hitched. For the first time, she spoke the name she'd long avoided. "I'm sorry about your fire, Azula."

There was a fragile pause before Asura responded, a faint, almost bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. "Don't be. I guess it's only a fair trade." Suddenly, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Noriko. "I found my real mother."

"Oh, Azula—" Noriko's voice broke, emotion flooding her words.

"Please," Azula interrupted softly, pulling back just enough to look into Noriko's eyes, "I don't think I want to be that anymore. I like Asura better. She's a happier person, don't you think?"

Noriko's eyes softened as she reached out, gently cupping her daughter's cheek. "Then I'll try not to disappoint her." Turning, she pulled Asura into a warm, steadying hug, knowing how much she needed it right now. "You really did pick your time to return. Everyone had gone out to clear their minds—you gave us quite the scare."

Asura managed a small laugh, the tension easing from her shoulders. "Yes, I... I saw them on my way back. Sorry, I got lost in the forest. A guide for the return would've been quite useful."

Noriko chuckled softly, a spark of lightness returning. "How about you help me with the food? It's only fair if we make a large feast—we have a lot to celebrate today."

Asura's eyes gleamed with playful mischief. "Us moving to a bigger house?"

Noriko nodded, her smile warm. "And you coming back, I suppose."

"And Asura's birthday," her daughter added quietly.

"Oh... yes, that sounds good." Noriko's voice was tender, hopeful.

When the others finally returned, Azula was ready for just about anything. Ningka pretended not to care but her eyes betrayed a flicker of concern. Chiyou rolled her eyes and called her a drama queen, while Zirin clung to her shoulder with quiet tears, just as Kiyi pressed herself against Azula's leg, sniffing softly.

"Did you all realize I was gone for only half a day?" Azula asked, raising an eyebrow with a half-smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, you didn't warn anyone!" Zirin scolded, voice sharp but not unkind.

Azula tried to defend herself, voice steady but cautious. "Noriko was aware."

"Yes, but you didn't tell all of us!" Kiyi echoed, her tone mimicking Zirin's scolding as she crossed her arms, clearly enjoying the moment.

Azula shrugged, a wry smile curling her lips. "If I told you, would you have been less worried? Or perhaps you would have preferred to go on a boring walk around the beach."

They didn't need to know she'd been in the forest.

"Why not?" Chiyou chimed in with a mischievous grin. "We could have played beach ball together or built sandcastles."

Kiyi nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

Azula sighed and lifted her chin, the weight of the moment settling in her chest. "Fine then." She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I apologize for worrying all of you. I apologize for leaving without notice… and I apologize for having been generally… rude to all of you." Her gaze softened as it met Noriko's. "I'm trying to be a better person. I think we all are. It's just really hard for me to act… act like a normal person. But I hope I'm getting better at it. And—I really want to make it work. All of us. Together." Her voice wavered slightly but grew stronger. "It's probably going to be weird and hard, but I've dealt with more complex things in my life, so chances are it will be a success."

Zirin puffed out her cheeks and then burst into laughter, rolling onto her back on the floor with an exaggerated flourish. "Talk about being serious! You should try acting — you'd have great success, Sura."

Azula, still wearing a hint of her usual deadpan, retorted, "So much for being honest."

Noren chuckled and nodded in agreement. "That sounds like a good idea. You should all try out for the next play—Love Amongst Dragons."

"I'll skip," Ningka said with a smirk, crossing her arms. "I have about as much emotion as a clam-crab."

"Uh, same here…" Chiyou mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck, avoiding eye contact. "I-I don't like attention."

Zirin glanced at Azula with expectant eyes, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. Azula sighed in resignation, a small smile breaking through her guarded expression. "Fine, fine, I'll give it a try."

Despite the reluctance in her voice, Azula felt a small flicker of excitement. She had told Noriko she never really had the chance to pursue an actual hobby before. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to try something new—maybe even fun.

After leaving the houses of the other actors from the Hira'a troupe who had been hosting them until now, Noren and Noriko led all the children to what would be their new home. The house reminded Azula of the royal family's beach house on Ember Island — the layout was similar, but this one had two floors and more rooms to accommodate everyone. She wasn't opposed to having her own personal space once more.

The inner courtyard was spacious enough for firebending exercises, although Azula suspected Kiyi might prefer practicing out in the grassfields nearby. The living room was furnished with a table large enough to seat all of them comfortably.

Azula lingered in the kitchen for a moment, while Noren continued the tour with the others. Noriko remained with her. "Do you like it?" she asked quietly.

"It's bigger," Azula admitted softly. "I'm sorry for your old house."

Noriko shrugged with a small smile. "It was just bricks and wood."

"No… surely you had good memories there, right?"

"I did," Noriko replied thoughtfully. "And I plan to make even better ones here."

Azula hesitated, then asked, "How… how much did it cost?"

"Don't bother with the price, dear. It was worth it. It's even closer to the sea. I'm sure if I do end up having grandchildren, they'll quietly take good care of it for themselves." Noriko moved to the window and gazed out toward the ocean. "It's a wonderful thought, isn't it? To imagine your family knowing happiness in the future. How do you see yourself in a few years?"

Azula looked down, frowning slightly. "I don't really know. I guess the future isn't my main concern. I'm more worried about the present."

"I sure hope the present is not looking grim then," Noriko said softly, her eyes flickering toward Azula with a hint of cautious optimism.

"No, no, it's not." Azula replied, turning around slowly to take another broad look at the kitchen—the worn wooden table, the shelves lined with jars of herbs, the soft morning light spilling through the window. Her fingers brushed along the counter as if reacquainting herself with the space. "Do you have anything in mind to inaugurate everything?"

"Everything?" Noriko's brow furrowed in mild confusion.

"The house, your family sort of getting larger, this kitchen…" Azula gestured vaguely around the room, her tone thoughtful.

Noriko smiled gently, a small laugh escaping her lips. "Hmmm… How about smoked sea slug?"

Azula raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. "I guess it really is a special day." Her voice carried warmth, though the dish was not expensive; it was usually savored by the middle and upper classes. Their proximity to the sea made it reasonably accessible. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I should take note of everything; I might need to teach someone eventually."

"It's not witchcraft," Noriko chuckled, shaking her head with a playful glint in her eyes. "Though if you wish, I could teach you."

Azula's expression shifted into mild curiosity. "...Witchcraft?"

"Oh, no, I meant… well, I suppose that was from… before." Noriko waved a hand as if brushing off an old ghost. "I know how to use a few plants for medicine—it comes in handy when cooking too. I try to teach Kiyi whenever the occasion presents itself." Her voice softened with affection at the mention of her daughter.

Azula laughed quietly, a rare sound of ease. She glanced around again, as if seeing the kitchen—and maybe this new life—with fresh eyes. "Then let's get started."

Noriko nodded, stepping toward the cabinet to fetch a couple of aprons. The gentle clatter of dishes and the soft rustle of fabric filled the cozy kitchen as they prepared to cook side by side.

Night draped its heavy cloak over the Fire Nation, the forest darkening beneath the silver glow of the moon. The Mother of Faces had finished her careful circuit of the sacred groves, her great, vine-cloaked form moving slowly toward the nearest pool to rest. But then, a sudden chill prickled her ancient senses—a sickening presence that twisted the air around her.

One she knew all too well.

"It cannot be…" Her voice, low and steady, carried the weight of centuries. Without hesitation, she stepped off the beaten trail, pushing past thick underbrush and weaving through gnarled trees. Her fears took shape between the shadows: there stood the Exiled One.

"Vaatu," she said, voice sharp as a blade.

The dark spirit smirked, the flicker of arrogance evident even in the moonlight. "You still remember my name—I am impressed. It has indeed been more than ten thousand years. Though, I wonder if you still remember your own."

The Mother of Faces straightened, roots twisting beneath her cloak as the forest around her seemed to awaken. Dozens, maybe hundreds, of animals and plants surged forward, their bodies marked with strange patterns, to encircle Vaatu in a living fortress.

Vaatu sighed, a sound heavy with disdain. "Do you really wish to start a fight now? I am not exactly in the mood for a good old wrestling match between great spirits. And unless you've failed to notice, your domain remains untouched." In a blur, he appeared directly before her, his dark eyes inches from her ancient face.

"But if it is a conflict you seek," he continued, voice low and menacing. "Here is a single piece of advice for each of your servants: let someone else try first."

As his words hung in the air, the Mother of Faces watched in quiet horror as the creatures she guarded visibly shuddered, recoiling as if gripped by invisible chains of fear. The power of Vaatu's presence invaded their minds.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her voice now tinged with anger. "I had nothing to do with your imprisonment." The tension between them thickened, the forest holding its breath in the balance.

"You believe I seek revenge?" Vaatu stepped back, giving the Mother of Faces a moment of breathing space, though his eyes still burned with a dark intensity. "What I am seeking is none of your concern, Gexin."

She fixed him with a fierce glare. "Do not use my name so casually."

"Fine, Mother." Vaatu replied with an exaggerated sigh, exasperation dripping from his voice. "I simply came to confirm one thing… in the future, will you pick a side?"

"If you do not provide more information, I am afraid I cannot give you an answer."

Vaatu's smile twisted into a bitter laugh, uneven and uneasy. "You know what Raava has done, everyone knows. Yet it seems nobody wishes to take action. You are all about to vanish from existence, and what you worry about is the integrity of what little parcel you can still cling to… really, I—sometimes I wonder if we deserve anything at all."

"The situation is—"

"Not under control!" Vaatu snapped, his voice erupting in a terrifying cacophony that echoed through the trees. For a moment, the force of his words seemed to shake the very forest. Then, slowly, he took a breath and softened, his tone turning almost pleading. "Please… for once, I am trying to help. I care very little about Raava's ineptitudes and nonsense. All I am trying to achieve here is continuity. So… will you surrender yourself to fate? Or do you plan on standing your ground?"

Gexin, the Mother of Faces, stood silent, her vast form silhouetted by the pale moonlight filtering through the branches. The weight of centuries settled in her voice as she finally spoke. "It has been so long since we separated ourselves from humans… and yet, they still hurt us so much."

"You did not choose that, it was Raava. What you all missed back then," Vaatu's voice lowered, heavy with disdain, "was the fact that humans are born stupid. They have far less time than us to learn before returning to the great cycle. I am breaking my own rules, and I hope it will be worth it. I do not ask that you stand with me—I am just asking that you do not help Raava."

Gexin remained motionless, her many faces unreadable in the moonlight.

Vaatu took a slow step back, his dark eyes flickering with a hint of something almost like curiosity. "I will leave your domain now… though, I wonder—what do you think about her?"

"Who?" Gexin's voice was calm but carried an edge of suspicion.

"The one who carries Sozin's blood. She is an interesting case, don't you think?"

The great spirit's twisted visage turned sharply toward him. "...Did you bring her here?"

Vaatu's lips curled into a shadow of a smile. "It would have been simpler if you had just given her back her fire."

"What game are you playing, Vaatu? Don't you think this girl has suffered enough?"

"You are right about that. I concede it," he said with a rare note of respect. "However, if she forgets her pain for too long, she will become much more vulnerable than she ever was when misfortune finds her again."

"Yes… but it is what she wanted. I respect honest choices. Had she chosen fire over her own heart, I would have provided it anyway. Free will is a power that nobody should tarnish, don't you think?"

Vaatu's eyes darkened for a moment, then he nodded slowly. "Against my goal, I do… She will return to me, eventually."

Without another word, the dark spirit turned and vanished into the shadows of the forest, leaving the Mother of Faces alone beneath the ancient trees, her many faces reflecting the moonlight with a silent, troubled grace.

June and Nila had followed the princess's trail all the way to a small town perched right along the shoreline. As soon as June caught sight of the ocean's shimmering expanse, a flicker of certainty passed over her features—she knew exactly which direction the princess had taken. If Azula had already left the continent, the chase would grow far more complicated. But for now…

June strode purposefully toward the docks, weaving through the salty air and the chatter of fishermen. She leaned casually against a weathered post and began gathering information. It didn't take long—the local guards and sailors, loosened by a few coins from the interest prince grumpy and his girlfriend, began spilling details about their dull lives over drinks.

One recently demoted guard's tale stood out: a group of unknown girls had "tricked" him, leading to an unfair punishment by his platoon leader. On that same night, a fishing boat vanished without a trace. According to the guard, it was "no fit to go into open waters."

So Azula was still on the continent—perfect. This meant Nila wouldn't be chasing shadows or wasting time on "false positives," as some might call it.

Feeling satisfied with the haul of information, June purchased extra food for herself and Nila—perhaps a few treats for her loyal shirshu—and then set off, heading further east along the coast.

With a sly smirk, she murmured, "You're making this too easy, little princess…"

It was Kiyi's second firebending lesson, and the girl was just as ecstatic as the first time. Azula shared that feeling — what could be better than releasing the very essence of oneself in a controlled blaze?

People often spoke of an illness affecting firebenders who went too long without bending: fever, shivering, lung rot… Azula approached those rumors cautiously, relying on her own experience. She had never actually seen anyone suffer from such a condition, but in her current state, the idea didn't sound appealing at all.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Zirin appeared for firebending practice—once again shirtless, just as she had instructed the others the day before—and looked at Azula expectantly, signaling for the familiar ritual to begin.

"Right…" Azula obliged, peeling off her own shirt. "Today we're doing breathing exercises. And no, it's not optional—it's more like a spoiler." She aimed the comment at Kiyi specifically. "You need to learn how to breathe properly, and it's going to be boring."

Kiyi tilted her head to the side, confused. "Breathing? … I'm doing that all the time, aren't I?"

Azula smirked. "You breathe to live, but you don't breathe to bend. There's a big difference. Imagine a furnace: to keep its fire going, you need wood, airflow, and to keep it clean. And if you want it to burn stronger—"

"I need a bellows!" Kiyi interrupted, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.

"Oh, we have a winner today," Zirin applauded with a teasing grin. "You wouldn't believe how many people can't do breathing exercises right, and end up throwing fire around like a weak, uncontrollable mess."

Azula nodded at her makeshift teaching assistant. "There are two ways to train your breath. For the next hour, we'll start with this—" She held up a couple of candles. "You'll light them and keep the flames steady until they burn out. Focus on them. Any flicker means you lost concentration or your breathing was irregular."

"Will you be doing the exercise with us?" Kiyi asked eagerly, her eyes shining with hope.

Zirin glanced at the little girl with a flicker of concern. "Kiyi, hum… Asura is not—" She quickly looked over at Azula, silently asking for guidance. "So—sometimes firebenders just aren't in the mood to… to bend, you know? They need days off?"

Kiyi frowned, unconvinced by the excuse, and fixed her gaze on Azula for a long, searching moment. Then, with her expression unreadable, she said, "Okay, let's get started."

The exercise began smoothly enough, at least for Zirin. Kiyi, however, was restless—her attention kept drifting, and Azula had to point it out more than once. When it came time to end the exercise, Kiyi abruptly stood up.

"I want to stop for today," she declared, already stepping away.

"Wait, I still have things planned—are you tired or—" Azula reached out, trying to stop her.

Kiyi spun around sharply, almost snapping, "I'm fine. I just don't want to continue today."

Azula froze, unsure how to respond. A crushing weakness settled over her—not from the absence of fire, but from a deeper sense that the magic she had kindled in Kiyi was flickering out, like a candle burning down to its last ember.

Zirin stepped closer and gently took Azula's hand. "Can we talk? I think it's better if you tell me first before you tell her."

"There's nothing to say." Azula tried to pull away, but her grip slackened as her own words echoed in her mind. She was trying to get better… "I—I can't say it. Not even you would believe me anyway."

"Sura…" Zirin's voice was low and firm, laced with something heavier than concern—memory. "Me and the others… we've seen some messed up things. I was your neighbor, remember? The night we broke out—I got glimpses of what you did to the guards… Do you even remember what happened?"

Azula looked down, her jaw tight, her arms crossing as if to brace herself. "...No."

"Right…" Zirin exhaled, her tone wavering for the first time. "Let's just say I don't think any normal human can handle four to six masses of muscle on their own."

Azula's eyes narrowed slightly, haunted. Did I do that? "…What else did you see?"

Zirin hesitated, her fingers twitching at her side. "There was this… strange blue glow. I remember your screams echoing through the halls like someone was jamming nails into your skull." She swallowed. "Your fire isn't just gone because you're not 'in the mood,' is it?"

"I can't, Zirin." Azula's voice cracked. She hated how weak it sounded. "I can't do it anymore. Not ever. I—"

"No. No no no and no." Zirin threw her hands up and then jabbed a finger toward the road. "If you're going to talk like that, we are going somewhere calm."

Azula blinked at her. "You aren't going to attack me, are you?"

Zirin smirked. "Only if you consider hugs physical harm."

She would have, once. But not anymore. Hugs weren't weakness—they were... strange, warm, centering. They made her sick and safe at the same time. And she always felt a little less lost afterward.

Zirin turned, already heading toward the path. "You, me, to the beach. Now."

The sea was quiet that day, as if the ocean itself had lowered its voice to let the conversation unfold undisturbed. The sun cast a pale gold shimmer across the water, and the beach, deserted, stretched out like a smooth canvas beneath their feet. Zirin and Azula sat side by side in the sand, backs slightly hunched, knees pulled close. The wind tugged lazily at their hair, warm and heavy with salt.

"You… the princess." Zirin broke the silence softly, still trying to piece it all together.

Azula didn't look at her. She kept her eyes on the horizon. "Yes. I'm pathetic, right?"

Zirin scoffed lightly, shaking her head. "Your story might be worth an actual epic—if someone bothered to write it."

Azula's lips curled, faint and bitter. "You're welcome to. You've gathered most of the details. People like it when stories feel authentic—fidelity to truth makes the lies more palatable."

Zirin furrowed her brow. "The Avatar is an actual monster."

Azula drew a slow breath and exhaled through her nose, her fingers curling and uncurling into the sand. "They're just a child. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. I doubt they even think twice about who's on the receiving end of their so-called balance. In wartime I might've understood it, but now? What they did to me—it was no different from cutting off a limb."

Her voice cracked slightly, and she buried her feet deeper into the sand, as if grounding herself against the memories rising in her chest. "I just— I wanted to help her. But what would she think if she knew that— that I can't even—"

Zirin cut in gently. "I don't think she'd care. She'd still see you as her cool big sister."

"I'd make a terrible sister," Azula muttered, the admission stiff in her throat. "I should know."

Zirin leaned back on her palms, letting her head tip toward the sky. "You taught her how to make her first flames, didn't you? That's as important as her first steps. Or her first words. Azu—Asura, listen… if I were you, I'd just come clean. It doesn't matter if you can't bend fire. You've got nothing to be ashamed of. You're still—by every measure—the best teacher she'll ever have."

Azula's eyes narrowed, as if uncertain whether to believe it. Her voice was barely a whisper. "But I lied… I always lie."

"You told me the truth," Zirin said quietly, tilting her head to meet Azula's gaze. "That counts."

For a moment, the princess just stared at her, something unreadable in her eyes.

Zirin hesitated, then asked gently, "Do you plan on telling the others?"

Azula looked down, watching a small tide roll up the sand and brush against her toes. "...Maybe one day. For now, I don't want to complicate things. Not more than they already are."

Zirin nodded, then leaned closer, her voice more direct. "Can I trust you to at least talk to Kiyi?"

Azula didn't answer immediately. Her golden eyes remained fixed on the waves

Lunch came and Kiyi had still not left her room, even after Noriko called her for the third time. Worry laced her voice as she looked toward the hallway. "What is wrong with that child?" she muttered—not with anger, but with genuine concern, so unlike Ursa's cold scolding.

Azula, who had been quietly washing her hands and removing her apron after helping in the kitchen, caught the note of tension. She dried her fingers on a cloth and approached Noriko with a calm, decisive look. "Our firebending session didn't go well… I'll go and talk to her. Can you keep our plates warm?"

Noriko hesitated, then gave a gentle nod. "Take your time."

Kiyi had claimed one of the quieter bedrooms at the back of the house—the one with a broad view of the distant treetops and the edge of the village below. The soft amber glow that had shimmered above the forest the night before—heralding the Mother of Faces' passage—was gone now, not to return until the week's end. A subtle melancholy had settled over the hills like fog.

Azula stood outside the door a moment, then knocked. Silence. She waited. Nothing.

She opened the door anyway.

Inside, the light filtering through the thin paper windowpanes cast long, golden lines across the room. Kiyi was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her favorite doll tucked in tightly between her knees. Her head didn't turn, but her voice was low and steady.

"I didn't say you could come in."

Azula knocked at the door. When there was no answer, she paused only a moment before gently pushing it open. The room was dim, bathed in soft afternoon light filtering through the window. Kiyi sat curled up on her bed, her doll cradled tightly between her legs. She didn't look up.

"I didn't say you could get in," she muttered, her voice small but pointed.

"You didn't tell me to stay out either," Azula replied as she stepped in. Her tone was soft, unusually careful. "I would have gone through anyway."

Kiyi turned her head, refusing to meet her gaze.

"I… I have a few things to tell you," Azula said, remaining by the doorway at first.

"You're not a firebender," Kiyi cut in, almost immediately. Her voice trembled with hurt more than anger. "You lied."

Azula flinched slightly. "No, I— I'm not. Not anymore. It's not something I'm really proud of."

Kiyi's lips pressed into a thin line. "Adults always lie. They try to tell you everything's fine when it's not." She tightened her hold on her doll. "I'm not stupid. I can understand these things."

"I didn't lie to protect you," Azula said, stepping closer. "I did it because I hate when people think I'm weak… or broken, or whatever else they imagine."

Kiyi finally looked up at her. Her expression wasn't angry anymore—just wounded.

"The truth is… if I could firebend again, I don't think I'd be any happier than I am now."

Kiyi's voice was quieter now. "How did you lose your fire?"

Azula sat slowly at the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the space between them. "Well… a very bad spirit caught me at my lowest. Someone asked them to take my bending because they thought I was too dangerous."

"You can't firebend anymore," Kiyi repeated, softer this time, like testing the words aloud.

"…No," Azula confirmed, and the word stung more than she expected.

A silence followed—fragile and heavy. Azula didn't rush to fill it. She simply sat there, close enough to reach out but far enough to give Kiyi the choice.

"I saw it during the session," Kiyi finally said. "You weren't guiding me. You were just watching."

Azula nodded slowly. "Because I couldn't show you. Not properly."

Kiyi's eyes began to shine with unshed tears. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Azula looked down, her voice nearly a whisper. "Because I didn't want to lose the way you looked at me… like I was someone who mattered."

Kiyi blinked hard. Her small voice trembled. "You still matter. But you… you're supposed to be the best. You said bending was about control, discipline, focus…"

"It is. And I still know those things," Azula replied. She reached down, touching the wooden floor with her fingertips as if to steady herself. "But what they took from me doesn't change what I can teach you."

Both girls remained silent for a moment, the kind of pause that wasn't heavy but thoughtful. Kiyi glanced sideways at Azula, her voice hesitant, almost reverent.

"You were that strong?"

Azula turned her gaze to the window briefly, where the light was dimming into golden streaks across the wood floor. She spoke with neither pride nor regret—just truth.

"I was the greatest firebender to ever live," she said softly. "I had such fine control over my flames, they turned blue."

Kiyi's eyes widened. "Blue?" she repeated in disbelief, the awe written plainly across her face.

Azula allowed herself a small, bittersweet smile and took the chance to slide closer, settling on the edge of the bed beside her. "I could also bend lightning," she added with casual finality, like it was just another line in her biography.

Kiyi's mouth dropped slightly. "No way."

"Yes way." Azula chuckled at Kiyi's expression, seeing right through the girl's failed attempt to hide her excitement behind a shrug. "It's not something every firebender can do. It takes more than power—it takes control. You have to separate every conflicting thought in your mind, divide the positive from the negative, like pulling threads apart. That imbalance in your chi… if you isolate it just right, it causes a powerful deflagration. You guide it through your body, like threading lightning through a needle."

Kiyi sat up straighter, her eyes glittering. "Could you teach me?!"

Azula paused, her expression softening. "Well… maybe one day," she said carefully. "But it's really dangerous. Even with all the theory, if you make the smallest mistake—like if you direct the current into your legs instead of your arms—"

Kiyi winced, her mouth twisting into a grimace. "Boom?"

"Boom," Azula confirmed with a raised eyebrow.

The younger girl went quiet for a beat, the weight of her ambition tempered by the very real danger. Then she tilted her head, curiosity still alight in her eyes.

"…So, how does it feel?" she asked. "Having a lightning bolt move through you?"

Azula leaned back a little, thinking. "It's like… holding your breath during a storm. Everything goes quiet. Your mind empties, your heart stops, and for a second… you're weightless." She looked at Kiyi with a rare glimmer of nostalgia. "Then, in a flash, it's gone—but the air remembers it was there."

Kiyi's lips parted slightly in wonder, and she slowly hugged her knees to her chest. "You really were amazing…"

Azula blinked at that—something in her chest caught for a second. No sarcasm. No fear. Just genuine admiration.

"…Thanks," she said at last, almost too softly for Kiyi to hear.

"You… You are a wonderful firebender, Kiyi," Azula said, her voice low but clear, the words deliberate as if she were choosing each one with care. "You pick up on our lessons quickly, you know how to listen… and more importantly, you already understand how to control your emotions."

She paused, just long enough for a shadow of a memory to pass through her mind—Zuko, wild and impulsive, flaring with rage before thinking. She could still see him charging into their Agni Kai with more emotion than precision. There was a reason I won, she reminded herself. There was a reason he lost.

"It must be an… hereditary trait," Azula added, smirking faintly, amused by the irony. Something Zuko clearly hadn't inherited from either of their parents.

"Hereditary?" Kiyi asked, brow furrowed. "Like hair color?"

Azula blinked. "Uh… Yes," she agreed, shifting slightly on the bed. "Like hair color."

"Oh! I forgot!" Kiyi suddenly sprang to her feet and darted to a wooden chest near the window, throwing the lid open with a creak. A jumble of dolls, handmade toys, and little trinkets spilled into view as she rummaged excitedly.

"There!" she exclaimed, pulling something from beneath a pile of ribbons. She turned and held up a doll toward Azula, beaming with pride. "This is Asura! She's the coolest big sister in the world."

Azula reached out and gently took the doll, she had not quite paid attention to Kiyi's world, she had been to focused on analysing the object. The fabric was rough in places, the stitching uneven—but the effort was unmistakable. The doll's hair had been trimmed short, styled in a way that sent a soft jolt through Azula's chest. The cut was unmistakably hers. "…Who is this?" she asked, though the answer came as no surprise.

Kiyi grinned from ear to ear. "I told you! It's Asura."

The fire princess gave a quiet, puffed laugh and brushed her fingers along the doll's uneven bangs. "If you say she is, she must be," she said, her voice touched with warmth. "I like her haircut."

"I did it myself!" Kiyi declared proudly, bouncing on her heels. "It worked better this time!"

She looked up at Azula with wide, hopeful eyes, the kind that could disarm any defense.

"Can we play together?" she asked.

Azula hesitated for only a moment—just long enough to recognize the strange, fluttering warmth in her chest—before nodding.

"After lunch, sure," she said. "We should go before it gets cold."

Kiyi grabbed her hand without hesitation, and together they walked toward the kitchen, they had not noticed how both dolls had ended up next to each others on Kiyi's bed after being discarded.

Chapter Text

We're getting to the part where Zuko gets personally involved — finally! Also, I guess it's time to slap on the political tag… right after I deal with the underage drinking tag (kind of… but come on, they were already child soldiers, so we're way past that line anyway).

And hey — a long-awaited return! A certain character who's been locked in the Bad Time Corner for a whole year is finally back. Cheers, everyone.

Oh — and to my American readers: Happy 4th of July! I hope you're doing well (no sarcasm this time, I promise).

Book One : Family

Chapter Five : Sorrow

Zuko woke up that morning in a rare moment of peace. The sky was cloudless, the sun rose without haste, and for once his tea had been brewed properly — strong, earthy, with a hint of ginseng.

Soon, Azula would no longer be a problem.

June was far from a perfect solution — her skill in combat was nothing extraordinary, at least compared to a firebender prodigy. Against Azula at her peak, she'd be vaporized in seconds. But that was the catch, wasn't it?

Azula didn't have her fire anymore.

And that meant this game of pursuit had already tipped in their favor. All that remained was time, and Nyla — the shirshu — would find her, eventually. It was only a matter of patience.

Except time ran out sooner than expected.

Barely after lunch — which, as Fire Lord, meant reviewing border reports while chewing through half-warm dumplings — a pair of guards appeared at the door, bows deep with unease.

"Fire Lord Zuko, an Earth Kingdom envoy is requesting an audience. They carry the royal seal of Ba Sing Se… from King Kuei himself."

That stopped him mid-bite.

Mai was already on her feet. "Refuse. Say we're occupied. Delay them until we know more."

Zuko hesitated. "We can't hide like criminals, Mai."

She crossed her arms. "It's not hiding. It's strategy."

"It's dishonorable," he countered. "Kuei's trusted us since the war ended. I won't risk disrespecting that relationship."

So, despite better instincts, and against Mai's muttered protests, the Fire Lord and his consort found themselves standing in one of the smaller receiving halls — less pomp, more privacy. Subtle. Controlled.

The envoy did not help the mood.

An old man with slicked-back grey hair and a permanent smirk, dressed in the rich olive robes of the Earth King's court, stepped inside like he owned the palace. His eyes flicked around with casual arrogance before bowing — just enough to meet diplomatic protocol.

"Thank you for receiving me on such short notice, Fire Lord Zuko."

Zuko kept his tone even. "Of course. It is only natural that I respond swiftly when my counterpart across the sea requests something. What brings you to the Fire Nation?"

The envoy's smile tightened.

"Is everything… alright, here in the Fire Nation?"

Zuko blinked once. That tone. That question. So calm. So loaded.

Beside him, Mai's arms tightened at her sides, her brows lowering by a single, unmistakable millimeter — her way of silently screaming he knows.

"I'm afraid," Zuko said carefully, "I don't quite understand what you mean."

The envoy's gaze sharpened. "I believe you do, Fire Lord."

There it was. Not a question — an accusation wrapped in diplomatic velvet. The kind meant to gauge reaction more than provoke answers.

Zuko felt a quiet sting behind his eyes. Of course the information was out. He had sent it out. The wanted notices. The search patrols. The public mobilization. It was meant to show transparency — to prevent panic or conspiracy.

But not even a week had passed.

"…When," Zuko asked, voice low and steady, "did King Kuei hear about this?"

The envoy smiled, slow and deliberate. "The same morning the first posters reached the colonies. The Earth King was most surprised to see your sister's name attached to an 'open threat' decree — without a whisper of warning from your court."

Mai shifted slightly at Zuko's side, her glare like a dagger wrapped in silk.

Zuko exhaled through his nose. So that's how it was.

It wasn't the fact of the wanted notice that offended the Earth Kingdom — it was that they had not been told first.

"I asked you a question, envoy," Zuko repeated, his voice now cold and level, the fire dimming behind his eyes to something far more dangerous — quiet anger.

The old man exhaled, clasping his hands behind his back like a teacher preparing to scold a difficult student. "The Earth King has been aware for a week now."

Zuko's jaw clenched. That was barely days after Azula's escape — which meant the news had traveled fast. Too fast.

"He is very concerned," the envoy added slowly, "about your ability to keep war criminals in check."

"The situation is under control," Zuko replied with forced calm.

"Is it?"

The question cut through the chamber like a blade. Zuko opened his mouth — and then didn't answer. The truth loomed too large: Azula, even without firebending, was still Azula. The Earth Kingdom had every right to be wary.

Mai stepped in, her voice sharp and measured. "Someone has already been dispatched. She'll be apprehended before the week's end, if all proceeds as expected. Furthermore, I remind you the Avatar has stripped Azula of her bending."

The envoy's lips curled faintly — not a smile, just the shadow of one. "You know better than anyone, Lady Mai, that your princess did not require fire to conquer Ba Sing Se."

The reminder settled like a weight in the room. Even stripped of flame, Azula remained a tactician, a manipulator, a creature forged for power.

Zuko folded his hands behind his back, composing himself. "Tell King Kuei this: Azula will be found. She has nowhere to run. The military is already in motion, and the common folk would drag her back themselves for the reward I've posted. We will handle this."

The envoy tilted his head. "That brings me, in fact, to the reason for my presence."

Mai's brow arched. "The reward?"

"The King has… a proposal." The old man's smirk returned — polite, practiced, but unmistakably calculating.

Zuko narrowed his eyes. "Go on."

"The Earth King is willing to settle the matter of the colonies," the envoy began with deliberate calm, "if you transfer the custody of your sister to the Earth Kingdom."

Zuko's eyes narrowed. The torches lining the throne room flared, their flames twisting higher with the sudden swell of his temper.

"Are you implying," he said, barely keeping his voice steady, "that I cannot take care of my own sister?"

The envoy didn't flinch. "What we seek is stability, Fire Lord. This information will not stay hidden forever. The Earth King fears civil unrest — and for good reason. Our offer is simple: in exchange for her custody, we will formally relinquish all claims to the Fire Nation colonies. A diplomatic success for us both."

He paused before adding with mock reassurance, "And I assure you, we will treat her well."

Zuko said nothing at first. His fingers curled into a fist behind his back.

Trade Azula for peace?

He didn't trust them — not with her. Not when every breath she took would be weighed against years of fear and resentment. He could see her in chains, drugged, paraded as a trophy for a grateful Earth Kingdom. They would not protect her. They would bury her.

Still… the colonies. Years of tension could be resolved. Lives spared. And if Azula truly was beyond redemption…

"I will consider the proposal," he said at last, every word dragging itself from his throat. "Inform your king that I am… open to discussion."

The envoy gave a polite nod. "In that case, I will remain here until the matter is resolved. I trust this is not an inconvenience."

It absolutely was. Zuko's glare made that clear, and Mai didn't bother hiding her scowl either.

Later that evening, with Zuko buried in meetings and politics, Mai found herself alone — her tea gone cold, her thoughts colder still.

She leaned back against the wooden pillar of the veranda, eyes trained on the dark horizon. "I should've told June to bring her back quietly. No noise. No bounty. No witnesses."

But she hadn't.

Now Azula had to be retrieved alive — or the Earth King's offer would dissolve, and the colony conflict would stretch on for years.

"Be damned, Azula. You and your father."

She rubbed her temples. What she wouldn't give for a bottle of fire sake. Or Ty Lee's endless optimism. Or maybe just silence, the kind that didn't come wrapped in impossible decisions and the weight of a crumbling empire.

But there was no silence. Only waiting — and the distant, burning hope that June wouldn't follow orders too well.

Being alive felt great.

Azula didn't just mean surviving the forest or her trip to the Mother of Faces — she meant living. Breathing in the salty wind, feeling warm sand beneath her toes, hearing laughter ring out through the cove. This was something new. Something precious.

The entire family had gone down to the beach after breakfast, where Noren had proudly unveiled a net and a bright, bouncy ball he had bought just for the occasion.

Since the boat — their allegedly stolen fishing vessel — was no longer of use, the girls had convinced Noren to sell it. With the extra money, they'd bought simple beach clothes and, thanks to Chiyou's insistence, materials to build a small hot bath in the unused space behind their new home.

Yes. Life was amazing again.

"Take that!" Zirin yelled, leaping high and sending the ball hurtling toward Azula's side of the net with a force that made Kiyi yelp and scramble into position.

Azula, Kiyi, and Ningka had ended up on one team — a strategic pairing, considering Ningka's general apathy and Kiyi's boundless enthusiasm. Zirin, meanwhile, had teamed up with Chiyou, who was quick on her feet but less than fond of aggressive sport. Still, she held her own.

The ball arced sharply toward the edge of the court. Azula dove into the sand, fists coming together to deflect it upward. The ball shot into the air and hovered there — just long enough for Chiyou to prepare her counter.

But Kiyi was already sprinting toward the back line, tiny legs moving at a blur. Ningka, without so much as a warning, scooped the little girl up under the arms and launched her skyward. Kiyi squealed, reached out, and smacked the ball with everything she had.

It slammed onto the other side of the net, just between Zirin and Chiyou. Sand flew. The point was won.

"And that's yet another point for us!" Kiyi shouted as Ningka caught her on the way down.

"Oh come on! Can we get Ningka this time around?" Zirin whined, falling dramatically into the sand.

"I'm not lifting either of you," Ningka warned, brushing off her hands.

"Not even Chiyou? Just look at how small she is!"

"Svelt," Chiyou corrected, adjusting her headscarf and giving Zirin a sharp pinch on the arm.

From the hill above the beach, a familiar voice called down, "I'm afraid you're gonna have to put the game on hold, girls! It's acting time! Let's rinse off all that sand and head to the theater."

Noren waved one of the towels above his head like a surrender flag.

Azula caught the ball in her arms, exhaled, and smiled faintly. Ah right... the play. She had almost forgotten.

She tried not to let her nerves show. This was fine. It would go just fine.

It would not go fine.

The whole family had decided to go together — Noriko, Noren, the girls — right into the local theater to meet the acting troupe. Azula could manage palace courtrooms and manipulative nobles, so why was it so hard to deal with … a friendly neighborhood gathering?

"Well, Noriko, you've certainly found yourself a lot of children lately, haven't you?"
"Careful now — at this rate you'll have more grandchildren than you expected!"
"It really feels like they've always lived here with you."

The comments weren't malicious — not even passive-aggressive. But each one twisted something tight in Azula's chest. Right. She had acquired four sisters, a mother who loved her without condition, and a father figure who wasn't actively trying to forge her into a divine instrument of conquest.

Noren, in fact, had been the most distant. Not cold — just quiet. Respectful. They hadn't spoken much since her arrival in Hira'a.

"Asura?"

She turned. Speaking of which.

Noren stood beside her, holding out a few crumpled sheets of paper.

"These are the open roles for the play," he said. His tone was neutral, but there was something encouraging about the way he offered them — not pushing, just … there.

She flipped through them. All secondary characters, nothing grand — except for one. Her eyes stopped at the bottom of the list.

The Blue Spirit.

Noren must've noticed. "Everyone wants the lead," he said casually, "but someone's got to play the hard ones too."

Azula gave a half-scoff, half-smile. "Who would want to be the villain?"

"Every good story needs one. Otherwise how would the audience know what to feel? Who to root for?"

"Nobody roots for the losing side."

"Asura." He gently reached out, not forceful, just grounding — his hand warm on her forearm. "It's just a role. People don't hate the villain — not in a play. They enjoy being afraid for the hero. It's the tension that makes it work."

She blinked, surprised at the insight.

Growing up, she always claimed the part of the Dragon Empress when she and Zuko acted it out. She'd never touched the Blue Spirit — that had been his mask to wear.

"You think I should try it?" she asked.

"I think it would help the whole group if you did," Noren said. "People usually avoid it — short straw and all that."

Azula considered for a second longer, then gave a short, almost reluctant nod. "Fine… I'll give it a try."

The rehearsal turned out to be more engaging than she'd expected. There was a lot of waiting — most of the other actors were running lines or fumbling through gestures. That downtime gave her room to study.

She learned more than she anticipated. She had always been a skilled liar — which, as it turned out, made her a decent actor by default — but she hadn't known how technical acting was. Stage position. Intention of movement. How to hold silence. Where to place her hands so they didn't look awkward.

And best of all — acting didn't have to be perfect.

It was a flawed utopia. There was no "correct" performance — just what worked. If she could add a touch of her own to it, even better.

"Alright, Azula, Zirin — this is your part," Noren called out from the front row, flipping through the script. "No pressure. Just a first impression."

Zirin gave her a sideways glance and a wink as they walked to the stage.

The shrine sat in the heart of the stage, a painted mock-up of worn stone and tangled vines. Scenery cloth shimmered under pale lantern light — the illusion of moonlight slashing through the "cracked" ceiling. The scent of camphor and stage smoke mixed faintly in the air.

Azula stood barefoot on the left wing, script rolled in one hand, barely aware of the soft chatter in the background.

This is ridiculous. It's a play.
Then why did her heart keep tapping harder against her chest?

She glanced at Zirin, already in costume. Her posture was perfect, the Empress' long silks trailing like mist as she moved to kneel center stage. She lit a small clay bowl with a false flame crystal, pantomimed grinding herbs with solemn ease. The breeze was faked by assistants tugging thin silks on poles — but somehow, it felt cold.

Then her cue arrived — her steps onto the stone.

Azula inhaled, narrowed her eyes, and strode into the light.

Zirin didn't look up. "I thought you might come," she said, voice low but commanding.

Azula's jaw tightened. She hadn't expected her to sound so in character. The line hit like an invitation and a challenge both.

She answered, steady. "You shelter him still."

Zirin turned just slightly, enough to reveal the tension in her shoulders. "I care for someone who is healing. That is not a crime."

Azula stepped forward as rehearsed, arms folded behind her back, her voice cold and even. "He is not just someone. He is the Dragon Emperor. A tyrant in retreat, cloaked in shame, drenched in legacy. And yet you let him sleep beneath your roof?"

"He sleeps," Zirin countered, rising to her feet with such elegance it almost startled Azula. "He dreams. He listens. He has not spoken of conquest since the day he arrived."

Azula raised her chin. Her next line came with more force than she expected.

"He waits. A coiled serpent beneath the silk. You mistake silence for change — but when he strikes again, what will your name be in the tale? Savior? Or fool?"

Zirin turned fully toward her now, the full moon of the lanterns glowing behind her like a halo. "You think this story is one of monsters and saints, but I've seen his eyes. They fear. He clutches every kindness like it's borrowed time. I have met true conquerors. He is not one."

"He was." Azula's voice cut through the air like a whip. "And curses fade."

There was a beat — a shared breath — and then Zirin crossed the stage to meet her.

"I don't deny what he was. But I've seen people change. Real change. That can't happen if the world only lets them rot in their shame."

Azula blinked. The line was Zirin's — but the conviction behind it, the raw humanity, struck something.

Her next words came more slowly, more deliberately. "So you believe love will tame a dragon?"

Zirin smiled, bitter and knowing. "No. But trust might teach him to fly without burning everything below."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was dense. Charged. Somewhere backstage, even the whispering stopped.

Azula stared at her scene partner — and forgot, for a moment, where the stage ended.

"If he returns to his throne," she said, her voice dropping with weight, "you won't stop him. You'll follow."

"If he does," Zirin said, her hands loose at her sides, "then he will have made that choice freely. And I will leave — just as freely."

Azula stepped closer. Something shifted in her. The lines blurred — performance and truth melting together. Her final line came like thunder, her voice rising with sudden, sharp fury, not scripted but summoned:

"Then so be it." She drew breath through clenched teeth. "I will take you both down. Him, for his impudence — and you for defying me. Your misery will feed me for the next century. I will make sure every day of your human life is an unbearable torment!"

The words echoed through the room. Her fingers trembled, not from weakness — but from something that felt dangerous. For a heartbeat, everyone froze. Even Zirin blinked.

Azula lowered her hand.

"I—" she muttered.

No one said "cut."

She had overdone it.

Even Zirin stood frozen mid-scene, her mouth parted in stunned silence. Azula's grip on the script tightened before she remembered — she wasn't even reading from it. She knew it by heart. The line had been right… but her delivery? Her voice had cracked with rage, with something that hadn't been part of the act.

She couldn't reel it back. Not now. The moment had passed, and she stood there on stage, breathing too hard, trying to remember where her hands were supposed to go, how to look like a person again.

She had lost it — in front of everyone.

Then came a single pair of hands clapping.

Slow, deliberate.

Followed by another. And another. And suddenly the rehearsal space erupted into applause.

"I—" Azula blinked at the crowd. She hadn't moved. "Why are they—?"

"We got our Blue Spirit!" someone called from the back row.

"I don't think we could find anything more convincing!"

"I swear it sent a shiver down my spine! Noriko, your girls are amazing!"

Zirin was the one who shook her back into her body, a wide grin plastered across her face. "Sura, that was so cool! You didn't tell me you were trained in theater."

"I— I wasn't. I didn't mean to—"

"Well you better mean to now, because there's no way they're giving that part to anyone else."

Azula didn't answer. She didn't know what to say. The heat in her face wasn't from shame… not exactly. What had she just gotten herself into?

The others were already moving toward her — actors, extras, even a few from the props team — closing in with questions, compliments, and half-joking requests for private lessons. It was too much. She couldn't even hear herself think.

Thankfully, Noren intervened.

"Alright, alright — give Asura some space!" he said, stepping into the crowd with a laugh, raising both hands like he was parting a wave. "It was her first time on stage — let's not scare her off already. We'll go over final casting later, alright? Still a few scenes left to run through."

His voice was calm, steady. Born for the stage, even if he came from a life far away from it.

Zirin grabbed Azula's hand and pulled her back to the audience rows, toward the cluster of chairs where Noriko and the girls waited. Azula sank down beside them, still catching her breath.

"Sura, you were amazing!" Kiyi squealed, bouncing in her seat with barely-contained energy. "Do it again!"

"Do what?"

"Your scary face!"

Azula blinked. "I… did a scary face?"

Noriko leaned forward, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I should ask Noren if you're even allowed to not wear the spirit mask. That expression was more real than anything I've seen on that stage in years. It would be such a waste to not see it."

Azula stared ahead, slightly pale.

She had even made a scary face.

Agni save her.

The trail had brought June to a coastal village tucked quietly between rolling hills and the whispering edge of a thick, ancient forest.

Hira'a.

Nyla, her faithful shirshu, had been on edge the moment they neared the tree line. Her broad snout twitched, tongue flicking the air uneasily, her movements more restless than usual. June tightened her grip on the reins and looked toward the woods. Something about them felt... wrong.

"Yeah," she muttered, patting Nyla's side. "You feel it too."

If she didn't know better, she'd say this place was either haunted or under some kind of spiritual influence. Animals were rarely wrong about such things. Still, June dismounted and chose to enter the village on foot. Nyla's presence was intimidating enough — no need to have her barging in and sending a bunch of countryside retirees into panic.

The town itself was unremarkable. Ramshackle homes dotted the hills, the smell of seaweed mixed with chimney smoke, and the population seemed split between wrinkled elders playing pai sho in shaded courtyards and young couples who had clearly run away from somewhere louder. It wasn't the kind of place where people asked questions. Or answered them.

So why stop here?

She scanned the area as she walked — no signs of damage, no skirmishes, no hasty repairs that might indicate a confrontation. Was Azula injured? Hiding? Resupplying? She had enough time and distance to push farther east. Something — or someone — had made her stay.

June's first move was to track the stolen boat. If it had been left anywhere nearby, Nyla would've led her straight to it. But no — the trail hadn't branched away from the village. Either the boat had been sold, hidden… or abandoned.

Next, she tried her usual approach — questions. A young woman, traveling alone. Sharp eyes. Aggressive temper. Blue fire.

No one had seen anything like that.

She wasn't surprised. Fire Nation villagers were trained to lie well, especially to outsiders. But Nyla's confidence hadn't wavered, which meant Azula was here — or had been here long enough to complicate things.

June was about to give up and start turning over storehouse crates when luck, as usual, wore the face of someone gossipy.

A sweet old woman, too delighted to be asked anything by a stranger, had waved her into the shade and started talking.

"Oh yes, dear — very odd, now that you mention it. A whole group of girls, not from here, got taken in by that lovely couple — the one with the little girl, you know them? Kind people. Just adopted them, like that! Four teenage girls, can you imagine? House must be full of noise now, hahaha—"

Bullseye.

June had guessed it before the old woman even finished listing how many "daughters" the local couple had somehow acquired out of nowhere. It sounded too convenient — and June didn't believe in coincidences.

The "newly bought pavilion" wasn't hard to find, either. Same overly friendly source had pointed it out with a cheerful wave and a whispered, "You know, I think they came from the capital!" as though that explained everything.

It was empty when June passed by, quiet in a way that suggested the residents had simply stepped out. But just beyond, down a soft incline that led to the sea, she caught sight of them — the entire so-called family.

The couple sat facing the ocean, shoulders brushing, voices muted by the crashing waves. Further along the shore, five girls had drawn a makeshift court in the sand and were taking turns spiking a ball over a rope net strung between two driftwood poles.

Four teens and a younger child. Loud, laughing. Ordinary.

And right away, June knew. Too ordinary.

She narrowed her eyes and watched the group closely. They weren't just random girls. Their posture, their discipline, even the spacing between them in the game — none of it screamed "village kids." These girls had seen more than they let on. They were trained. And one of them was royalty in disguise.

But there was a problem.

Zuko, in all his brilliance, had failed to provide something as simple and essential as a portrait. No sketch, no description beyond what June generally knew about the princess "Fire. Blue. Definitely Psychotic." The man had gone out of his way to launch a nationwide hunt, and yet, in his rush, forgot to tell his bounty hunter what the quarry even looked like.

June squinted, she was partialy at fault anyway, she crossed her arms and leaned against a low wall by the path. The sun cast long shadows, and the breeze brought the scent of salt and something grilled. She watched each girl take turns — spiking, diving, laughing, arguing.

One of them. Definitely.

But which?

She reached down and scratched under Nyla's snout, the shirshu huffing with impatience but sensing her master's thoughts. "Okay, dear," June murmured. "Change of plan. Now we wait."

She gave one last glance to the beach, scanning again. Which of them could it be?

The one with the long braid, barking orders like a drill sergeant between giggles?

The quiet one, half her face hidden behind a curtain of hair, moving like she'd rather disappear than be noticed?

The tall one with that bored expression — barely lifting a hand, yet still dominating every round without breaking a sweat?

Or the one with short-cropped hair and sharp eyes, the youngest girl clinging to her side like a shadow — too calm, too steady?

June couldn't tell — not yet.

Because what kind of dangerous, exiled princess — the infamous conqueror of Ba Sing Se — spends her days carving sand courts and playing beach ball with village brats?

The bounty hunter gave a quiet, humorless chuckle and leaned back against the sun-warmed stone wall, arms folded.

"…You've got some nerve, princess."

Certainly — here is a revised version of your original passage, keeping your wording, structure, and tone intact, but tightening the phrasing, adding natural gesture and expression where appropriate, and clarifying transitions without altering the voice:

Night had fallen upon Hira'a.

The sea breeze had mellowed, carrying only the faintest trace of salt through the open windows. Crickets sang quietly in the grass as soft orange lantern light pooled in the corners of the house. It had been a good day — no, a great one. Quality time on the beach, laughter, a newfound hobby that, for once, didn't involve conquest or politics… and approval from both of her parents.

Yes. Azula felt fine.

She'd planned to spend the evening with Kiyi — maybe dolls again. She'd missed that. It was silly, but strangely grounding. Mai and Ty Lee would have never joined her for those things. Back then, it was always about—

...What were they doing again?

As Azula padded barefoot toward the bathroom, the smooth wood cool under her feet, her thoughts dug through mist. Three noble girls in silk robes, in the Fire Palace gardens. Surely they had games. Laughter. Childhood memories. But the only clear scene was Ty Lee flipping through the air, Mai sitting against a tree, arms crossed… reading? Was that all?

No sounds. No voices. Just a motionless image, like a memory etched into glass.

That couldn't be all. There must have been more.

They were… they were also—

"Your aura is a perfect pink, you know?"

Azula blinked. Ty Lee's voice echoed clearly in her mind — bright, light-hearted, teasing. It stopped her in her tracks.

Then came another voice, one she hadn't remembered in years. Stricter. Older. Sharper.

"It would be a shame if any of my children decided to taint our lineage."

Not Ozai.

Azulon.

The air thickened around her. The shadows in the hallway lengthened, heavy with memory. She stood motionless in the dim light, heart gently thudding in her chest.

Ozai had… warned her. Not threatened, not outright. It was important. Wasn't it?

But why?

What had been so wrong back then?

"Be careful around your friends," Azulon had said. "I would not like it if someone happened to catch you in an improper position."

Azula swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Improper position.

Ozai had known. Had seen, maybe. But he hadn't stopped her. Hadn't punished her.

Perhaps, so long as it didn't touch his image, he didn't care.

What had been so wrong with—

She shook her head hard, as if it would scatter the thoughts before they solidified.

Azula stepped into the bathroom. The lanterns on the wall flickered gently. Steam clung to the mirror from a previous use. She set her towel down and reached for the curtain—

Only to stop as it rustled from the other side. Zirin stepped out of the shower, towel still slung casually around her neck.

"Oh. Good evening, Sura," Zirin said, as casually as if they were just two friends passing on the street.

Azula's eyes quickly traced over her — bare shoulders, dripping hair, steam curling around her skin — friend? Sister? Something else? Whatever Zirin was… she was the right person to ask.

Azula's voice was even. Controlled. "How do I know if I like girls?"

Zirin froze mid-reach for her towel. "...Wh-what?" Her voice cracked slightly. "Like, you want an answer right now?"

"Yes." Azula didn't hesitate.

Zirin blinked, then sighed as she shook her head with a half-laugh. "Can I shower first? If you're that curious, you can join—"

Azula walked around her and calmly took a seat on the stool, folding her arms across her lap.

"—me," Zirin finished with a grin, pulling the curtain back with mock drama. "Just give me a minute then."

The water started again. A soft pattering filled the room, mingling with the occasional creak of the wooden house and distant waves from the shore.

Azula let her mind drift as she listened. Her thoughts flicked back to the Earth Kingdom. They never had proper plumbing. Or insulation. And mud baths — Agni, who had come up with that? Yet lying in the sand today, muscles melting into the warmth, her shape cradled by the earth... it hadn't felt unpleasant.

Soon enough, Zirin stepped out again, her hair plastered to her neck. She extended a hand toward Azula without saying a word.

Azula passed her the towel.

Zirin dried herself briskly, turning to the fogged mirror, her reflection half-blurred by steam.

"Alright," she said, voice light but focused, "let's start with the basics." She rubbed at her hair as she spoke. "Any experience with boys?"

"You mean in general or from a… romantic point of view?" Azula's voice was calm but curious, her eyes narrowing slightly as she waited for the answer.

"Any." Zirin's tone was casual, almost teasing, but there was a hint of sincerity beneath the surface.

Azula sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the wall. "My brother is a… moron," she said, voice laced with dry sarcasm. "And the only boy I ever dated—if you can call it that—for about thirty minutes found me creepy."

Zirin's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, a smirk playing on her lips. "You dated a guy for thirty minutes? Impressive. I don't think I'd last ten." She tilted her head, eyes glinting with amusement. "Was he worth the time?"

Azula shrugged, a flicker of frustration passing over her face. "...No." Her voice dropped, softer this time, almost vulnerable. "He was another moron, supposedly a rich daddy's son. Probably wasn't interested in anything serious. And I… Agni, I didn't know what I was doing. I guess I just wanted to… feel better." She glanced down for a moment, then met Zirin's gaze again.

Zirin chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Getting laid was part of the plan?"

Azula gave a sharp glare but couldn't suppress a small, reluctant smile. "Anyway, he—uh—went away. After that, I had a very revealing talk around a fire with my brother and some friends." Her voice grew more animated, a spark returning to her eyes. "Then we all went back to wreck absolute hell upon Chan's house."

Zirin laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Pfft, his name was Chan? That's the most boring name you could find."

Azula shrugged with a mischievous grin. "He had a big house on the beach, throwing a party behind his parents' backs. I just wanted to be a normal teenager."

Zirin smirked knowingly. "Cheer up, girl. You ended your first and only 'normal' party by trashing the host's house."

Azula's grin widened. "Pretty sure it burned down."

"You're wild." Zirin shook her head, amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"I guess I am." Azula's voice softened, almost thoughtful.

They both fell silent for a moment, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Zirin shook her head slowly, a playful but serious glint in her eye. Azula mirrored the gesture, her expression settling into something calmer.

"So, in conclusion: boys—"

"Not great," Zirin finished with a teasing smirk.

Azula let out a low laugh, the tension easing between them. She leaned forward slightly, her tone shifting to one of challenge and curiosity. "Alright, let's talk about girls' experiences."

"I only ever had two girl friends—" Azula leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, gaze drilling into Zirin's reflection in the mirror. "Yes, with space. And one betrayed me to save my sorry excuse of a brother, and the other prevented me from—"

Zirin, toweling off her arms, turned toward her. "...From?"

"From blasting her with a lightning bolt."

There was a beat of silence. Even the steam seemed to pause in the air.

"It… it was that bad?" Zirin asked, her voice low, uncertain now.

"It was either that or leaving her in prison," Azula replied, her tone flat, distant. "Where she risked worse than death. My father could be… very creative. Trust me."

Zirin's brows furrowed. "Same guy who burned half your brother's face?"

Azula nodded once, slow and stiff.

"Tough choice…" Zirin murmured, sitting down on the bench beside her. "You would've done it?"

Azula lowered her head, hands moving to her temples, her fingers curling tightly into her hairline. She dug her nails into her scalp as if that would help extract the answer from her mind.

"I… I think I would," she whispered.

Zirin didn't speak at first. Then, gently, she bumped Azula's shoulder with her fist — not hard, just enough to make contact. "I think you wouldn't have gone that far."

Azula raised her head slightly, eyes shadowed. "I am willing to kill people if it helps me get what I want, Zirin. I tried to kill my brother, remember?"

"He deserved it," Zirin replied casually, tilting her head as she examined her own damp reflection. "Your friend Mai? … I don't know. What were you really blaming her for, helping your brother… or something else?"

Azula's breath caught for just a moment. Her voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful. "She said… she loved him more than she feared me."

Zirin's head slowly turned.

"We were never really friends," Azula went on, "but I didn't have anything else to compare with. It was… the closest I had."

A longer silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft crackle of cooling coals under the bath.

"Hmmm…" Zirin hummed. "You're definitely not straight."

Azula blinked. "What?"

Zirin shrugged, smirking. "Can't quite tell if you're into girls either, though. Perhaps your flame doesn't lean on either side of the campfire."

Azula squinted at her. "My flame doesn't dance on— What kind of analogy is that?"

Zirin burst into laughter, a full-bellied, unapologetic cackle that echoed around the misty bathroom walls. Azula stared at her for a second, unsure, then sighed with exaggerated annoyance — but the corner of her mouth betrayed her with the tiniest smirk.

Whatever answer she was looking for, maybe it didn't need to come tonight. For now, she let Zirin's laughter carry the moment.

So, while Azula had not been able to reach any clear conclusion about being a "friend of Kioshi," Zirin had at least succeeded in convincing her of one thing: boys were firmly off the table. Everything else, she would figure out in due time.

She was halfway through that comforting thought when a loud, metallic crack rang from above — like a giant limb of the house had just shifted. Dust shook loose from the ceiling. For a moment, she expected the roof to cave in, but the structure held. Azula exhaled sharply through her nose.

She'd have to tell Noren about that in the morning. If this charming little house turned out to be more structurally cursed than the moldy barn they'd been sleeping in during their first days in Hira'a… well, it wouldn't be funny, that was for sure.

She was turning the corner toward her bedroom when a hand caught her shoulder.

"Asura?" She glanced back. Chiyou stood there, her expression unreadable. "Hmmm… This is going to be awkward anyway—"

Immediatly Azula jumped to conclusions. "Are you into girls too?"

Chiyou blinked. "Wh—what? No it's—… Okay. Let's say the last ten seconds never happened." Bad guess.

Chiyou bit her lip to suppress a laugh, then gestured vaguely down the hallway. "We—uh—we found something. With Ningka. And we'd like your input. Zirin is already there. In my room."

Azula narrowed her eyes. "Is it urgent?"

"We brought rice wine."

"That's not an answer. How is that related to-" She paused. "Fine, lead the way."

Chiyou's room was a tight but clean space, lit by a single hanging lantern swaying slightly from the earlier noise. As soon as Azula stepped in, she could feel the tension. Zirin and Ningka were hunched over the bed, voices hushed but strained. Ningka clutched a rolled-up bundle of paper in both hands like it might explode.

They looked up at her.

"Hey…" Ningka greeted, casual, like they hadn't already seen each other ten times that day. "So, uh… Before anyone panics—everything's been removed. As fast as possible. We even scoured the village just to be sure."

Azula stopped dead in the doorway. The weight in her stomach shifted. "What did you remove?"

Ningka hesitated, glancing at Zirin for silent permission.

Zirin gave a slight nod. No jokes, no grin this time.

Ningka stepped forward and handed her the paper.

Azula unrolled it—and dropped it the moment her eyes caught the image.

Her own face. Drawn in sharp, formal strokes. The black ink shouted across the bottom: WANTED — FOR TREASON, CONSPIRACY AND WAR CRIMES.

A crackle of something hot and old flared through her chest. Not fire. Shame. Fear. Rage. She looked up, breathing shallow, and Ningka's expression made it clear—

Her cover was blown.

And her past had finally caught up.

Chiyou let out a soft sigh and sat down on the edge of her bed, rubbing the back of her neck like she was trying to ease a knot that wouldn't budge. "The soldiers must've brought those when they came to deal with Ewan's goons… I—I didn't think much of them at first. It's Ningka who noticed the resemblance. So we, uh… cleared out what we could find and burned them." She stared at her hands as they fidgeted in her lap. "Except this one. Your haircut makes it harder to tell now, but we saw you before, when your hair was still long. We wanted confirmation, I guess. But… you didn't really have to say anything."

Azula stood in silence, arms crossed, her eyes locked to the wooden floor like it might swallow her whole.

"I am Asura," she said finally. "That's who I want to be. Though… if you're not comfortable with that, I can always tell you the sad story instead. Just for context."

Before the weight could settle, Zirin stepped beside her and gently took her hand. She lifted Azula's chin with two fingers, guiding her eyes back up. "Hey," she murmured. "I may have already spoiled a bit to both of them. So… this isn't really a dramatic emergency meeting anymore. Sorry."

Ningka snorted and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's more like a weird family bonding session. Or whatever people call it when trauma meets poor timing."

Then she tilted her head toward Chiyou.

With a mischievous little grin, Chiyou reached over and yanked up the edge of her bed's blanket. Beneath it was a wooden crate filled with dusty bottles of rice wine.

She raised one triumphantly.

"Well then," she said, cocking a brow. "How about we drink our sorrows away, Princess?"

Azula blinked. "What?"

Chiyou shrugged. "Come on. We're all here trying to start over, yeah? Might as well make it easier by being too drunk to overthink every existential spiral."

Azula dragged a hand down her face, pinching her temple with a slow exhale. "Okay… who here has actually drunk alcohol before?" Her eyes swept the room.

Silence.

Zirin gave a vague shrug. Ningka looked off to the side like maybe she could pretend to have experience by osmosis. Chiyou suddenly found a fascinating thread in her bedsheets.

Even Azula didn't raise her hand.

Of course not. Alcohol dulled the mind. It clouded judgment. And Azula, raised a crown's width above the world, had been taught that a sharp mind was worth more than a full heart. She needed to stay focused. Alert. In control.

...But tonight, for once, the throne was far away. Her mind had been chewing itself raw lately, and that crate of contraband courage suddenly didn't look so bad.

She sighed, long and theatrical, and reached into the crate. "Fine."

The bottle was cool in her hand, the cork popping off with a faint snap. She brought it close to her face and took a cautious whiff—only to immediately recoil. "Agni, that's strong."

Zirin snorted behind her palm.

Without waiting for judgment, Azula tilted the bottle and took a healthy sip.

It burned.

Sour and acidic, like someone had squeezed vinegar into liquid smoke. She coughed hard, clutching her throat with one hand and blinking the sting from her eyes.

"Okay—" her voice rasped. "We should survive. Maybe."

She looked around, the faintest smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. "So… who goes first?"

Azula had already heard fragments of Zirin and Ningka's pasts, but under the slow haze of wine, the finer details emerged — and they were worse than she expected. If Ozai had been a tyrant with delusions of grandeur, their parents were monsters of a quieter, more insidious kind.

Zirin had been locked away not for any crime, but because her affection fell in the "wrong" direction — and some genius at the institution had decided the cure was exposure to boys. Many boys. Azula didn't press for details, and Zirin didn't offer any; she was by far the heaviest drinker of their group.

As for Ningka, her "treatment" involved long sessions with men who called themselves counselors and blamed her temper on "certain times of the month." The girl's eye-roll while recounting it could've cracked stone. Anger management, they called it — though no one seemed to mind the boys who cornered her with far worse intentions.

If Ozai had been cruel, if he had tried to mold Azula into a weapon — then their parents were pure monsters, no strategy, no goal. Just cruelty for its own sake.

When it was Azula's turn, she retold what she could. There were still questions. Always questions. Most she'd answered before — the fall of Ba Sing Se, the Agni Kai, the crystal catacombs, her breakdown — they wanted to know why. She did her best to explain, but each time it grew more surreal, as though she were describing the life of someone else. Someone broken.

She hated that.

It was getting easier to talk about her past, yes. But there was a line she refused to cross. She would not become a martyr. Martyrs died alone. Martyrs were remembered for what they lost — not what they did. She wasn't going to vanish into some noble tragedy. No, if she was going to be remembered, it would be for her victories. Her strength. Her survival.

Not her fall.

And then… it was Chiyou's turn.

They were all sprawled around the room now, in various states of collapse. Zirin was practically melted against Azula's side, her hair tangled and clinging from sweat and sea air, breath slow and a little slurred.

"Your turn, Chiyou," she mumbled, lazily shaking the girl's leg. "No skipping. Rulesh're clear…"

Azula looked toward the bed.

Chiyou hadn't said much all evening. Even Ningka had opened up, at least a little. But Chiyou? She'd mostly stayed quiet, sipping slowly, eyes flicking toward the window as if she were always halfway out the door.

Now, roused by Zirin's touch, she stirred — but her face had changed.

The color drained from it.

Her usually sharp, observant eyes dulled into something distant. She sat up slowly, her limbs stiff like she was pulling herself out of water.

Azula straightened, suddenly sober.

Chiyou wasn't just reluctant to share. She looked haunted. "I uh…" Her hand reached blindly for a bottle nearby, missing it more than once before Chiyou finally grabbed it. "I… I killed my parents."

If Azula had been worried about mentioning her own near-fratricide, Chiyou's confession didn't ease that tension at all.

"My parents were engineers. Great engineers. I tried to follow in their footsteps, to absorb everything I could." She shook the empty bottle lightly. "I'm like a sponge — you tell me something, and I never forget it. I soak all the knowledge up, and it stays with me."

Chiyou glanced up at Azula. "I was a prodigy… my parents built me a small workshop for my eighth birthday. Everything was fine for a few years." She buried her face in her knees. "Then… there was an incident. A gas leak. No one was prepared. It blew up. I was the only one who got out in time. My parents… they were trapped inside."

"There was an investigation, but the army somehow decided I was responsible. I… I don't get it. It was an accident. I didn't leave anything open. There was so much equipment in the house — it could've been my parents' tools, something faulty." Her voice cracked as distress took hold. "Anything I tried to say was twisted against me. They brought in experts who kept insisting I was just a child, ignorant of what happened — that I'd been playing with fire and hurt people because of it."

"When I refused to stay silent, they… they got physical. Beat me until I 'admitted' to killing my own parents." Chiyou's breath hitched. "After that, it was straight to the asylum. Why they bothered to keep me, I don't know. No one paid for my 'care.' Maybe the state — but I doubt it." She laughed bitterly.

"It took me a while there, after a drug overdose, to remember… I had a… a 'lucid' dream. I was standing outside the house as it burned. I remember smiling. Giggling." Her eyes darkened. "Who does that, when their parents are still screaming in pain just a few meters away?"

Azula was about to ask more, but Chiyou cut her off.
"No, it wasn't some drug-induced hallucination. I remember it clearly now. Compared to all of you, I'm the only one truly messed up in her head." She paused, voice low and steady. "I don't like fire bending. I don't even like fire— not when I know that the part of me who enjoyed watching my parents die could decide to repeat it."

Azula softened, her voice gentle but firm. "I don't think you—or the 'you' that is Chiyou—have anything to feel guilty about. I remember being excited at the thought of becoming an only child, and I wasn't even ten then. I think you were the one who blew up the asylum, right? Maybe you're insane, maybe a monster… but from where I'm standing, being a monster isn't necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes we do good things, sometimes we don't. And if I had to guess, you're not truly broken. The asylum didn't heal any of us—it probably made things worse. So if you really had some hidden desire for destruction, I'd say you'd have acted on it long before now."

Chiyou sobbed once, a single quiet sound in the room. "Thank you. Thank you for cheering me up, all of you." She raised her empty bottle. "To the club of messed-up fire girls."

The others smiled and lifted their bottles in unison.

Ningka finally broke the heavy silence that had settled over them.
"Can we pick a catchier name? 'Club of messed-up fire girls' doesn't exactly sparkle," she said, folding her arms with a wry smile.

Chiyou shrugged, still sitting on the edge of the bed, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the wooden frame. "I'm a practical person," she said quietly, the weight of her past still lingering in her calm tone.

"Nope," Zirin grumbled, her voice thick with exhaustion as she leaned heavily against Azula's shoulder. "We're picking something else. I don't like it." Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, then snapped open again.

Azula nudged her gently. "Hey, Zirin, wake up."

"Uh? Oh, sorry—I should probably go to sleep," Zirin muttered, blinking sleepily. "But I wanna stay… urg, just let me go get us some water."

"Let me come with you," Azula offered, sitting up straighter, concern flickering across her face.

"Nah, princess! I, the mighty Zirin, can handle alcohol better than anyone!" She grinned cheekily, though her steps were a little unsteady as she stumbled toward the door.

The moment she disappeared down the hall, the rest of the girls exchanged amused glances, biting their lips to suppress laughter. Fifteen seconds later, Ningka broke the silence again, grinning. "I say we give the mighty warrior a one-minute head start before we go check if she's collapsed somewhere."

Chiyou's eyes suddenly brightened, and she snapped her fingers. "Fire warriors! Yeah, we can be that!"

Azula rolled her eyes, a half-smile tugging at her lips. "No fire anymore, remember?" Her voice was firm, but there was a playful edge to it.

"Doesn't matter. You're cool," Ningka said with a teasing grin, nudging Azula lightly.

"Me?" Azula asked, a flicker of disbelief crossing her features.

"I agree with Chiyou," Ningka said, leaning back with a smirk. "No need for fire when you can make someone piss themselves just with words and the coldest face in the world."

Azula scowled but couldn't suppress a slight chuckle. "It wasn't that scary…"

"You weren't part of the audience, princess," Ningka shot back, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Azula corrected her with a small, defiant smirk. "Not a princess…"

Zirin stumbled unsteadily, swaying left and right as if the ground itself was shifting beneath her. She had made some terrible decisions in her life, but this—this was something else entirely. Four bottles of rice wine. An absurd amount for anyone, and now her stomach churned violently, threatening to betray her at any moment. Maybe she'd regret her first hangover, but right now, all she wanted was relief—surely throwing up would help.

She squinted toward the courtyard, willing herself to reach the bathroom. Even the drugs from the asylum had never dulled her senses this thoroughly. The cool night air brushed against her face as she stumbled outside, each step more unsteady than the last.

Then—something sharp struck the back of her neck.

A sting, quick and unexpected, neither painful enough to scream, nor mild enough to dismiss as a trick of her mind. Her legs buckled instantly, betraying her balance. With no strength left to resist, Zirin pitched forward.

Momentum carried her into a clumsy roll, and she landed hard on her back, breath knocked out of her. Blinking up through the haze of alcohol, she first thought her body was simply giving in to the poison coursing through her veins.

But then her gaze caught a dark shape perched on the rooftop—an enormous animal, silent and still under the moonlight. And on its back, a woman, lit by the pale glow, watching her with a calm, inscrutable expression.

The woman leapt down from the roof with feline grace and knelt beside her. Zirin flinched, only to recoil a moment later. "Ugh, no wonder Nila had such a hard time identifying you—you reek of alcohol." Her voice was sharp but tinged with dry amusement.

Zirin tried to form words, but her jaw wouldn't obey.

"You must be screaming in your head, huh? Don't worry, princess, I'm not much of an assassination type. I'll let your brother handle that mess."

The mention of princess and brother pierced through the fog clouding Zirin's mind like a sudden gust of cold wind. For a moment, the haze of rice wine retreated, clearing space for shock and recognition.

This woman—she wasn't here for Zirin. She had been sent to capture Asura.

"Nila!" the bounty hunter called sharply.

From the shadows, a massive, sleek shirshu dropped silently to the ground. The woman hoisted Zirin onto the creature's back with surprising ease.

"Let's get out of here," she ordered, voice low but urgent.

As the shirshu sprang into motion, Zirin's blurred vision caught one last glimpse of the moonlit courtyard, and the distant, silent night waiting beyond.

Ozai drifted awake in the shadows of his cell, his back pressed to the cold stone wall. His throat was dry. His stomach ached. Had they forgotten to feed him again? That would make it two days now — perhaps longer. The light in this forsaken place never changed. It was hard to tell.

He hoped they would kill him soon.

He had considered doing it himself. Many times. But some stubborn scrap of pride — not quite honor, but close — had kept him from it. A Fire Lord does not end his life cowering in chains. That was a coward's death, not a ruler's.

So instead, he thought. He had so much time to think.

Where had it all gone wrong?

He had answers. Too many. Zuko. The Avatar. Azula. Ursa. Iroh. Destiny itself. He chewed through each of them like brittle ash. If he tried hard enough, he could trace it all the way back — back to the moment he met Ursa. No spark, no bond. He hadn't chosen her. She hadn't chosen him. They were pawns on Azulon's board.

And you did not say "no" to the Fire Lord.

He had learned that lesson early. Iroh had always been the favorite. The golden son. The loyal heir. And so the Fire Lord stayed loyal… to his favorite. Not to his other son.

Not to him.

Did his father truly think him so weak, so unworthy, that he needed the blood of the Avatar to strengthen the royal line?

The thought still burned. Not with fire, but with humiliation.

There had been no romance in his marriage. No warmth. No chance. He had tried — Agni help him — he had tried to ease Ursa into court life. To open some kind of dialogue. But every effort cracked and splintered on the walls between them. Maybe he was too much like Azulon. Maybe she never wanted to be saved.

And if Ursa had ever dared to anger Azulon, there would have been no mercy. Not for her. Not for Ozai. Roku's blood or not, she would've been discarded like any other tool. Collateral damage. Everyone was expendable under the Fire Lord's gaze. Even family.

So when Iroh's son died, Ozai acted. It had been bold, yes — ruthless even — but not without logic. Iroh had no heirs. No wife. And the "Dragon of the West" was far too loyal to Azulon's warpath to be trusted with the throne. Ozai had children. He had a vision. He had the future in his hands.

And yet Azulon had punished him. Had ordered him to sacrifice his own son — Zuko — as if to prove some kind of twisted devotion. Would he really have done it? Would Azulon have killed Zuko? Perhaps not. Perhaps it had only been a threat…

But the words were real. The order was real.

And Ursa had heard them.

He remembered leaving the throne room in defeat, the scent of burning incense still clinging to his robes. On his way out, he caught a glimpse of two small shadows ducking behind a pillar. He'd seen them — Zuko, wide-eyed, trembling and Azula — her face, contorted into a mix of disgust and uncertainty.

They heard everything.

That was how Ursa knew. That was how she confronted him that night.

And her plan… her plan had been perfect. Perhaps, if he hadn't pushed her away—if he had listened—if he had trusted her to not follow the same scheme—

But he hadn't.

And now, he had nothing. Zuko, lost. Iroh, estranged. Azula… his prodigy… gone.

The silence of the cell pressed in around him like a second skin.

All that remained was a man who once held fire in his hands — and now sat in darkness, haunted by the things he burned.

He bit his tongue by reflex, the copper taste of regret rising almost as quickly as the blood.

Fool.

A coughing fit overtook him — once, then again, harder. He doubled forward, one hand catching the cold floor, the other pressed to his mouth.

Red.

Since the Avatar had taken his fire, something inside him had splintered. Not his pride — that had been shattered long before. No, this was physical. Something deeper. Darker.

There were days when fever gripped him like a vice. Other times his skull throbbed until he begged for sleep. Twice, he'd had seizures — brief and disorienting — like his body no longer remembered how to be whole without the fire.

The blood had only started last month.

He'd always dismissed the old tales — of benders who grew sick when severed from their element for too long. But now, facing it firsthand, he understood. Perhaps it wasn't just spiritual trauma.

Perhaps it was death in slow motion.

He wouldn't need to take his own life after all. The Avatar, for all his mercy and talk of peace, had delivered his sentence. Slow. Surgical. Inescapable.

Ozai laughed, a harsh, broken sound. More blood followed, spraying against the floor like an artist's signature on a final, grotesque canvas.

"Will he shut up already?"

The voice didn't come from the guards. It didn't even seem to come from beyond the cell door.

Ozai lifted his head, struggling to focus.

The corners of his vision swam. His breath caught. And in the opposite corner of his cell — in the darkest spot, where torchlight never reached — sat a figure.

No chains.

No guards.

Glowing faintly blue.

Maybe he was finally dying. Maybe this was some twisted hallucination on the razor's edge between life and death.

"Uh? You can see me now?" said a voice — male, dry, barely surprised, and unmistakably tired.

Ozai blinked slowly. The shape across the cell didn't vanish.

No hallucination.

There was someone — no, something — on the other side of the room. Humanoid, yes, but not human. The edges of its form shimmered faintly with light, as if the moon had caught on smoke.

"You get spiritually attuned right before dying. Lovely." The figure's tone dripped with sarcasm.

It rose, and ethereal chains — glowing, spectral, and ancient-looking — rattled as it moved. Bound to the floor, they dragged behind it, clinking softly like windchimes at a funeral.

The spirit took a few steps forward but stopped short, held back by the links.

"I get to tell you to shut up face to face, and you're about to die. Not bad timing."

Ozai rasped. "What… are you?"

The spirit exhaled like someone asked a boring question. "A spirit, obviously."

It paced back and returned to its seat across the cell, folding its arms with theatrical flair. Its face flickered — familiar, but wrong, like a memory half-forgotten.

Now Ozai's mind reeled. Fragments of battle reports. Whispers from the siege of the Northern Water Tribe. Ghost-stories about the fleet that vanished beneath moonlight and shadow.

This was no delusion.

It was something to stand before one of them.

"Never thought the legacy of the Dragon Emperor would end up here," the spirit muttered.

"The Dragon Emperor?" Ozai coughed a sharp, mocking laugh. "What nonsense is that? I'm the descendant of Agni — not some overgrown lizard."

"Oh, I didn't mean your blood," the spirit replied lazily. "I meant your fire. Though it seems… lacking now." He chuckled darkly.

Ozai tried to rise, only to collapse back. His vision swam with red.

"You know nothing of me."

"Oh, but I do." The spirit's voice was silk wrapped around blades. "I was there when he rose. I saw when he shared his might with humans — or rather, when his kin did. That's where your fire came from, not divine right. Dragonfire, gifted in error."

The spirit toyed with the chain binding its wrist. "Lion Turtles were already gone. The age of old power had faded. But I'm ancient enough to remember."

A pause.

"The Spirit World knows what the Avatar did to you. They're afraid. Maybe they think they'll meet the same fate as me."

Ozai squinted through the dark, his breath shallow, but his mind sharpening — if only for a moment.

Dragon Emperor… the words echoed in his skull. It couldn't be. It was absurd.

But the chains. The glow. The mocking tone. The mask.

He remembered the stories.

The old stage plays.

Love Amongst Dragons.

It couldn't be.

But there, sitting before him, bound and flickering with ancient flame —

— was the Blue Spirit.