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Chapter Text

One moment, Fire Lord Zuko is drifting off to sleep after signing the last of the major peace treaties required to officially end the war between the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdoms. In the next moment, he is standing barefoot in a forest and unable to open his eyes.

"Who's there?" he snarls. He can hear his abductors whispering amongst themselves. He hasn't been left unwatched. "What do you want?"

This is far from the first attack he's suffered since ascending to the throne, but it's already the most successful. He has no idea how his kidnappers have removed him from his bedroom, let alone how they got past the high palace walls and transported him beyond the heavily patrolled streets of Caldera.

"Peace, Zuko of Second Fire," a man's voice says from directly in front of him.

Zuko throws a fist blindly at his kidnapper's head. The man laughs as he catches the punch.

There are no flames. His bending isn't responding. Has he been drugged? Is that how they got him out of the palace? The man steps closer -- Heat pours off of his abductor as if he is a living furnace. -- and presses the Fire Lord's fist over his own heart. Enough of Zuko's focus is on not panicking that he allows the repositioning of his arm without any resistance.

"Your favored has poor manners," observes a deeper voice from somewhere to his left, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather just end his line to pay the debt?"

Zuko stiffens. They're after more than just him. Is Mai also being held captive somewhere nearby? Has the baby been harmed? Does their reach extend far enough to threaten Uncle in Ba Sing Se? Do their plans include Azula and Ozai? Both have been officially removed from the line of succession, but that doesn't mean much to some.

"The council is agreed," the man in front of him refutes easily, "The debt can be repaid in full through my plan."

"If your favored is as different from the last three of his line as you think he is," the deeper voice huffs, "If. He is still very young, even for a mortal. He could become much the same as they were, given some time."

"He won't," the first kidnapper states in confidence, "He is young, but he has been tried thoroughly. He will not forget himself to the lure of power or ill-founded ambition."

"My brother is correct," a woman's voice joins the conversation, "Fire Lord Zuko has proven himself to be a man of honor and compassion to the other nations. Do not forget, beloved, my brother's plan also benefits our own favored."

"I have not forgotten, my love," the second voice says, "I simply remain unconvinced. Your brother's plan is radical and has many delicate balances. It may fail more easily than it could succeed, especially with this one's inclusion."

"His inclusion is necessary or the plan has little chance to succeed at all," the first states calmly.

"Who are you people?" Zuko demands, temper nearing its end.

A mix of grumbling and laughter answers him. There are... a lot more kidnappers surrounding him than he had previously thought.

"Oh, child of Fire, I am afraid you do not yet realize the magnitude of the situation you have been brought into," the first voice says in gentle amusement. Zuko tenses as the man walks a tight half-circle only to stop behind him. The dull red that has been the shade of his closed eyelids fades to pitch black and a steady heat beats against his back. "Dear Tui, your assistance would be greatly appreciated. Zuko of Second Fire, open your eyes and know those who address you today."

His eyes fly open as soon as the words are spoken and his legs immediately buckle at the sight that greets him. It is only the arm suddenly secured around his chest that keeps him upright. There is a second hand resting lightly at his throat. Zuko isn't sure whether or not that's meant to be a threat.

"Peace, child," the first man -- No, he is not a man at all. -- says, breath a warm breeze rushing past his right ear and cheek, "It is not our goal to harm you."

"Spirits?" Zuko squeaks, twisting to look at the being holding him. It is an attempt that is quickly thwarted.

The hand around his neck slides ever so slightly higher to put pressure on the underside of his jaw and effectively traps his head against the spirit's shoulder. Zuko swallows his pride and yields to the hold. It burns to do so, but he isn't equipped to fight spirits, let alone so many and without so much as his firebending to protect himself or a viable exit strategy. The hand at his throat reverts to being a deceptively light and unrestrictive touch.

The spirit laughs merrily, seemingly unbothered by the actions of the mortal man in his grasp. "Indeed," he answers, "This is the Council of Greater World Spirits."

Zuko scans the odd beings before him again but one in particular catches his attention, if only because she is the sole spirit approaching him. The female spirit is almost suspiciously normal-looking compared to the wilder physiques that some of the other spirits possess. Zuko frowns even as the spirit smiles at him. The form she wears is one he recognizes, but not in regards to any spirit.

"I know you," he says, "You were the Northern Water Tribe's princess."

The woman's smile brightens. "I would not have expected you to remember my favored's mortal form. It is a shame you and my Yue were never properly introduced to each other. I believe you would have gotten on well," she tells him, "My name is Tui."

"The Moon Spirit," Zuko whispers. The others have told him the story, about how Princess Yue sacrificed herself to resurrect the moon. Well, Sokka had told him the story once, after he had gotten drunk at some festival, and the others had clarified a few things when Zuko had thought to ask. He's still not completely sure which parts of the tale were factually true and which parts were alcohol-fueled rambling.

"Yes," the pale spirit says, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Zuko of Second Fire."

"Second Fire?" the man amongst spirits finally asks. He's heard the phrase too many times now to continue ignoring it.

The spirit at his back chuckles softly before answering, "I bestowed the gift of flame upon the dragons first, and to mortal man second, child of Fire."

"Agni?" he questions weakly.

"So I am," the spirit responds.

He's being held by the greatest deity of the Fire Nation, one of the great spirits that support life throughout the entire world. He doesn't know how to process that thought.

"Tui, if you would," Agni requests as he continues to support Zuko's shock-numbed body.

"Of course, Brother," the moon says before returning her attention to the Fire Lord. "You would no more be able to gaze upon the Sun Spirit's native form than you would his physical manifestation in your world's sky without being blinded by his great light. It is, as it has always been, my happy privilege to reflect Agni's brilliance. Please, allow me to be the means through which you might know my brother's face."

Tui turns on her heel and suddenly a very different spirit is standing in her place. Or, not quite. The Moon Spirit's form remains, as if in dark shadow, behind the shining reflection of Agni. It looks as if the two spirits are standing back-to-back in the space intended only for a solitary spirit. It's surreal but, from what Zuko has heard and occasionally experienced, spirits only make sense about half of the time anyway.

The hand at his throat carefully closes Zuko's dropped jaw for him. The reflection's outstretched arm and hand don't quite line up with the fingers he feels gently pressed against his jaw, but it gets the point across well enough. Agni's reflection looks unexpectedly fond. That's... probably a good thing?

Zuko feels himself being lowered to the ground but he can't tear his eyes away from the reflection sinking into a relaxed kneeling position in front of him. The arms retreat for a moment, but heavy hands soon fall upon his shoulders, and Zuko honestly isn't sure if he currently has enough control over his own body to prevent himself from falling down completely without the support. Again the reflection is an imperfect match for the real thing, given the angles, but he can't be bothered to care when he's staring up at the face of Agni.

"I have a task for you, Fire Lord," Agni says, expression turning serious, "I am sorry to say it is not one you will be given a choice in taking up, but the council is in agreement that you deserve to be told why it must happen."

Zuko tries to breathe through the building panic. "Okay," he wheezes past his fried nerves, "I'm ready."

"Three years ago, Zhao of Second Fire attempted to slay the Moon Spirit."

"I remember," Zuko says through his tightening throat, "The Ocean Spirit sank the entire invasion fleet and dragged Zhao down to the bottom of the Northern Sea. I saw it happen with my own eyes."

Agni tips his head in a shallow acknowledging nod. "The Ocean Spirit swept up Zhao of Second Fire into a fate far worse than that of a man drowned at the sea floor, but that is a matter already settled. La's actions that day repaid in full the debt for daring to attack a spirit. However, Tui's favored was lost to the mortal world as a result of Zhao's actions, and that debt has yet to be repaid. Balance would require that I, likewise, take from the mortal realm my favored. It is no secret that I have promised my strongest blessings upon my first children, the dragons; the leaders of my second children, the Fire Lands' royal line; and the mortal bridge, the Avatar.

"Yue of the Northern Seas was the only favored of Tui and La among mortal men. The council reached the decision that balance and justice would require that every living member of the Fire Lands' royal line be wiped from the mortal realm."

The breath in his lungs stutters as he processes the meaning of Agni's words.

The spirits have condemned his entire family to death.

"No! Please, I can --"

"Peace, child mine." Agni's hand cups his unscarred cheek and Zuko feels a face press against his hair. "And listen well." The spirit withdraws so Zuko can again see the reflection's face.

He can't give up without a fight, and especially not when the fight is for more than just himself. Still, Agni has bid him to listen and he has learned the hard way that it is often best to listen before acting. Zuko takes a steadying breath and nods.

"This was not a decision the council reached quickly and, in that time, I had put together another plan to repay the debt. My proposal caused yet more arguing amongst our numbers, but, eventually, my plan was accepted. Only Ozai of Second Fire will be removed from the mortal world."

"Oh," Zuko's relief bursts from him in a gust of breath that he had not meant to give voice to. Ozai's death will doubtlessly cause a stir, and there will likely be rumors of patricide, but... Considering what the alternative is, he has no complaints. He'll find a way to deal with the fallout.

"There is more to the plan and it will demand much of you," the spirit warns, "It will not be accomplished quickly."

"I can do it," Zuko promises. Whatever the plan is, he'll do his part. For Uncle, and Mai, and the baby, and even Azula.

Agni smiles but something about the Sun Spirit's expression is nonetheless pitying. "You can and I have faith that you will, but, as I said, you are not being given a choice in the matter. You will take up this task. But you will not be working alone. Now that the council is set on this course, many spirits are eager to participate. Tui and I in particular will remain near to guide you, and lesser spirits may also seek you out to offer their services."

Agni retreats and stands. Zuko's head is swimming under the warring relief and dread but he manages to remain sitting upright. "Now, we should get started," the Sun Spirit announces. "La, are you ready?"

The oddly normal-looking Water Tribe man that is actually the Ocean Spirit, apparently, flashes a shark-like grin. "Don't worry about me, King of Flames. I've had more practice in the mortal world than any of you in recent memory," he says in the same voice that had earlier disparaged Zuko's manners and openly wondered if they shouldn't go back to the old plan of indiscriminately killing his entire family. "I'll manage just fine."

"Wait! You still haven't told me what my task is!" Zuko yells.

"Your task is nothing more or less than you would do regardless, given what you have already been told and the situation we are sending you into," Agni says, "Be an honorable Fire Lord. Seek to create and maintain peaceful relations between the Fire Lands and the rest of the world. But please, child of Fire, take some time to rest and think. The path before you is long and difficult."

"My moon," La says, offering a hand to Agni's reflection, "let us begin."

Tui spins and Agni's visage drops from her form like the illusion it is. The Moon Spirit takes the ocean's offered hand. She smiles at Zuko as she says, "Remember, young Fire Lord, the burden is not yours to bear alone. We all must do our parts. Call for us if you have need. We will answer."

Agni briefly touches the back of his neck and Zuko has to resist the urge to glance over his shoulder at the Sun Spirit. "I give you now the same charge that I once gave your forefathers: Fire Lord, my blessing is upon you. Go forth and tend to my children and my lands. Bring prosperity and honor to that which has been entrusted to you."

Between one moment and the next, Fire Lord Zuko exits the spirit world as abruptly as he had been pulled into it.

Chapter Text

Zuko blinks awake feeling dazed, vaguely nauseous, and extremely disoriented.

The first thing he becomes aware of is the hard ground he is kneeling on. The second is that he is staring up at a bright, cloudless sky rimmed in by four rather decorative and tall walls. One of the palace courtyards? How did he get here?

He remembers a meeting with several spirits. Agni and Tui, the sun and moon, spoke directly to him. He'll have to ask Aang if he has any advice regarding audiences with spirits, being the Avatar and all. If he's lucky, maybe Aang will even have some idea of whatever this plan is that the spirits are putting into motion. He's not holding out much hope for that, but it would be nice to be given a clearer goal to work toward.

Zuko groans and runs a hand over his face.

...Wait? What? How?

His scar is missing.

For that matter, his whole face feels wrong.

Zuko jolts into full wakefulness with that realization. What have the spirits done to him?

The sound slams into him from all sides, the whispers of many and the shouts of a few. Flames crackle in the background. One voice manages to catch his attention by the simple virtue of being closer than all of the others.

"Father?"

Zuko drags his eyes away from the sky to locate the source of the young voice. Gasps and swears ripple through the gathered crowd, and the boy in front of the Fire Lord falls backward in shock, catching himself on his elbows as he openly gapes at Zuko. He can't be more than fourteen years or so and he looks... familiar. Is he a nobleman's son? Or maybe a son of one of the palace servants? He can't place where he's seen the teen before but it nags at the back of his mind like a half-forgotten memory.

"Father," a second voice says from his left. It's a girl, somewhere between the ages of ten and twelve if he had to guess, who looks eerily like Azula did when she was that age. She's looking right at Zuko, but... she can't be addressing him. Can she? She crosses her arms and leans casually against the raised platform. It is only then that Zuko recognizes his surroundings as the Royal Agni Kai Arena in the western wing of the palace.

Zuko feels sick. Why is he here? Has there been another challenge? He glances at the boy slowly reapproaching him. Why has this child been allowed onto the combat platform? Why is he dressed as if he is a participant?

"Father," the girl says again, reclaiming his attention and steadily meeting his gaze. Why does she keep calling him that? "Your eyes are glowing," she says, as if it is a completely mundane thing to claim, and then she follows that impossible statement up by asking, "Did you know?"

She even sounds like... "Azula?" he asks.

The girl immediately straightens. "Yes, Father?" After a slight hesitation that most would miss, she dares to question the Fire Lord, "Are you well?"

He ignores the inquiry as his gaze flies to settle on the boy sharing the arena with him. He recognizes that young, tear-streaked face now. Unscarred and naive, a thirteen-year-old Prince Zuko stares back at him with open concern.

Zuko's stomach promptly relieves itself of its contents.

Screams fill the courtyard.

"Father!" two terribly young voices cry.

"Medic!" Iroh bellows.

Zuko hardly hears any of them.

Ozai. He's in Ozai's body.

He is also six years in the past.

Zuko squeezes his eyes shut and gasps for air past a burning throat.

Even when attempting to be kind, the spirits are cruel. Agni has schemed a way to spare his family and simultaneously thrown Zuko headlong into something more horrifying than even the worst of his nightmares.

There is a furnace at his back and a too-warm hand on his shoulder. "Breathe, Fire Lord," Agni instructs.

Zuko reaches for the hand on his shoulder and clings to those fingers like they're his last lifeline. He doesn't bother to open his eyes.

"I never wanted to be my father," he rasps in a weak voice. It's a lie. The foolish child in front of him wants nothing more than to be just like Ozai. Or, at least, the person that the teenager has built up Ozai to be in his mind.

"And you are not. Nor could you ever be," Agni says, "You are your own man."

"Please, Agni, I can't do this." He hasn't begged like this since the seconds before his father burned his face. The fact that he is here, again, pleading for mercy, again, makes his already emptied stomach roll.

The Sun Spirit squeezes his shoulder and then withdraws despite Zuko's attempt to hold onto the spirit's hand. "The choice has already been made, Zuko of Second Fire, and it was never yours to make." Agni touches the back of his neck, like he had only moments ago in the spirit world, and says, "You are capable of greater things than you know, Fire Lord. But for now, tend to that which cannot wait and then rest. A man needs his rest."

The heat at his back and the hand on his neck both vanish between one breath and the next. As suddenly as Agni had come, he leaves.

"Fire Lord? Your majesty?"

Zuko opens his eyes in time to spot a cautious healer reaching toward his face. He jerks away from the offending hand and snarls, "I'm f--" The Fire Lord coughs and spits into the puddle of bile and a half-digested meal that he is still kneeling beside. Zuko grimaces. "I'm fine," he insists in a calmer tone, "Get someone to clean that up."

Zuko draws a deep breath and lets it go slowly. Agni had told him to focus on what couldn't wait. So, what is it that can't wait?

The boy, obviously. An Agni Kai continues until the first burn and not a single flame has been summoned. Thankfully, in this particular Agni Kai, he has another option available that the Fire Lord typically wouldn't have.

Zuko pushes himself to his feet and impatiently waves off the small flock of doctors still hovering around him. They withdraw while bent over in deep bows and Zuko uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. He could really use some water. His mouth tastes disgusting.

"Prince Z--" his throat closes up. It's his name. It isn't fair that the spirits have effectively taken everything down to his name from him. It would be more unfair to deny it to a teenager that has done nothing wrong and is fully ignorant of the spirits' meddling. "Prince Zuko," the Fire Lord forces himself to say, "your forfeiture is accepted."

"Thank you, Father," the prince says in a full kowtow. He's trembling. The Fire Lord looks away.

He scans the crowd behind Azula. "Un-- Iroh, escort the... What are you doing?"

Iroh straightens from his crouch and offers a bow before saying, "Fire Lord, if you are not in need of the healers, may I suggest they take a look at Captain Zhao? Though I am not certain they will be able to do anything for him."

Zuko's eyes widen. "What?" he demands before leaping down from the platform and striding to the other man's side to see for himself. The crowd parts quickly for him and soon Zuko is staring down at a shell of a man. Zhao lies crumpled on the ground where he collapsed sometime during the earlier chaos. The man's eyes gaze forward unseeingly and drool dribbles from his mouth.

"The Ocean Spirit swept up Zhao of Second Fire into a fate far worse than that of a man drowned at the sea floor."

Zuko hadn't been sure what to make of Agni's statement at the time. He has some idea now of what the spirit had been talking about.

"He's fallen out of the spirits' favor," Zuko says around a grimace, "There's nothing that can be done for him."

"Spirits?" Iroh questions.

"Yes," Zuko answers as he waves the healers over. "Bring him to the infirmary and take care of the body until it dies," he instructs, pitching his voice for the whole courtyard to hear, "Then perform the usual funeral rights and scatter his ashes in the sea. Furthermore, he is hereby stripped of all honors he has previously been awarded." He glances over at the scribe that has been assigned to record the Agni Kai. "Did you get all that?"

"Yes, your majesty!" the man squeaks, drawn out of his stupor by the direct address and writing furiously to catch up with the unfolding events.

Zuko sighs and spares the body one last glance as it is loaded onto a stretcher and taken away. A part of him thinks he should declare Zhao a traitor, have him executed and his name recorded in dishonor. Except the shell of a man being whisked off to the palace infirmary hasn't done any of the things that would have earned such a sentence. While Zuko doesn't doubt he already has the will to go through with the crimes that he would have committed in three years' time, it also doesn't matter now. La's judgement has proven itself to be harsher than anything that the Fire Nation is capable of doing.

"Iroh, escort the prince and princess back to their rooms," he says, "After that, send word to the generals that there will be a war meeting ten degrees before sunset. An important one. And have the Fire Sages send at least one of their number to join us, more if they are willing."

Uncle's eyebrows climb high on his forehead. "It will be done."

"Good, and," he says but hesitates. He has no indication that the spirits have included Uncle in their plots, and he doesn't know their reasoning for that one way or the other. He doesn't know how much he should tell the older man, but he's going to need his help in holding the Fire Nation together through the changes ahead of them. "Come find me when you're done," he settles on saying, "We need to speak privately before the war meeting."

Iroh looks no less surprised by this request. "As you wish, Fire Lord."

"Thank you." Zuko ignores the reaction those words prompt from everyone close enough to be eavesdropping on the conversation. This whole debacle is already going to cause dozens of rumors that will spread faster than a summer wildfire. That the Fire Lord might be capable of expressing gratitude isn't one that worries him.

"This Agni Kai is over," he announces loudly, "You are all dismissed. Unless you have duties here, leave." He doesn't wait for the crowd to disperse before striding out one of the doorways himself.

It's probably not the right thing to do, not after two children just watched their father... Well, Ozai had likely collapsed to his knees, considering the position he'd woken in, and then Zuko had thrown up, which doesn't sound like a man in good health. He probably should have tried to reassure the prince and princess, somehow. No matter how undeservedly, Prince Zuko and Princess Azula love their father. He knows that bone-deep. What he doesn't know is what to say to either of them. He'd been nervous about learning how to be the father of one small newborn, not... not two...

Zuko clenches his eyes closed and steadies himself with one hand on a nearby wall as a wave of grief crashes into him. His child with Mai doesn't exist now. His child will not ever exist. He never had so much as a chance to hold them. Mai hadn't told him which names she had settled on for their first child. The baby is simply gone. Come to that, his marriage is effectively over. His whole life is over.

And in its place he has a nation he must guide out of its slow self-destruction, along with some much faster global destruction. He also has two half-grown children he has no idea how to act around. Finally, he has an estranged un-- brother that he desperately needs to support him. He already knows he will crumble under the weight of his responsibilities if Iroh refuses to help him.

Zuko pushes away from the wall and continues on his way through the palace corridors. There will be a time to address his sorrows and fears, but that time is not now.

For now, he has a war meeting he needs to prepare for.

Chapter Text

Iroh watches his brother exit the courtyard and isn't sure if he should feel more relieved or worried as the younger man vanishes from view. On one hand, the spirits themselves had intervened and spared his young, foolhardy nephew from what would have doubtlessly been a grievous injury. On the other hand, the spirits had intervened and they had not been subtle.

To his shame, he had averted his eyes when Zuko refused to fight and Ozai approached the boy regardless, and so he had not seen the Fire Lord fall to his knees. He had only dared to again look upon the Agni Kai platform after the crowd's gasps had been followed by Prince Zuko's distressed call for his father, rather than his cry of pain. Iroh already knows he will never forget the sight of his indomitable younger brother driven to his knees with his head tipped up to the sky and light pouring from his open mouth and eyes. It had been unsettling, to say the least, and will doubtlessly be the source of many whispers for years to come.

Even after the spirits had released the man from their thrall, his eyes had not returned to normal. Although they are no longer casting out beams of light, the Fire Lord's eyes now glow from an internal source that is wholly separate from a firebender's inner flame. One glance at Ozai's face will be enough to confirm to even the staunchest of skeptics that his brother has been spirit-touched.

But to what end?

Iroh does his best to banish the frown from his face as he collects his niece and nephew. He can only hope that he will receive the answers to some of his many questions later in the day.

"I'm not to be disturbed except for emergencies," the Fire Lord tells the guards, "When General Iroh arrives, allow him entry."

"Yes, Fire Lord," both guards respond dutifully.

Zuko tips his head in a shallow nod before crossing the threshold into the Fire Lord's suite. As soon as the doors are closed behind him, he leans back against the solid barrier between him and the rest of the nation with an exhausted sigh and closes his eyes.

He has Iroh arranging the war meeting and collecting the Fire Sages for their counsel. He stopped by the kitchens to request refreshments to keep the generals from getting any crankier over empty bellies than they would already be from the ceasefire he was about to order. The clerks are currently working to assemble new maps and statistics with updated troop numbers and locations, borders, supply lines, and any other relevant information regarding the war front for the entire Earth Kingdom and the scattered islands that claim independence. The maps that would have been used only yesterday for that disastrous meeting his father had used to banish him could be reused today, but they focussed on only a small portion of the large continent.

(Only six years after the fact, he finally has a real chance to save the 41st Division from being slaughtered. It would almost be funny if the whole situation wasn't so stressful.)

Zuko focusses on his breathing and the now empty tea mug in his hands that he'd taken from the kitchens. He can do this. One step at a time.

He already knows that it's going to be a nightmare convincing all the various Earth kings and Water Tribe chieftains to trust him without an Avatar to vouch for him, but he'll figure it out. Somehow.

Zuko groans and opens his eyes only for his gaze to catch on the full-length mirror visible through the open doorway to his bedroom. He nearly drops the mug before managing to set it down on the small table beside the suite's main doors.

He'd already realized he was trapped in his father's body, but somehow he still hadn't been prepared to see the reality of the situation for himself. Zuko swallows and forces himself to approach the mirror, to look at what is now his own face and form. It doesn't matter how painful it is. His life has never been easy. He knows how to push past pain.

Zuko frowns at the mirror. Maybe he's spent too much time with Aang, but the odd inner glow of his eyes barely registers compared to the rest of his reflection. He's always taken after his mother in looks, but he can see shadows on his own features in Ozai's face. It's a lot easier to find the similarities with the disdain removed from his father's expression. -- No. His expression on his face. He needs to accept that. -- Zuko holds a hand over his left eye. Ah, there he is. Despite the sharper cheekbones and jawline, he can definitely see pieces of himself in the reflected image. He just wishes that was comforting.

He allows his hand to fall away from his face before he can do anything stupid. This body is his now, and he will make it his, but trying to reclaim old scars isn't the way to do so. Zuko sweeps a critical gaze over his reflection and comes to a decision. There isn't a need to make any drastic changes, but the goatee has to go. And probably several inches of hair, too.

There is a movement in the mirror behind him.

Zuko whirls around in a ready stance. Flames flare to life in his hands only to twist out of his control and stream toward a growing sphere of fire hovering in the center of his bedroom. Zuko grunts and ceases to bend. This is clearly spirit work and not one he can fight with firebending. His fingers itch for his dao swords but he makes himself wait to discover what spirit has sought him out and what they want from him.

Every sconce in the room continues to feed their flames into the burning sphere, fire changing from bright yellows to pure white. Finally the sphere releases the smaller fires. It spins and elongates itself before reshaping itself into a familiar form.

"Agni?"

"So I am," the spirit responds, "You have been busy, Fire Lord."

Unlike the Moon Spirit and Ocean Spirit, Agni doesn't look much like a human. Agni is fire and he doesn't hide that fact. The white flames that make up his form may hold to the shape of a man, but that is the only concession he makes in his appearance.

"I... Am I going to go blind?" Zuko asks. His eyes don't feel like they're burning, and Agni had been careful not to let Zuko harm himself during their first meeting. All the same, he remembers the warning he'd received in the spirit world about looking directly at Agni, and even on a cloudy day it could be dangerous to look at the sun.

"Peace, child mine," Agni's voice holds laughter, but at least it sounds like amusement and not condescension, "This form is a greatly reduced representation of all that I am. It is safe for you to look."

"Oh. Good." Zuko flushes in embarrassment. He has no clue what he's supposed to do. Agni is the sun in the sky, the source of all firebending, and the patron deity of the Fire Nation. Agni is also the same spirit that has thrown Zuko headlong into his father's life, held him up when his legs gave out on him, and attempted to calm him after he'd unceremoniously lost his lunch all over an arena dedicated in the spirit's honor.

Agni chuckles softly and rounds the bed to stand in front of him. "There are yet a few hours before you must attend the meeting you have called, and preparations are underway." The spirit tips his head toward Zuko and advises, "You should rest while you can, Fire Lord."

"I will. I had the clerks clear my schedule for tomorrow."

"And for today?" Agni questions. "We plucked you up from your bed before sleep had found you and dropped you into noonday. You need rest."

Zuko shifts his weight on his feet. He does. He can feel it dragging at him. A tired Fire Lord is a Fire Lord that makes mistakes that affect thousands at the least. He'd been planning to meditate, but something tells him Agni will push for full sleep instead. "I'll take a nap," he says reluctantly, "I just need to do something first."

"One thing?" Agni presses.

"Yes." Zuko straightens his shoulders. "I need to cut some of this hair off. There's too much of it." Tradition means he has to keep enough for a topknot, but leaving more than that gives opponents an unnecessary handhold attached directly to his head. The same goes for the stupidly long goatee his father had favored for reasons Zuko can't fathom.

Agni shakes his head but there is a smile in his tone as he says, "Very well. Let us be done with the task quickly so that you may sleep."

"Us?" Zuko asks.

"Indeed," Agni answers, placing a hand on the young Fire Lord's back and herding him into the attached bathing room, "The servants will likely have to clean it up later, but I doubt I can do much worse than you would on your own without any assistance."

"Probably," Zuko admits wryly.

Agni is going to help him cut his hair. How did his life get this weird?

Agni doesn't wait for the guard to knock on the Fire Lord's suite doors. In fact he makes sure to open the door before the poor mortal's fist can make contact. His child needs all the rest he can convince the young human to take.

"General Iroh of Second Fire," he greets formally, careful to keep his voice bland, "You may --"

The retired general's face displays open shock. One of the guards yelps and the other attempts to run him through with his spear.

Agni flares the flames of this secondary manifestation hotter and molten steel falls at his feet. The spirit huffs quietly and bends to collect the puddled metal. He is perhaps a bit too fond of mortal man, he muses. An attempt to kill him and he can only find it cute, like a fledgeling of first fire practicing use of their claws and fangs with their clutchmates. The spirit carefully bends the heat from the melted steel until it resolidifies and then further still until the irregular ingots are unlikely to burn through gloves.

"Your hand," he says and gestures toward the guard that had tried to stab him, "No need to let it go to waste. I'm sure a decent smith can forge something worthwhile from it." The guard hesitantly offers a hand as requested and Agni drops the ingots into the waiting palm. The spirit ignores the man's soft hiss. Making something cold is not among his abilities. He has no doubts that the metal feels quite hot even to a child of second fire, but his leather glove is neither smoking nor melting. The guard will be fine.

"As I was saying, you may come in, General."

Iroh does not move beyond his breath and his eyes. The man's gaze is wary and scrutinizing. "And whom among the spirits would I be addressing?" the man asks, tone carefully mild.

"A spirit of flame and heat, of fire and burning," Agni responds for no other reason than to be difficult. He has not yet gotten over his disappointment in the once-crown-prince and he is unlikely to reach that point during the man's lifetime. Iroh had had such promise and he threw it away in a grief that he had allowed to subsume all else. Still, he can hear his young Fire Lord stirring deeper within the chambers. Iroh of Second Fire will have his answer soon enough.

"There are many spirits of fire," the general says evenly, "some more friendly toward humans than others. I would be honored to be entrusted with your name, spirit."

"Would you?" Agni says, "You once had the chance for such an honor but chose to eschew the responsibilities that came with becoming my herald to this world."

Iroh frowns, his eyes speak of uncertainty. How the man fails to recognize him at this point is beyond Agni. There are few other spirits capable of burning hot enough to produce white flames and fewer still that care to retain heralds among humans. The guards can be forgiven their ignorance. Sozin and Azulon were thorough in their efforts to bury most knowledge of the spirits among those of second fire. But Iroh has sought out enough information to know better. Perhaps that is the problem. Iroh may know enough to be wary of tricksters and impersonators.

"I'm afraid I --"

"Agni?" his young Fire Lord calls for him, voice roughened by sleep.

Both guards drop to the floor in full kowtows. Iroh's face flushes and contorts in anger. Ah, he does suspect a trickster, then. Well, that is easily remedied. "So I am." And although many spirits may twist their words or speak in riddles, lies are a fully mortal contrivance.

Iroh of Second Fire immediately pales as he gapes and his eyes widen. Finally, some proper fear from the prince that forsook his duties. The man falls into a deep bow and Agni feels his temper flare. "Lower, Once-Prince," he commands, "You rejected your birthright and duties. You have lost the protections of your bloodline. The blessings of Kuzon, Uniter of the Sacred Fire Lands, First of the Fire Lords, are no longer upon you. And never will be again."

Iroh shakes as he sinks to his knees. "I beg your forgiveness for my trespass, Great Agni, King of Flames."

Agni tamps down on his temper. He does not hate Iroh. He does not wish him to come to harm. He is simply frustrated with the man. "Rise, all of you. Return to the duties the Fire Lord has assigned you."

"What did I miss?" the man behind him asks warily.

Agni considers his newly reforged Fire Lord, of Zuko's soul and Ozai's body, not so dissimilar to the state Tui had been in only a few short years ago. He is yet fragile and still in the process of setting. Iroh has not done enough to earn his full contempt, but the man schemes and meddles, and Agni will not have him strike unknowingly at an ally only to destroy a young man that loves him and will not fight fang for fang, claw for claw. Fire Lord Zuko should be allowed more time to mourn his life and identity, but his protection is more important.

Agni approaches the Fire Lord, and all three of the humans still by the doorway tense as the fire spirit rests a palm on his favored's forehead and wraps his other hand around the back of the man's neck. The Fire Lord does not flinch but he remains wary.

"Agni?"

"You are Fire Lord Ozai," the spirit declares and wills himself to ignore the betrayed look in the young man's eyes, "Born of Kuzon the Uniter's line, reforged by the Council of Greater World Spirits, and holder of Agni's favor. By my blessing, you will rule over my Fire Lands until your death or abdication. Woe be to any who would conspire against you. They will know the full measure of my ire."

The Fire Lord glances over at the small gathering of witnesses, specifically at his uncle-brother, before his eyes return to Agni. "I understand," he rasps.

Agni is not done. "You are Ozai," he declares, dropping his hand from the mortal's head to his chest, "Son of Agni and Nephew of Tui, cherished child of the sky. Nowhere under our gaze can you wander alone. Nowhere under our gaze can your enemies hide."

"Oh," his child breathes.

Good, sometimes it takes a while for those he favors to realize that ceremonial words take on deeper meaning with his favor. Better to say it more plainly when matters are already balanced precariously.

Agni releases the young man. "Now, I believe you have matters to attend to," he says, sweeping a measuring glance over his child. Still shaken, but growing more sure of himself. And Iroh (who, for better or worse, stands as the greatest threat to Ozai) has been warned. The older mortal is not usually a fool. He will wait and watch before taking any further actions. It is enough.

"Thank you, Agni," Ozai says and offers a deep bow.

The spirit indulges himself when the young mortal's unbound hair falls forward, tucking the locks behind his ear before withdrawing. "Be honorable, Fire Lord."

Agni allows the manifestation to unravel, flame without fuel dissipating harmlessly in the air.

Chapter Text

Ozai. Agni had declared him 'Ozai.' Twice. In front of witnesses. That the witnesses don't realize precisely what they have witnessed doesn't change anything.

It hurts. The promise that Agni and Tui are watching, that he is not alone and the further implication that they care, helps, but it still hurts.

A part of him had known that it was coming, that it had to happen, or else what was the point of dragging him six years into the past and dropping him directly into his father's life? If the spirits had wanted Zuko on the Dragon Throne, they could have stricken his father down as they had Zhao. If the spirits had wanted an experienced Fire Lord, they could have placed him back into his own life. That isn't what the spirits chose to do. He still doesn't know what all Agni's plan entails, but the spirits had clearly decided that those options were insufficient.

And yet, he had dared to hope that, maybe, at least the spirits would still recognize him as Zuko. Agni had, in those moments right after he'd found himself in this waking nightmare, but it seems that was only a brief reprieve from his new reality.

Worse, Agni had used his latest blessing as a warning and reminder. Iroh sees him as an enemy. Or, at the very least, an obstacle to restoring the world's balance. Iroh will not trust him easily, and so Zu-- Ozai cannot fully trust in his brother's intentions, either. 'Conspire' had not been a careless choice of phrasing, but... That's something that he can use, isn't it? If he can get the White Lotus working in parallel with him... Even if the alliance is uneasy and never formalized, that could be irreplaceably valuable in fostering a new era of peace between the nations.

He's not sure if Agni had meant to draw his attention to Iroh's ties with the White Lotus, but he's grateful for the reminder regardless of any intentions. Before, he'd only been thinking about his personal reliance on Iroh, and the sway the older man has on the internal politics of the Fire Nation as the previous crown prince and a successful general. He hadn't thought about his unc-- his brother's allies outside of the nation, several of whom are in high positions within their respective societies.

Z-- Ozai, dammit! He is the Fire Lord! His will comes second only to Agni, and he will not let a specter best him! The name is his now and a dead man will not --

The Fire Lord squeezes his eyes shut and bites back the sudden sob trying to break free as an unexpected swell of grief hits him anew. His father is dead. Agni's plan killed him. He doesn't want to mourn the man that burned and banished him, that planned to raze the whole Eastern Continent to the ground in comet's fire, but the feeling of loss is there no matter how unwanted or foolish.

Later. There will be time to cry over all he has lost later.

Ozai breathes deeply, opens his eyes, and finally allows himself to rise from his bow and face his audience.

"Iroh," he gestures at a lounge absently, offering his brother a place to sit. He waits until the doors are closed again before saying, "We need to talk before the meeting." Out of habit, he reaches for the sun with his inner flame to check the time and hisses out a surprised breath, steam escaping between his teeth. Agni had let him sleep longer than he had intended to. The spirit's second manifestation, while weaker, had been much closer, obscuring his ability to sense the primary physical form's progress through the sky. In short, it is much later in the day than he had anticipated having this conversation.

At Iroh's raised brows, the Fire Lord reluctantly admits, "I hadn't realized how late it's gotten. We don't have enough time for everything and I need to get ready." He's still dressed in only the traditional Agni Kai garb he'd been wearing when he had arrived in the... present, he supposes. Ozai ignores his brother's surprised blink at receiving an answer for the question he technically never asked, just as he ignores the slight flush heating his own face. He retreats to the closet to find something that he can wrestle himself into without servants but formal enough for the impending meeting.

It is occurring to him now that he may not know how to interact with a General Iroh who has not followed his nephew into exile. (And if Ozai is fumbling through a conversation with Iroh, how much more challenging will it be to face the young prince and princess elsewhere in the palace? Daunting, but a thought for later when he doesn't have an emergency war meeting bearing down on him.)

He's half expecting some inane comment about how he shaved or that he cut his hair, or maybe a remark about the eerie glowing of his eyes. He'd forgotten that Uncle had only begun playing the part of an easily distracted fool after his banishment. Instead, Iroh gets right to the point. "You seem to have caught the spirits' attention, Brother. It has been a long time since any of them have deigned to interfere so obviously in our world. A very long time." Iroh only hesitates a breath before asking, "Has Agni given you insight on the war?"

"You could say that," Ozai grumbles under his breath, yanking on the last of his chosen outfit's base layers and gathering up the outer robe and shoes that will complete the ensemble. Several ties and buttons still need to be secured, but he's decent enough and he wants to be able to see the other man's face as they speak. Besides, after rescuing an Uncle who had been kidnapped while bathing, no version of Iroh has a right to complain about any state of dress he may be found in.

"Agni has a plan," he confirms, "He hasn't told me all of it, but he made it clear enough what he expects of me, and thus the Fire Nation." Ozai focusses on finishing with the last of the fastenings and then continues when he can look Iroh in the eye, "I'm going to need your help holding the country together. There are going to be a lot of changes and a lot of people will be angry about them. I think you'll approve of most of it, though."

"Oh?" Iroh asks in a carefully mild tone.

Ozai rolls his eyes. "Yes." He slips his shoes on, secures them, and says, "I'll be ordering a ceasefire and consolidating our borders in the colonies."

Iroh gapes, frowns, strokes his beard, and then finally asks, "You are going to order a retreat?"

The Fire Lord shrugs. "It's been almost a century of war. Agni instructed me to seek its end and establish peaceful relations with the other nations. He gave me no specific instruction past that. He gave me no time frame. He only charged me with a goal and granted me the authority to see it done. This is as good a first step as any."

"I see..." Iroh murmurs.

"Do you?" Ozai challenges the other man, "Agni ordered the end of the war. He did not instruct me to forfeit our colonies or any other spoils we've won. He also just very obviously warned you about 'conspiring' against me."

"I have not --"

Ozai holds up a hand and his brother falls silent. "Iroh," he says steadily, meeting the other man's eyes, "I'm not asking for details or names. I'm not even telling you to break ties. Just... be careful." He huffs softly and allows himself a wry smirk. "I meant it when I said I'll need your help. Access to a network that spans the remaining nations would also be useful. If you are willing to trust me this far, send a message to King Bumi of Omashu. Ask him about Aang and Appa. You don't have to tell me you've so much as consented to send the message unless King Bumi is interested in further information."

Iroh eyes him warily. "I would not have expected you to extend mercy to a man you are convinced plots against you, Brother. No matter who he may be."

Ozai takes a moment to consider his response. He's never been a skilled liar. He likely never will be. But three years in court as Fire Lord has taught him the value of letting others reach their own conclusions. Iroh isn't ready to hear the whole truth, perhaps it is better if he never learns the entirety of it, but he needs some kind of explanation and Ozai can give him that much.

"Yesterday, you would have been granted no reprieve," he admits slowly, "Today, you are." He breathes deeply, still carefully picking through his words. "I don't know what it looked like from the outside, after the spirits plucked me up and before they released me, but how many men have you known to escape such an encounter with the spirits unchanged?"

"Not many," the older firebender acknowledges. "I thank you for the mercy you have shown me, my lord, but it is unneeded. I do not plot against you."

"No," Ozai scoffs in vague amusement, "my rule is no longer at cross-purposes with the White Lotus." He pretends not to notice as Iroh pales. Instead he stands and turns away. "We're out of time," he announces, heading for the attached bathroom to retrieve his crown, "Remember, ask Bumi about Aang and Appa. I'll see you at the meeting. Dismissed."

Chapter Text

Ozai strides through the throne room entrance located behind the curtain of flame and closest to the room's namesake already feeling frazzled.

It had taken him longer to scrape together an acceptable topknot than he'd expected. He knew the hand motions necessary to perform the act but that didn't mean his body did. The muscle memory just isn't there. After all, when would his father, surrounded by servants every day since his birth, have deigned to style his own hair? When would he ever have needed to? He wouldn't. That's the answer. Ozai had still managed eventually, but it had taken too many attempts and he'd needed to go slowly to keep the hair neat. (It is yet another thing that will need work. He refuses to be wholly dependent on servants for anything.)

The only thing that keeps him from being considered late to his own meeting is the fact that the Fire Lord, Herald of Agni, who measures the length of the day, cannot be late. If Agni's Herald arrives later than anticipated, it is because it was ordained to happen by the great spirit. At least, that is the traditional reasoning. (Ozai is almost certain that some past Fire Lord made it up to excuse their inability to keep track of time. He hates that he will be relying on that same custom to excuse his own tardiness now.)

The throne room is bare of other people except for the servants, all bowing low as he enters. (There are three runners should messages need to be sent out before the meeting is concluded, two scribes to observe and compare notes on the meeting before an official record is written and submitted to the palace library, a handful of attendants for more mundane tasks, and there will be at least three intelligence officers hidden either among the visible staff or else completely out of sight.) It's no surprise that none of the war council is present yet, of course. It is traditional for meeting attendants and guests to only be allowed into the throne room after the Fire Lord is in place.

Ozai takes a moment to stop and breathe deeply, in part to settle his nerves, as he reaches for the bank of coals and the wall of fire they feed.

White flames shoot up to the high ceiling and it is only the careful metal and stone design of the throne room that prevents the fire from spreading beyond its banking channels in the floor and roof. Several servants gasp. A few of them give voice to quickly stifled screams. For his part, Ozai flinches back only to realize in the next moment that he can feel a furnace at his back and that his eyes have been sealed shut.

"Gently, Fire Lord. There is no need to strain for that which will come to you," Agni advises, voice soft and amused in his ear. One too-warm hand rests on his shoulder and its mate soon covers Ozai's own outstretched hand, guiding it downward and tempering the wild flames into something manageable.

"I thought it was a myth," Ozai admits hoarsely, "the records about the old Fire Lords. What they could do." The white Flames of Agni, hotter even than the rare blue flame that some benders could achieve, wielded by ancient Fire Lords, was but one facet of the old stories. The implications are overwhelming if he thinks about them.

Agni chuckles and settles both hands on his shoulders. "You are the first in generations to hold my full favor as herald, a true Lord of Fire. Just as those you speak of were in their times," Agni tells him, "Flames will leap to do as you bid with enthusiasm. You will find that all fire is eager to serve you, because in serving the herald it serves its master."

Agni doesn't release him, but rather leans around him as if peering over his shoulder. Which is ridiculous, because every time Agni has appeared to him the spirit has been at least a head taller than him. That doesn't change what the shifting sense of heat and pressure tell him, though. "What?" he finally asks.

Agni huffs a laugh under his breath. "Feel," he instructs, "This particular stray flame burns hotly enough that you will be able to find it, even if you are not yet an experienced herald."

And then Agni again vanishes from the mortal world and Ozai opens his eyes with a frown.

The Fire Lord tentatively searches the room for whatever it was that Agni had found and intended to draw to his attention. A light touch of his bending keeps the curtain of flame at the appropriate height for an audience, still burning what should be an impossible white. The wall sconces are all lit but none are out of the ordinary. A few flare and spark white as he ghosts his bending sense over them and Ozai's frown deepens. It's going to take time and effort to regain proper control. He can already tell.

Finished with the obvious fires in the room, Ozai attempts to discover fires he may have somehow overlooked. He nearly collapses in shock when he realizes he can pinpoint every servant in the room by their inner flames.

"My lord?" one of the braver servants finally speaks into the silence, "Do you require something before the generals and sages are brought in?"

Ozai glances back at the servant. "They will wait a moment more."

"Of course, your majesty," the servant murmurs, falling into another bow.

Had no one else recognized Agni's presence a moment ago? Heard his voice and the instructions he'd passed to his Fire Lord? Then again, no one else seemed to have noticed the Sun Spirit's arrival in the courtyard, either. Only when Agni had built a body of mortal flames in the Fire Lord's chambers had anyone else reacted to the spirit's appearance. Agni's Herald indeed. Regardless, he has not yet puzzled out the great spirit's latest task.

Could Agni have meant a stray inner flame?

He scans over the servants in the room, the two spies hidden in the walls, and even those waiting beyond the doors. One flame draws notice, burning hotter than all the others. The inner flame is tucked low to the ground and behind a particular floor-length banner that he knows as well from the back as he does from the front, conveniently placed to be obscured by the flame wall from the throne and by the open door when an audience enters or leaves.

"Azula!" he bellows, parting the flame wall and stalking across the throne room.

Azula pushes the banner aside and steps forward. "Father," she greets smoothly while bowing, skilled hands effortlessly forming the sign of the flame to high court standards. As always, the girl's actions are precise and perfect.

"Your brother just found himself a participant in an Agni Kai for speaking out of turn during a war meeting," he half-growls the words as he says them. (It had only been after he'd taken the throne himself that he'd realized just how badly he'd misstepped in doing so. If a Fire Lord could not control his own courtroom, then he was weak. Weak Fire Lords were either challenged face-to-face in Agni Kais by the ambitious, or else assassinated in the night because cowards were unworthy of honorable deaths. His father had still been wrong -- dishonorable and cruel -- in his actions six years ago, but the offense of disrupting his court had been very real.) "It is by Agni's mercy that he left the arena unscathed," he continues, "What about that made you think it was a good idea to attend a war meeting uninvited?"

"I sought to learn about the state of our great nation, Father," Azula answers, "As a princess of the Fire Nation, it is my duty to remain informed about anything that affects our country, especially its goals and security, so that I may be ready to aid in guiding it into a future of further glory."

Ozai pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out steam. He's not entirely sure he believes the reason she's given him, but... The prince and princess are more alike than they realize. They both vie for Ozai's favor, they are equally convinced they are destined to be the next Fire Lord, and they are each entirely too willing to throw themselves into dangerous situations in an effort to prove themselves worthy of both.

"Azula," he grits out, "you are eleven. A war council is no place for a child."

"I wouldn't have made a nuisance of myself," the girl argues, back straight and shoulders square in the proper posture expected in the high court. Or of recruits in the military branches. "I'm not Zuzu."

He's not sure what brings it to his attention, but it's in that moment that he realizes Azula is afraid. She doesn't shift her weight. She doesn't fidget with her hands. She doesn't look away. She keeps herself carefully poised, her breathing steady, and her face haughty. But he knows his sister and Azula is afraid. Something in her voice, something about her eyes, makes it impossible to brush away the gut certainty of the feeling. It takes him another long second to realize that she is afraid of him and why.

She isn't seeing the brother she has always prodded into loud, explosive, ultimately harmless displays of temper. Instead, she sees her father, normally cold and detached, openly angry with her. He doubts Father has ever been obviously angry with Azula before, and the previous Fire Lord had never needed to be openly enraged to be deathly dangerous to anyone who gained his displeasure. Both of their parents had donned porcelain masks more often than not, cold, unfeeling, and beautiful. It's not a skill he's ever mastered. And now Azula has found herself the sole focus of a very emotive and irritated Fire Lord Ozai. Is it any wonder he's scared her? (It scares him, how well she hides her fear when she is still so young, too young for court. It is only their own family she could need to hide from behind her own porcelain mask. His stomach twists but the thought makes too much sense to ignore.)

Ozai feels any anger he held only an instant ago flee in the face of his new understanding. (What does he think he's doing, towering over an eleven-year-old child? This Azula is not his sister.) "We'll discuss this tomorrow," he says with a sigh, "Right now, I have a meeting that has already been postponed too long."

"Yes, Father," Azula says. She glances at the wall of flames he'd released to its natural state of low burning coals. "Are the servants right? Has Agni blessed you with his flames?"

"Yes, but control takes practice." He reaches for the flame wall again and again the fire turns white and leaps high before he gentles his touch. "Come, you'll leave through the back exit so the generals don't notice you." He parts the flames and places a hand between Azula's shoulder blades.

The girl stiffens at the touch but follows without resistance. Moving forward with eyes trained before her, chin held high as is befitting her station as a princess of the nation. Ozai frowns and withdraws his hand. He hadn't meant to frighten her worse than he already has. He had often walked beside Mother, her hand a reassuring support on his back. It seems Azula does not likewise find the contact a comfort.

"Take the princess back to the royal suites," he instructs one of the servants, "Then inform the kitchens that she and Prince Zuko will be taking breakfast with me tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord," the servant responds, "Princess."

Ozai watches them depart for only a second before turning his attention to the war council that has yet to begin and is now degrees late to start. In a snap decision, he snatches up the cushion from the throne, passes through the flame wall for a third time, and makes himself comfortable at the head of the table where he can see the same maps and reports that the generals will be using. He can feel the questioning looks of the gathered servants but none of them dare to offer comment on his odd choice.

"Open the door," Ozai commands, "I've kept my guests waiting long enough."

Chapter Text

"The Spirit Tale of Fire Lord Ozai" by Commehter
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The evening's meeting is late to start. It isn't proper in court to observe as much aloud, of course. Old traditions and superstitions dictate that the Fire Lord is never late, but that is the reality of events this evening, even if it goes unacknowledged.

General Bujing is not typically a patient man, but open criticism of the Fire Lord is a surefire way to land one in trouble. He doesn't trust himself to speak, lest his irritation get the best of him, in his tone if not his words. Even that much would be courting danger. Certain others waiting to enter the throne room do not restrain themselves in a similar manner, however, particularly the trio of sages chattering away off to the side with General Iroh.

Their inclusion amongst the generals is an oddity, to be sure, especially as all three appear to be rather young as sages go. Bujing wonders at what could have prompted the addition of sages to a war council. Such superstitious nonsense has not been a part of the Fire Lords' courts for centuries. Perhaps that is why General Iroh continues to speak with them. How much of the court's customs do the Fire Sages still teach their own? How many of those customs have become outdated?

Bujing doesn't allow himself to frown as his thoughts turn to the young prince Iroh had dragged into the last meeting. He doesn't know why Prince Zuko was allowed to attend that war meeting, but it is clear from his conduct that the boy was not ready. He had not attended the prince's Agni Kai earlier in the day, but he almost wishes he had made the time to witness it firsthand. He'd heard that the young prince walked away under his own power. The Fire Lord must have decided to be lenient, but that is only to be expected, given the boy's age and the fact that he is the Fire Lord's own son. More to the point, Bujing has heard fantastical tales about spirit meddling. He can only guess what may have actually occurred to create such wild rumors surrounding this past noon's Agni Kai.

Finally, the doors to the throne room are opened by a pair of bowing palace servants. Only for a knot of his fellow generals to clog the entrance. Bujing growls under his breath. These fools are going to get all of them in trouble! As much as he struggles with his own patience, the Fire Lord is known for having a chillingly dispassionate manner as he destroys those that waste his time.

"Move!" he hisses lowly as he elbows his way through the throng. He freezes in his tracks when he gets close enough to the front to see what has caused the other generals' pause.

The flame curtain burns white as in the old stories and a pair of golden eyes pierce through the dim gloom of the throne room as the eyes of a predator cut through the night.

Bujing feels faint. Those impossible rumors of the Fire Lord's possession by rogue spirits are true!

"Gentlemen, please, be seated," a voice from within the chamber calls. The Fire Lord? Abedni has never met him, but who else could command the generals? "We have much to do."

Abedni looks first to General Iroh, who nods encouragingly, and then to Shadra and Misha. His fellow sages and friends appear as nervous as he feels, but Agni himself has chosen them. Surely they are capable of handling whatever awaits them in the Fire Lord's council if the great spirit sent them. Surely. It would be unseemly for a Fire Sage to doubt the Father of Fire's judgement. He just hopes they don't enter the throne room only to be executed by a Fire Lord unwilling to listen. Agni doesn't usually select sages to deliver easy messages, after all, and it would not be the first time a sage has run afoul of a Fire Lord's temper. Not that any of them have a message for Fire Lord Ozai, exactly. The consensus among the elder sages had been that Shadra, Misha, and Abedni would know what to say in the moment, as it became relevant.

Abedni nearly trips over his own feet as he enters the throne room behind the generals.

It can't be.

But it is.

The Flames of Agni burn bright and undeniable behind the Fire Lord.

Shadra, Misha, and Abedni all fall to their knees in full kowtows.

"All hail the herald!" the three sages proclaim, "Anointed of Agni!"

Finally, after centuries of spiritual drift, their nation is on the path of return! Abedni's heart has never been so full of hope, nor so full of fear. This is a sign that all children of Fire are again under Agni's eye.

Ozai feels his eyebrows shoot up at the sages' display. It's odd to have both sides of his face move equally. Or just to remember he possesses two intact eyebrows, for that matter.

"Rise," he commands. He waits for the sages to regain kneeling positions before speaking again. "You are all... younger than I was expecting when I requested Fire Sages to join this council."

"Agni chose us!" the one in the middle exclaims with a barely contained enthusiasm, a large grin splitting his face.

"I see," he says. It seems Agni has been busy with more than just him today. He can only imagine what other spirits have been up to today with how active Agni alone has been. In particular, Tui and -- more worryingly -- La had obviously had some kind of business they were leaving to take care of at the end of his visit to the spirit world. He really hopes he isn't going to get any reports of either islands or colonies drowned in the name of La's vengeance. "Did he draw you into the spirit world, or did he meet with you in the temple?"

The sages all have wide eyes at his question and two of them gape at him with open mouths. They... really are very young, aren't they? Not that the generals are doing much better at keeping themselves composed. Is his question that outrageous? He'd been under the impression that was just how Agni operated, but maybe he isn't so direct in his interactions with other mortals?

The sage on the left glances at his compatriots for help, only to realize he is the least affected by the Fire Lord's question. He elbows the sage next to him as he answers, "No, my lord."

The middle sage startles with a blink, sheepishly glances first at the left sage and then at the right sage. He throws a wary look back at Ozai when he spots the final sage's openly dumbfounded expression.

"We never spoke with Agni," the left sage reports, "Spheres of white fire appeared above our heads, without explanation or warning." He gestures to the curtain of flames burning behind Ozai as if to draw a comparison. "None who tried could dismiss the flames."

The middle sage pokes the final sage in the shoulder to break his continued stupor. There is a shared moment of panicked glances before both sages appear to simultaneously decide that denial is the best policy and plaster on poorly constructed blank expressions. Did Agni really choose these three sages? Why? They seem as if they should still be in training, not attending to the requests of the Fire Lord.

"And, although the spheres gave off substantial heat, they did not burn anything that was passed through the flames. The elders came to the consensus that the spheres were spiritual in origin, and almost certainly from Agni himself," the left-most sage goes on, "Then, news reached us that General Iroh had arrived to request sages for this meeting. Only then did the spheres disperse. The elders declared it a sign from Agni and we were sent to attend to you, Fire Lord."

A white fire that does not indiscriminately burn all that comes near it does sound like his own experiences with Agni. That still doesn't explain any reason the great spirit may have had to choose these three, though.

The sage then falls into a second kowtow and his fellows are quick to follow his example. "It is an honor to be among the first in centuries to serve a True Herald of Agni."

And that, that, right there, is very dangerous. Because the implication of being the first in centuries is...

The only sound in the throne room is the crackle of the flame wall. Every eye is on him. Every general and servant remains frozen in place, awaiting his judgement.

"Are you saying that Azulon and Sozin were not true heralds?" Ozai challenges levelly.

The three too-young sages tense and then rise from their kowtows. They are, each of them, varying degrees of nervous, but all now kneel before him with straightened spines and squared shoulders. The sage on the left speaks again, "My lord, we will not blaspheme Agni, nor spread lies about the King of Flames' will. As surely as you have earned Agni's full favor, evidenced by your command over his white fire, it is equally sure that neither your honored father, nor your honored grandfather, ever attained the whole of Agni's blessing. They never wielded Agni's Flames."

Ozai allows the silence to stretch, considering the sage's words. "And the two of you agree with your brother's sentiments?"

"Y-yes," the sage of the right finally speaks.

The one in the middle makes a statement bolder still, "The will of Agni supersedes even the will of the herald. He has chosen you to fulfill the role of herald. He only allowed Azulon and Sozin to hold the title."

Several of the generals make barely restrained sounds of anger and shift in their seats.

Ozai raises a hand. "Peace." The generals all settle back into their cushions, many of them with angry glares focussed on the sages, particularly the one in the middle.

Fearful but firm to a man, the sages remain silent under his gaze. Now he knows why Agni chose these three. How many Fire Sages are left that have the courage to face down a roomful of generals and the Fire Lord himself and remain resolute in their service to the great spirit?

"What are your names, sages?"

"We are Shadra," says the left sage, placing a hand over his own chest, "Misha," he gestures to the middle sage, "and Abedni," finally, he indicates the quiet sage on the right.

"Sages Shadra, Misha, and Abedni," Ozai says and sweeps a hand over the table, "please, take your seats. It is clear that Agni passed over any number of the elder sages and instead selected you three as his representatives because they lacked your bravery and devotion. You can expect to be summoned for further counsel in the future. For the moment, it is time we turn our attention to this meeting."

All three sages smile as the tension breaks. Shadra takes a moment to close his eyes and find his center, Abedni looks ready to pass out in relief, but Misha shoots to his feet with another ecstatic, wide grin and bows low over the sign of the flame. "Yes, your majesty," Misha says as his companions likewise clamber to their feet and offer bows of their own.

As the sages make themselves comfortable on a trio of cushions near the foot of the table, Ozai takes his own chance to draw a centering breath. This news isn't going to go over well with the gathered generals. Not most of them, anyway. A cynical part of him wonders how many Agni Kais he is going to have to refight, and how many of the generals will have second thoughts when their hypothetical opponent is not a seemingly half-blind, half-deaf, once-banished boy-king that was in the process of recovering from a lightning strike.

"If any of you have not heard yet," he says once everyone has finally settled, "I met with the spirits this past noonday and, chief among them, Agni." That causes something of a stir but no one dares to challenge the statement. "Agni charged me with establishing peaceful relations with the other nations. In other words, gentlemen, it is the great Sun Spirit's will that this war end, sooner rather than later. We are here to set about doing just that."

Objections and denials ring out from every side and Ozai prepares himself for the long hours ahead. He's dragged the Fire Nation kicking and screaming into peace once before. He can do it again.

Chapter Text

General Kazuya Kai frowns down at the maps spread over the long table as he absently picks at the meal the kitchen staff sent in a few degrees ago.

Planning a retreat on this scale is not something any of them have experience with. The entire frontline will need to be recalled first so their troops do not become stranded with enemies on all sides -- that much is easy to figure out -- but then the support regiments and the supply lines likewise need to start falling back before they become the frontline, which they are ill-suited for. From there, it only gets trickier as the number of people and supplies begins to swell. Routing everything back to established colonies and the Mother Islands is nothing short of a headache-inducing puzzle. Too many troops through this area will draw attention and prompt attacks. Too many people stalled in that area could lead to food shortages. The ports can hold only so many ships, the ships can hold only so many troops, the colonies can only lodge and feed so many people, and on and on it goes. In short, this whole proposal is a logistics nightmare.

It would be easier to hold the line until Sozin's Comet is scheduled to return in three years' time and then use the comet's power to win the war once and for all. Fire Lord Ozai has already vetoed that plan, however. Some of his brasher fellow generals had voiced objections to ending the war before the return of Sozin's Comet, but they had all fallen silent under the Fire Lord's glare. Even if he were not the Fire Lord, it would be difficult to argue with a man possessing spirit-cursed eyes and Agni's Flames. More to the point, those fools are fortunate that whatever happened during the Fire Lord's meeting with the spirits seems to have tempered his bloodlust. It was only yesterday that Ozai had issued his own son an Agni Kai challenge for failing to hold his tongue during a war council.

"This will take at least a year to complete," he says, taking advantage of the current lull in the open-floor strategizing session the Fire Lord declared after the initial outbursts had settled, "If the goal is peace negotiations, our best option may be to start now, with the withdrawals. Retreating while enemy boulders are raining down on your head is difficult, to say the least."

"You would be the expert," Bujing snipes from across the table.

Kazuya Kai scowls at the other general. "Perhaps you would like to go to the Eastern Continent and take personal command over a theater, General Bujing? It may be your last opportunity to set foot on the field."

Bujing glowers at him but has no ready retort. Pompous, noble-born, officer-track busybody that he is, Bujing has never once seen combat from the frontlines. He's never been to the colonies, accepted an Earth general's surrender, witnessed the dead and dying after a battle, nor quashed rebellion in a newly conquered territory. He is both elitist and ignorant. The whole of the war is more theoretical to him than anything. Bujing hasn't lived it. His ilk frustrate Kazuya Kai to no end, and not only because he always falls on the wrong side of that elitist mentality, though that fact plays a large role. A colony brat with Earth in his veins could be nothing else in their eyes.

"Save your squabbles for your own time," Fire Lord Ozai says, almost casual in his speech. His thumb and forefinger find the point of his chin, as if they are searching for his missing beard, and he just as casually returns to studying the very same maps that the generals are referencing. And how strange it is to have the Fire Lord seated among them, almost like an equal if not for his place of honor at the head of the table. "If we can establish lines of communication with the various Earth kings and generals, and if they are willing to trust us, a mutual disengagement would be preferable." He briefly glances at his elder brother. Kazuya Kai's frown deepens. Iroh has been strangely quiet throughout the meeting thus far. "That won't be possible everywhere, however. Some will be impossible to safely message. Many more will suspect a trap."

"Perhaps," General Iroh breaks his silence, "our plans would be better served if we gave the field commanders more flexibility. A location and deadline. More detailed orders may prove to be a hindrance, especially if the facts on the ground change rapidly." A pause. "If it pleases the Fire Lord, as the end goal has been established, and the initial orders to cease aggressions and begin retreat to fortified locations will be sent out at the conclusion of this meeting, a selection of generals from this council could be sent to oversee the different theaters, as General Kazuya Kai suggested."

Kazuya Kai holds back a grimace as several of his fellow generals take the chance to send glares in his direction. He usually considers Iroh an ally but, in this instance, he has thrown him under the Komodo rhino to be trampled. (Unlike Iroh, who is retired from the field -- and those of Bujing's ilk, who are closer to being politicians than soldiers -- nearly all of the other generals on the council regularly serve in the war effort on the Eastern Continent, and being recalled to Caldera for a year to serve on the Fire Lord's council is the closest to leave that many of them will see until their retirements. It is therefore no surprise that they are less than pleased that Kazuya Kai's petty back-and-forth with Bujing has jeopardized their time with their families and away from the front.)

"I would be willing to oversee one of the theaters myself," Iroh finishes mildly.

The Fire Lord's attention jerks from the maps on the table to his brother, imperious mask broken for a moment in startled surprise and fully visible without the wall of flame separating the reigning monarch from the rest of the council.

"No!"

Ozai grimaces. That was too much. The entire council is staring at him and he knows from past experiences that the light frown on Iroh's face hides a much deeper disapproval.

Almost absently, he lowers the curtain of fire behind him away from the ceiling. Again. Its height has been erratic all through the meeting. The obvious lack of control over his bending is embarrassing, possibly dangerous in the political undertones it creates, but there's nothing for it now. The only cure is practice and that takes time.

"You're retired," he says, but that reasoning sounds weak even to his own ears, so he tries something else, "If you think the best course is to send generals from the council to oversee the retreat, it will be done. But I need you here."

He's never been able to shake the idea that Iroh had been half looking for an excuse to join his son and wife in the spirit world during those first few years following the failed Ba Sing Se campaign. How else could he explain his uncle's behavior through that time frame? He'd aged rapidly in those years, ceased his training, neglected his exercise, and practically invited assassins by failing to challenge his brother over the widely suspected theft of the throne. The servants had whispered about nightmares and drinking. And all of that didn't even include Iroh's actions on behalf of the White Lotus -- some of which could be considered treasonous -- or his choice to actively seek out spirit knowledge and sometimes the spirits themselves! Accompanying his nephew on a fool's errand through enemy territories that wanted the Dragon of the West dead may have been among the least actively dangerous choices his uncle had made in those years. Allowing Iroh to run loose in the Earth Kingdom, as he is now and without the distraction of a nephew to care for, is an open invitation for disaster.

"I recognize that it has been some time," Iroh says, his current tone is not far off from the tone his uncle had often used on the Wani when his temper had flared, "but I have a great amount of experience in moving troops and supplies. I am certain my presence on the Eastern Continent would only be of benefit to our efforts in reshaping the frontlines and fortifying the colonies."

Ozai stares down the older man with a scowl. "Leave us," he orders. The rest of the room's occupants are quick to obey and soon he and Iroh are alone.

"Why are you insisting on this?" Ozai demands in what could almost be called a hiss. The two spies stationed in the walls have not left their posts and he has no desire for anyone to overhear them, but his temper has never been particularly compatible with remaining quiet. "In front of the council?"

He can feel the weight of Iroh's judgement in the man's eyes and the stretching silence. Finally, in a soft voice that confirms he is likewise mindful of the ears in the palace walls, the other man says, "You did say that you wished for me to contact King Bumi of Omashu. Such a task can only be faster and more easily accomplished if there is not an ocean between myself and my correspondent."

"You're admitting you know him, now?" Ozai sneers, frustration getting the better of him. He draws a centering breath to calm himself.

"Whether I do or not," Iroh says, careful to confirm nothing, "you are convinced that is the case and it is your desire that I speak with him."

"Send a hawk!" he snaps.

"I am afraid that is not an option."

"Not an option, or just not one you're willing to --" Ozai cuts himself off as the obvious problem finally dawns on him. "You're worried about compromising the rest of the network." The Fire Lord scowls. It's a reasonable fear on Iroh's part. Just because Ozai says he wants to have access to the White Lotus for his own purposes doesn't mean his real goal isn't to destroy it utterly. There is no proof from Iroh's perspective that the request has been made in good faith rather than to set up a trap.

The older man's silence is confirmation enough.

"Send several hawks," Ozai says, "Use red herrings, codes, whatever it takes to assuage your concerns." The Fire Lord frowns as he considers his next words, "Not sending the message at all is still an option if you're that worried. Certain objectives would be easier to achieve with the White Lotus' assistance, but I can manage without them if I have to."

When Iroh next speaks, although his voice never rises beyond the volume of the rest of their whispered conversation, his eyes hold a clear challenge, "Am I to be a prisoner within these walls?"

"What?" Ozai cannot help but remember his sister the first time he had gone to see her after their Agni Kai.

"You seem intent on keeping me here."

"I need you here," Ozai argues, "and the last place you should be is anywhere near the Earth Kingdoms. They haven't forgotten the Dragon of the West. They'll want your blood, Iroh."

"I am touched by your concern for my well-being, Brother," the man deadpans.

"What is your pr--" he again cuts himself off as he belatedly figures out the obvious for a second time in their conversation. The flame curtain and the sconces flare, his fists clench under the table, and Ozai tips his head back and breathes fire at the ceiling. Of course. Of course, Iroh not only doesn't trust him but he actively expects him to make an attempt on his life. The timing of Azulon's death was suspicious in the extreme, and Ursa's disappearance on the very same night was doubly so. Iroh would be a fool not to consider the possibility that he would be the next to fall at his ambitious younger brother's hands. Add to that the fact that Ozai has as good as told Iroh to his face that he is a burned spy...

Ozai regains his composure enough to consider the other man, recognizing the wary tenseness he had previously missed in the other's frame. He scowls. As justified as Iroh's behavior is, that doesn't stop it from being maddening.

"I'm fixing this. Now," Ozai declares as he stands, uncaring of the unseen listening ears. Iroh also rises to his feet. He refrains from falling into anything so immediately apparent as a fighting stance, but Ozai can see the other man's readiness all the same, now that he knows to look for it. "Give me the names of three generals among the council that you consider to be honorable men."

Iroh's brow furrows. "My lord?"

Ozai gestures at the hall beyond the throne room's main entrance and the sealed door. "Honorable names, Iroh."

Iroh hesitates. "Generals Shiro, Kazuya Kai, and Masao are good men of strong convictions and courage," he finally answers.

Ozai nods. Generals Shiro and Masao had continued to serve the Fire Nation after he'd taken the throne and he'd grown to respect both men. With the reduction of the military, only Shiro had remained a general, but Masao had gone on to lead the Caldera chapter of the Home Guard after the war. General Kazuya Kai's inclusion on Iroh's list is a bit of a surprise. Ozai hardly knows the man at all. Kazuya Kai had resigned early on in his reign, shortly after the colonies had been given independence from the Fire Nation. The majority of the general's family had been colonials and he'd felt that the Fire Nation's withdrawal of authority over the region was a betrayal to the citizenry living there. He hadn't been the only one to feel that way. Still, despite a rough start, Toph had said good things about him over the last two years. More to the point, if Iroh considers the man to be honorable, that's enough for Ozai.

Ozai strides over to the door and throws it open. "You three," he points at the clustered sages, "You, you, and you," he points at each of the generals in turn, "The rest of you, remain here."

There is a slight hesitation before the six men file through the entrance. Ozai doesn't try to discern whether it is surprise or fear that causes the delayed response. He's not sure he'd be able to keep a grip on his temper if the answer is the latter. A servant shuts the heavy door from the outside.

"You six are here as witnesses," Ozai says, "but first, I need your oaths that you will ensure the following oath of honor is enforced."

There are confused faces all around, including Iroh, though his eyes remain wary.

"Yes, your majesty," General Shiro says, the first to shake off his uncertainty and slip back into court manners. He bows over the sign of the flame, "On my honor, I shall see that the oath to which I bear witness is enforced in full. By this oath, I am bound."

The other five are quick to mimic Shiro. "On my honor," they chorus as they offer their own bows to the Fire Lord.

Ozai nods before turning to face Iroh. "On my honor," he begins, absently noting the clear surprise in his audience that he is offering an oath rather than demanding one from his elder brother, "no harm shall come to Iroh of the Fire Nation by my hand, bending, or command. I withhold my judgement over Iroh and his actions. Iroh shall henceforth be under Agni's authority alone. Should harm or death come to Iroh by any hand but Agni's, and should the shadow of doubt fall upon me, and should my faithfulness to my oath be cast into question, my right to the throne will be forfeit and Crown Prince Zuko will ascend to begin his reign as Fire Lord. Should this scenario come to pass and Prince Zuko has yet to attain his majority, a regent shall be appointed either by Iroh's living voice or as is indicated in Iroh's last will. By this oath, I am bound."

The badly concealed shock of the room's other occupants turns into open startlement as every fire in the room flares loudly, jumping high to scorch the ceiling.

"That isn't me," Ozai says with a frown as he meets their stares. It's the only warning the others receive before Agni steps from the wall of flames.

"Fire Lord," Agni snarls, "who gave you leave to cast aside your duties?"

Chapter Text

Ozai roots his stance and bows to the Sun Spirit. "Agni," he greets, ignoring the hurried shuffling of armor and the whisper of silken sage robes as the other occupants of the room sink into kowtows. He dares to raise his head so he can look at the spirit as he says, "I have cast aside nothing."

Agni makes an impatient gesture for him to straighten from his bow. "You have tied your ability to carry out the responsibilities I have given you to another man's life," he accuses.

"I have no intention of allowing him to be killed," Ozai says with a scowl.

"Mortal lives are fragile and short," the Sun Spirit dismisses, "Your intent alone cannot ensure another's life."

"You're right. I can't protect against everything, but my oath doesn't demand that," the Fire Lord says, "You charged me to be honorable. A man that lashes out at his brother unprovoked is far from honorable."

"You left no provision to protect yourself."

Ozai squares his shoulders and glares. Foolish, but his temper is nearly at its end and he's quickly losing the different facets of his self-control one by one. "I have no reason to doubt Iroh's honor and, if I am wrong, he remains under your authority and judgement. A betrayal of my trust would not go unpunished."

"No, it would not," Agni agrees, staring down at Iroh's hunched over form, "But by then, the damage may already be done."

"You would still have a herald."

Agni's attention returns to the Fire Lord. "You are young for the role as it is, child mine. The boy is not ready."

"There would be a regent to --"

Agni cuts him off. "I have grown weary of men seeking to rule by an authority I have not given them." Ozai stiffens at the statement. That sounds like a rebuke of his father, the sole member of the living royal line that Agni had actively chosen to sacrifice. "I have corrected that in you. I am in no hurry to tolerate the return of ambitious false kings."

"Then I am sure you will handle the matter in whatever manner you judge best, if it ever comes to be. Either way, we've been at war with the other nations for generations. It's all we know, anymore, and we have an arsenal built to take on the rest of the world because of it. Some of us won't be ready to let Sozin's war die so easily, and it won't matter to them who they need to turn on in order to keep it alive. It could lead to a new, internal war in a bid to continue the outer war that you ordered we end. I need Iroh to trust me or it will be yet another thread of tension pulling the nation apart. You can't want that."

"No," Agni says, "My promise to Kuzon the Uniter stands to this day, as it will tomorrow, and all of the days that follow." He again turns his consideration to the previous crown prince.

A raised hand forestalls Ozai's next words and the tension in the room simmers as the silence grows.

"Rise, all of you," Agni commands. The spirit slowly circles the subject of his attention before coming to a stop in front of him. "Iroh of Second Fire," he addresses the mortal, "it would seem that Ozai the Reforged has not only deemed you worthy of a large portion of his trust, but also decided that it is appropriate to deliver you fully into my keeping." The spirit bends down closer to Iroh's pale face. "You may come to regret your brother's choice over the next several weeks. Rest well, Once-Prince. You will need it in the morning."

Agni takes a step back before allowing his form to unravel, disappearing from the throne room as quickly as he had appeared. All the flames in the room return to their natural oranges and yellows, and the wall of flame burns low in its trough of coals.

Ozai pinches the bridge of his nose and doesn't bother to reclaim control over any of the fires. They're not going to get anything more done tonight. The Fire Lord drops his hand and instead studies the shaken men around him. "This council will reconvene later this week to finalize plans for the first stage of the withdrawal. In the meantime... General Shiro, see to it that the orders to cease aggressions are sent out immediately. General Masao, let the rest of the council know that we are finished for the evening and to expect a summons sometime in the next few days. Sages, make the temple elders aware of my oath and also of Agni's appearance. Dismissed."

"Yes, Fire Lord," General Shiro says despite his ill pallor and wide eyes as he bows. Masao and Kazuya Kai follow suit with equally shocked faces. The sages, in turn, quickly mimic the generals and hurry out on the older men's heels.

"That was Agni!" Misha says in a poorly contained whisper to his brother sages, "We were in the presence of Agni!"

"The elders are never going to believe all of this," Abedni worries.

Shadra sighs, "All we can do is report what we have witnessed. The rest is out of our hands."

"Who cares? We met Agni!"

Ozai catches Iroh's arm before the man can attempt to follow the others as they file out the throne room door. "Sit," he says, guiding Iroh to the nearest of the cushions surrounding the table, "Breathe."

The older royal braces his elbows on the table and his head finds its way into his hands as the subtle shaking of his fingers becomes full-bodied trembling. It is almost a full handful of degrees before the shudders lessen and Iroh attempts to speak. "I do not know what to believe anymore," the man croaks.

Ozai doesn't know what to say in response, so he remains quiet.

"Agni called you 'reforged.'"

"Yes."

Iroh frowns but it does nothing to disguise his exhaustion. "What does that mean?"

"What it means." That is something he has zero interest getting into while they are both as tired and out of sorts as they are. Or possibly ever. The more he thinks about it the more he comes to realize that it is awkward enough when he is the only one that knows he has been transplanted into his father's body. He doesn't want to think about what Iroh's reaction might be, and especially not right at this moment.

Iroh ponders over that non-answer for nearly half a degree. "Agni is..." the elder royal thinks better of finishing his thought and instead allows the sentence to trail off into nothing. After another second's consideration, he says, "None of my research into the spirits has prepared me for this."

Ozai closes his eyes and sighs. "I wasn't prepared, either," he admits softly. The Fire Lord shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet. "You seem to have recovered. I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Iroh."

He doesn't wait for Iroh's response before leaving.

Iroh stares after his brother and wonders what the spirits have done to so thoroughly change the man.

Chapter Text

Zuko groans as he wakes, rubbing the crust of sleep from his eyes. He'd had the weirdest --

His scar is missing.

The Fire Lord stiffens, lifts a hand from his face, and ignites the smallest flame he can manage with his bending. The brightness of the light so soon after waking is painful as it pierces his unprepared eyes and he snuffs the flame only a moment after calling it forth. Still, the flame had burned white.

It hadn't been a dream.

The Fire Lord buries his face in his hands and focusses on his breathing.

He is six years in what had once been his past. He has also been thrown headlong into his father's life. He's met the Sun Spirit and Moon Spirit, and, to a lesser extent, the Ocean Spirit. He holds Agni's favor but, as he learned firsthand yesterday, being favored does not mean he is immune to the spirit's anger. At least Agni seems to have enough of a grip on his temper not to immolate everything in his path at the first spark of his ire.

...His name isn't Zuko, anymore. That name now belongs to a son he didn't have two days ago.

The man groans into his hands before removing them from his face. He still has no idea what to do about the prince and princess, nor the rest of his situation for that matter.

His friends are gone. What is left of his family doesn't trust him. His nation is at war with the world. There is no Avatar to vouch for him with the other nations. His own court is full of backstabbers and warmongers. His bending is out of control.

He's sure there is some way for things to be worse, but he doesn't want to risk thinking it into existence.

Ozai stares up at the ceiling.

He remembers crying himself to sleep like a child as the events of the day had finally caught up to him without a ready distraction to focus his energy on. He remembers a furnace at his back and a too-warm hand on his shoulder, Agni's presence silent but real as he'd sobbed for what he'd lost. Agni had promised that he wouldn't be alone. The Sun Spirit seems intent on keeping that promise thoroughly. In less than a day's time, the great spirit has seen him weak-kneed, ill, and grieving. It's a far cry from the unwavering strength a Fire Lord is supposed to embody. Still, Agni had not abandoned him to his weakness, nor had he withdrawn his favor because of it. That's... something.

Ozai pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly.

Enough moping. Just because he's cleared his schedule for 'rest' doesn't mean that the day should be wasted in bed.

The Fire Lord reaches for the sun to check the time and frowns at the odd double-sense that registers in his chi before he realizes what it means. Agni has returned to the palace, and this time he is not on the mortal plane for Ozai.

"Iroh," he mutters under his breath as he sits up in his bed.

On the one hand, he doesn't think Agni is inclined to harm Iroh. On the other hand, Agni is clearly not pleased with the older royal for reasons that Ozai is not entirely sure of, though he might have an idea after that scene in the throne room last night. The past day has proven that there isn't much he can do after Agni comes to a decision, but the Sun Spirit had listened to Ozai yesterday despite his obvious disapproval. More, Agni hadn't revoked Ozai's oath to Iroh. As the greatest authority of the nation, Agni would have had the right to do exactly that if he'd really wanted, but Agni had allowed the oath to stand.

So, his words hold some sway with the spirit. Iroh should be fine long enough for Ozai to get ready for the day without rushing. He hopes.

He still chooses to dress in one of the simplest outfits he can find in the wardrobe, and he calls a servant in to do his topknot for expediency, just in case... Well, in case. When the servant makes a soft, almost inaudible tisk and picks up the hair scissors, Ozai realizes that he has miscalculated.

'Expediency' never has been the highest priority of the palace servants.

A fire that ever so politely does not burn hooks around his ankle and Iroh yelps as he falls. The retired general meets the sand roughly, catching himself on his rump and elbows. Iroh groans at the impact. He is beginning to feel like his bruises have bruises.

"Again," Agni commands.

Iroh grasps the offered hand of fire and leverages himself to his feet with a grunt.

Ozai follows the tug on his chi to the training courtyard reserved for the royal family in the eastern wing of the palace.

"Your majesty! Agni is expecting you," one of the guards informs him as he approaches, wonder lingering in his expression. His companion's face is painted with a complimentary expression of shocked disbelief that speaks of a shattered worldview.

The Fire Lord nods his acknowledgement of the message. He pauses before entering as it occurs to him to ask, "How long has Agni been waiting?"

"He and your honored brother arrived nearly an hour ago, my lord."

So, Iroh is with Agni, then. "Thank you."

He passes through the doorway and finds himself watching as Iroh throws a set of fireball-punches at Agni. As harmless as the flames are to a fire spirit, let alone the greatest fire spirit of them all, Agni still dodges out of the way with the grace of a master combatant. Iroh moves into an advanced kata designed to create space around the practitioner but Agni slips past his defenses. A hand of fire pushes against the mortal's chest as Agni drops into a half-kneeling position. A split-second later, Agni's other hand slams into the back of the man's knee. Iroh collapses into a heap with a groan.

"Fire Lord," Agni greets, rising to stand over his defeated opponent. The spirit holds out a hand to Iroh.

"Brother," the retired general says wearily before accepting the help back onto his feet.

"Agni," Ozai greets first with a bow, and then, "Iroh." He considers the pair for a moment. "Sunrise training? This isn't what I'd imagined when you warned of regret in the coming weeks."

"It is an honor," Iroh intones, "but perhaps a bit rough on these old bones."

"You're not that old," Ozai says with a frown.

Although the fine details of Agni's expressions are not as easily read on his mortal fire forms as they were in the spirit world on Tui's pale but more solid reflection, the spirit's current sharp smile is still clear to see. "Oh, there will be plenty of regret. I am not a soft master," Agni promises, "Sore muscles, aching bones, chi exhaustion, general tiredness, and a multitude of bruises that I suspect have already begun to form. By the time I am done with him, the inevitable assassins will at least have to work for their prize." A slight pause, and then the Sun Spirit asks, "Would you care to join this morning's session, child mine?"

"Yes," Ozai answers eagerly, shrugging off his outer robes as he strides over to take up position on one side of the sparring field. Who knows what techniques have been lost over the years that Agni can teach him? Perhaps there are even lessons that have only ever been taught to Agni's Heralds. Ozai sinks into a ready stance.

Agni laughs merrily, the sound filling the space. "I am afraid we have finished that portion of today's training," the great spirit says and walks over to a closet of supplies set into the courtyard's wall.

Iroh sighs in relief. "Thank Agni," the man mutters under his breath.

The great spirit in question chuckles and replies, "Your thanks is received and noted, Once-Prince. It will neither spare nor shorten tomorrow's session, however."

The man blinks and then smiles in wry amusement at himself. "No, I suspect it will not," he muses.

For his part, Ozai frowns in confused disappointment. "Finished?" he questions.

"Indeed." Agni closes the closet. He deposits a small oil lamp into Iroh's hands as he walks past, one finger skimming over the wick to light it. "Control is an important skill and it requires regular practice to maintain. I recognize that your recent struggle is a result of my actions, and yet the problem is one that must be fixed through your efforts." The fire spirit holds up a rectangular slip of paper only to pinch its center and sear a pinprick-sized hole through it. "I believe you are familiar with the exercise?"

It is ridiculously difficult to keep himself from groaning as he says, "Yes."

Agni's following hum of acknowledgement sounds suspiciously like smothered laughter as he passes over the slowly smoldering piece of paper. "Be mindful of the time as you practice, young Fire Lord. You have a breakfast appointment to keep today." Agni takes a step away and looks over his shoulder at Iroh. "Until next I rise over the horizon, Once-Prince," he says. The secondary form disperses into the air.

Iroh seats himself on one of the benches pressed against the courtyard's walls, the lamp cradled between his hands and its flame already rising and falling with his breaths. "Throwing me around a sparing field seems to have improved his mood," he remarks with that familiarly deceptive mildness.

Ozai sighs and wanders closer to his brother, sinking into a crossed-legs position on the ground opposite the man. He ignores Iroh's raised eyebrows. It's a private courtyard with guards at its entrance. There's no one to see. Instead, he scowls down at the training paper in his hands and the embers slowly eating away at the fibers. He doesn't dare to try bending it into a sustainable burn just yet. He prods at the well of chi in his belly, trying to figure out how to make the cinders his own without overfeeding them.

"I've only seen him angry twice, thus far. When I found the two of you talking in the entryway of my suite, and when I gave you my oath," Ozai says, "Outside of that, he's been either cheerful or... sympathetic, but unyielding."

"If that is true," Iroh says carefully, "then it would seem I am the common thread and the cause of Agni's dissatisfaction, though I certainly hope for my own sake that is not the case." His breathing and the flame of his candle remain steady in their shared rising and falling as he speaks. "How many times have you met with Agni?"

Ozai pushes down the jealousy that threatens to rise up and reaches out with his bending to claim the smoking cinders. (He'd spent his childhood being jealous of Azula's easy skill and it had never helped him. He refuses to waste his time on envy over Iroh's mastery.) White fire flares to life and a diameter a full inch wide burns away into ash before the Fire Lord manages to gentle the flames back down to bright embers. Small tongues of flame attempt to grow stronger with every slow breath. His frustration with his own lack of control isn't helping his case, either.

"Agni has been a near constant presence since the Agni Kai," he admits. "As for a number of individual encounters..." Ozai quickly runs through the events of the previous day, "Six. It could be counted as six separate times." He keeps his focus on the fire he is trying to convince to burn colder, lower, and slower as he adds, "And I don't think you're the reason for Agni's displeasure. It's more... what you represent to him." The Sun Spirit had schemed to save the royal line and he had included Iroh's life in those he sought to preserve, after all. Ozai's efforts finally begin to bear fruit as he achieves a tamed smoldering ring of small embers.

"Oh?"

The Fire Lord glances up at the other man before returning his gaze and the bulk of his attention to his task. He has only begun to grasp at something approaching passable control. The real trick is in successfully maintaining it. Fire's nature is to consume. It is prone to either flaring up or burning out. For a fire to remain stable, it must be carefully tended.

"I don't mean he isn't unhappy with you," he clarifies, "but it's more what you've done or, rather, what you haven't done that's..." Ozai scowls down the embers. He's explaining this wrong. "The second time, when I gave you my oath," he says slowly, "It wasn't your involvement that angered Agni. He accused me of abandoning my job as Fire Lord, of neglecting my duties and responsibilities. But... it's more than that." He wrestles with his thoughts and bending as he attempts to give voice to the idea just beyond his reach. "To be the Fire Lord is to be Agni's Herald, it isn't just the responsibility of governing the nation. It's... a privilege. A..."

Oh. Oh, he is an idiot. Flames leap high from the paper and Ozai quickly snuffs them, the fire going cold and dead. How did he not see this sooner? How does Iroh not see it?

"It's a spirit gift," he says in a strained voice, turning his complete attention to Iroh, "passed from Kuzon, First of the Fire Lords, down through our line. And when you chose not to fight for the throne..."

His brother looks immediately ill and the lamp's flame flickers wildly before he follows Ozai's lead and extinguishes the small fire. Iroh sets the lamp down on the bench. "The spirits do not take kindly to those who reject their gifts," he says, "Agni is more merciful than most to stay his hand."

Ozai grimaces. He's still putting the pieces together, making sense of what he has seen and heard in the context of spirits. It's not a manner he is used to thinking in, but...

He remembers heat beating against his back and hands on his shoulders. He remembers a laughing voice near his ear, counseling him through the chaos of the last day that would have otherwise overwhelmed him.

"Son of Agni and Nephew of Tui, cherished child of the sky."

Ozai had thought he'd understood. He hadn't. Every Fire Nation citizen is a child of Agni, but very few will ever have a chance to meet the spirit face-to-face. Ozai is not merely another of thousands -- millions -- of children. The Fire Lord is favored. A True Herald is, apparently, cherished. It's the difference between himself and his sister in his father's eyes, but amplified in the way that spirits always seem to trend toward extremes. Or maybe that isn't quite right, because Ozai has grown to believe that his father is -- was -- incapable of loving anyone outside of himself, and Agni has not only been present but fond, almost doting at times.

It isn't only a gift, he realizes. Becoming Agni's Herald -- not just bearing the title as a holdover from a time when the Fire Lord was also the head sage, but fully stepping into the role -- means beginning a personal relationship with Agni, requires it, or else how would the Fire Lord know Agni's will well enough to lead the country in accordance with it? Records could be studied and sages could be consulted, but those would be a shallow substitute. It would be like how obsessively reading through scrolls on airbenders and Avatars had left him ill-prepared for Aang.

The sages were right when they said there had not been a True Herald of Agni in living memory, but had Agni been planning to change that once Iroh took the throne? Had Uncle unknowingly not only rejected Agni's gift, but Agni himself?

If he is right, then Iroh is lucky to be alive. At the very least, he would have expected Agni to strip Iroh of his bending, much like Aang had done to his father.

He feels ill at the direction his thoughts are traveling.

"Ozai," Iroh says, brow furrowed with the beginnings of concern and eyes searching his face for answers, "Are you well?"

"Fine," he forces out and rises to his feet, "I need to go. I'm having breakfast with the prince and princess today."

He flees the courtyard before Iroh can ask any more questions and storms through halls before ducking into a room that is thankfully empty of servants. "Agni," he chokes out.

His eyes close without his permission, heat radiates from behind his back, and a pair of hands fall to rest on his shoulders. "You called for me, Fire Lord," Agni says. It is no question, merely a statement of fact.

His head is spinning, his heart is beating in his ears, and he can't seem to breathe properly. "I'm sorry! I didn't, I didn't realize --"

"Ah," the spirit says, voice gentling into something just shy of being a murmur, "This is about last night, then."

Ozai nods quickly. "I'm honored to be your herald," he rushes to say, "I didn't mean to make it seem like I'm ungrateful for the role you've given me, or that I don't value the time and attention you afford me."

Agni sighs, creating a warm breeze near the Fire Lord's ear. "A misunderstanding on both our parts, child mine. I sometimes forget how little man is taught of spirits and heraldships in this current age. You will learn." Ozai's breathing eases somewhat. Agni doesn't blame him for the ignorance that has left him floundering. It's still something he needs to fix, but he has time. "Focus on the tasks I have given you. I will see to Iroh of Second Fire."

And there is the second source for the sudden onset of his newest concerns. "Are you... angry with him?" Ozai tries not to flinch at his own words.

"I am more disappointed than I am angry with the once-prince. Iroh was the first of Kuzon's line in generations that I thought might rise to be a satisfactory herald. The Fire Lords before him had varied in their flaws -- lazy, honorless, wrathful, cruel, arrogant, greedy, and all of them faithless, all of them placing their own desires before their duties -- but Iroh showed potential. He loved the nation he was to lead. Then Lu Ten of Second Fire was struck down in battle and Iroh's great flaw as a potential herald was revealed. Iroh lost himself to his grief."

"But..." Last night, he'd thought...

Agni huffs a humorless laugh and Ozai feels the Sun Spirit's face press lightly against his temple. "Your grief and Iroh's grief are two very different beasts, young Fire Lord. Iroh forsook his duties in a search to remedy that which caused his heart's wounds," he explains, "You have lost as much, if not more, and instead of running from the responsibilities inherent to governing my lands and people, you called a meeting to bring about the end of Sozin's war before taking even a moment's respite."

"You told me to take care of things that couldn't wait," Ozai says. Some part of him is waiting for the praise to turn into gently phrased scolding about overworking himself. Uncle had done that a lot, and Katara had used the same tactic before deciding that icing him to his bed and glaring was a more effective method of forcing him to rest. "The longer the war continues, the more people it kills. Of every nation."

Agni hums and draws back, though his hands remain firm on the man's shoulders. "Mortals are always in conflict," the Sun Spirit says, "If it is not this war, then it will be others for their own reasons. This one is notable only for the length of time it has lasted and the breadth of the world it has reached."

"I thought you wanted me to end the war," Ozai says in confusion, "You said to build peaceful relations with the other nations."

"I did and it must," Agni answers, "Sozin's war has attracted the displeasure of many spirits, and I considered it a small price to guarantee its end in order to secure the agreement of the council. Building mutual ties with the other nations will help to further soothe some of the spirits that have taken insult from the recent actions of those of second fire. However, outside of my promise to Kuzon the Uniter, I myself care little one way or the other about the wars of mortal men."

"Oh." He doesn't know how to feel about the fact that Agni apparently neither supports nor condemns the war his ancestors started.

Agni releases his steadying hold. "Our time grows short, Fire Lord. Do not keep your heir and your fledgeling waiting."

The heat at his back disappears and Ozai opens his eyes. His brow furrows as he wonders, "Fledgeling?"

He nearly jumps in surprise when he hears Agni's laugh but the spirit does not manifest any more of himself than his voice. "The young princess is as dragon-hearted as mortals come: fierce, loyal, and ruthless. It is up to you to teach her when she should put her claws to use and when she should curb her instinct to hunt and rend. Now, child mine, go, or you risk being late."

Ozai turns that thought over as he leaves the room, backtracking to the training courtyard to retrieve the outer robes he'd forgotten earlier. He thinks about Ran and Shaw, about the very real risk he and Aang had taken of being either eaten or flame-roasted by the pair of dragons.

Yeah, that sounds like Azula. If his sister was supposed to learn restraint from their father, then it's no wonder she'd grown to be so unrelentingly vicious.

Ozai freezes mid-stride in the halls.

How is he supposed to raise a dragon? How does he even begin to try?

The Fire Lord stifles a groan and pinches the bridge of his nose. He has no idea what he's doing.

Chapter Text

The children are both already there by the time Ozai settles into his place at the head of the table. From the look on Azula's face, she's been taunting her brother again, though Ozai had not overheard anything on his way into the room. Prince Zuko, for his part, looks anxious, almost nauseous. The boy also looks incredibly young, devoted, desperate, and naive. How had his father looked at this child and burned off half of his face?

The prince's fidgeting brings his attention to the fact that he's staring.

Ozai turns his gaze away from Zuko and breaks the suffocating silence hanging in the air. "Eat," he instructs the children. The Fire Lord frowns down at his own plate. There is a certain painful irony in realizing the fact that he has a better appetite cloistered in a room full of generals discussing the logistics of war -- even if the goal is disengagement -- than he has dining with his family. He forces himself to eat anyway. Just because he has no desire for the food doesn't mean he won't be able to keep it down, and a Fire Lord running on empty is one that gets less work done.

The suffocating silence is back, only filled by quiet chewing and the use of chopsticks. He realizes belatedly that both children are waiting on him, watching him for cues on how to act. He's not sure what to do with that, so he decides to ask a question.

"What rumors have you heard over the past day?" he asks. At the very least, Azula will have plenty to say. His sister had always loved knowing more than she should.

The girl doesn't disappoint. "Oh, the servants have been whispering about all sorts of crazy imaginings, Father," Azula reports with a familiar smirk on a too-young face, "I've heard them speculating about you and spirits, mostly. They've spoken of everything from possession to madness to a curse." The girl scoffs. "They obviously haven't seen your new flames, yet. Clearly you have found Agni's favor and been blessed, not cursed."

"New flames?" Prince Zuko asks, finally bringing his gaze up from his plate to look at his sister. A moment later, the boy's questioning gaze swings instead to Ozai.

"You hadn't told your brother, yet?" he asks, scrutinizing his new daughter's face.

"I thought you might wish to share the news yourself, Father," Azula says sweetly, "But I apologize. I seem to have spoiled the surprise, anyway."

Ozai smothers the desire to display his exasperation. He'd eat his shoes if Azula hadn't been hoping that withholding the information would somehow trip up her brother. He makes sure to keep his voice calm and measured as he says, "Don't lie to me, Azula."

The girl's eyes widen in shock. "I'm not --"

Ozai raises a hand to halt her protests. "Don't," he says firmly.

The princess lowers her eyes and flushes furiously. Ozai doesn't think he's ever seen Azula's face so red before. Zuko seems just as stunned as his sister.

Ozai decides to move the focus of the room along. Azula is always worse when she feels embarrassed. "What else have you heard?"

"It wasn't a rumor," Zuko says slowly, every line of his frame marked by the same hesitancy that Ozai remembers suffering every time he knew he'd fallen short in his father's eyes, "but Uncle explained about court etiquette during councils. I'm sorry for speaking out of turn, Father. I understand now why it was disrespectful."

Ozai remembers having a similar conversation with Uncle a week after the Agni Kai, when he'd had a chance to recover from the worst of the fever. He also remembers the first few weeks of court as Fire Lord, when assumptions built on that same conversation had caused him to stumble. Uncle's explanation had left out some very relevant details in an effort to shield his recently-banished thirteen-year-old nephew. It wouldn't have mattered if the Avatar had stayed lost and he'd never returned to court. And yet, this Iroh has no reason to believe that Prince Zuko will never again step foot inside a Fire Lord's council. Perhaps Iroh has explained more to the prince than Uncle had to him, but somehow he doubts it was as thorough an explanation as it should have been for the child that will have to live with the consequences.

"We'll discuss that further after breakfast," he says. Ozai notices the prince's golden eyes fill with dread but he doesn't know of anything he can say that will reassure the boy. "For now, we should talk about what happened yesterday."

"Of course, Father," Azula says, her composure once more flawless.

Zuko nods, hands fisted in his lap.

Right. How is he supposed to explain this?

"I met Agni," he ends up blurting, for lack of a better way to begin, and immediately feels like an idiot as two sets of widened eyes stare up at him. Agni help him. He has no idea how to handle children. These days, his expertise runs along the lines of military leaders, law enforcement, interior ministers, nobles, ambassadors, and foreign heads of state, almost all of them multiple decades older than himself.

"He gave me his blessing and instructed me to end the war," Ozai plows on. What else can he do at this point? "Last night, I gave the order to cease aggressions on the frontlines, and there will be more meetings in the next few days as the generals and I hammer out the best way to start bringing our soldiers home. At some point, we'll have to open negotiations with the other nations to establish a more lasting peace." He hesitates for a moment before deciding there isn't a good way to say this next part. "Making such an abrupt change in the direction of the country will leave many of our people... dissatisfied. Some may become motivated to do drastic things."

"Treasonous things, Father?" Azula asks, sharp-eyed and calculating.

"Perhaps. It's likely. And there will probably be more than one group or individual driven to cause trouble because of the changes ahead of us." Ozai meets both sets of young eyes before saying, "There's a chance some of that trouble could find us inside the palace walls. If someone threatens you, do whatever it takes to protect yourselves. If both of you happen to be together at the time... Zuko, I want you to run for help. You're faster than your sister." At least, the boy will be until said sister figures out how to propel herself with firebending. "Azula, cover for your brother. Your bending is more advanced than your brother's is. And don't hold anything back. In that situation, you'll be defending your family and your nation."

"Yes, Father," Azula preens.

Ozai almost wishes he could be as pleased about worst-case-scenario planning as the girl is. Still, so long as both children survive, he'll find a way to deal with whatever fallout develops from effectively ordering an eleven-year-old to kill. (The older he gets, the more he tries not to think about just how young all of them were when destiny dropped the duty to end the Hundred-Year War onto their shoulders.)

"I can fight!" Zuko objects, "I'm older! Azula should be the one to run!"

Ozai grimaces. "No." He can't say he's surprised by the outburst.

"But I --"

"Enough," Ozai speaks over the boy, doing his best to not to snap as he says the word. While he isn't particularly angry, while he knows exactly the sort of desperation that is driving the boy, certain habitual responses have become ingrained when confronted with open insolence in his own palace. He knows it isn't how Zuko intends to present himself. He also knows that fact makes the behavior no less dangerous for either of them, particularly with the current political climate and what it will surely evolve into as Ozai pursues peace. "You have been given your role. If circumstances unfold in a manner that prevents you from fulfilling it, then that is the way of things, but do not subvert my orders to chase after your own glories. I am Fire Lord. You will yield to my commands."

"I didn't mean to suggest -- I-I'm sorry!" The prince swallows dryly and offers a quiet, "I'll run for help."

Ozai bites back the frustrated sigh that nearly escapes him. He returns his attention to his half-eaten breakfast, unsure how to offer comforting words or even break the tension in the air. His mother would have known what to do, but he remembers less of her with every year that passes. He doesn't know what the right thing to do is. Just figuring out who he is has become more complicated than he could have ever imagined. He does, however, know these three things:

He is Ozai.

He is Fire Lord.

He will not be his father.

Those three facts are enough of a foundation for him to rebuild himself.

The rest of the meal is eaten in silence, with Azula visibly smug and Zuko withdrawn, but although Ozai finishes eating first, he does not rise from the table until he is certain the prince is done with the meal.

"Thank you for having breakfast with me, Azula," he says.

"Of course, Father," she responds smoothly as Zuko hunches into his shoulders, "Shall I tell my instructors to increase the intensity of my firebending lessons? To better prepare myself for any future battles against traitors?"

"The goal is to ensure your own and your brother's protection," he reminds her, "not to humiliate your opponents with flashy moves."

"More defensive katas, then," Azula says decisively.

Ozai huffs a wry laugh. "Even prodigies can only master so much of their craft at once," he tells her, reluctantly amused at this diminutive Azula's obvious maneuvering. And then, because a part of him has always wanted to do so, despite never quite daring an attempt, Ozai reaches across the table and gently tugs on the nearest of the loose locks of hair framing Azula's face. His daughter's surprised blink followed by her utterly baffled expression makes indulging in the impulse entirely worthwhile. "Have a good day, Azula," he says, struggling to suppress the amused grin threatening to break across his face.

Ozai turns to the sullen boy glaring a hole through the table. "Zuko." The prince jolts back from wherever his thoughts had taken him. "Walk with me," he says, holding a hand out to the child.

Zuko's eyes slide from his face down to his hand and back again. His bafflement looks remarkably similar to his sister's expression. Tentatively, as if not sure it's really happening, Zuko grips Ozai's hand and allows the man to help pull him to his feet.

Ozai sets an easy pace through the halls. A part of him wants to lead his new son to the garden courtyard with the turtle-duck pond that Ursa had favored, but instead he begins to retrace a path back to the training courtyard he'd met Agni and Iroh in earlier.

It is only when Zuko carefully shifts to press more firmly against the hand on his back and walk just a little closer that Ozai realizes he has reached out without thought to physically guide the boy through the palace corridors. Ozai brushes his thumb over the teen's spine and the reaction is almost immediate. Zuko stands taller and his stride gains confidence. From the outside, it probably doesn't look much different from how Azula had reacted last night when placed in a similar situation, but the prince's frame never manifests the tension that had marked the princess' reaction. The difference is... worrying, for all that he doesn't know its source.

The Fire Lord and his son have the courtyard to themselves when they arrive. Iroh has long since departed and Azula's firebending lessons are always scheduled from evening to dusk, when the shadow of the palace and the setting of the sun will push her just that much harder during her exercises.

"You said Iroh spoke to you about some of the peculiarities of court etiquette during council," Ozai begins, settling on a bench near the entrance and gesturing for the prince to take his place beside him. There isn't much to look at in this particular courtyard, though Ozai notes that the servants have not yet been in to rake smooth the sand of the sparring field and it remains uneven from this morning's workout.

Zuko perches on the edge of the bench, twisted to face Ozai rather than the empty courtyard and with both hands fisted in his lap. "Uncle explained that during a council meeting the floor isn't open for anyone to speak except for when the Fire Lord calls on them. I broke the rules of your court, so it was you that I disrespected."

Ozai fights back a scowl. That is precisely what he'd been told. Does Iroh really think that half-truth is sufficient for a child that will continue to live in the palace? He isn't worried about Bujing trying anything. As cruel, wasteful, and petty as the general can be, he isn't a fool. And for a man so callous with the lives of new recruits, he is surprisingly lenient when it comes to children. No, he's not worried about Bujing, but there are others who wouldn't hesitate to attack the prince if given an excuse, regardless of his age and status. Some -- particularly ambitious nobles -- might target him specifically because of those things.

"You managed three counts of disrespect when you spoke out," Ozai corrects, "Not one." The boy shifts in discomfort but holds his tongue. "You spoke out of turn in a Fire Lord's court. You questioned a general's honor. Finally, you insulted a guest of the Fire Lord, and thus you insulted the Fire Lord." There is a reason the nobles and generals have grown skilled at making backhanded comments. "Only one count was ever Bujing's to claim, and he chose not to pursue the matter." Ozai traces the tale of footfalls and tumbles in the sand. "That covers your misconduct in the throne room. Did Iroh speak to you at all about the Agni Kai itself?"

Zuko sounds uncertain as he says, "I know how Agni Kais work, Father. Opponents fight under the light of Agni so he may lend his strength if he favors one combatant over the other. The fight continues until either first burn, when one combatant is forced out of bounds for the chosen arena, or voluntary surrender. What more would Uncle have needed to tell me?"

Ozai pinches the bridge of his nose. He isn't sure how much he wants to tell a thirteen-year-old about the cruel circumstances surrounding the Agni Kai that would have left him literally scarred for the rest of his life. Still, Iroh had chosen to say nothing? Maybe things hadn't progressed to the part where Zuko had disobeyed his father's command to fight, twice, but even then there are some things the prince should know.

He drops his hand and looks directly at the young teenager. He immediately decides to skip over the customs and traditions involving guests in court. Firstly, he has no idea if Iroh had been denied the right to fight in his nephew's stead or if Iroh had simply assumed that the prince was in no real danger. Secondly, there will be time to go further into the intricacies of court politics when Zuko is older and less focussed on the shame of this latest misstep.

"An Agni Kai is nothing to be taken lightly, Zuko," he says, making sure to keep eye contact with his son, "'First burn' can easily be death and sometimes it is. Fleeing the boundary, rather than being forced from it, leaves the loser branded as an honorless coward. 'Voluntary surrender' must be freely accepted by the other combatant and most would not deign to do so. By the time a conflict has reached Agni Kai, the involved parties are typically looking to repay the insult in bloodshed. It's too late for apologies at that stage. That is the nature of the challenge."

Zuko is looking green.

"If for any reason you participate in another Agni Kai before you become Fire Lord, be sure of your reason and do not offer surrender more than once. After you enter the arena, you are committed to the fight, regardless of who your opponent may be. Do you understand? An Agni Kai is not a spar. It is not only your honor but your life at stake. You must be ready to fight upon entering that arena."

"B-but you didn't -- You wouldn't have --"

Ozai looks away from the shaken prince, unable to watch as the boy's understanding of the world threatens to shake itself apart. It isn't fair. Not to the boy and not to himself. But this is a necessary lesson.

"It is due to Agni's grace that you left the arena unharmed." He takes a steadying breath and confesses, "My world was turned on its head yesterday. The person I was then could not have fathomed becoming the man I am today." The statement is true several times over, whether he considers 'yesterday' to be the day six years in his past or the day he lived through before this one. "I accepted your surrender. The man you stepped into the arena with would not have. It is Agni's influence that saved you, not your refusal to fight. I need to know that you understand, Zuko. Hesitation and reluctance have no place in an Agni Kai. It does not matter who your opponent is once you are in the arena, you have to be prepared to fight."

"I, I understand, Father," Zuko says.

Ozai scrutinizes the child's face. "No," he concludes, "you don't. But you will grow to understand. In time. Do not accept another challenge until you do."

The prince stares down at his lap and mumbles an obedient, "Yes, Father."

"Good."

Ozai considers the sandy training arena again. He's going to push things further, he decides. It had been a vague idea when he'd chosen to come back to this courtyard, a possibility, but he's certain of his course now. The prince needs to learn the difference between hesitation and restraint, and he needs to learn sooner rather than later. Even if the lesson takes a few repetitions to sink in, they can begin here today.

"Get up. We're starting practice now." His bending is too unstable to risk returning fire, but he should be fine to block and deflect. Ozai rises to his feet and shrugs off his outer robes, leaving them draped over the bench as he strides over to the sparring field.

Zuko clambers to his feet in a startled awkwardness and hesitates by the bench rather than following him. "But you said not to --"

Ozai takes his place at the far side of the field. "This is a spar, not an Agni Kai. Its purpose is to learn and improve. It is not a fight of life and honor. Join me."

"Yes, Father." The boy's fear is clear from his eyes to the slow removal and careful folding of his outer layers to his reluctant manner in crossing the space and settling into an opening stance.

"Attack."

Zuko stares at him with wide eyes. "I, I can't!"

"You can."

The prince remains frozen.

Ozai releases a long, slow breath and forces himself to remember who he'd been at thirteen. "It isn't disrespectful and you're not going to hurt me," he says, careful to keep a level and gentle tone, "Start slow. You are Crown Prince of the Fire Nation. You can do this."

That does the trick. Ozai can see as his son finds his resolve.

Zuko does start slow and his conflicted motivations make his flames weak, but Ozai takes the opportunity it provides him to observe. His son's forms are mostly correct, but he can see the flaws in the foundations that Uncle had drilled out of him during the three years of his banishment. A too-wide stance here, an incorrect angle there, sloppy breath control in general. It's a better starting point than he'd had with a certain scatterbrained airbender, but the prince definitely won't appreciate it when Ozai has him busted back down to drill the basics. He'll have to speak with Iroh later. As Fire Lord, he doesn't have enough free time to devote to personally taking on his son's daily firebending training.

The teen stumbles and flushes in embarrassment.

Ozai tips his head in acknowledgement but commands, "Continue."

Zuko nods and pushes past the mistake, flames growing stronger as he grows gradually more confident in the exercise and his role in it.

Ozai briefly turns his observations to his own bending. The fire flares and shifts into brighter hues in the split-second that Ozai uses to redirect the flames, but they dissipate as he releases them and never reach the tell-tale white of his new bending. He doesn't think the prince even realizes what the difference Azula had hinted at is, not just yet anyway.

The spar continues for some time and Zuko slowly works his way through more and more advanced forms. Eventually, Ozai decides he's pushed the boy as far as he should for one day.

"Enough!" Ozai yells over the roar of the flames.

Zuko's next strike is promptly aborted halfway through the movement, the fire fizzling away just in front of his fist. The prince bows, exertion clear as what little breath-control he had retained to that point quickly falls apart with the conclusion of the spar.

"Thank you for taking the time to train with me, Father," the child pants.

Ozai crosses the field as the prince straightens and offers his son a smile. He places a hand on the boy's shoulder and says, "You did well."

The boy flushes with pride before doubt creeps over his face. "But my flames were weak, and I stumbled on form three, and --"

"Zuko," Ozai interrupts and the child obediently falls silent. "You are thirteen and you are learning," the Fire Lord says, "You are going to make mistakes. That isn't the question. The question is will you push yourself back to your feet after every fall?"

Zuko blinks up at him in surprise, but it isn't long before the boy squares his stance and declares, "Yes. I will."

"Good." Ozai squeezes his son's shoulder before letting go. "I'll speak to Iroh about your training going forward," he informs his son as he strides over to the same closet of supplies that Agni had raided earlier in the morning.

Ending a training session with a breath-control exercise is a long tradition in the Fire Nation, especially among firebenders. Oil lamps, jars of oil, metal frames, metal posts with hooks, ceramic targets, paper targets, rectangular slips of paper, a variety of candles, and several candle holders all crowd the closet, even as neatly arranged as they are. Ozai feels his eyebrows climb his forehead when he realizes that several of the candles must have partially melted at some point and are bent over the paper slips. A quiet snort escapes his composure when he gets hit with a small epiphany and a sudden, wild desire to ask the Sun Spirit's opinion on wax as a general substance. He'll have to instruct the servants to rearrange the closet with the candles tucked away on the lowest shelf and kept separate from everything else, or possibly have them placed in a different closet altogether. For now, he selects two of the shorter, slender candles that remain straight and a pair of matching holders before closing the closet.

Ozai sits cross-legged on the stone floor outside the sparring field and begins to set up the candles. "Join me."

Zuko promptly settles himself across from the Fire Lord. Ozai holds an upturned hand between them, but his eyes are on the prince as he calls forth his bending. Fire leaps high in his hand, startling the boy, before Ozai tames it into a more appropriate and easily maintained fistful of flame hovering over his palm. His son's eyes fill with wonder and an excited smile spreads across the boy's face.

"It's white!" Zuko exclaims, "Are those Agni's Flames? Like the legends?"

Ozai smirks. "They are. Unfortunately, Agni's gift has left my control shattered, and it will take time for me to relearn what I have lost." The Fire Lord carefully lights the candle wicks and then releases the handful of fire so that it dissipates harmlessly in the air. The little flames left behind burn in cheery, well-mannered yellows atop their candles. "You could probably beat me in this exercise right now. If you concentrate."

Zuko looks between him and the candles, once more hesitant and uncertain.

"It isn't disrespectful," Ozai encourages, voice gentle, "It's practice. For both of us."

Zuko contemplates the words and candles alike for another long moment but then nods with new found determination. "I am honored to be considered a worthy opponent, Father," the boy says, "I accept your challenge."

Ozai grins at his son. "You're still going to have to work for your victory."

Zuko offers a smile of his own in return that is only slightly tentative. "Yes, Father. I plan to."

Ozai chuckles and then both royals fall into matching breath patterns as they begin, one candle burning yellow and orange while the other blazes brightly before being tempered into a more controlled tongue of white.

Chapter Text

Bathing had been awkward. Necessary, after this morning's firebending practice, and inevitable in the long run regardless of his chosen activities, but awkward all the same. Ozai has never wanted to know what his father looked like naked, except that the body in question is his now and some things are impractical -- impossible -- to avoid, like the basic demands of self care and hygiene.

"Bodies aren't meant to be recycled," the Fire Lord mutters under his breath as he navigates the palace hallways to Iroh's suite in the guest wing.

Ever since the older man chose not to pursue his birthright, Iroh has existed in an odd royal-and-yet-not limbo in the Fire Nation's laws and culture. His royal titles have all been revoked, but not his military achievements. He has lost his place in the succession as if dishonored, and yet he has not been officially erased from the family records. The palace remains his home, but his rooms neighbor the visiting nobles, generals, and ministers, rather than the rest of the royal family. The blood of Kuzon the Uniter flows through his veins, and, ironically enough, that fact threatens to become a rallying cry that could split the country in two should rumors begin to spread that Iroh does not support the current Fire Lord's reign.

It's a delicate balance and not one that Ozai thinks can be sustained. He wishes he had a better idea of how to repair the rift between Iroh and the rest of the family, but he's learned that certain problems can only be solved one step at a time.

The sharp double rap on the door draws Iroh's attention from his tea. A moment later, the door opens a bare inch and a guard's voice announces, "Fire Lord Ozai is here to see you, General." And then the door is quietly relatched.

Iroh sets his teacup down on its saucer and stares at his suite's entrance in something approaching disbelief. Ozai has sought him out again?

The man grunts as he pushes himself to his feet, missing the spryness of his youth.

True to the guard's words, Ozai stands on the other side of the door when Iroh opens it. "Brother," he greets with a bow.

"May I come in?" the Fire Lord requests politely.

Iroh fights not to appear completely dumbstruck. They both know that the Fire Lord need not ask for anything, let alone entrance into one of the rooms in his own palace. Furthermore, this marks the fourth time in the last twenty-four hours that his younger brother has arranged for them to speak privately. Never before has Ozai shown such an interest in his company. And yet... Agni himself had gone out of his way this morning to remind him that Ozai's oath -- which potentially risks his position as Fire Lord -- has not been revoked, but rather stands as a testament to Ozai's regard and Agni's tolerance of 'the foolishness of mortal man and particularly that of Kuzon's brood,' as the Sun Spirit had put it.

He steps aside and gestures for the younger man to join him in his suite's anteroom.

"Thank you," Ozai says, sweeping past him and taking a seat in the chair opposite the couch Iroh had occupied only a few seconds before.

The retired general shuts the door behind his brother. He retrieves another cup and saucer from his cupboard of personal tea supplies and proceeds to pour the other man a cup of tea from the pot. "What is it that brings you to my rooms, Brother?" he asks as he places the fresh teacup and saucer in front of the Fire Lord.

Having been asked bluntly, Ozai doesn't waste any further time. "Prince Zuko's firebending lessons have clearly been rushed. There are flaws in his foundational understanding of the art and his discipline is sloppy. I don't know if his previous instructors felt pressured by the pace of Princess Azula's progress or if they were simply neglectful. Either way, the results are the same. I don't have the time to devote to the task myself. Would you be willing to take on Zuko's firebending training?"

Iroh frowns into his tea. "If the problems begin in his mastery of the basics as you say, then this is not a new problem."

"No." Ozai's gaze is fixed on him with a single-mindedness that another man might find to be disquieting, but Azulon's stare had often been just as focussed and intent. Iroh has long since learned how to break free of the silent demands behind such eyes.

He sips his tea to buy time. Is it worth prodding further at this apparent change in his brother? There have been so many that Iroh barely recognizes the man across from him. He and Ozai have never been close -- for many reasons -- but he had thought he had some idea of who his younger brother is. He would like to take the very convenient excuse the spirits have provided him for why the man he is sharing tea with is a stranger, but his expectations of his brother were proven wrong in the degrees before the spirits' intervention. He'd never thought Ozai cruel enough to engage in an Agni Kai against his own son until he was witnessing the event unfold before his very eyes, nor had he ever imagined that his brother would disregard the boy's surrender, twice. And that does not begin to touch upon the matter of what he had said to Prince Zuko!

He makes no attempt to hide the accusation in his next question. "Why choose now to care about a child you have neglected this long?"

Ozai's jaw clenches but he continues to hold his intense stare. After a few long seconds of silence, the Fire Lord answers, "Guess. I'd think the reason for the timing should be easy enough to figure out."

Iroh scowls and sets his teacup on its saucer with a harsh clank before he can shatter it. "So, it only takes the spirits for you to see value in your son."

Ozai's mouth opens only to snap closed without saying a word as his eyes widen and he looks away. The Fire Lord's hands fist in his lap. The man's lips twist and his brow furrows as he wrestles with unvoiced thoughts. It is only after the first droplets have pattered against the back of Iroh's wrist, and he has brushed his hand over his cheek to confirm, that he realizes what has caused the Fire Lord's sudden hesitation.

How foolish of him to be crying over his boy again. His tears had not saved his son at Ba Sing Se's wall and they will do nothing for him now, going on two years after his death. And it is all the more foolish of him to mourn the loss of his son in front of the man that had used Lu Ten's death as a stepping stone to further his ambitions.

"Lu Ten was a brave and honorable man," Ozai says around a grimace, "I --"

"Do not!" Iroh snaps, "I will not have your false sympathies over my son's death!"

Ozai pauses before giving him a shallow acquiescing nod. "As you wish." The Fire Lord meets his eyes again before continuing, "And Zuko? Are you willing to train him?"

"That depends," Iroh says, wiping his face clean of tears. He is not ashamed to grieve over the loss of his child, but Ozai has proven that he is not above wielding Lu Ten's death as a tool to achieve his aims and Iroh will not allow himself to be the means through which Ozai further degrades the memory of his lost prince.

"On?"

"'You will learn respect, and suffering.' Are these still words you intend to see realized, or is this another thing that has changed?" he challenges, "I have no desire to be a punishment inflicted upon my nephew. If he truly needs to be retrained, I am willing to help, but if this is instead some attempt to humiliate Prince Zuko, then I want no part in it!"

The Fire Lord appears staggered and perhaps Iroh should not be surprised. He cannot recall if he has ever spoken to his brother so bluntly in the past. Ozai seems to regain his senses after a brief moment and releases a hissing torrent of steam through his teeth. "That was said?" he demands, "Those exact words?"

Iroh frowns. "Yes. Do you not remember? It was just before the spirits intervened." He considers the thought some more. "Given the rather dramatic display that it was, it is possible that very few of those who witnessed the Agni Kai and its surrounding events will recall your statement to Prince Zuko."

"But the boy will," Ozai says, pinching the bridge of his nose as if fighting off a headache. "That might actually be worse than..." the words trail off in a frustrated growl. "Agni damn it!" the Fire Lord seethes before his head tips ever so slightly further forward than it had been and the man utters a quiet grunt.

"...Ozai?"

His brother sighs, leans back in the chair he is occupying, and meets his gaze. "I've been reminded that I have Agni's attention," the Fire Lord explains, "and that he hears when his name is said."

Iroh absorbs that statement, thinking back to the moment he had thoughtlessly thanked Agni in the training courtyard, and cannot help feeling stunned and simultaneously skeptical of the implied claim. "Agni spoke to you just now?" he checks.

Ozai hums and says, "I told you that he's been an almost constant presence. He doesn't always bother to build a body of fire. I think it might be easier for him to reach me, rather than crossing into our world directly." His brow furrows as he continues, "I'm beginning to suspect I've been tied to the spirit world somehow, or maybe specifically to Agni. It would help to explain this." The man gestures carelessly toward his face, eyes bright as twin flames.

"Perhaps. The glow does not appear to have diminished, in any case, and I do not have a better theory to offer you." There are a few mentions in the records about some of the ancient Fire Lords' eyes, comparing them to those of a predator or, at times, specifically those of a dragon. He'd thought it was merely poetic phrasing to describe the fierce or cunning dispositions of his ancestors, but perhaps the old texts had meant to convey something else entirely. "It could be a normal condition of becoming Agni's Herald," he says, "We have lost much of our knowledge regarding the heraldship."

"I become more aware of that with every hour that passes." The Fire Lord scrubs a hand over his face before meeting his eyes again. "It's not a punishment," he says, bringing their conversation back to its previous topic, "Zuko needs better instruction than he has received. I would consider it a personal favor if you would be willing to teach him."

"Very well. I will give Prince Zuko my own evaluation. Tomorrow. If his training is indeed as flawed as you say, I will do what I can to correct it."

"Thank you."

Iroh hums a noncommittal response. He's not sure he trusts a 'thank you' from Ozai to be anything more than another manipulation. "I believe the prince is typically instructed in firebending during the hours before lunch?"

"Yes."

"Then, if you find it agreeable, I will let you know my final answer on the matter over tomorrow's lunch."

"Lunch?" the Fire Lord questions, seemingly surprised. A tentative smile tries to form on the younger man's face before he crushes it, hiding his mouth behind a fist and clearing his throat. "Lunch. Yes. That's agreeable," he says awkwardly.

The retired general is uncertain what to make of his brother's behavior, so he decides not to address it. Not in this moment, at any rate. "Was there anything else you wished to discuss?" Iroh asks and finishes off his current cup of tea. He should have at least another half-cup left in the pot, he thinks.

"No. No, it was just the one thing." Ozai stands and says, "I shouldn't intrude on your hospitality further. I'll see you tomorrow. For lunch." He frowns. "And probably a war meeting after that. I need to speak with the clerks next to rearrange the rest of this week's schedule."

Iroh nods to acknowledge the words but gestures to the untouched cup and saucer left abandoned on the table. "You have not even tried the tea," he remarks, "I prepare it myself, you know. I like to think I have acquired some skill in the art of brewing."

The Fire Lord rolls his eyes, scoops up the neglected cup, and swallows its contents all at once. He sets the cup back down on its saucer and says in a wholly perfunctory manner, "It's very good."

Iroh can't help feeling insulted by the display. "You did not even taste it!" he chides, "Brother, tea is meant to be savored. Not thrown back like cheap alcohol!"

"Iroh," the other man huffs impatiently, "I have a country to run. I'm not going to waste time on savoring what amounts to hot leaf juice."

He reels back, thoroughly disgruntled to learn of this previously unknown flaw in his brother's character. "'Hot leaf juice,' you say?" Iroh strokes his beard and runs a critical eye over the Fire Lord's unimpressed stance and stubborn scowl. (The thought that the Fire Lord currently resembles a sulking teenager flits through his mind before being swiftly dismissed.) "It would seem that Prince Zuko is not the only one who has received faulty training. A Fire Lord without a proper appreciation for tea..." Iroh bemoans the fate of the nation and decides, "I will bring a pot of ginseng with me for tomorrow's lunch. Regardless of my decision on Prince Zuko's firebending, we should begin your training immediately."

Ozai does not react the way Iroh would have expected him to, had Iroh taken the time to think about how he would have expected Ozai to react. Instead, his brother stares at him for a moment before bursting into laughter, one hand clutching the nearby chair's backrest for support and the other arm tucked around his abdomen.

Iroh can only stare in bewilderment.

"I'm sorry," the Fire Lord apologizes between lingering chortles as his mirth winds down, waving one hand in some vague gesture while the other continues to cling to the chair, "I just -- It's good, after everything that's happened, to know that some things remain unchanged. I needed that more than I realized. Thank you. Brother."

And then Ozai bows. It's shallow, representing gratitude between equals if he is reading it correctly, but it is still undeniably a bow from the Fire Lord. It is almost as inappropriate a behavior as sitting at his feet in the training courtyard had been. If Ozai isn't mindful of such acts and their potential audiences, he could start rumors every bit as destabilizing as anything Iroh could try to stir up on his own. (Iroh tries not to think about Ozai's oath of honor to him, and the argument with Agni that the Fire Lord had immediately gotten into following it. There had been at least six direct witnesses to the event and news has doubtlessly already begun to spread, especially as Ozai himself ordered the sages to give an honest report to the temple. Time alone will reveal what results the oath shall bear.)

"I'll leave you to savor the rest of your tea," Ozai says, but the words carry no mocking tone and a smile remains from his previous laughter, "Until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow," Iroh repeats, too preoccupied with his increasingly tumultuous thoughts to offer a different farewell.

The Fire Lord nods and sees himself out.

Iroh collapses back into the waiting cushioned support of the couch and stares unseeingly ahead. He needs to renew his research into spirits, he decides, particularly in regards to what it may mean when spirits refer to a mortal as 'reforged.'

Chapter Text

Ozai skims over the latest draft of his schedule for the week. Head Clerk Dar Ling waits for the Fire Lord's approval at his shoulder and Senior Clerk Wen Li, the second-ranked clerk, sits ready nearby with brush and parchment at hand to begin scrawling out yet another iteration should this draft not meet the Fire Lord's approval.

There is a strong family resemblance between the two clerks. Ozai suspects the middle-aged woman is either the Head Clerk's daughter or niece, but he can't fault the work she produces. Wen Li's brush is fast and accurate with a skill that she likely honed at the old man's knee. The ink at the beginning of each draft has barely dried by the time the clerk carefully hands them over for Ozai's inspection. As a result, and rather ironically, there are more ink stains decorating the Fire Lord's hands than there are on the near spotless hands of the Senior Clerk. (Wen Li had begun to leave wider margins around the edges of the sheets after the first careless smudging of her work and Dar Ling had immediately offered up a fine cleaning cloth from a pocket with a polite, "My lord.")

"And in this version, how long will it take to catch up with the rescheduled appointments?" the Fire Lord asks.

He's already settled on dealing with the nation's regular needs in the mornings and focussing on de-escalation efforts in the afternoons, but he'd displaced the last half of yesterday's and all of today's planned events almost as soon as he'd been dropped into this time. He'll be displacing even more in this week's upcoming series of afternoons as he works on starting to shift the Fire Nation from being a country at war with its neighbors to one pursuing peace. He needs to meet those delayed obligations at some point, if he can.

"Discarding the cancelled appointments," Dar Ling says, voice creaking from age like old floorboards, "just under a month will see everything tended to. Any appointments yet to be arranged will, of course, either see that time extended or else have to be scheduled further out."

Ozai hums in response, eyes still reading over the lines. Of all his father's faults, keeping up with the minutiae of ruling the nation apparently hadn't been one of them. This is his second time taking over the role of Fire Lord from the same man and neither time had the former monarch's schedule or desk been inundated with work waiting to be done. He wonders if his father had been more efficient at the job or merely more willing to dismiss and delegate matters he deemed to be of lesser importance. He recalls often feeling like he was drowning under the paperwork alone, especially during the first few months after his coronation.

"If any of the cancelled appointments seek to be rescheduled, make sure to note that in the proposals," Ozai instructs.

"As you wish, Fire Lord," Dar Ling says.

There is an interior meeting with the ministers of the Mother Islands scheduled for the day after tomorrow. He'd expected to have to wait almost two weeks to arrange an emergency meeting with them. It takes a messenger hawk two or three days to reach the farthest islands and a little over a week for the ministers from the most distant islands to comfortably make the trek to the capital. He'll still need to wait to meet with any of the colony governors. Unlike the island ministers, colony governors rarely travel to the capital to discuss the general operations and daily running of their assigned territories directly with the Fire Lord. It might not be feasible to speak with most of the governors face-to-face until after negotiations are fully underway with the nearest Earth kings. Until then, messenger hawks and envoys will have to do.

And now that the thought has crossed his mind...

Ozai keeps his eyes trained on the proposed schedule in his hands as he says, "Just to confirm, the orders to cease aggressions have all been sent out?"

"Yes, my lord," Dar Ling answers promptly, "Every scribe worked late to ensure the appropriate number of copies of your orders were finished with all haste last night. The birds were released at first light this morning."

"Good. Thank you."

The afternoons of the days before and after the ministers' meeting are dedicated entirely to war meetings with the generals, in case one meeting is not enough to iron out the details of their first steps. There's a good chance that he will end up sending some of the more trustworthy generals out to assume control over certain theaters. A part of him that has never fully grown comfortable with delegating tasks to others wishes that he could go to personally oversee everything, but that isn't practical in the least and the Eastern Continent isn't where he is most needed.

In the coming weeks, he is also hoping to arrange meetings with the state industrial administrators, trade guilds, farmers, archivists, and school administrators. After almost a century, the war has become entrenched in nearly every aspect of their culture. Failing to address the more subtle branches of the war had threatened to plunge the country into open violence or financial ruin or any number of other stumbling blocks that had plagued his first year as Fire Lord. Ozai would prefer to ease some of those national growing pains this time around if at all possible, and it starts by addressing those issues before they begin to cause problems big enough to draw attention.

Ozai reaches the last line of the schedule. For the most part, he's pleased with what he, Dar Ling, and Wen Li have constructed.

"There is one more thing..."

"Of course, my lord," Dar Ling says and Wen Li picks up her brush, hovering its tip over the inkwell.

The Fire Lord holds up a stalling hand. "It won't require a complete rewrite for the draft," Ozai promises and instead lays the copy in his hand down on the table near the seated clerk, "With the appropriate exceptions for conflicts in scheduling, I'd like to make having breakfast with the prince and princess a regular occurance."

He remembers the two years between his mother's disappearance and his banishment as being particularly lonely, despite being continually surrounded by servants and instructors. Father had always been distant and only grew to be more so during that time. Uncle had spent a year completely out of contact before he finally returned, and by then he had been closer to being a stranger than family. Lu Ten was dead. As was Grandfather. For all they fought and snapped at each other, Zuko and Azula had been the closest family either of them had known for that span of time. He wants them to have more than that. He doesn't want children -- especially children that are now his own -- to feel as if they have been abandoned by every adult in their lives.

Wen Li ducks her head as she writes a quick note in the margins of the draft. He thinks the clerk might be smiling.

"An excellent idea, your majesty," Dar Ling offers his praise.

"And..." Iroh did mention his determination to fix the Fire Lord's underdeveloped appreciation for tea. "Make a similar arrangement for lunch with my brother."

Both clerks look at him in surprise and Clerk Wen Li is definitely smiling when she again ducks her head and adds a second note. Ozai is a bit surprised himself when Wen Li finally breaks her silence to say, "It is good to see the royal family beginning to heal, my lord."

"It heartens the nation when the royal family is well," Dar Ling agrees.

Ozai flushes faintly and resists the urge to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. "Right... That should be everything. Thank you. Have the official schedule drawn up and send out the corresponding notifications and requests to the necessary parties."

"As you wish, Fire Lord," Dar Ling says, looking pleased to have successfully arranged the schedule to the satisfaction of the nation's leader.

"There is one more matter, my lord," Wen Li speaks up softly, meeting his eyes. She looks nervous but determined all the same. "There have been... certain whispers floating about the palace," she says, "Should the 'Herald of Agni' title be reinstated amongst your other titles?"

Head Clerk Dar Ling frowns. "Wen Li," the man chides, "you shouldn't pay those ridiculous tales any mind. The great spirits left us many centuries ago."

"Forgive me, Head Clerk, but should we not --"

Ozai raises an arm between the clerks and summons a handful of white fire. "Yes, reinstate it. Have it listed first among them."

"It's true!" Wen Li gasps in delight.

Dar Ling's expression drops in shock before he bows deeply and pleads, "Please forgive my disrespect, Herald!"

Ozai dismisses the flames and allows his hand to fall back to his side. "Please, rise. Your skepticism was understandable. It has been a very long time, but Agni has returned to us."

The head clerk tentatively straightens, seeming to very much expect some kind of greater penalty for his doubts.

"A real Herald of Agni," Wen Li says, drawing the men's attention, "In our lifetime! Can you believe it, Father?"

"It would be rather difficult to deny it at this point, dear," Dar Ling admits. The man clears his throat. "B-but we are still at work and this talk is unprofessional, Clerk Wen Li."

The woman blinks and then flushes, "O-of course! Please forgive my lapse, Fire Lord, Head Clerk!" She offers her best bow while awkwardly caught between her chair and the table.

"Neither of you have done anything that requires my forgiveness," Ozai assures, struck anew by the strong family resemblance the two share.

"This... is good news, isn't it?" Dar Ling muses, tugging lightly at the neat goatee he keeps, "Our patron spirit has returned to us. This is good for the nation. We'll need to scour the archives for the old ceremonies." He drags his rambling thoughts back to the present and refocusses on the Fire Lord. "Will we be reinstating the old ceremonies, my lord?" he asks.

Ozai frowns as he considers that. "Have a list made," he decides, "I'll ask Agni which ones he wants brought back and when." He has no idea how much of their culture and ceremonies they've lost since the time they openly revered and celebrated Agni.

"And..." Dar Ling hesitates, "Should we also prepare a list for the other great spirits? Are they likewise returning to our world?"

La and Tui are up to something somewhere, he knows that much. And Agni had said that more spirits would want to help, but the Sun Spirit hadn't provided him with any further names. Still... "It's probable that other great spirits will also return. Prepare the second list, but prioritize the one for Agni."

"Of course, Fire Lord. We will begin to compile that information immediately!"

"Is there anything further?" Ozai asks.

Dar Ling and Wen Li share a quick glance. "No, your majesty," Dar Ling answers for both of them.

"In that case, you may return to your other duties." The clerks bow and Ozai takes his leave.

Wen Li does not wait quite long enough to ask, "Do you think the Avatar will also return, Father?"

Ozai stops to listen.

"Avatar, bah!" Dar Ling says in response, "If we are lucky, that is one spirit that will stay gone."

"Szeto was beloved by the Fire Nation!" Wen Li objects, "And Yangchen served honorably!"

"And Kuruk was a troublemaker, Kyoshi a tyrant, and Roku a traitor. Each worse than the Avatar that preceded them," Dar Ling refutes, "With the way things were going, far better for the world to be free of the Avatar altogether. Who knows how disastrous the next would have been? And do not forget what Sozin had done to the airbenders. If there is another Avatar, our nation will not be regarded well in their eyes if they are born to any people other than our own. No, far better for us all if the Avatar never returns."

"I suppose," Wen Li sighs.

"There are days I wish your mother had not filled your head with quite so many spirit tales while you and your brothers were young," Dar Ling says, "You have a good life here in this world, dear girl."

"Father, I am quite happy with my life but I am no 'girl,'" she huffs, "Have I not given you six grandsons?"

"Indeed you have!" Dar Ling agrees happily, "And I look forward to spending my upcoming retirement encouraging each of your handsome boys to find lovely wives of their own while you deal with the paperwork here. Spirits willing, I shall see all of them and their cousins well settled before I journey to the next world and join the spirits. When is young Tom's wedding, again?"

"The week after next," Wen Li answers, "And you would do well not to embarrass your grandsons. They will find wives faster without your interference."

"Nonsense! I am an excellent wingman!" Dar Ling says, "But, because it is your request, dear daughter, I shall attempt more subtle methods."

Wen Li giggles. "Thank you. I'm sure the boys will appreciate your restraint."

Ozai frowns as he leaves the duo to their chatter and continues on his way.

Dar Ling will not be the only one to hold such an opinion on the Avatar's return. If anything, Ozai would bet that it is a fairly common stance to hold on the issue, among his people. As far as he's ever cared to research the matter -- which, admittedly, hadn't been much -- Avatars Kuruk and Kyoshi had been largely unpopular outside of their respective homes. Roku and Sozin -- historical figures he has researched more thoroughly, if only because of his personal connection to both men -- had lived in an uneasy stalemate for decades, and Sozin had most of the records on Avatar Roku scrubbed from the Fire Nation's history scrolls after the other man's death. What remains of him in the cultural psyche of the Fire Nation is little more than the shadow of a disloyal villain.

In short, the Avatar has not been a widely acclaimed figure in the Fire Nation for centuries, long before Sozin and Roku came to be entangled in a very public feud over the nation's expanding borders.

He sighs. It seems he's found one more thing he needs to bring in line with the future he's trying to build for his nation. Hopefully, he can do so before Aang wakes up from the stasis the Avatar Spirit has him in.

Chapter Text

The desk hadn't been overflowing with work when he'd started, but Ozai can feel the headache forming behind his eyes all the same. To be fair to himself, he's been at this for hours, first skimming and resorting the various papers from his father's system to his own, and then actually working to answer, sign, approve, or reject each collection of missives or forms as needed.

...It's nice having fully unimpaired eyesight again. His left eye hadn't suffered as great a loss of vision as most seemed to assume from the surrounding scar, but there had been some damage along those lines, and reading had always been an activity that made the degradation starkly apparent. Either way, however, it seems he's doomed to chronic tension headaches for as long as he remains Fire Lord.

He signs off on one last form -- the official retiring of the oldest serving cruiser-style ships, specifically the Wani's class, funnily enough -- and sets down his brush. (He'd felt alien to himself directly after the first thoughtless signature he'd scrawled out had resulted in an abstract 'Ozai' rather than 'Zuko.' He'd laughed hysterically and only had the presence of mind to be grateful that he was alone after the fact. Still, at least learning to forge his father's signature isn't something he needs to worry about.)

He resists the desire to scrub his ink-stained hands over his face. A black-smudged face isn't the greatest look for a Fire Lord. Instead, Ozai wipes his hands free of any remaining wet ink with the cloth Dar Ling had gifted him before rolling up and sealing his last set of finished paperwork for the afternoon. (Or evening, he supposes. It's begun to get late in the day at this point.) Each of the wax seals get stamped by the imperial signet ring and then set aside to cure fully on racks that the servants will collect early tomorrow morning.

Ozai considers the dancing lights and shadows playing across the ceiling above his office's east window. On occasion, the flashes of light are tinted blue. Azula has yet to master the blue flame that she will become renowned for, but she's close. Her bending flares stronger and hotter in sporadic bursts without an apparent reason behind the fluctuations, but those same unpredictable spikes in power have been increasing in frequency. Ever so slowly, the princess progresses toward the goal of a sustained and consistent blue fire.

Ozai moves to the window to watch the small figure below throw flames of bright yellow and blue across the courtyard. All of eleven years old, and the child prodigy is well on her way to achieving a level of firebending mastery that few ever do. He's never really thought about how hard Azula was pushed to achieve her prowess in the art.

Zuko trains for two hours every day under the midday sun. Azula trains for three hours daily as Agni prepares to depart beyond the horizon. Both training regimes are aggressive, but there is no debate as to which is the more demanding of the two.

His sister may have been born lucky, but she had also earned the skill into which she had crafted her natural talent. Now the question is if he can coax his daughter into using all the skill and talent she is honing for something that isn't tormenting her brother and the servants.

Agni had called Azula 'dragon-hearted.' The Sun Spirit had listed her traits as fierce, loyal, and ruthless. Ozai can think of another dragon-like trait that applies to his new daughter. Namely, Azula is possessive. It's a step to the left of being protective, but maybe she could be nudged in that direction with some encouragement. It's worth trying, at any rate. Regardless of any long-term plans, however, he needs to speak with her after the task he'd given her at this morning's breakfast. The last thing he needs is for Azula to twist his words into a mission to hunt down any hypothetical intruders.

Decision made, Ozai once more makes his way to the training courtyard.

Li and Lo hadn't allowed her to make any changes to her training. She isn't terribly surprised that the old crones are unwilling to budge on their schedule. It's been carefully crafted and tailored to her already, after all.

Azula doesn't doubt that she could push beyond the limits of her current regime, but she's been confronted with the fact that she would then need to sustain that higher level indefinitely and she is less certain about her body's ability to endure the demands without injury. How irritating. And then there is the time it would take away from her other lessons to consider as well. It wouldn't do for a princess of the Fire Nation to have a lacking education. Utterly unacceptable.

Instead of fighting against Li's and Lo's wisdom, however aggravating, Azula throws herself into the day's planned katas with a vengeance.

Most of the katas in question are heavily focussed on kicks to help draw out the blue fire she is on the verge of harnessing. The chi lines in the legs are thicker and stronger than the lines in the arms. They also provide a more direct path for the sea of chi in the belly to exit the body in flames than the pathways up the torso and then down the arms do. In short, a firebender can generally produce larger, hotter plumes of fire from their feet than their hands. Li's and Lo's theory is that if Azula can achieve regular results with her kicks, then the breakthrough for the rest of her bending should fall into place shortly after. It's as good a theory as any other that is available to them. The last known blue flame user died five generations before Azula's birth and the surviving records regarding the blue flame do not offer recommended methods or techniques for achieving the ability.

No matter. Azula has never shrunk from a challenge and she will not begin now.

Ozai nods to Li and Lo as he enters the courtyard, joining them in observing the girl's movements through her assigned kata. He's never learned how to tell the twins apart. He's not entirely sure if his sister ever did, either, for that matter.

"Fire Lord Ozai," creaks one of the elderly women.

The other woman adds, "You honor us."

Ozai nods in greeting. "How is she doing?"

"Princess Azula's dedication is a credit to your line, Fire Lord," the first twin remarks.

The second twin continues the thought, "Her flames grow hotter by the day. We have hopes that she will have mastered the blue flame by the end of the month."

"I see," Ozai murmurs, watching his daughter jump high and come down with her heel wreathed in cobalt fire, "I would like to evaluate the princess' progress personally."

"As you wish, Fire Lord," both twins say together.

Azula works her way through another series of punches and kicks before she finishes her current kata and turns smoothly to regard him. "Father," she says with a disciplined bow, as if she is not sweating and fatigued from the intensive exercise she has been engaged in.

"Azula," he responds. He shrugs off his outer robes and drapes them over the arm of the bench Li and Lo are occupying.

Azula watches every motion with sharp eyes. She tenses ever so slightly as he approaches. He likely wouldn't have even noticed if she wasn't lacking her own outer robes, but, as it is, he sees the slight movement in her shoulders and the rebalancing of her weight.

"I was hoping you might feel up to a spar," Ozai says, tone kept carefully light. Azula does not relax.

"Of course, Father," the girl answers. There is the slightest of hesitations before she adds, "I had thought your new flames would take longer to bring under control."

Ozai blinks and then suppresses a grimace. The comment is precisely crafted to be neither an insult nor a questioning of the Fire Lord's judgement, but Azula had seen first hand how uncontrolled his bending currently is. How dangerous it is. No wonder she has misgivings about the exercise.

"I do not have full control yet," he admits as he takes his place on the other end of the sparring arena, "I will be blocking and deflecting."

"I see," Azula says. She considers him for perhaps half a second more before sinking into a ready stance with a slow smirk, "I suppose I have outgrown my other sparring partners."

It is ridiculously relieving to see the reemergence of the boastful viper he remembers from his childhood rather than the cautious court mask. He never thought he'd miss Azula's arrogant, vicious side, but anything is better than witnessing her fear and knowing he is the cause.

"It won't be a regular thing. There are too many demands on my time to allow for it," Ozai says, mirroring Azula's opening stance, "Attack!"

Unlike Zuko, Azula does not hesitate. She throws herself wholeheartedly into a fierce assault with a rush of flame every bit as ferocious and determined as its bender. The fire flares bright white as he deflects it. Azula's bending is stronger and hotter than the best of Prince Zuko's flames had been, and the temperatures only soar higher as Ozai is forced to add his own chi to the flames to rip them away from the eleven-year-old prodigy and send them away in a safe direction.

Azula does not relent. Her attacks come quickly as she combines them fluidly, always in motion and changing the angle of her assault constantly. Even if he were to go back on his word and attempt to launch an offensive himself, Azula leaves few openings in her one-bender siege and what few exist would be difficult to take advantage of for anyone with less training than an imperial firebender.

He can't fault the results of Li's and Lo's lessons.

"Enough!"

Azula instantly dismisses the flames she'd been preparing to throw and bows. "Thank you for the spar, Father," his daughter says. Her breathing is deep but steady under her iron will.

Ozai glances at Li and Lo. "The princess is progressing well under your tutelage. I apologize for interrupting your regime for her. However, there are matters I must discuss with my daughter privately and I believe it would be appropriate for her to be excused from the rest of tonight's session."

The two old women rise to their feet, if slowly.

"We are pleased to hear our efforts have met your approval, Fire Lord," says one.

"And awed to witness with our own eyes the return of Agni's greatest blessing to the line of Kuzon," the other says.

Both bow shallowly, as is appropriate for the elderly who are no longer as sure on their feet as they had been in their youth. "Herald," they intone in parting, before rising from their bows and shuffling out the door.

Ozai waits for the women to depart and the door to close before taking the three strides necessary to close the distance between himself and his daughter. He then tugs lightly on one of the locks framing her face and says, "You did well, Little Dragon."

Azula blinks up at him, cocks her head slightly, and ultimately seems to decide to simply be pleased by the praise. Her smile is small but lacking the edge so many of her usual smirks and grins retain. "I'll do even better soon," she claims, "I'm very close to mastering the blue flame."

"You are," Ozai agrees, "but that isn't what I need to speak to you about." He nods toward the supplies closet and instructs, "Go fetch your cooldown supplies and a tall candle."

"Yes, Father."

Ozai shakes the sand from his shoes and settles himself on the stone floor beside the sparring field. Azula returns, seating herself across from him and placing the candle down between them. She pinches the end of the wick to light it before doing the same to the slip of paper still in her hands.

Ozai raises a brow at the chosen activity for the princess' breathing exercise. It's very... basic.

"I hadn't expected you to prefer to end your training with the Smolder Ring," he observes.

Azula glances at him before returning her eyes to the tiny embers slowly eating away at the paper. "Preference has little to do with my training, Father," the girl says.

"Then why choose it?" Ozai asks.

"It was the next in the cycle."

"Cycle?"

Azula glances at him again. "Instructors Li and Lo have made it clear that each breathing exercise they have assigned for the end of my firebending lessons focus on training different facets of the art. Furthermore, my instructors insist that all of my assigned breathing exercises be cycled through evenly to ensure that each is practiced regularly.

"Smolder Ring teaches restraint and fine control over the smallest embers. Breaths should be slow and shallow.

"Vacillating Tongue," she nods to indicate Ozai's single candle, "focusses instead on the controlled rise and fall of power. Breaths should be full with even inhales and exhales."

Ozai hums an acknowledgement and says, "You've learned well under Li and Lo." There is a small part of him that is still jealous of the training his sister had been given when they were children. None of his childhood instructors at the palace had explained the purpose of any of the exercises he was expected to do so clearly as Azula's have to her.

"Thank you, Father. They are adequate instructors."

The next three degrees are spent in silence as both royals focus on their different breathing exercises.

Ozai pinches out the flame of his candle, drawing Azula's attention. "About the task I assigned you this morning at breakfast," he says slowly, "it would be prudent to clarify a few things."

Azula's next exhale smothers the circle of cinders and she sets the paper aside to give Ozai her undivided attention. "You mean my mission to protect our home from traitors?" the girl asks. "I'm ready, Father. I won't disappoint you."

"I know you won't," Ozai says, "But to be clear, your job is to protect yourself and your brother. Nothing more. Do not endanger yourself needlessly. Iroh and I can protect ourselves. The palace can be rebuilt. Any traitors can be tracked down after the fact. If there are guards nearby, allow them to do their jobs to protect you. My first concern in the event of a coup or any other attack is your and Zuko's safety. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father," Azula says. She doesn't pout, but he can tell that she wants to do as much.

"And, Azula?" he says, "Don't create situations to get around my instructions. I don't want you anywhere near the fighting if it can be prevented."

"But --" Azula bites off her words and instead offers a stiff, "Yes, Sir."

Ozai sighs. "I know you're capable. The whole nation knows." She's more capable than any eleven-year-old has any business being. "You have nothing to prove, Little Dragon."

"I'd still enjoy the opportunity to do so, Father," Azula says, "I'm not sure what else my training has been for if not to dispose of traitors."

The Fire Lord bites back an exasperated sigh. He can't claim Azula lacks the skill needed to be effective in combat, and telling her that she is too young will only spur the girl to attempt to prove otherwise. "Sometimes, things happen on the battlefield that have nothing to do with anything other than luck," he says, "Lu Ten was a master, and a skilled soldier in his own right, but he still died when Iroh allowed him to join the men at the frontlines."

"And then Uncle broke the siege because he got sad," Azula sneers.

"Azula!" he snaps before he can stop himself.

The girl stares up at him with wide eyes for the split second before the porcelain mask is slipped on, hiding his daughter behind a polite, contrite facade. "Forgive me, Father."

"No, I shouldn't have snapped at you," Ozai says, frustrated with himself.

Azula says nothing. The mask remains firmly in place.

Ozai runs a hand over his face. Does Azula even know why and what she should be apologizing for? Or is she only apologizing because he became angry with her? Considering that Father had often voiced open contempt for Iroh after taking the throne, and also what Agni had mentioned of Azula's nature, Ozai has his answer.

He releases a slow breath. One problem at a time. Focus on just the step in front of you. The rest can come after that.

"Azula," he says calmer, softer, gentler, "Iroh broke when he lost his son. Parents are not supposed to outlive their children. Beyond that, morale among the troops was already running low. It had been a long deployment, and breaching the outer wall quickly turned the engagement into a treacherous and bloody bottleneck. Progress was costly in every way imaginable. News of Prince Lu Ten's death broke more than just Iroh's will to continue. Whatever mistakes your uncle may have made during the Ba Sing Se campaign, ordering the withdrawal after Lu Ten's death was not one of them.

"The nation mourned Azulon's passing as we would any Fire Lord, but during that time it was Lu Ten that the nation wept for. The children of the royal family, its youngest generation, represent the future of the Fire Nation.

"As such, what the nation and I need most from you is to remain safe and well. Sometimes, that might mean holding your ground and fighting until help can arrive, but more often it will mean avoiding battlefields altogether, regardless of where they erupt. Can I trust you to remain safe to the best of your abilities, Azula? And to help keep your brother safe as well?"

"Yes, Father."

He sighs. What more can he expect after frightening her again? "Good. Thank you," he says.

Azula blinks at him but doesn't respond otherwise.

The Fire Lord stands and offers his daughter a hand, assisting the child to her feet. "It's gotten late," he observes, "I won't keep you longer than I already have. Sleep well, Daughter. You are dismissed."

Azula bows and says, "Goodnight, Father." The girl doesn't stop to collect anything before leaving the courtyard.

Ozai watches her go and quietly hopes that fatherhood will be the one thing in his life that he manages to learn quickly.

"You Did Well, Little Dragon" by malistaticy
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Chapter Text

Ozai stares out at Caldera from the balcony of the Fire Lord's suite. The skyline is different from the one he had grown used to seeing from this view. Certain buildings are missing. Others have not been destroyed in the Invasion of Black Sun. It's a strange mix of restoration and lost progress. A fitting allegory for himself, perhaps, considering what the spirits have done in casting him back from his future.

He is still grieving what he has lost, what he has been torn from, but... Today has given him a measure of comfort in what he still has, and hope for what he may yet be able to forge here.

Ozai is pulled from his musings when a staircase of light slowly materializes in midair. Its colors remind him of the winding lights occasionally seen in the skies over the world's frozen poles, all soft greens and purples. It's obviously spirit work and, considering how the staircase stretches from the nearly-full moon down to his balcony, he can only assume Tui has decided to visit him.

The spirit that descends from the staircase is not what he had been expecting. The spirit appears as an old man with Water Tribe features, dressed in white silks of the same style as Ozai had seen clothing the Moon Spirit during his brief stint in the spirit world. One of Tui's court, maybe? He certainly looks the part, with matching white hair and pale blue eyes.

The spirit smiles at him, laugh lines and crow's feet deepening on the elderly face. "Fire Lord," he greets upon reaching the balcony, "Agni wastes no time in boasting over what you have already set in motion. I have not seen him so thoroughly pleased with a herald in an age."

Agni is talking to the other spirits about him? Ozai can't help feeling flustered at the news. "But I've barely done anything yet! And the hawks were only sent out this morning. It will be a week before those orders reach the warfront!"

"But you have sent them," the spirit says, smile undiminished by the Fire Lord's objections, "and our world has been full of chatter, excited and skeptical, since. Do not make the mistake of thinking it is only my brother's eyes upon you, Nephew. Many of our kind have their attention trained on you and your nation."

That last sentence would have concerned him more if he wasn't caught on the addresses used just before it.

"Tui?" he gapes.

The spirit blinks and then laughs. The laugh doesn't have Agni's boisterous confidence behind it, instead supported by a serene certainty, but there is a similarity in the pure merriment both spirits express in the action.

"Forgive me, Nephew. I should have reintroduced myself," the spirit says, blue eyes still laughing, "Yes, it is I, Tui."

"Oh." Ozai feels his entire face heat in embarrassment. "You look... different from when I last saw you."

"Yes, very," Tui agrees with another wrinkly smile, and then remarks, "We spirits tend to forget how much man has forgotten of spirits. Your people have not told tales of us in generations, though I suspect that will soon change."

Ozai frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Only that Agni's plan has begun to unfold and it cannot be undone now. You, your father, and my Yue are the only members of man to be directly affected due to my brother's plot but, in accepting Agni's proposal, a new charter regarding the mortal world has been agreed to by the Council of Greater World Spirits and it has replaced the previous compact entirely. The Sun Spirit's schemes are always carefully thought out, but even he could not predict every eventuality that may come to be with such a grand change between our worlds.

"La was not wrong to call my brother's plan radical."

Ozai's brow furrows as he tries to piece together what information he has while being frustratingly aware that he does not yet have enough of the overall picture to reveal the whole of the Sun Spirit's plan. "And the new charter is part of why Agni mentioned other spirits might show up to help?"

"In part," Tui agrees, turning to gaze out at Caldera, the ocean beyond, and the night sky, "Many wish to see the success of Agni's plan. Many others remain skeptical. Some are simply aloof. A few, however, would seek its failure or else pursue their own aims in the mortal realm, heedless of the damage they leave in their wake. Just as with man, not every spirit can be trusted. Be careful in whom you choose to place your faith."

"I understand. ...I think," Ozai says. He considers the view for a moment before breaking the brief silence that has settled between them to ask, "Forgive me, Tui, but... is there a reason you've come to see me tonight? Is there something you want me to do?"

Tui chuckles softly. "Nothing so direct as that, Fire Lord. Princess Yue of the Northern Seas has taken much of my and La's attention over the past several hours, but Agni has seen fit to give me a new nephew. The first in many years. And, as my brother has also rewritten the charter regarding your world, I have the liberty to visit my extended family with markedly fewer restrictions. While we will undoubtedly have business to discuss in the future, tonight is merely a social call. I am here solely for you, nephew mine."

"O-oh," Ozai says for a second time. He doesn't know how to react to that.

The Moon Spirit grins, turning to face the Fire Lord. "Perhaps a full introduction is in order," the spirit admits, "I am Tui, brother to Agni, King of Flames, who is your patron spirit, young herald. Agni is a spirit of fire, of light and warmth, of time, sky, and repeating cycles. I, too, am a spirit of time, sky, and repeating cycles, but that is where much of our similarities end.

"I am a spirit of reflection and changing faces, of pull and shifting tides, of balance and enduring partnerships. As your generation is no longer taught of the spirits, I am sure you have questions. Please, ask them."

He's never going to get a better invitation than that. "You said you and Agni are both spirits of time?"

"We are."

"Is that how I'm here? Six years in the past?"

"In the present. The path of this world is not a repetition of what was before," Tui corrects gently. "As for how the mortal world came to be cast back and set upon its current path, that was the work of many spirits and much effort. Agni and I played our parts, but there were others who made far greater contributions in that particular act. It was not an easy task, nor would Agni be able to convince the spirits involved to do so again. You will have this one chance to remake your nation's mark on the mortal world as you deem fit, Fire Lord, and this one chance alone."

"No pressure or anything," Ozai mumbles, more to himself than the spirit beside him.

Regardless, Tui hums an acknowledgement and nods solemnly. "Agni has placed a heavy burden upon your shoulders, but you shall have help in carrying it. Agni will not abandon you, and I will likewise assist you where I can. I suspect there will also be others, in time, to say nothing of your allies among man.

"Have you another question?"

Ozai does his best to set aside his worries about the future to focus on the conversation he is having with the Moon Spirit. "Can all spirits change their appearance like you have, or is it an ability unique to spirits of 'changing faces'?"

"That answer is complicated and it would take many nights to explain it in full. For now, it will suffice for you to understand that very few mortal rules apply to spirits. Our bodies are reflections of what we are, but the possible representations of any one spirit may vary widely.

"Agni is fire. He will always appear as fire because that is his essence, but you have thus far encountered him in a form that holds to the shape of man. There is little reason for my brother to hold to such a form except as a courtesy during his interactions with mankind. Meanwhile, his form in your world's sky is that of a grand sphere of blinding radiance. And my brother is hardly limited to these two examples.

"In a similar manner, so too may other spirits change their appearances as they please, though most are not inclined to alter themselves after they have settled upon a form that they find comfortable. Beyond this baseline, there are also spirits of illusion, trickery, change, and yet more that will have even greater abilities to reshape themselves as they will. It is something to be wary of, Nephew, but do not be swift to assume it is an effort to deceive. Some may attempt just that, however, a spirit may have any number of reasons to shift their form. It will depend upon the individual spirit in question.

"As for myself, I change faces and forms regularly. It is a part of my nature to change and cycle. While grieving my Yue, I wore her face often in remembrance, but even then I could not hold her for long. Two days, on occasion three, but no longer than that."

"I'm sorry," Ozai says.

"Thank you, but there is no need to be sorry," Tui says, "Agni has been quite thorough in making amends for her loss and she is lost to me no longer. Zhao of Second Fire, who planned and led the attack, is no more, by La's own hand. But Agni has gone further. He has removed Ozai the Usurper, who provided Zhao with the means to enact his wicked plan, and replaced him with Ozai the Reforged, whom he has directed to seek peace rather than war. It does not guarantee my Yue's life to her old age, but he has ensured that the tragedy that took her before will not be repeated."

Ozai flinches. "The Usurper?" he repeats hoarsely. It fits, considering what he has pieced together of his father's rise to the throne, but somehow it still hurts to know that is how his father is being remembered by the spirits.

The Moon Spirit's face is sympathetic as he explains, "The two of you share a name and are of the same age. You each have equal claim as children of Fire to the title 'of Second Fire' and so, too, have you both been known as 'Fire Lord,' rendering those addresses unclear. Agni's displeasure with your father's coronation was impossible to miss and he was not quiet about its cause. In light of this, and because you are at the heart of much of the spirit world's current gossip, the terms 'the Usurper' and 'the Reforged' have quickly spread amongst our kind to differentiate between you and your father."

"I see," Ozai rasps. He doesn't like it, but he doesn't have to. Matters that involve his father have never been easy.

Tui's eyes are kind as the spirit says, "I cannot regret his removal, but I have known grief, and I am sorry that his death pains you. It has not been my intention to add to your tribulations, Nephew."

"Thank you."

Silence descends on them as the Moon Spirit once more turns to contemplate the view from the balcony, giving Ozai time to recollect himself. After a few degrees, Tui speaks again, "May I tell you the tale of Yue and Tui?"

Ozai joins the spirit at the balcony's railing. "Please."

Tui's smile is serene, if touched by a lingering melancholy, as he begins to recount the tale for the Fire Lord.

"Once, under the spirits' old compact when contact between spirits and man was more restricted than it is today, a mortal child was born in the frozen north. Although the newborn survived her mother's long, hard labor, she was weak. Her breaths were shallow and she made not a sound upon her arrival into the world. Distraught, the child's father brought his new daughter to the Spirit Oasis at the North Pole, where Ocean Spirit La and Moon Spirit Tui resided in those days, and he prayed before the patron spirits of his tribe for a miracle.

"La was impassive and ignored the father's prayers, for although La and Tui were among the few spirits that had chosen to remain in the mortal world, with all the risks that carried under the old charter, the people of the tribe had forgotten La and Tui.

"Tui, ever La's balancing opposite, saw the matter differently. Neglected for an age by the tribe they patronized, here was one mortal that had remembered the patrons of his tribe and sought their help with that which was most precious to him.

"And so, when the father placed his daughter in the pond with the spirits, Tui deigned to grant the girl a blessing of essence and life. Upon receiving the spirit's gift, the girl's dark brown hair turned pale as moonlight, a spirit mark. Scarcely a moment later, the child opened her mouth, drew her first full breath, and cried, as newborns are meant to do. The father likewise sobbed, as relieved parents are known to do, and brought the moon-blessed child home to his weary wife. The grateful parents named their daughter Yue, in honor of the Moon Spirit who had saved their child.

"Sixteen years passed and Yue grew into a young adult of her tribe, but war had come to her tribe's doorstep. A cunning enemy commander had discovered the vulnerability of the ocean's and moon's mortal forms in the Spirit Oasis, and the commander sought to exploit the spirits in order to ensure his victory over Yue's tribe. In his madness and arrogance, the commander set out to destroy the balance between the greater world spirits by killing the moon.

"And he succeeded, much to his detriment.

"Zhao attacked and slew Tui. In the night sky, the moon grew dark -- dead -- and the ocean below raged and swelled in fury.

"La dragged the Zhao down to the depths of the Northern Seas before tearing the man's black soul from his body and taking him further still into the spirit world. There, La cast the man's screaming soul into the Fog of the Lost. But as great as La's wrath was, it could do nothing for Tui.

"Back in the mortal world, Yue grieved the death of the spirit that had protected her tribe and given her life and, in her tears, she came to a terrible realization. The gift the spirit had granted her shortly after her birth had not only been of life, but also that of essence, and the young woman's hair remained the pale moon-white that had drawn comments all of her years. She alone contained a portion of the moon's essence. She alone could return the moon.

"Although scared, Yue was brave. Out of love for her family and friends, duty for her tribe and world, and gratitude for the spirit that had given her sixteen years of life that she would not otherwise have lived, Yue sacrificed herself to revive Tui.

"The moon brightened in the sky and balance was restored."

The Moon Spirit allows a moment of silent contemplation to pass before admitting, "This is where most would end the tale, as few know what followed. Though I suppose just as few now know of the tale at all."

Tui doesn't continue speaking immediately, instead taking in the view and considering his next words. Ozai waits patiently beside the spirit. What he has heard thus far matches up more or less with what he'd already been told by his friends and what he'd witnessed for himself that night, anything that comes after this point, however...

"When I came back to myself," Tui says slowly, "I was very disoriented. Although my Yue had succeeded in reviving me, she had done so with but a tiny glimmer of my essence that I had never intended to reclaim. That wisp of essence had spent sixteen years cut off from all that I was and instead wholly dedicated to preserving a single mortal life. As a consequence, my mind was more that of Yue than of Tui in the early days following my reforging."

Ozai startles and looks over at the spirit. "Your reforging?"

Tui chuckles. "Yes, Nephew, my reforging. Your circumstances may be unique amongst mortals, but it is not unheard of among spirits, though no two instances are alike in every facet. And I am afraid it was yet further unintended consequences regarding my reforging and Princess Yue that delayed me in coming to greet you."

"But Princess Yue is well now?"

The Moon Spirit smiles with an understated joy that nonetheless brightens Tui's eyes. "She is. I look forward to the two of you meeting, when the time is right. For tonight, shall I continue with my story? There is not much left."

"I'd like to hear the rest, if you're willing," Ozai says.

"Very well," Tui nods, "La and Agni were both distraught over my state, as you might imagine. My memories as Tui were murky and I barely recognized either of them. I was more sure of my life as Yue than as Tui, and my nature as a spirit of changing faces was something I found to be particularly distressing throughout that time.

"I think that may have been when Agni began his scheming in earnest. My brother never approved of my choice to retain a mortal form in accordance with the previous charter, and quite suddenly all of his worst fears had been confirmed. Not only could a mortal form be killed, but I had been slain, and only happenstance and another's courage had saved me. If Agni had not already begun to draft a replacement charter at that point, then he certainly must have when La stood before the Council of Greater World Spirits and demanded recompense.

"It was several moon-cycles before I reclaimed enough of my own mind to grow comfortable in my role once more and, by then, what had been set in motion with the council could not be halted. Considering what Agni has put together in answer to La's demands, I cannot regret what has come to be of the circumstance.

"And now, here we are."

"Here we are," Ozai agrees.

Tui lingers for a few more degrees of companionable silence before bidding him a good night. The celestial staircase disappears behind the spirit as he ascends back to what Ozai can only assume is the spirit world.

All in all, Ozai thinks Tui's unexpected visit went well. Now if only he knew how to buy the Fire Nation's way back into La's good graces... Maybe he'll have figured out a tactful way to ask about that by the next time the moon comes to meet with him.

Chapter Text

Two combatants stand still as statues in their ready stances at opposing ends of the Royal Agni Kai Arena. Their ceremonial blessing shawls have been shed in the opening twists of the ritual combat but remain caught in midair as if the silk garments have been pinned in place. The fires surrounding the arena neither dance nor crackle, instead rigid and unmoving in a manner that should be impossible for the element that encapsulates the burning passion of life.

The stage is set.

The actors are in position.

The world holds its breath and waits.

The Fire Lord gazes upon the familiar tableau and grimaces. He'd been enjoying the break from his nightmares over the past several months and last night his sleep had been mercifully dreamless. To be so suddenly confronted with this odd presentation of what should be a well worn nightmare is unsettling, though the return of the nightmares themselves isn't terribly surprising with the upheaval his life has become. Ozai groans and runs his hands over his face.

...His scar is back.

Ozai -- Zuko? -- pulls his hands away with a confused frown. He knows he's dreaming, which is itself unusual, but more importantly... How much of what he's experienced has been a dream?

A high-pitched giggle echoes through the courtyard. "Looksy! Looksy! Come look and see what Liukshi sees!" the unknown voice singsongs.

The Fire Lord locates the source of the call high up, perched atop one of the courtyard walls. It... looks a lot like Momo, actually. Except the creature in question is completely green and a single large eye makes up the entirety of its face.

The creature giggles again before taking flight. It glides down in an easy loop of the space before alighting upon the Fire Lord's shoulder, heedless of the man's hurried attempt to back out of its path. The creature's huge eye blinks at him from a place far too close to his own face.

"Uh..." The Fire Lord places a hand against the thing's chest and carefully pushes it back to a more comfortable distance. It doesn't seem to be aggressive, merely... curious and without a concept of personal space. "Liukshi, was it?"

The creature giggles again. It seems to do that a lot. "Liukshi is me!" it chirps, "It is good to be meeting Agni's new herald!"

Still Ozai, then. Assuming he isn't experiencing a dream nested within a dream.

...He's probably better off making that assumption than not. At least until such a time as he can be relatively sure that he is awake and has a chance to reevaluate what is and is not reality.

"This is a dream," he says, testing the words on his tongue and watching large ears as they twitch in response to the sound of his voice. This is probably the most lucid dream he's ever had in his life. Not that he's had many others to compare it to, but this dream feels different somehow. "Is any of this... Are you real?"

Liukshi unleashes the loudest laugh yet. "Yes, a dream! Liukshi works best in dreams! And Liukshi is very real, little Fire Lord."

"Okay," he draws the word out as he considers what he has been told and the fact that this entire conversation is happening in an oddly lucid dream with a very strange creature that is likewise aware of residing within a dream. Liukshi is almost certainly a spirit of some kind. Probably. "And... Why am I like this?" Ozai asks, gesturing to his scarred face.

Lemur-like ears swing low before swiveling back upright. "Little herald is still setting," the spirit explains. "Men forge metal slow and then all at once. Heat and beat, heat and beat, quench and hsss! Spirits are not forged like metal. Spirit forging is done all at once and then slow, slow, slow! Spirits need time to think and feel and grow and become. Little herald is new and human and fragile."

"I... see." Maybe someday all of this spirit stuff will finally make some sense. It probably won't be now.

"Agni's Herald should be careful not to undo the Sun Spirit's work," Liukshi warns solemnly. "But! This is not what Liukshi has come to show the King of Flames' child!" The green spirit hops around to perch behind Ozai's back, blunt-clawed toes digging into the collar of his robes and small hands clapping over his eyes.

"Hey!"

"Mortals are not meant to see Agni unfiltered," the spirit says, "so Liukshi will share his eye! Look! Look and see!"

And strangely enough, he does. The world is rendered in an eerily glowing green, but he views it otherwise uninhibited by the spirit's hands.

A third figure, standing off to the side of the arena but shining like a signalling beacon, catches his attention immediately.

Agni.

"Look and see what Agni has done for the young prince!"

And the world spins back into motion as if it had never stopped. Ozai flinches. He can't see the prince's face from this angle, but he remembers this moment as the instant when the foundations of everything he had believed fell away and left him to plummet into increasingly desperate self-delusions.

"Please, Father!" the boy cries, "I only had the Fire Nation's best interest at heart. I'm sorry I spoke out of turn!"

His father remains unmoved by the plea, "You will fight for your honor."

Agni shifts as the phantom strides past him.

"I meant you no disrespect!" the child continues, kneeling, "I am your loyal son."

"Rise and fight, Prince Zuko!" the man insists.

Agni frowns and follows after the mortal, towering unseen and ignored over the former Fire Lord's shoulder.

"I won't fight you!" the prince declares.

"You will learn respect," his father says, "and suffering will be your teacher."

His nightmares always end here, in pain and fire. He's never been able to remember exactly what happened after his father had finished speaking.

Ozai's stomach twists. He's not sure he wants to witness what must come next.

Fire blooms in the phantom's hand and the specter of the previous Fire Lord thrusts his hand forward, sending out a jet of flame with the motion. Behind him, Agni mimics the move, but where the man had kept his palm aimed straight for the prince, Agni twists his wrist away and to the right in a movement that almost looks like waterbending.

His father's flames skew to the side. The boy screams. Agni gradually clenches his upturned hand into a fist and the stream of fire dwindles to sparks.

Ozai can only feel ill as he watches his father's face twist in confusion, fear, and anger as his bending fails to heed his will.

So. That's the truth of it, then.

Father hadn't meant to maim him that day.

Father had meant to kill him and only Agni's intervention had stayed his flames from doing greater damage.

His father must have intended 'suffering' to be a far faster teacher than an indefinite number of years at sea chasing spirit tales like he'd deceived himself into believing during his youth.

Ozai chokes back the hysterical laughter crowding his throat.

The previous Fire Lord's phantom storms away from the platform, shoving aside any spectators too slow to get out of his way soon enough.

Agni kneels and places a hand briefly over the unconscious prince's ruined face before withdrawing. In the next instant, Agni disappears just in time for a cadre of healers to fill the space around the young teenager, working hastily to triage the injury and begin preliminary treatment.

"Look and see what Agni has done for spirits!" Liukshi cries.

The scene suddenly shifts around them to the same spirit world forest clearing in which Ozai had first spoken with Agni. There are even more spirits gathered than there had been during Ozai's time there. The spirits range in all manner of sizes and shapes but Agni still commands attention, impossible to ignore thanks to his inherent brightness and his position standing alone in the center of the gathering.

"I will pay my debt," Agni is saying, "I do not mean to cheat this council's judgement."

"But?" demands a snarling feminine spirit. She looks human -- Water Tribe, specifically, with dark eyes and midnight hair -- though her height and ferocity would rival Avatar Kyoshi. "Stop stalling, King of Flames! The council has reached its decision. Oath or no, it is your duty now to bring about the same sacrifice of the Fire Lands' royal line as was made necessary of Yue of the Northern Seas."

"La," pleads a small boy with white hair and pale eyes from his place half-hidden by the larger spirit's skirts, "let Agni speak."

The tall woman glances down into the large, clear blue eyes of the shorter spirit before offering a rough nod. "As you wish, my moon," La says, though she still scowls, crosses her arms, and leans back on her heels, gaze trained on the Sun Spirit.

Ozai has just enough presence of mind left to wonder if La is also considered a spirit of 'changing faces.'

"You seek retribution for the death of your favored, and you will have it," Agni declares, "but I would ask the council to consider an alternative that will not only offer you redress for the injury suffered but also to restore that which you lost. More, I would offer you the means to prevent such a situation from repeating itself in the future. I would offer each of us the opportunity to reclaim a piece of what we have all lost.

"The current charter has failed," the Sun Spirit says without apology, "The compact before it was cast aside because our conflicts were destroying the world we had invested so much in building, but this one has allowed a spirit to be killed by mortal hands. Its demands are too great, its restrictions too strong. We are not meant to be mortal, we should not be barred from influencing the world we have created, and these should not be the only options we allow ourselves: to be wholly a part of our creation in a manner counter to our essence, or to be removed by all but the barest connection to that which we have borne. The first charter was unsustainable. The second has been damaging. I am presenting a new compact for the council's consideration.

"If it is accepted, it would open the means through which Yue of the Northern Seas could be restored among the living. In exchange for her revival, I would ask that with the exception of Ozai of Second Fire, who is the mortal that authorized the attack on the Northern Seas, Kuzon the Uniter's line be spared."

Tui stares at Agni with wide, hopeful eyes. La seems stunned. Many of the gathered spirits whisper to each other in scattered conversations.

Agni holds up a scroll. "My proposed charter regarding the mortal world." The Sun Spirit holds the scroll out to La. "If it meets this council's approval, will you hear my words and the details of my plan for repayment?"

La frowns at the offered scroll, glances around at the hushed ring of spirits, and returns her gaze to the scroll in Agni's hand. The Ocean Spirit sighs and accepts the scroll. "We will consider what you have presented, King of Flames."

"That is all I can ask," Agni says, "Thank you, Master of Seas."

La scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"Look and see what Agni has done for the Line of Kuzon!"

The scene returns to the Agni Kai arena in the palace. The prince is already kneeling. Agni stands tall at his father's shoulder.

"I won't fight you!" the prince declares.

A second manifestation of Agni suddenly appears between the phantom Fire Lord and the prince. Both of Agni's forms go unnoticed by the royals.

"You will learn respect," his father says, "and suffering --"

The four ritual torches at the corners of the arena dedicated to Agni flare high and burn bright white. As if that is their cue, the two manifestations move together. The one behind his father places two hands on his shoulders and another set of arms sprouts forth to grab the man's sides near the end of his ribcage. The one in front likewise gains a new set of arms, grasping the man's hips and placing a hand each on his head and chest.

Ozai watches as his father gasps and Agni forces the man to his knees.

Light spills from the phantom's eyes and mouth in a manner that matches the way Sokka has always told his rendition of the Hundred Year War's final battle.

The prince scrambles back in shock.

Ozai feels ill again.

This does not stop at the removal of his father's firebending, he knows.

Whatever else Liukshi might have wished to show him, he may never find out. In the next instant, the world shatters around him.

Ozai could swear he shatters with it.

The Fire Lord wakes up in his own bed only to instantly twist to the side and vomit over the edge of the mattress. Ozai coughs, sobs, and, not knowing what else to do, he chokes out, "Agni!"

"Changing Faces" by PoisonousCephalopod
View the original full-sized post on AO3

Chapter Text

"You called for --" Agni's voice cuts off in a hiss. "What happened?" the Sun Spirit demands.

Ozai can't see anything with his eyes sealed as they are, but the spirit sounds equal parts concerned and furious. One overly-warm hand grasps his shoulder, but its mate instead comes to rest on his cheek and Ozai can't help but flinch away with the memories of his first Agni Kai still fresh in his mind.

Agni ignores the involuntary action as he gently helps the Fire Lord to lay back down.

"Nightmare," Ozai chokes out, "I don't usually react this badly." He groans as he settles into the overabundance of pillows on his bed. "I feel awful."

He really does. His stomach is roiling with a lingering nausea, his chest is tight, and his entire head is caught in a dull but very noticeable ache.

Agni's hands skim his body, first over his chest and abdomen, then up his sides, and back down his arms. He has no idea what the spirit might be searching for, but the actions feel oddly like a healer's examination and Ozai can't shake the suspicion that that is exactly what they are.

"What did you dream of, child mine?" Agni asks. The spirit's hands sweep over the Fire Lord's neck before briefly cupping the sides of his head. Agni makes no more remark on the mortal's second flinch than he had about the first. "A nightmare should not have done this."

"Liukshi," Ozai answers and asks, "Do you --"

"That shattered fool!" Agni seethes in a low growl.

"You do know him," Ozai concludes needlessly. He frowns in confusion. "What do you mean 'shattered'?"

"Later," the spirit says, "For now, Liukshi's actions must be mitigated. Brace yourself, Fire Lord. I am about to wake Caldera."

Panic hits him like a charging Komodo rhino.

"Wait! What? Agni, what are you --" His eyes fly open. "-- going to do?"

The room is dark with only the stars and setting moon to illuminate it. There is not a hint of the burning Sun Spirit to be found.

Ozai's fists clench in the sheets. 'Caldera' is a rather aptly, if unimaginatively, named city. 'Wake' and volcanoes in the same sentence generally mean tumult at best and catastrophe at worst.

The volcano continues to slumber but the city does erupt after a fashion.

The sun must be an hour beyond the horizon yet, at least, but suddenly Agni is everywhere. The guards outside his suite startle so badly that Ozai can hear the clank and crash of their armor plates as they meet roughly with other hard surfaces before the cacophony of rushing flames drowns out every other sound in the palace. The Fire Lord watches past the open curtains of his balcony, dumbstruck, as thick streams of white fire rise from the city to combine in the air high above Caldera's rooftops.

He almost misses when the doors to his suite are thrown open but he manages to drag his gaze away from the sight beyond his balcony. One of Agni's physical manifestations stands in the doorway.

"Fetch a maid!" Agni orders over the roar, "The flames will not harm you! And allow Iroh of Second Fire entrance when he arrives!"

"What?" Ozai croaks out as Agni stalks back to his bedside and one of the guards tentatively sets out through fire-filled halls.

"Y-yes, Agni!" the remaining guard gasps out and closes the doors behind the Sun Spirit.

"Liukshi is a spirit of hidden knowledge, and dreams have long been his preferred method of contacting mortal minds," Agni starts his belated explanation. He gestures out at the new sun being created over Caldera and continues, "While it is unlikely he acts with malicious intent, he has a history of making exceedingly poor decisions. Allowing the flock to linger is not a risk I am inclined to permit."

"Flock?" Ozai questions faintly.

"Indeed." Agni places one hand over the Fire Lord's heart and the other over the pool of chi in his belly. Whatever the Sun Spirit is doing feels strange. The closest thing he can think to compare it to is waterbending's healing capabilities, though even that is a poor comparison for the sensation. Still, the nausea finally begins to subside, his headache fades, and each breath becomes easier to draw.

But there is apparently a flock of these spirits out causing mischief in the capital.

"Do you know how many people Liukshi's flock would have affected?" he asks, already dreading the answer.

"No more than ninety-seven at one time, but the flock may have shifted from dream to dream throughout the night," Agni says, removing his hands. Ozai moves to sit up and, although Agni frowns at him, the Sun Spirit allows the action. He feels better, if not fully well. Agni continues, "Liukshi will likely have joined the dreams of those in the palace, first, before moving outward to seek other sleeping mortals to whom he could reveal some facet of hidden knowledge."

"The children!" Ozai suddenly realizes. He's used to thinking as the leader of his nation, not as a father, but he has a son and daughter now and they need someone to --

Agni's hands clasp his shoulders and halt his movements before he can stand. "Your heir and fledgeling are both well. You, Fire Lord, will rest."

"But --"

"Rest," Agni repeats, pushing him down to the mattress, "The newly reforged are fragile and you all the more so. It is not uncommon for revelations to cause upset, but it is your status as reforged that caused your illness. There are none beyond yourself that could be affected so by Liukshi's meddling."

This has to do with his reforging? That... is actually an incredible relief.

Ozai sags into the pillows behind him as he allows himself to relax. It's just him. The rest of Caldera is safe. No one else has been struck by a sudden spirit-illness.

"They're not hurt? But... You mentioned 'upset,'" he worries, "Are they upset? Do you know what Liukshi's flock showed them? Should I --" Ozai almost asks if he should go to check on Zuko and Azula, but Agni clearly has no plans to allow him to leave his bed in the next few degrees. He instead finishes with, "... send for them?"

The roar of flames in the palace halls finally tapers off and the streams of fire wane. Outside, the new sun shines like noonday over Caldera. Even though it must be far smaller than Agni's permanent manifestation, it is much closer by virtue of residing lower in the sky. As a result, its heat and the shadows it casts are intense, and it is bright enough that it hurts to look directly at it. He wouldn't be surprised if the miniature sun can be seen as far away as the colonies. Ozai can't begin to imagine the kind of rumors this will spark.

"I see much, child mine, but not everything. Dreams are not in my purview and my attention can only be divided between so many places at once. I saw to it that the prince and princess awoke and that they did not require me to attend them further." Ozai opens his mouth but the Sun Spirit raises a hand to forestall his words. Agni is quiet for a moment, and then, "Zuko of Second Fire was distressed but quickly distracted by the commotion upon waking. Azula of Second Fire hides her thoughts well and I am not certain if Liukshi visited her dreams or not. I greeted her when she chose to approach me, but my attention was needed elsewhere and I did not linger.

"Your heir and fledgeling are now both in their mother's favored garden." Agni suddenly laughs. Ozai blinks in surprise. "Clever fledgeling," the Sun Spirit chuckles.

"What?"

"Ah. To answer that question would spoil the surprise," Agni chastens in good humor, "Allow the children their fun."

"I have a sudden sense of foreboding," Ozai mutters, more serious than joking.

"And perhaps you should," Agni laughs, which is not particularly reassuring, and then, "Iroh of Second Fire approaches."

The doors to his suite are opened before Ozai can ask any questions. The remaining guard stationed there announces, "General Iroh has arrived."

And indeed he has. With a complete tea service, which he sets carefully on the floor before sinking into a kowtow. "I came as you requested, Agni."

"Rise, Once-Prince." Agni instructs, "I have given you a task. You need not waste time on such formalities while you see it done."

Iroh collects the tea service and disappears from view in the outer chamber of the Fire Lord's suite.

Ozai glances up at Agni. "You arranged this?"

"I did."

"Including the tea?"

"It is my understanding that many mortals find it calming."

Ozai breathes deeply, pinches the bridge of his nose, and wonders if Tui is the correct spirit to pray to when he needs patience dealing with Agni.

Chapter Text

Iroh places the tea service on the antechamber's central table and sets about pouring two cups. He does not know why he has been summoned, but he will do as his nation's patron spirit bids.

(Yesterday, he had woken with the sunrise only for the Sun Spirit himself to burst into his suite and order him to the training courtyard to resume exercises that he had been neglecting, admittedly for too long. Today, Agni had not waited for his appointed time to rise and had instead startled the entire capital awake by building a new sun over the city. Why Agni had felt such an action to be necessary is a question for which Iroh does not yet have an answer.)

Ozai's voice reaches his ears. "You arranged this?"

"I did," comes the Sun Spirit's response.

"Including the tea?"

"It is my understanding that many mortals find it calming."

It is gratifying to know that Agni agrees with him, even if his brother is a tea-swigging barbarian.

And then...

"I can walk!" Ozai yells indignantly from the other room.

Agni's tone remains unchanged as he says, "You will not."

The fire spirit emerges from the bedroom carrying a flustered Fire Lord as one might a new bride. It is... quite a sight to behold.

Iroh ruthlessly crushes the desire to laugh.

He must not have hidden his shocked humor at the situation's absurdity well enough, however, because Ozai spares him a half-second's glare before going back to arguing with Agni. When had his younger brother lost all sense of self-preservation? One does not argue with spirits! And especially not spirits as great and powerful as Agni!

"I'm not an invalid!"

Except if the 'one' in question is Iroh's brother, apparently. Not even a full seven-hundred-and-twenty degrees since their patron spirit returned to their nation, and already Iroh knows of two arguments that the younger man has fallen into with Agni. One argument would have been too many! This is quickly becoming a very disconcerting habit.

"Fire Lord," the spirit says, finally beginning to sound frustrated as he sets the mortal man down in a chair and impatiently gestures for Iroh to seat himself in its nearby twin, "you are still setting. The ties which bind your reforging almost failed."

Iroh picks up his teacup and listens carefully to this particular turn in the discussion. He has not had much time to research this 'reforging' matter, and he has yet to meet with any success on that front, but to hear of its near failure is... ominous.

"I feel fine," Ozai insists, ox-mulish, "You fixed whatever was wrong."

"I reinforced the binds that Liukshi weakened," Agni corrects.

Iroh blinks in surprise. He recognizes the name, but what could the small dragon-like spirit that had visited his dreams have done that would lead to Agni's and Ozai's current quarrel? What part do these 'binds' play in Ozai's so-called 'reforging'?

The Sun Spirit continues, "Your reforging remains fragile. A mortal body is more rigid than a spirit's form, and there is a lingering risk of rejection until the bond has time to set. You, child mine, nearly died."

Iroh barely avoids dropping his teacup in shock.

"I felt a bit ill. Nauseous," Ozai objects weakly, "It didn't feel that serious."

Agni huffs and states, "Death for mortals comes in many varieties." Without prompting, the great fire spirit continues, "Is an explosion and its shrapnel the equal experience of drowning? What of arctic chill? Are starvation and thirst indistinguishable from heatstroke? Is the impact of an earthbender's stone the same as a high fever brought by illness? Does freefall create a sensation akin to that of a lightning strike?"

Iroh can't help being somewhat disturbed by the spirit's easy listing of several possible deaths. ...And why does his brother appear vaguely guilty?

Ozai looks away. "No," he admits.

"Indeed." Agni studies the Fire Lord for a prolonged moment before sighing. "Iroh of Second Fire," the spirit addresses him, "what visions did Liukshi reveal to you as you slept?"

Iroh sets his teacup upon its matching saucer and folds his hands into his sleeves. It's an old habit, learned under his father, designed to hide the nervous worrying of his fingers. He dares not lie to Agni, but he is uncertain of Ozai's reaction and his younger brother is openly watching him now.

"I dreamt of dragons, Agni," he says slowly, though he is mindful to keep his tone steady and firm, "A fully grown pair of blue and red. They flew in intertwined orbits around a towering platform spanning the space between two mountains." He decides it may be prudent not to mention that he had recognized the location from his past travels. He had promised to keep certain secrets, after all. "On the platform, two firebenders moved in tandem through a traditional form rarely taught today." Iroh draws a deep breath before saying, "The benders in my dream were Ozai and the Avatar."

The Fire Lord jolts in his seat. "Me?"

"Yes," Iroh confirms and brushes a thumb over the lotus tile caught in his other hand. He returns his focus to Agni and continues, "Once the kata was completed, the dragons breathed a cyclone of fire around Ozai and the Avatar. You appeared on the platform, and blessed Ozai and the Avatar before disappearing again. The cyclone of fire then ceased and the dragons returned to their nests in the mountains. That is where the dream ended." If only because he had been woken by Agni's latest work of wonder, but that hardly needs to be said. Agni is already well aware of when and how Iroh had been pulled from his bed.

Ozai stares. Iroh cannot decipher the look he is receiving from his brother, for all that the expression is worryingly unguarded. There is surprise and confusion, certainly, but beyond that... Hope? Fear? He lacks the context that might explain the source for either emotion in the current Fire Lord.

Again, Ozai asks, "Me?"

"Yes?" Iroh offers for a second time. Ozai does not typically have much patience for repetition.

There are two knocks on the doors of the suite and a guard announces, "The requested maid has arrived."

A young woman enters through the opened doors and gasps upon spotting the spirit in the room. "Agni!" The maid hurriedly sets aside the bucket she is holding and sinks into a kowtow before the Sun Spirit.

"Rise," Agni directs and gestures toward the bedroom, "You will find the mess through there."

The woman clumsily retrieves her bucket at the clear dismissal, causing something of a clatter as its contents are disturbed, and bows once more from what is likely a bad case of nerves. She fails to acknowledge either of the royals in the room as she scurries deeper into the suite to fulfill her task.

Iroh cannot tell if his brother has noticed the unintended slight by the frazzled servant. He seems to still be caught on the details of Iroh's dream. For the maid's sake, Iroh will attempt to keep Ozai's attention on their conversation. It isn't as if he doesn't have a few of his own questions he would like answers to, anyway.

"Forgive me," he says, "but who is Liukshi? He did not offer much of an introduction. Is he a spirit of illusions? Possibilities?"

"Liukshi is a spirit of knowledge," Agni corrects, "and prefers to interact with mortals through dreams. While he does not typically deal in illusions, it is likewise not uncommon for him to translate past events in a manner he believes will be easier for spectators to comprehend."

Ozai blinks and finally breaks his extended stare. (It would be disrespectful to imply that the Fire Lord had fallen into a stupor.) The man shakes his head and scrubs both of his hands over his face. "Of course it's not that easy. It's never easy," the Fire Lord grumbles to himself from behind his meager barrier.

Agni goes on as if there has been no interruption to his explanation, "If your vision contained Ozai the Reforged and the Avatar together, I would guess that Liukshi felt such adjustments would benefit your understanding and allowed you the use of one of his eyes."

Iroh nods to confirm the fire spirit's suspicion and frowns in thought. "A vision of a past Fire Lord and Avatar?" he muses.

"It would not be unexpected if it were a tale lost to your people at this time," Agni says.

Ozai lowers his hands enough to glare at their patron spirit for no reason Iroh can divine, but he is beginning to wonder if his brother hasn't developed a sudden death wish with this continued irreverent behavior.

"Old, then," Iroh concludes, "I confess, I do not know why Liukshi or any other spirit would choose to show me such a vision."

"Liukshi's decision making skills have long been unfortunate and his sanity would be considered questionable by man's standards," Agni notes, "The reason may be sensible to Liukshi alone."

Ozai's brow furrows. "Is 'Liukshi' the name of the flock, or of a single spirit? Sometimes you speak the name as if referring to an individual, but other times you say the name as if talking about the whole flock. Which is it?"

There is a flock of spirits similar to the one that had visited his dreams? Perhaps that explains how Agni knew to ask about his recent spirit vision, and how there was time for whatever occurred to interfere with his brother's reforging.

"Liukshi is the flock," the Sun Spirit says, "and the flock is what remains of Liukshi."

That... is not especially illuminating.

Iroh shares a confused glance with Ozai at the offered answer.

"Could you... expand on that?" the Fire Lord requests.

"If that is your desire, child mine." Agni considers his words briefly before saying, "The worst of Liukshi's poor decisions began when he spoiled one of his brother's deals with a group of mortals. It is his nature to share knowledge, and he cares little of the consequences for doing so, one way or the other. Having received the answers they needed in their dreams from Liukshi, the humans were no longer interested in bartering away the scrolls they had brought for the spirit of recorded knowledge that they had originally sought out.

"Wan Shi Tong was incensed. He tore each of Liukshi's hundred eyes from his body, shattering one spirit into a flock of one hundred fragmented pieces."

Iroh grimaces. Spirits are capable of terrible violence if provoked, and it sounds as if this instance was no exception.

"That's why you called him 'shattered,' earlier," Ozai says in dawning realization, "But... You said ninety-seven before."

Agni nods in acknowledgement of the observation. "Three of Liukshi's eyes have since perished."

Despite the warmth of the room, Iroh feels a shudder run down his spine. Spirits are not easily destroyed and they have no frailties such as old age to which they might succumb.

"You asked earlier what I had dreamt of before I called you," Ozai offers into the lengthening lapse of discussion, "I dreamt of my first Agni Kai. Liukshi showed me how you saved my life."

Iroh frowns. He had not been home to witness his brother's first Agni Kai, shortly after his coronation -- nor the three others that followed it in rapid succession, for that matter -- but he had heard from several accounts that Ozai had bested each and every one of his opponents handily.

"I also dreamt of the meeting where you presented the new charter to the other spirits, and my... latest Agni Kai," the Fire Lord continues, "You saved my life, again, and my family. Thank you."

Iroh blinks at that bit of news. He does not know what may have happened to draw the spirits' attention to their line after such a long isolation between the mortal and spirit realms, but the idea is a disquieting one.

Agni is still. "That is what Liukshi showed you?" the Sun Spirit demands.

"Yes." Ozai belatedly adds, "I can't say everything Liukshi showed me was easy to watch, but I don't think he meant to cause any trouble. I think he just wanted me to know what you'd done."

Agni raises a hand and hisses, "A moment."

The white fire comprising Agni's form flickers colorfully in a fashion that reminds Iroh of dragon's fire and the heat it puts off oscillates wildly for several seconds. Outside, there is a loud crack of thunder, though the sky is clear of any cloud cover when Iroh risks a peek over his shoulder and past the open balcony curtains. Finally, Agni's form reverts to its normal white and he lowers his hand.

"You are correct in that it is unlikely Liukshi intended to cause trouble," Agni snarls, "This is more likely to be that fool's attempt at gratitude. However, I can think of few worse manners through which he could have pursued such an end. He is fortunate his actions only weakened your reforging rather than undoing it entirely."

Ozai shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "Liukshi meant no harm. He sought to honor you. Would you really punish him for that?"

"His intentions matter little when what he actually accomplished was to come very close to destroying my herald," Agni says, "particularly as there is no ready heir at this time."

Ozai looks away and hunches his shoulders while crossing his arms. The undisguised vulnerability from his brother is disorienting and, if Iroh were not already worried for many other reasons, this alone would be enough to cause considerable concern.

Agni sighs. "Liukshi is no child, Fire Lord," the Sun Spirit says, "but if it will comfort you, I will deal with him without further reducing the number of his eyes."

Ozai grimaces and Iroh has to fight off a similar expression from taking over his own face. Hearing about Agni's willingness to inflict violence upon other spirits is rather discomforting. Iroh slips the lotus tile back into one of his sleeve pockets and reclaims his teacup from its saucer. Given the general heat in the room, the beverage has not cooled much.

One second, two, three pass in tense silence and sipped tea.

"I will suggest he take flight to Ba Sing Se," Agni decides, "That den of rat-vipers should hold his attention for a few centuries."

Ozai flinches. "That sounds like you're banishing him."

Agni waves a dismissive hand. "He is not a member of my court, and there is little Liukshi would love more than a large concentration of mortals with which to share knowledge. More to the point, there is not a newly reforged mortal in the vicinity that his blundering might cause an untimely divorce of soul and body."

And that is apparently the extent of negotiation that Agni is willing to entertain on Liukshi's behalf.

The Sun Spirit turns from the morose Fire Lord to instead focus on him. "Iroh of Second Fire," Agni says, "you will act as regent for this morning until noonday while the Fire Lord rests."

There is no near miss this time. Iroh's shock-numbed fingertips drop the teacup they'd been holding aloft and he hisses at the sting of the hot liquid seeping through his robes. He waves a hand over the spill with some hasty bending to pull the heat from the wasted tea. It is not a particularly easy application of firebending and he fumbles through the action a few times to bring the lost tea to a temperature that is not so uncomfortable against skin.

"But --"

"Choose your next words with care, child mine," Agni warns, "He is capable and you can do nothing for the Fire Lands if the reforging fails. You require rest."

Ozai scowls. "I know he is! I know I do! But I've only just started to alter the nation's course! I haven't had time to go over any plans or detailed goals with him yet!"

That... is not the sort of objections he would have expected from his brother.

Reluctantly, Iroh clears his throat and draws the attention of both spirit and lord. "I was under the impression that I was out of favor?"

"You are stripped of the blessings of Kuzon's line, but you have the necessary training for the task," Agni states, "You will be acceptable in a temporary capacity during stints in which Ozai the Reforged is unavailable."

"Who else do you think we'd trust in the role?" Ozai asks, puzzled.

Honestly, Iroh would have thought his brother's preference would have been anyone, down to the stable boys, before allowing Iroh so close to the throne after all the political maneuvering he must have gone through to secure it for himself. Still, that is overlooking the obvious solution to today's demands.

"You could cancel the morning's meetings?" he suggests.

"All of them?" Ozai looks scandalized by the very thought, perhaps even horrified, "I've already cancelled more than half of the internal affairs that were on the schedule yesterday! I can't cancel the whole morning on top of that!"

Iroh isn't certain he's ever witnessed his brother so emotive as he has been this morning. (Is this morning, or is it still night? Agni is in the sky, but it is not his usual manifestation... Their national time measurements were not designed for this.)

Agni tisks. "I have been watching, and this one," the spirit gestures at the Fire Lord, "becomes restless if the work is not being done."

"It piles up!" Ozai defends.

Their patron spirit huffs in response and says, "Brief Iroh of Second Fire on your plans, breakfast with your heir and fledgeling, and then rest, Fire Lord. You may return to your duties at noonday and not before."

Agni disappears before Ozai can say anything to continue the argument.

Iroh wonders about the recent turn his life has taken while his brother stews in the chair beside him.

"Stay here," Ozai grumbles as he rises to his feet, "I'll get my copy of the day's schedule so we can --" The Fire Lord falls back into the cushions with a grunt and closed eyes. His frown turns into a deep scowl before his eyes flash open and he snaps, "Fine!" The man crosses his arms and slumps back into the padded support of the chair.

"Brother?" Iroh questions, confused and cautious.

Ozai turns the scowl on him. "The day's schedule should be in the top drawer of my nightstand. You will have to be the one to retrieve it."

Iroh nods and stands, thinking through what changes and oddities he has witnessed in his brother over the past few days. Only one instance seems to match, so he asks, "Agni?"

"Yes," Ozai seethes.

Iroh nods again and moves into the bedroom to do as he has been instructed. He glances over his shoulder when he hears Ozai hiss, "You're worse than the healers! You make Katara seem tame!"

Isn't that a Water Tribe name?

Iroh's brow furrows as he ponders the implications. Ozai has never shown much interest in the Water Tribes before, yet now he speaks of a specific woman by name. He has no idea what it could mean.

A sudden yelp pulls him from his thoughts and he looks up in time to watch as the maid drops her scrub brush. The woman snatches up her bucket and splashes sud-filled water over a smattering of small flames that had been eating through silken bedclothes. Water and soap bubbles quickly douse the fire and then spread over the floor, soaking the maid's robes and the soles of Iroh's shoes -- to say nothing of the room's usual contents.

The woman takes a shaky breath and stares at her hands. Sparks flare up in wild bursts above her fingertips.

Iroh has never seen such terrible control in one her age. "Careful now," he says, suppressing a wince when she startles and nearly sets the bed aflame a second time, "it would not do to repeat the incident." As it is, he is not sure how lenient he will be able to convince Ozai to be over the damaged property.

Iroh gently pushes both of the maid's hands together between his own to smother the sparks.

The woman meets his eyes with frightened tears in her own. "H-highness! I, I --"

"I have lost that title," he corrects easily. She is hardly the first of the palace servants to slip back into old habits. "It is only 'General,' now."

"Y-yes, General," the maid agrees. She runs a nervous tongue over her lips before confessing, "But, I, I'm not a bender, sir. I, I've never..." She glances back at the ruined sheets and Iroh likewise takes in the proof that denies the woman's claims. "I don't..." she trails off helplessly.

Iroh sighs.

It's going to be a long day, isn't it?

Chapter Text

The maid's name is Kiyi. Her family hails from Hira'a and none of her line are firebenders going back three generations. She has neither siblings nor first cousins that firebend, either. There are two firebending second cousins that she is aware of, but their bending can be traced back to the other branch of their family tree, not Kiyi's branch.

More to the point, Kiyi is twenty-three years of age and she has just thrown her first sparks. It's unheard of. It's less than an hour after Agni's latest work of wonder. A work of the Sun Spirit, who is the granter and source of firebending, through which the maid had walked to reach his suite.

"It gave off heat -- a lot of heat -- but it didn't burn. Just like the guard said Agni had promised. I saw others reach for the flames while we were walking through the halls," Kiyi stammers through her ongoing explanation, "It was -- Everyone smiled when they touched the white flames. I --" The maid flushes and fidgets in place.

"What is it?" Ozai asks, mindful to keep his tone gentle instead of letting his exasperation show. The servant is nervous as it is. Acting on his irritation with being placed on mandatory bedrest while Caldera is in an uproar won't help the situation.

"I -- It could be nothing. I, I thought it was nothing, but..." The maid tucks a loose lock behind her ear before once more clasping her hands together and quickly wetting her lips. "I've listened some to firebenders when they talk to each other. About, um, inner flames and seas of chi, and, well..." Kiyi squirms. "Walking through the flames was, was warm. On the inside. And tingly. It felt like, like infatuation, or giddiness, or awe, or nerves -- the good kind. I've heard some of the other women use the phrase 'a bellyful of butter-dragonflies' for the feeling. Does... Does that make sense?"

Iroh has an odd look on his face. It's one Ozai recognizes.

"You just realized something."

Iroh startles and glances at him as if caught. After a second's hesitation, the older man nods from his place at Kiyi's side. "I did," he admits, "I noticed a similar stirring in my chi as I walked through the flames filling the palace halls, but I did not think much of it. Why would I? To be surrounded by Agni's power in such a manner is bound to affect an inner flame."

"By Agni," Ozai corrects absently, "He is fire. If he takes control of a flame, it becomes a part of him."

At least he thinks that's what Tui had meant to convey when explaining spirits' natures and essences last night. Either way, Agni had used those flames to build the manifestation still burning overhead, and the streams of fire had felt like Agni even before they had joined together in the sky. Regardless of any details that may or may not be within man's mental grasp of spirit natures, however, there is a thought niggling at the back of his mind and distracting him.

"Would I have seen you at any point in the past two days?"

The maid blinks at him with wide eyes. "I, I was recruited as one of the message runners for the war meeting the day before yesterday," Kiyi says, "It isn't my normal role, but the meeting was called suddenly, and almost a third of the staff is down with monsoon fever, so... So I was assigned the role of runner, though none of us were used."

No, things had gone off track before anything had been decided that may have required a message runner. Once there had been messages to send, he had instead charged General Shiro to instruct the scribes, General Masao to inform the rest of the war council, and the trio of young sages to bring word of the events back to the capital's temple. He hadn't made use of any of the servants to run messages.

But he had realized before the meeting began that he could locate every servant there by their inner flames. Some inner flames had burned hotter than others, but he distinctly remembers being able to match all of the servants present with some sense of an inner flame.

He hasn't paid the ability much attention over the past few days -- much like a firebender's sense of Agni's position in the sky, it is easily ignored unless it is needed -- but he can't think of a single person he has encountered in that time whom he did not sense to possess an inner flame. That doesn't line up with his childhood memories of the palace and its staff. Some of them have to be nonbenders. Come to that, he's almost certain a few of the generals that had attended the meeting aren't firebenders, now that he's thinking about it.

"About how many of the staff would you guess to be nonbenders?" Ozai asks.

"P-perhaps half, my lord?" Kiyi says, glancing between him and Iroh as if seeking direction.

Iroh frowns. "The census for the last handful of decades places the numbers of firebenders and nonbenders as roughly equal in the nation," he says, "It could only be expected that the pattern would continue to the palace staff. Outside of the imperial firebenders, of course."

"Of course," Ozai agrees, unable to resist rubbing his temples as his exasperation with the whole debacle grows.

The weakest inner flames he's felt over the past two days, the ones that felt more like banked coals than open flames, could those be potential benders rather than recognized and trained firebenders? Is the whole nation's worth of nonbenders actually potential firebenders with banked inner flames? Could the stirring of chi that Kiyi and Iroh have described experiencing be enough to change a person's inner flame? Is it permanent?

Even now, Kiyi does not feel like a strong bender. Iroh is a bonfire compared to Kiyi's small candle of an inner flame.

But even a small flame can swiftly become dangerous if left unattended. The new firebenders will need instruction in basic control before they can become a danger to themselves or others, and a program for them will take at least some time to put together. Until then...

"Maid Kiyi," he says, doing his best to ignore the young woman's fearful flinch, "thank you for telling us what you can about your firebending. I'm tasking you with spreading word through the palace that all nonbenders are to remain close to competent firebenders, in case they throw their first sparks in the next few days. Also, have a team put together to see about cleaning up my bedroom and fixing any damage. You are dismissed."

"Yes! R-right away, your majesty! Thank you!" She bows quickly to him and Iroh before all but running to the doors to make her escape.

As soon as the maid is gone and the doors are once more sealed behind her, Ozai lets his head fall into his hands and groans loudly. There is a moment's delay before he hears Iroh's footfalls cross the floor, followed by the rustle of wrinkling silk and the older man's quiet grunt as he reclaims the chair beside him.

"So, every nonbender that touched Agni's flames may now be a firebender?" Iroh muses.

"That's my theory so far," Ozai agrees in a grumble and lets his hands drop into his lap. Quibbling further over the semantics of 'Agni's flames' versus 'Agni' himself isn't something he has the patience for currently. For all he knows, they amount to the same thing and the entire point is moot. Spirits are weird. "I think I just figured out something else about the heraldship."

"Oh?"

Ozai sighs, leaning back into the chair's cushioning. "'And the Fire Lord raised up an army of men. He instilled in them the full power of fire, and they were victorious over the enemy,'" he recites and then asks, "How many times are those words repeated in our texts of the old Fire Lords? How are we sure those passages only refer to training, and that they don't begin with something far more basic?"

Iroh's eyebrows climb high on his forehead. "You believe Maid Kiyi's circumstance was once more common? That our nation has a history of nonbenders becoming firebenders after reaching adulthood?"

Ozai hums an affirming note. "Just before the last war meeting, I realized I could sense other firebenders' inner flames. Now, I'm wondering if it isn't possible that I could bend them, turn those who were once nonbenders into firebenders." He grimaces as he adds the obvious reversal, "Or dampen an inner flame, if necessary."

Iroh had looked uneasy before, but now he pales. "You would strip the inner flame from a firebender?" he asks in undisguised horror.

Ozai can't meet his brother's eyes and turns away. "It's all theoretical right now, anyway. I'm in no hurry to try it."

He remembers how Father had shivered for months before his body had adjusted after Aang had removed his bending, and that had just been the physical toll of the loss. It isn't something to inflict upon someone lightly.

"It's blasphemous!" Iroh yells, "Agni's gift is not yours to take away!"

Ozai faces Iroh with a fierce scowl and snaps. "I am Agni's Herald! If I have the ability at all, it would only be because Agni has given it to me! How could using an ability he gave me be blasphemous?"

The older man shakes his head in disgust. "If you will not see it for blasphemy, then I hope you will at least have mercy upon any who earn your ire and allow them a swift execution, instead."

The Fire Lord slumps back into his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose. "As I said, I am in no hurry to try it." He won't promise not to use it, though. As distasteful as the thought is, if he does have such an ability, then there may one day be a circumstance where it is the best option, even if he cannot imagine such a situation today. Still, he doesn't want to keep arguing over what amounts to untested theories, and they have work to do. "You have the day's schedule?"

"Yes," Iroh says with poorly contained malcontent. He fishes the scroll in question out of his sleeve and offers it to the Fire Lord.

Ozai accepts the rolled rice paper. "Thank you." He skims the lines of precise characters.

Iroh pours himself a new cup of tea as the Fire Lord reads.

"Alright," Ozai says, leaning over the arm of his chair to lessen the distance between them and holding the scroll out for the other man to see, "the meeting just before lunch can be cancelled. I still want you to evaluate Zuko's firebending today. Minister Daiki will have to reschedule if he's serious about petitioning for more funds."

"Daiki is known to be easily offended," Iroh cautions as he takes his own turn to look over the scroll's contents.

"I know, but Agni wasn't wrong," Ozai says, "There isn't a ready heir. I know Zuko and Azula are both too young regardless, but they haven't been prepared for the throne like you and Lu Ten were. They were the fourth and fifth in line until recently, and no one ever expected them to need --" He cuts himself off with a sigh. "Never mind. We'll go over that some other time that isn't your first day as regent. What matters is that correcting the heir apparent's bending is more important than Daiki's pettiness, and I'm not willing to put it off any longer than it already has been."

"As you wish, Fire Lord."

"As for lunch itself, send an invitation to the temple for the sages to come early, including the Head Fire Sage. I have a feeling that more people will have been affected than the palace staff, and the temple is probably in the best position to help any new firebenders, but we'll need to talk to them about setting up the program."

"We?"

"Your input could be valuable, and I'm not cancelling our lunch just because I need to squeeze a chat with the sages into the schedule somewhere." Iroh squints at him in thinly veiled disbelief. Ozai meets it with a deadpan. "You also threatened to force me through tea appreciation lessons. I'd hate to deprive you of the opportunity."

Iroh fails to stifle a startled laugh and Ozai smirks back.

"Now," the Fire Lord continues, "the day's first meeting is with the silk guild. They need to be told that negotiations are being opened to end the war and that the orders of under armor will likely see a steep decrease in the coming years. Don't cancel or reduce any of the current orders -- We don't know how long negotiations will actually take. -- but they need to be able to start planning for a peace-time economy. Make it clear that whatever happens, we will still be buying under armor -- We will not be demilitarizing entirely, no matter what the other nations or the White Lotus think of it. Too many outside parties are looking for revenge for us to consider that, even if we were inclined to do such a thing. -- but future orders will be at lower quantities than they have been previously. Let them know that they will be free to seek other opportunities for their surplus silk. Depending on how negotiations go, Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe markets might be available to them in the next few years.

"The next meeting is with..."

Azula skips down the halls ahead of Zuzu, who sulks as he follows in her trail.

Yesterday, a servant had told her that Father now expects to breakfast with her and Zuko every day going forward. Today, a servant had informed her and her brother that today's breakfast would be served in the Fire Lord's suite. It isn't often that either of them has the opportunity to glimpse the interior of their father's private sanctuary, let alone be invited inside.

One of the guards outside the Fire Lord's suite knocks on the doors and announces them before allowing the two youngest royals entrance into the set of rooms. She hears voices off to the right before she sees anyone.

"Continue," Father instructs placidly.

"It is only Prince Zuko's evaluation and lunch with the Fire Sages after that," Uncle Iroh replies.

Azula's nose scrunches. No one had mentioned the old fuddy-duddy would be here to spoil breakfast with Father. At least Zuzu is sometimes amusing. But what was that about an evaluation for Zuko?

She can feel the way Dum-Dum has frozen behind her. It's not something he had known about, either, then.

Azula spins on her heel just long enough to stick her tongue out at her brother and watch his instant indignation before darting into the room. "Father," she greets with a bow. "Uncle," she acknowledges because court manners demand it.

"Father, Uncle," Zuko copies, a step behind and a second late, as usual. She sees her brother offer a second bow to their uncle out of her periphery. The action is technically unnecessary now that Uncle no longer outranks them, but Father makes no comment about the needless act, and so neither will Azula. There are more important things to consider, anyway.

Such as the unusual sight in front of her.

Father is dressed in naught but sleep pants and a light robe meant for leisure. His hair is unbound and its new, shorter length leaves the ends to brush his shoulders. His posture is relaxed and he sips absently from the teacup in his hand. It is the most casual she can ever recall seeing her father. She's not sure she likes it. Ever since the spirits interfered in Father's and Zuko's Agni Kai, Father has been acting strange.

Uncle Iroh is, for once, not sipping tea, though there is an empty cup at his elbow and some suspicious stains down the front of his robes. The old has-been is crouched over a small scroll littered with annotations and he holds a brush in his dominant hand as he scans over the cramped writing.

"Azula, Zuko," Father says, drawing her attention away from further observations, "Please, sit." He gestures at the backless couch across the table from him and Uncle Iroh. "I'm sure the servants will be in with breakfast soon."

"Children," Uncle greets them with a strained smile, but returns to his earlier conversation with Father immediately after, "Is that everything?"

"I think so," Father says, "Even if it isn't, it will have to be enough. We're out of time. You need to get ready for your first audience."

Azula steals the spot closest to Father and Zuko is apparently too nervous about whatever upcoming evaluation he has to complain about the slight.

"It is an extensive amount of notes," Uncle sighs, "I hope I will be able to remember them all."

"You'll do fine. Just get everything moving in the right direction. I'll fix any discrepancies later." Father frowns. "I'd like to think you don't need this reminder, but don't do anything that would catch Agni's ire. The Fire Nation needs to be your priority while acting as regent, not the White Lo--"

"Brother," Uncle Iroh interrupts the Fire Lord. Azula's eyes widen in shock and she barely stops her jaw from falling open into an unseemly gape. Beside her, Zuko gasps and stiffens. "Almost a solid third of your notes have been warnings against attempting to win favor from or for my associates. I have received that particular message quite clearly."

"Your 'associ--' Ah." Father glances at her and Zuko. "Yes, them, right." He sets his teacup on its saucer and rubs the back of his neck as if goat-sheepish. "You're right. At a certain point, I either trust you to do this or I don't. Go. Before you're late."

What was that? It had been terribly unsubtle, whatever it was.

Uncle rolls up the scroll and tucks it into his sleeve. He stands and bows. "Thank you, Fire Lord." And then another bow for her and her brother. "Prince Zuko, Princess Azula," he says as a farewell.

"Uncle," she returns mechanically.

Zuko doesn't manage that much.

Uncle Iroh leaves swiftly.

Azula wills herself to shake off her lingering shock. "Uncle is acting as regent today?" she asks, struggling to keep her tone mild rather than incredulous. Posing any question to the Fire Lord is always a fine balancing act, and often better avoided altogether, but she needs answers after what she has witnessed.

"Only for the morning," Father answers, an irritated twist to his lips, "Agni forbade me to return to my duties before noon."

"You spoke with Agni again?" Zuko asks.

"He's been a fairly consistent presence since he first made himself known to me," Father says, irritation giving way for something closer to resignation.

This is her opportunity. She has been rehearsing this speech in her head for the past hour, concise as it is, making it as perfect as she can. She will not chicken-pig out now. It is unfortunate that Father does not seem to be particularly happy with the Sun Spirit's continued interference, but perhaps her news will be enough to sway his opinion.

"I spoke with Agni," she announces, voice clear and back straight.

Father does not seem surprised by her declaration, but he does ask, "And what did you speak to Agni about, Princess Azula?"

She draws a preparatory breath and smiles, sharp and fierce. This is her moment.

"I greeted the Sun Spirit and was recognized. I danced in the fire of Agni's pre-dawn sun --"

"You told me not to call it dancing," Zuko mutters behind her. She ignores her brother and his petulance.

"-- and I found my flames."

Azula holds out a hand and ignites a small, precise, concentrated flame of unwavering blue above her palm. Her form is impeccable. Her accomplishment is undeniable.

Father laughs.

Her control falters shamefully before she snuffs the flaring fire. This is not the reaction she had been anticipating, when she had been revelling over her latest success in Mother's garden. Father was supposed to praise her prowess, not laugh.

"I'm sorry, Azula. I shouldn't laugh. I just -- I hadn't expected -- I didn't think --" The Fire Lord giggles and shakes his head, covering his mouth with one hand and taking a long, calming breath in through his nose. He lowers his hand and manages not to break into further tittering merriment at her expense. "We all thought you were weeks, possibly months, away from attaining mastery. I should have known better than to expect you to keep to anyone else's time frame. Congratulations, Azula of the Blue Flame." He reaches out and tugs on one of her bangs again, as is one of his new, inexplicable habits. Softer, he says, "Well done, Little Dragon."

This is not the reaction she had been hoping for, but... She does not particularly mind the gentle hair pulling, nor the unexplained endearment that nonetheless hints at a future fierceness and power that would make any enemy think twice. What's more, Father's eyes are glowing with pride as much as they are from being spirit-touched, and his smile is soft with easy affection like Mother used to have for Zuko. It inspires feelings in her like the warm sparking of her chi in the instant before she bends, the elation of a new achievement, and the satisfaction of a perfectly performed kata. It's a heady cocktail of emotions.

Hesitantly, although she will never admit as much aloud, Azula allows herself to smile in return.

Chapter Text

Breakfast is quiet. Azula is still basking in the glow of well-earned praise -- His daughter danced with Agni and mastered the blue flame. She's achieved in two days from the branch in history what had taken his sister another two months to accomplish. -- but Zuko seems to be distracted by something altogether more unpleasant.

"Zuko," he waits for the boy to meet his eyes, "What's on your mind?"

The prince hesitates before saying, "Uncle mentioned an evaluation, but there isn't anything on my schedule. Did I do something wrong?"

Of course, he should have thought about how that would sound to the children without the surrounding context. He feels a tension he hadn't realized was there ease.

"No," Ozai says as he relaxes back in his chair and uses his chopsticks to collect his next bite, "I told you I would speak to Iroh about your training. He wants to see for himself where you are before he agrees to anything."

"Oh."

That... had not sounded nearly as reassured as it should have. Ozai looks up from his breakfast again. "Is there something else bothering you?"

The prince hunches into himself and stares down at his plate.

"Zuko?"

The boy takes a slow breath before relenting. "'You will learn respect,'" his son recites as he tentatively meets his eyes, "'and suffering will be your teacher.'"

Azula lowers her chopsticks to her plate and frowns at her brother. "That's not what Father said."

Ozai isn't sure what face he's making. It's good that Azula's attention is elsewhere, though, because it wouldn't surprise him if his expression largely mirrored the prince's pale dawning horror. Even if it wasn't quite as obvious as that, his sharp-eyed daughter would doubtlessly still see more than she should.

Zuko breaks their uncomfortable staring contest almost as soon as he'd inadvertently started it, ducking his head once more. "You, you mentioned yesterday that Agni's grace saved me," he rambles anxiously, "Was that... Was that what you were going to say? During the Agni Kai? Were you really going to --" The boy reaches for the left side of his face before aborting the motion, hands fisting in his lap.

The Fire Lord groans and slumps back into the cushions behind him as he scrubs his own hands over his unscarred and too-angular face.

Focus on the here and now. Take it one step at a time. Remember to breathe. The situation isn't beyond repair. He can do this.

...Agni's favored or not, it appears his perpetual bad luck is as attentive a companion as it has always been.

Both of the children are watching him when he lowers his hands. "What else did Liukshi show you?" he asks. Better that he find out now than be surprised by it later.

Azula's eyes narrow as she glances back and forth between Fire Lord and prince. Zuko squirms.

"You didn't accept my forfeiture. The Agni Kai went to first burn." The prince's fists tighten in his lap. "You banished me for my cowardice and dishonor. I think Liukshi might have meant to show me more, but then I woke up, and there wasn't a green turtle-duck with a weird face in my room, so --"

"Turtle-duck?" the princess interrupts, "I know the eye-face is off-putting, Dum-Dum, but Liukshi is clearly a messenger hawk."

...And that answers the question of whether or not Liukshi had visited Azula's dreams as well.

Zuko scowls at his sister. "I know what I saw, Azula! The spirit looked just like a turtle-duck, except it was green, and glowing, and had a large eye instead of a face!"

"You're blind!" Azula snaps back, "Liukshi is a hawk!"

"Enough," Ozai breaks into the argument, and it's obvious by the children's caught expressions that they had forgotten he was there to witness their squabbling, "Agni told me Liukshi was shattered, and Tui said spirits can take on different forms. Liukshi was a lemur-bat when he visited me." He'd wanted to wait so he could be sure he didn't say anything that he'd later regret confirming about Liukshi and his visions, but he thinks he can afford to say a little to smooth the conversation and get it back on track. "He showed me things as they had happened and things as they might have happened in another life but did not in this one. That's all you saw, Zuko. It was a possibility that did not and will not happen. You'll be better off not dwelling on it."

"Yes, sir," comes the prince's rigid reply.

Ozai sighs. He can't ask for more than that. "And what did Liukshi show you, Azula?"

"Nothing of consequence if all Liukshi deals in are mere possibilities, Father," the girl says breezily as she returns to her meal. The dismissive tone fools neither Ozai nor Zuko and they both watch her as she finishes the statement, "I saw myself coronated Fire Lord under the light of Sozin's Comet."

Zuko glares at his sister. "You're not the heir, Azula."

"Not yet," the girl quips, "but if you don't shape up soon, Father might decide you're not the nation's best option." She swirls a fistful of blue fire over her palm, as if there had been any doubt about the implications behind her words.

Ozai, for his part, feels decidedly less conflicted about Agni sending Liukshi far, far away from the Fire Nation. Azula puts on a good show, but he remembers all-too-well what state his sister had been in after everyone she'd ever trusted had left her side. Liukshi has shown both of his children the lowest points of the lives Agni had spared them from. The pain, trauma, and knowledge of those experiences should never have touched them, not in any form, however mild.

"I'm not having Zuko removed from the line of succession," Ozai says, breaking the siblings' second argument in a single degree, "and it's time that this rivalry end. You are both my children. You will each have a role to play in the nation's future, but they will, by necessity, be different roles."

To Zuko, he says, "You are my heir and I have no intention to see that changed. Once you become Fire Lord, Azula will either be among your greatest assets or hindrances during your reign. I recommend ensuring she is always aware of how much you value her continued support."

To Azula, he adds, "For you to be Fire Lord would require two deaths or abdications." Both children wince at the blunt words. "There is no scenario under which that happens that is good for the Fire Nation. However, unlike your brother, you have a choice in what role you wish to take on to serve the nation. If you really want to spend your every day pouring over paperwork or stuck in council meetings, you'd make a good advisor to help balance your brother's idealism, but you've other options as well and the time to consider them."

To both children he says, "Yours will be the first generation in almost a century to grow up in a world at peace rather than war, but that peace will remain fragile long after the first handful of treaties establishing it are signed. If the two of you can't figure out how to form a lasting peace between yourselves, then neither of you will be able to continue the work I am beginning now."

The rest of the meal is a quiet affair, like an uneasy mirroring of its start, full of Zuko and Azula leveling frowns and scowls and considering squints at each other. If some of his son's and daughter's most confused and contemplative glances are occasionally cast in his direction instead of at each other, Ozai pretends not to notice.

Iroh worries his lotus tile between three fingers, carefully hidden behind his other hand and the sleeves of his best robes. This feels like a trap.

He has trained for his whole life to one day take the throne. He has not wanted it since the disaster of the Ba Sing Se Siege had turned personal and he had lost his son. How could he possibly lead his nation knowing he had led his own son to his death and his troops to a slaughter? After the siege had broken, he had abandoned his post and wandered the length of the Eastern Continent by foot. His aimless traveling had left him to confront the ruin his nation had left in the wake of its conquest, not the least of which were large swathes of land that bore the scars of his own past campaigns. How could a man so blind to the consequences of his own actions be trusted to guide an entire nation of men? And then, most damning of all, when news had finally reached him of his father's death and Ozai's ascension -- not as regent during Iroh's absence from the Mother Islands, but as the next Fire Lord -- all Iroh had felt was relief. In that moment, he had known by his own reaction that he was unfit for the throne and too weak for the crown.

But then...

Destiny is a funny thing.

And it might just have a vicious sense of humor all its own.

Iroh runs his thumb over the raised petals of the lotus tile and considers the eponymous throne of the room in which he now stands. A regent typically rules from the throne just as a true Fire Lord would, however, during the last meeting held within these walls, Ozai had cast aside centuries of tradition and sat at the table among the generals and sages of his council. It had only been a single meeting, but a long and important one during a time of change. Had his brother meant to set a new precedent? Or had Ozai only intended the aberration to last for the evening? Dozens of careful notes from his discussion with the Fire Lord this morning, but not one had been spared to address the expected seating arrangements.

Iroh flips the Pai Sho tile end-over-end as he weighs his options. It almost feels like being a general at the front again.

...He will not be holding an audience with any of the war council while he is acting as regent. That meeting is scheduled for later in the day, after Ozai's return. That leaves only the servants who might know there is anything to question, depending on how many of them also witnessed the last meeting. On the other hand, it would be preferable to avoid further wrong-footing or otherwise antagonizing the parties expecting an audience with the Fire Lord who will instead have to settle for speaking to a disgraced 'once-prince,' as the Sun Spirit is prone to phrasing it.

His fingers still as he reaches a decision.

While patience is a powerful weapon in the hands of the shrewd and caution is among the greatest tools of the prudent, hesitance is the folly born of a weak will.

Iroh settles into the cushions of the throne, slips the lotus tile back into its usual pocket, and hopes he has not already committed his first unwise action as regent. The curtain of flame flares upward from its bed of coals as he brings it under his control.

"I believe we are ready to begin," he addresses the waiting roomful of servants, "Let us allow our first guests to join us. Please, open the doors."

Chapter Text

Zuko stumbles to a halt when he realizes Uncle Iroh has entered the courtyard without his notice. "Uncle!"

"Hello, Prince Zuko!" the older firebender returns with cheer.

"You were not told to stop, trainee!" yells the towering man at Uncle's side, "Continue the exercise to its completion!"

Zuko tries to hide his flinch. "Yes, Instructor Akio!" He hurries to resume his kata but a part of him finds time to begin fretting over how he must already be failing Uncle Iroh's evaluation.

His firebending lesson goes on largely as it normally would for the next hour, excepting Uncle's presence. The two older men speak in hushed tones as they watch him and Zuko wishes he could make out their words. He already knows that he must be the topic of their conversation, but not knowing the specifics of their discussion is nerve-racking. It makes him tense in a manner that is not at all helping his performance, which in turn is even more stressful.

Despite the split in his attention that Iroh creates, Instructor Akio still manages to find the flaws in Zuko's form and give corrections. Loudly.

"Mind your breathing!"

"Wider stance!"

"Control your breath, trainee!"

"That was pathetic! Start again from the beginning!"

And then, much like Uncle had appeared without warning in the training courtyard, Instructor Akio disappears.

"Please, continue the kata, Prince Zuko," Uncle instructs calmly, "There is honor in completing what one starts."

Zuko hesitates but soon continues with the kata he had been working through. When he finishes the last move of the set, Uncle invites him to approach with a wave.

"That was well done, Nephew," Iroh says, "but there are some aspects in your bending that you seem to be struggling with."

The boy flushes as embarrassment rises up again. "Yes, Uncle," he admits and glances around the courtyard. His firebending instructor is still nowhere to be seen. "Where is Instructor Akio? He's never left during a lesson before."

Uncle strokes his beard twice before answering. "Instructor Akio has been reassigned to train imperial firebenders," he says, "as he was doing before he was selected to take on your firebending lessons."

"Oh. I see," Zuko says and swallows. Another master has given him up as a lost cause, then. "I've been told he's trained some of the finest imperial firebenders among the ranks. It will be good to have him training more of the nation's elite benders."

The old man nods sagely. "From the way he speaks, I suspect that the structure of the military suits him well," Uncle Iroh says, "Instructor Akio knows how to take firebenders who have gone through the standard army training of our nation and refine them into strong masters. And yet, I do not believe he has learned how to teach a young pupil who has much promise but lacks the foundational lessons that his previous students would have rigorously drilled before reaching him."

Zuko frowns as his confusion grows. "Uncle?"

"His failure to adapt has left the two of you badly mismatched, Nephew. I am not certain if you are aware, but I trained your cousin Lu Ten personally, from his first sparks up to his mastery." Uncle bows as he says, "I would be honored if you would allow me the privilege of training another young prince to the height of his potential."

"O-oh." When Father had said he'd speak to Uncle about Zuko's training, he'd assumed that Uncle might offer a few corrections or some advice before turning him back over to Instructor Akio. At most, he'd expected Uncle might find the time to lead an occasional lesson. He hadn't thought the Dragon of the West would be stepping into the role of his firebending master full time! "Thank you, Uncle! I am honored that you would consider me a worthy student." He offers an appropriate bow to acknowledge his uncle's new status as his firebending master. "I'll do my best to live up to your expectations!"

"I am certain that you will, Prince Zuko!" Uncle grins. "Please, go fetch your cooldown supplies. There is no better time to begin than the present."

"Yes, Instructor! ...Master? Um..." Zuko gives up on salvaging his dignity and asks, "How should I address you?"

The man chuckles. "How about we stick with 'Uncle?'" the older royal suggests, "There are no greater or more cherished titles than those of familial relationships."

"Except 'Fire Lord,'" Zuko says.

Uncle pauses a moment and a strange emotion flickers across his face before it vanishes without a trace. "'Fire Lord' is indeed a very important title," he acknowledges.

It sounds like an agreement, but somehow Zuko isn't sure that it is. The nagging uncertainty makes him feel anxious. He doesn't know what to do with that emotion and its implication, so he does his best to ignore the thought and everything it would lead to. Instead, the teen turns to collect the supplies for his breathing exercises as he was directed.

...Maybe he doesn't need to tell Father about this particular conversation with Uncle. Or at least, not how it ended.

Ozai bites back a yawn as he settles into the cushion at the head of the table. Napping during the day always leaves him feeling groggy. At least it had been a good nap this time. He'd actually been able to relax knowing that Iroh was taking care of things and that Agni would step in if it became necessary for whatever reason.

"Fire Lord."

Ozai startles from his slump to find Iroh at one of the room's entrances. The older man rises from his bow with a brow lifted in a silent question.

"I'm still half asleep. Firebenders aren't supposed to wake at noon," the Fire Lord grumbles and then scrubs a hand over his face. "Sit," he directs absently, gesturing to the spot at his left. "How did the morning go? Any problems?"

"A few ruffled feathers, but nothing that appeared likely to lead to sustained insults or grudges."

Ozai hums in response and Iroh reaches for the teapot at the center of the table. The older man rather pointedly pours a cup for Ozai before filling his own.

"I did not have time to brew the tea myself with the change in today's schedule," Iroh says, "but the kitchen staff have always produced an excellent pot of ginseng."

Ozai rolls his eyes under Iroh's expectant gaze. He lifts his cup and takes a sip to satisfy the other man.

Iroh appears mollified for the moment and indulges in a sip from his own teacup. He savors the flavor for a moment and then, instead of beginning the lecture about the tea's qualities that Ozai is anticipating, says, "There is one matter we should discuss before the sages join us."

Suddenly, Ozai feels far more awake. "Oh?"

"Yes," Iroh's gaze sharpens as he asks, "Who convinced you that a man used to training full-grown soldiers would make a good candidate for a thirteen-year-old child's firebending master?"

Ozai grimaces. He has no idea who recommended Akio for the position. For all he knows, the idea might have originated with his father. More to the point, he isn't inclined to give Iroh any names so long as the older man has that particular glint in his eyes.

"It sounds bad when you phrase it like that," he deflects. Iroh levels a distinctly unimpressed look at him for his chosen response and Ozai tamps down on the instinctive wince prompted by the obvious disapproval.

"Then I am glad you agree that Akio was poorly suited for the task," Iroh states, "I sent him to reclaim his previous position as an instructor for the imperial firebenders."

Ozai releases a quiet sigh of relief. Iroh isn't going to push the matter. "I'm told Instructor Akio has trained some of our finest imperial firebenders. It will be good for the nation to have him training more of our elite benders," he confirms. His brother squints at him strangely. Ozai isn't sure what to make of the expression and so he attempts to move the conversation forward, "Does this mean you're agreeing to become Prince Zuko's firebending teacher?"

"I am." The curious look on the older man's face remains and Ozai affects obliviousness by drinking more tea. "I wonder... Do you realize how strongly your son takes after you? He said almost --"

Ozai breaks into a coughing fit as he chokes on ginseng.

"Brother!"

The Fire Lord bats Iroh's hovering hands away and snatches a napkin from the table. "You have no idea," he rasps as he regains control of his breathing, "how acutely aware I am of the many similarities and key differences that exist between myself and Prince Zuko."

Iroh frowns but does not question the claim.

"Sages," the Fire Lord greets, "Please, join us."

Head Sage Hijiri rises from his bow. "Thank you, Fire Lord Ozai," he returns, moving to take his place at the monarch's side and across from General Iroh, "It is --"

Sage Misha brushes by him with a large grin on his face and claims the open cushion to the left of the ex-crown prince. Hijiri scowls. He does not know these three junior sages well, having only met them upon their selection by Agni, but it is clear that the young sage has no patience -- nor sense of decorum, for that matter. He will have to recommend additional study for the man.

Hijiri takes a breath, reminds himself that the youthful are often foolish in their exuberance, and refrains from remarking on the behavior while they remain in the presence of those outside the brotherhood. There will be a time for correction, but it is not now.

"It is an honor to serve Agni's anointed," the head sage says, drawing attention back to himself and hopefully away from Sage Misha's impertinence. He then takes his place of honor at the Fire Lord's right side as the highest ranking guest. Sage Shadra seats himself at Hijiri's right and Abedni, skittish thing that he is, practically hides himself behind Shadra. Hm, perhaps different lessons are in order for that one. Hijiri is starting to suspect that Sage Abedni had expected to bury himself in the quieter aspects of temple life, but the role he is being called on to fulfill would benefit from a dash more confidence than the junior sage has thus far displayed.

"Let us begin lunch," Fire Lord Ozai says, waving servants in to present the meal. It is quite the generous selection, but the sharing of a meal is not why Hijiri has been summoned to the palace.

"Sages Shadra, Abedni, and Misha returned to the temple from their last visit with quite the tale of Agni's return, and the Sun Spirit's close presence over Caldera all through this morning has caused a stir through the city and, I am sure, beyond. Please, Herald, tell us what we can do to assist in your duties."

Fire Lord Ozai does not waste time. "There is a maid in my employment, Kiyi. This morning she threw her first sparks after touching the fire of Agni's pre-dawn sun before it rose into the sky. I suspect she will not be the only one to have such an experience after this morning and that there will be more instances of nonbenders becoming firebenders."

The Head Fire Sage nods at the Fire Lord's conclusion. This is not quite what he had expected to be the first topic discussed at a lunch preceding the day's war meeting, but there is no denying its importance.

"We have received many reports of such instances in the last several hours," he says, confirming the other man's suspicions as well founded. Most of the reports in question had even been given in person during the unprecedented influx they had at this morning's prayers to Agni. But then, if the existence of a pre-dawn sun over the capital had not moved the people to revere and worship Agni again, Hijiri would have to wonder about the stubborn blindness of the current generation.

Ozai takes in that statement and something in the man's face grows firm. It is more subtle than the glint in his eyes or the tilt of his chin, but the look is one of a man who has come to a decision and is used to having his orders obeyed. "I want the temple to put a program together for these new benders. Teach them control. If they come from nonbending families or otherwise do not share a home with an established firebender that can help them subdue stray sparks, offer them a place to stay in the temple until they can safely return to their own residences. If they insist on returning to their homes before you deem them ready, let them go but send a sage with them to inform their neighbors of the increased fire risk.

"I will send official orders along these lines at a later date when I have more time in my schedule to draft the appropriate paperwork. For now, know that the palace will reimburse any funds the temple needs to spend on this project."

"Yes, Fire Lord," Hijiri says, "It will be done."

A throat is cleared on the opposite side of the table and, for a split-second, the head sage fears the worst of Sage Misha's comportment. He is greatly relieved to realize that the culprit is instead General Iroh.

"If I may?" the previous crown-prince says.

General Iroh wears the regent's crown in his topknot, Hijiri notes in surprise, the triple-pointed copper headpiece shining as it reflects light off its polished surface. Strange that the Fire Lord would allow the lesser counterpart of his own crown and symbol of authority to be worn by any in his presence, let alone while business is actively being conducted, in however unofficial a capacity.

The Fire Lord renders his judgement, "Speak."

"Although the sages have very skilled teachers among them, especially for firebending," Iroh nods across the table at Hijiri in acknowledgement, "it has recently come to my attention how often those that train master benders expect their students to come to them already strong in their foundational lessons. This initiative may benefit from the inclusion of teachers that focus on the training of beginner firebenders."

Hijiri would not have thought of that, but the general raises a valid point and the idea has merit. A glance at the Fire Lord's face reveals that the nation's leader at least does not seem displeased by his brother's counsel.

"We do practice the basics regularly at the temple," the head sage says, "but General Iroh is correct in that we have little experience in teaching them. There is also the matter of the children who touched Agni's flames to consider, both older and younger than the typical age range of five-to-eight for manifestation. They, in particular, may be best served by instructors from outside the temple."

"Recruit as many outside instructors as you believe necessary," the Fire Lord decides, "Collect their names and addresses. The palace will pay them directly. Of the other things you buy, make sure to keep an itemized list. I'll be directing the treasury to expect as much and to reject all requests that do not properly record what funds were spent on."

Well, that is certainly news. He'll have to remember to pass that on to the bookkeepers at the temple. There will doubtlessly be grumbling over the increased hassle this will cause them. "Has something happened to cause the change?"

"Not yet. Not beyond the usual corruption and skimming of funds," the Fire Lord dismisses lightly, "but it is likely that there will be substantial turbulence in the future of the nation's economy, quite possibly a recession at some point. A war-time economy does not fix itself overnight into a successful peace-time economy. Taking actions now to reduce wasted funds will help mitigate a portion of the toll on our citizenry, at least through the taxes."

"I see." The head sage strokes his beard in thought. His audience includes General Iroh, who is known for certain excesses but is nonetheless outside of the brotherhood, and three junior sages, who Hijiri barely knows a thing about but were chosen by Agni. It is worth the potential risks, he thinks. "Would it be too forward, my lord, to offer a list of sages for audit?" Five sets of eyes are immediately pinned to his person, weighing him for his boldness.

"Is this an attempt to root out corruption or rivals, Head Sage?" the Fire Lord asks.

Hijiri dares not look away from the monarch to gauge the other reactions of those in the room. "Fire Lord Ozai, if any sage on the list I provide you does not show signs of living beyond the means of a Fire Sage's allotted allowance, I will submit myself to whatever punishment you deem fit. I cannot guarantee corruption will be found in every case, there could be other explanations, but it is easy to spot excess and extravagance within the brotherhood of the temple."

"I-If I may?"

Hijiri glances back and cannot help being stunned that Sage Abedni has gathered the courage to speak at all. He would have sooner suspected either of his two cohorts. Perhaps there is something more to the young man than a first impression of him would suggest.

"Speak," the Fire Lord commands.

Abedni flinches at the firm order. He twists his fingers in his lap but says past the obvious case of nerves, "The head sage is correct. Once you know what to look for, extra coin is easy to see in the possessions and habits of certain brothers."

A frown mars the Fire Lord's face as he considers what he has been told. The tension in the room hangs uncomfortably in the air as they all wait on his verdict.

"This portion of the conversation doesn't leave the room," Ozai says at last, "Suspected widespread corruption in the Fire Sages without clear facts or answers could be destabilizing, catastrophically so. Have the list ready by the day after tomorrow's afternoon and send it to me through Sage Shadra, Misha, or Abedni when they join that day's war meeting. I'll have people look into the matter discreetly."

Head Sage Hijiri strokes his beard. It is a wise precaution. "As you wish, Fire Lord."

"Good." The Fire Lord glances down at the table. "You should eat before you have to return to the temple, Head Sage, and most of these dishes are much better hot than they are after they've cooled."

Hijiri startles at the subject change and peeks around the table only to find that he alone has yet to touch his meal. "Ah! I am sure it is all still delicious, my lord!" He pauses just before he takes his first bite. "Before I 'return to the temple,' my lord?" he asks, "I had expected I would be joining the war meeting this afternoon."

The Fire Lord seems surprised by the mere suggestion. "Agni has chosen sages for that role. You were not among them." It is spoken as nothing more than fact, but the implication is a stinging rebuke all the same. "Also, I would prefer that the preparations for the new firebenders' program be started as soon as possible. As the highest administrator of the temple, I expect you'll be busy for the remainder of the day on organization efforts."

"It is as you say, Fire Lord Ozai. I should not have been so presumptuous."

Hijiri has been passed over by Agni, but trusted by his herald, at least. It helps to soothe some of the wounds inflicted on the head sage's ego. Perhaps it is that same pride that caused Agni to reject him for the honor the Sun Spirit bestowed upon Sages Shadra, Abedni, and Misha. He will have to meditate on the matter before he retires for the night.

"Oh, and Iroh?" the Fire Lord says, something like amusement in his voice.

"Yes, Brother?"

"Make sure you leave yourself time to switch your headpiece before the next meeting."

The general blinks rapidly before flushing. Like an embarrassed child, he admits, "I had forgotten."

The Fire Lord chuckles with a surprising amount of warmth. "Yes, I can tell."

Despite the political pitfalls inherent to dining with the Fire Lord, and the injured pride caused by his own assumptions, Hijiri must admit that he finds the lunch to be an overall pleasant experience. He can only hope that any future meetings with Agni's Herald will go as well as this one has.

Chapter Text

"I believe we now have something we can work from," Ozai announces to the tired war council, causing a silent wave of relief to cross more than a few faces in the room.

It's been a long and tedious session, working toward a goal that many of the members are reluctant to support. The evening meal had come and gone about three hours ago, presented in the throne room without flourish. However, despite how long it has taken to accomplish, they have nearly completed the preliminary planning necessary for things to actually begin moving. There's a rough plan in place for the entire Eastern Continent, numerous alternative paths and actions have been proposed and weighed in the event that the preferred option in any given situation becomes untenable, and clear goals established with specifically prioritized sub-objectives that can be pursued or cut as the reality on the ground allows. It's good progress, all things considered.

"Generals Iroh, Kazuya Kai, and Masao, I am placing you in charge of the remaining details. Assign generals as you see fit, either from this council or from those already on the continent, to lead each theater, and finalize the initial orders and routing. Have your recommendations ready by our next meeting," the Fire Lord continues.

Iroh is one of the most successful generals of the last three decades, and he hadn't been exaggerating his ability to organize and move troops. Kazuya Kai has proven throughout the meeting to have an extensive knowledge of not just his home colony Yu Dao, but of the colonies in general and the surrounding terrain. The man is also more defensively minded than most of the other generals, which works well for retreat planning. Masao has a love for logistics of all kinds and has offered up a solid quarter of the proposed routes for this meeting single-handedly, along with complementary lists of the advantages and disadvantages he could see in his own strategies. There should be enough overlap in skill and desire for the three men to work together while their different perspectives and motivations should keep a balance between minimizing damage to the Earth Kingdoms, protecting their own, and getting the job done.

"As for the rest of you, I suggest taking tomorrow to attend to any pressing matters you have within the nation so that your attention can be properly focussed as we move forward. I know I've kept you late this evening, but I promise that the real work is just beginning," Ozai says, "Sages, thank you for your contributions. If more spirits come to your attention that are known to occupy the areas we will be moving troops through, or if you recall something else about the spirits you have already brought to our attention, have the relevant information ready for when we reconvene."

Sage Misha had been able to point out nearly two dozen minor spirits along the Eastern Continent's shoreline, some more likely to cause trouble than others. Sage Abedni had recalled a few older spirits that might well return to the mortal world, once Ozai had mentioned that more spirits than Agni would likely be making themselves known to man again. Sage Shadra had less to contribute directly, but the man has a well-honed skill in keeping Misha on topic and Abedni from shrinking into himself under the weight of the council's collective gaze. Ozai isn't sure if Shadra's abilities are specific to his two fellow sages through a longstanding friendship, or if the man has more broadly applicable leadership qualities. Either way, his inclusion has helped to smooth out the integration of the sages on the council.

"This meeting is complete." Ozai rises to his feet, generals and sages following his example before bowing. "The council is dismissed for the evening."

Weary councilmen begin to file out of the room to retire to their homes for the night.

Ozai turns and parts the flame wall to make his own exit but stops when he glimpses a slight figure reflected by the gold decorating the back wall. No one is standing in a position that could cast the reflection, and the detailed metalwork of the gold distorts the features beyond anything recognizable, but the dark skin and bright white clothes give Ozai a decent guess as to the reflection's identity.

"Tui?"

"Isn't that the Moon Spirit's name?" a voice asks from behind him.

Another two voices reply at the same time, "Yes." Meanwhile, a third responder launches into a longer, chattering answer.

"Nephew," the spirit sobs, "I need your help. Quickly. I will meet you outside."

Ozai doesn't think to question the request beyond the dread it sparks in him that the Moon Spirit is distressed and asking for help from him, rather than from more obvious sources of aid such as Agni or La. He spins and sprints for the open doors. "Move!" he roars, shoving confused generals out of his way.

"Ozai!" Iroh yells after him.

He ignores the call and runs. The closest exit to open air from the throne room is the main entrance to the palace.

He dodges servants in the halls with less grace than he would have in his old body. This one is larger and the muscles aren't trained to perform the seamless footwork he favors that would allow him to alter his path quickly without costing him much speed. To the servants' credit, four of them see him charging down the hall and catch on fast enough to get the heavy doors open before he reaches them.

Several of the guards startle as he bursts over the threshold at full tilt. One swears.

"Ashes!"

Agni has already set for the day, and his secondary sun had dispersed just after the noonday mark, leaving the world darker for his absence. Instead, the sky is host to the rising full moon and its backdrop of stars. Tui's ethereal staircase stretches from the glowing heavenly sphere and all the way to the ground, coming to an end just steps outside of the palace doors.

Waiting for him at the base of the stairs stands the spirit herself, tears streaming thick and fast down a fourteen-year-old Katara's face with too-bright eyes and white hair. That the Moon Spirit has chosen to wear the form of one of his friends is more than a bit disconcerting, not least because he doesn't know if it signifies anything or is pure happenstance.

"Nephew!" Tui cries, holding out a hand.

The Fire Lord twists his sprint eastward to meet the Moon Spirit. Ozai reaches to grasp the spirit's outstretched hand and, as soon as Tui catches hold of him, she pulls him onto the first few steps of colored light with a strength he failed to anticipate.

Behind him, startled guards shout for a second time.

"Soot!"

"Cinders!"

"Fire Lord!"

He glances back in an instinctive wariness after regaining his footing. Guards swearing loudly rather than under their breaths in a grumble is too-often a precursor to trouble fast coming his way and he wouldn't have expected another round of yelling past the initial disturbance.

"They can't see us," Tui says, recapturing his attention, "I've pulled you into a space between the mortal and spirit worlds. It will allow us to travel faster." True to the Moon Spirit's word, the world blurs as it speeds by them. Above them, Tui's primary physical form becomes their only anchor point to the mortal world, still and deceptively serene even as the spirit weeps openly in front of him.

He is so far outside of his depth.

"Tui, what's happening?" he asks, carefully folding the spirit's hands between his own, "What's wrong?"

Tui's bottom lip wobbles and the spirit sobs again. "I forgot about her!"

Ozai feels his heart freeze in his chest. "Katara?" he asks, praying that he's wrong and the spirit's visage has been a false clue.

Tui shakes her head, moonbeam-white hair flowing in fitful waves from the motion, and Ozai almost sags in relief. "No," the spirit corrects, "Hama."

Ozai frowns. "Who?"

"The old compact kept me from acting, and then it was a matter already dealt with," Tui explains as the world begins to slow, "I forgot that it would not be so now. I am sorry, Nephew."

"I still don't know what's going on."

"You will soon." Tui gently extracts her hands and wipes her face clear of shed tears. A steadying breath, and then, "We have arrived."

Iroh releases a quiet sigh of relief as the meeting ends. It has been many hours of simmering tensions and barely maintained civility as conflicting visions for the nation's future had clashed, but none of the bickering had grown hostile to the point that order became impossible to restore and their various contributions had begun to form a cohesive plan of action as the evening had worn on. All the same, there is something to be said for allowing hot heads and tempers time to cool. He only hopes that two days will be enough for those on the war council. Thankfully, Kazuya Kai and Masao tend to be level-headed individuals and Iroh expects that tomorrow's work will progress smoother than this meeting has.

Which leaves him with one last nagging concern from this evening's prolonged war meeting, sparked within the first moments of its birth, much to his chagrin.

Ozai had once more seated himself at the head of the table, rather than making use of the throne and wall of fire to keep himself separate from his audience. Iroh needs to speak with Ozai about that, particularly if his brother and Agni are set on making him responsible for executing a regent's duties whenever Ozai is unavailable to lead the nation.

"Tui?"

Iroh glances back to find Ozai standing just over the threshold of the flame curtain, the white fire still parted behind him.

"Isn't that the Moon Spirit's name?" Kazuya Kai asks.

It is, but Iroh is more concerned with his brother's unexplained pause than his fellow general's confusion.

The present sages answer for him, in any case.

"Yes," Shadra and Abedni say over each other, one patiently curious and the other warily waiting.

Misha, Agni bless him, dives headlong into a rambling explanation of the spirit. "Tui is the Moon Spirit and closely tied to Agni as a reflector of the Sun Spirit's guiding light through many of the hours during which Agni is not visible in the sky himself. Tui is also responsible for the ocean's tides and helps..."

Iroh ignores the young sage's exuberance and keeps his gaze locked firmly on the Fire Lord's back.

A second later, Ozai twists and breaks into a run across the floor, heading for the guest entrance to the throne room rather than one designed for the Fire Lord. The spirit-touched glow of the man's eyes has become a blaze, more closely resembling twin suns than candle flames, and fear seizes Iroh. What games are the spirits playing with his family now?

"Move!" the Fire Lord orders, leaping over a corner of the low table. He pushes aside the generals that are too stunned and slow to clear his path from the room in time.

"...is said that Tui's blessing is the pull half of waterbend-- Oh!" Sage Misha cuts off his own chatter to stabilize a teetering General Haruto, and Sage Abedni likewise catches a gobsmacked General Bujing before he can hit the ground.

"Ozai!" Whether he is unheard or unheeded, Iroh cannot say, but his brother does not slow at his yell.

There is only shocked stillness in the moment immediately following the Fire Lord's abrupt departure.

Then Sage Shadra chases after their fleeing monarch, slipping past frozen generals and through the open doors.

And then they are all running, because something is obviously happening, but they do not know what and only one man has the answers.

The palace halls have never seemed so long as they do today and muscles he has been neglecting take little time to begin making their displeasure known over his sudden return to physical activity. He is one of the last to make it out of the palace's front doors and onto the forecourt, coming to a halt at the top of the stairs that descend to the wide road connecting the palace with the rest of Caldera. Below and ahead of him, a congregation of guards, generals, and sages surround a lone guard cautiously waving a hand through seemingly empty air.

Iroh does not see Ozai anywhere.

Sage Abedni spots him in short order, ducking away from his brother sages near the heart of the crowd and making his way to Iroh's side. "General," the sage says once he has reached the top of the short set of stairs, voice pitched soft to avoid drawing more attention. Or it might be an attempt not to upset him. Iroh cannot begin to guess what he looks like at the moment. "The Fire Lord has been taken -- or, not 'taken,' exactly," the sage rambles hurriedly, "the guards report that he ran toward the moon and reached out -- but he vanished between one breath and the next. Either way, signs point to the Moon Spirit's involvement, though we are unsure why --"

Iroh's knees give out and Abedni yelps as he attempts to catch his second falling general of the day. The sage, kind young man that he is to have made the attempt, does not quite succeed and they both end up on the ground, though the landing is softer for Iroh than it would have been otherwise.

"Gone," Iroh hears himself say, unable to tease apart the storm of emotions ravaging his beaten heart, "You're saying he's gone."

He and Ozai have never been close, but with all the changes of late... Some piece of him had hoped...

Ah. How foolish of him. He should have known better than to grow attached to a man so clearly marked for the spirits. Their whims will always come before Iroh's needs. Worse, he realizes, it is already too late to withdraw. The shredded remains of his heart cry out to rebuild what little survives of his family and cling with a heretofore unknown tenacity to the idea that he may yet reclaim the younger brother he had previously forsaken.

A bark of bitter laughter escapes him, drawing unwanted attention as the first tears fall from his eyes.

Iroh forces himself to his feet, stubbornly ignoring the weakness in his legs as he descends the stairs and strides through the crowd that parts for him as he approaches. "This is where my brother vanished?" he asks of Shadra upon reaching the center of the ring.

"Yes, General."

The young sage doesn't hide his concern. Either that, or he is simply unskilled at doing so. At another time, Iroh may have cared to discern which of the possibilities meets with reality. Right now, he does not. Iroh nods, takes one more step into the void at the core of those gathered, and folds himself into a seiza facing the moon that stole away his brother.

There are no guarantees when it comes to spirits -- They are governed by rules all their own beyond any mortal's comprehension. -- but there have been times when men taken have also been returned. Tui is most often depicted as having a gentle and generous nature, and perhaps Ozai's status as Agni's Herald will afford him some protection. There is a chance, at any rate.

And so, Iroh settles in and waits.

Chapter Text

Shadra pulls Misha aside. Well, as much as he can do so without calling more attention to themselves while they remain at the center of a crowd of guards and high-ranking military officers. It helps that most eyes are locked on General Iroh.

The majority of gazes watching the man are pitying, though a few are either suspicious or calculating. Shadra falls in the earlier camp of pity. The older firebender appears to be an ill-drawn breath away from crumbling in on himself. He's lost much in the last handful of years and, by most accounts, he has only recently begun healing from the series of catastrophic events that befell the royal family and the nation two years ago. Still, as a Fire Sage, consoling the man is not Shadra's most pressing job. Not with a missing Fire Lord and clear spirit meddling afoot.

...He'll do what he can for Iroh without neglecting the duties he's vowed to attend to.

"Take Abedni and gather two large metal bowls, water, and lantern oil. Candles, too, if they can be collected quickly," he instructs his fellow sage in a soft tone just above being a murmur.

Misha stills and Shadra can see as the other man connects the requested supplies to their intended purpose. "That seems a bit much," Misha says with a frown, lowering his voice to match Shadra's example, "Tui has been known to give attention to Fire Lords in the past, even to insist on private audiences. I don't recall any instance when they were not returned shortly after being swept up by the Moon Spirit, and never harmed. Do you really believe this is necessary, Shadra?"

Shadra bites back a grimace. "Better to perform an appeasement ritual and it be unneeded, than to need one and neglect to perform it. Our last contact with Tui was centuries before we began raiding the Southern Water Tribes or pushed the Northern Water Tribe to hide behind its wall. We can't know that Tui has not taken offense to such actions."

Misha's expression becomes increasingly troubled. "It would be a bold move for any spirit to attack Agni's Herald," he says at last, "but you're right. We can't know with any certainty Tui's opinion of us after so long without contact, and the Moon Spirit's ritual is simple. We'll return with the supplies as quickly as we can."

"Thank you."

Misha nods before carefully picking his way out of the crowd. Shadra watches as he intercepts Abedni on the forecourt's stairs. Abedni meets his eyes, offers his own nod, and then both of his friends turn to re-enter the palace and complete his request.

Right then, time to start preparing things here.

"Children of Fire," he addresses the crowd that still surrounds him, "Agni's Herald has gone to visit the Lunar Court. It has been an age since last the Moon Spirit deigned to speak with a Fire Lord and it is not yet clear what business Tui has with Agni's Herald. I invite everyone gathered here tonight to pray for the Fire Lord's swift and successful return, as well as the Moon Spirit's mercy and continued blessings on our fair islands. May Agni and Tui hear our prayers and bestow upon us their benevolence and grace."

Tui steps from the ethereal staircase to the forest floor and instantly recoils before going rigid. Ozai tenses and scans the trees for a threat but their surroundings are dark and still. "What's wrong?" he growls quietly, fire itching at his fingertips.

"Ergh..." the Moon Spirit groans, "I had forgotten how humid the Fire Lands tend to be."

Ozai stares at the back of the spirit's head. "You used to be a fish!"

...He cannot believe he just said that aloud.

"While that is true, holding a human form in heat and humidity is distinctly less comfortable than living as a fish in water," Tui says, glancing back at him over her shoulder with sheepish eyes, "and my experience as a piece of my Yue was spent in an entirely different climate. This is... I will adjust. Merely give me a moment."

"Of course," the Fire Lord sighs, joining the spirit in the forest's underbrush. The staircase fades from sight once his feet leave the last step and the familiar mugginess of a Fire Nation spring night rushes to embrace him. Admittedly, the change from the realm between worlds to the mortal world is a noticeable one. "I apologize."

Tui smiles at him, expression tight, and lays a gentle hand on his arm. "There was never any offense taken, Nephew. A certain amount of give and take has always been necessary between spirits and men when they wish to commune. The differences between us are too vast to bridge if either party remains unyielding in their expectations and demands."

Ozai nods and scans the trees again. Tui mentioned that they are still within the nation, but this forest could belong to any one of a half-dozen islands in the country. He can't see much past the thick canopy, certainly nothing he could use to orient himself, and the only sources of light to be seen are Tui, more brightly as the moon overhead but there is also a subtle glow coming from the human-seeming girl beside him. No obvious landmarks, no visible cities, not even a clear view of the sky.

"Where are we?" he finally asks.

"The east-most island of the Northern Tongue," the Moon Spirit replies, fussing with the lay of her skirt, "I believe it has been renamed Spark Island since my last visit."

Ah. Well, that's one question answered. Spark Island is known for its flint and iron deposits. They're probably standing over a mine right now.

Tui moves on to picking at her sleeves before sighing and seemingly giving up on whatever it was she was trying to accomplish with the voluminous fabric of her dress. "Come," the spirit says as she ventures deeper into the forest, "We will find Hama this way, and while we walk I will elaborate on the assistance I sought you for."

Ozai falls into step at the Moon Spirit's side. "Who is Hama?" he asks, "An ally? An enemy? What sort of situation are we walking into?"

Tui's hands fist in her skirt. "Hama of the Southern Seas is a war victim that has turned to vengeance."

Ozai nearly trips over his own feet. What is any Water Tribe member doing so close to the heart of the Fire Nation? And why here? There aren't any military bases. No politically relevant households reside on the island, either. It can't be for the iron mines. Spark Island's iron ore is plentiful but of relatively low quality and too far away from the major refineries to be used in their military manufacturing. There are simply too many better sources to pull from to make Spark Island's ore worthwhile as part of the war effort. It gets sent to smaller refineries instead and used in domestic goods throughout the country. As for the island's residents, they're largely miners and farmers with a handful of local blacksmiths that provide the equipment needed for the former two occupations. All things considered, Spark Island is about as far removed from the war as any island in the Fire Nation can be, so why has it been targeted for 'vengeance'?

"She was one of many waterbenders taken from her home during Azulon of Second Fire's raids on the Southern Seas," the spirit continues, "Eventually, she escaped her prison and fled here. She has since turned her bitterness upon the people of this island." Silence descends between them for a moment, and then, "You must understand, Nephew, that while my human memories remain close enough that I find this entire sequence of events to be distressing -- the raids, the imprisonment, the terror and pain inflicted on this island -- on its own, this would be but mortal concerns and I would not interfere. However, Hama has developed a waterbending technique, known to you as bloodbending, that sh--"

"Bloodbending?" Ozai demands in alarm. It feels like the ground has dropped out from under his feet.

Tui meets his gaze and tells him bluntly, "Yes. While she did not invent it, she has been the first to rediscover the technique after a millennium since its last use by man. Hama was the waterbending master who taught Katara of the Southern Seas how to bend the life-waters of other creatures and men." Katara had never told him how she learned to bend blood. More to the point, it was a topic she avoided speaking about whenever possible. It's strange to hear this now from a voice and face made to perfectly mimic a young version of her, if not the mannerisms or personality of the woman. "It grieved your friend to learn such an art against her will," Tui says, face pinched with regret.

The spirit shakes her head and continues walking, Ozai following her lead a half-step later. "This world will not follow the same path as its predecessor," she says, "and Hama yet cloaks herself in my power and name." Pale-blue, almost silver, eyes flick up to meet his and the spirit growls out, "It will not stand."

"What do you need me to do?"

"You are Agni's Herald. He has entrusted you to govern his lands and people. It is appropriate to include you in this matter. As the appointed leader of Agni's children, the authority to determine the fate of Hama's victims and jailers rests with you." The silence following that statement lasts for a mere breath before the Moon Spirit adds, "I know you have been busy, but I would consider it a personal favor if you would address the operations of the waterbender prison tonight. Either way, our journey will take us there next."

Ozai grimaces even as he nods. He hasn't forgotten about the Water Tribes or their benders, but he had been hoping to have a little more time to focus on the more volatile warfronts before beginning to untangle the complicated but fairly stagnant situation that is the war prisoners and seasonal raids. Would a full week to try to get things sorted out his way have been too much to ask? He isn't about to share that thought with Tui, though.

Ahead of them, ill-maintained hinges screech and firelight spills from the widening crack between a large door and its frame.

Ozai freezes in place to watch and Tui waits wordlessly beside him. Briefly, he wishes for his mask and swords before pushing the irrational desire down. If Tui brought him as Agni's Herald, then he needs to be the Fire Lord, not a nameless thief in the night. He's just not used to skulking through the darkness under his own identity rather than anonymity of a false spirit.

A figure lurches into silhouette as if a marionette at the ends of an amateur puppeteer's strings. Ozai almost overlooks the second figure standing several paces behind the first and still shrouded in the shared shadows of the forest and the night. The first figure continues to push open the heavy door while the second moves outstretched arms in a manner he could never forget, for all that he rarely witnessed the form.

Bloodbending.

It looks like they've located their renegade waterbender.

Tui holds a hand in front of his chest when he moves to engage.

"Do not interfere with a spirit's judgement, Nephew," Tui warns softly, "You are here for your people. Once the way is open, go to them."

The tortured squeal of unoiled hinges stops and Hama's victim hobbles through the doorway.

Tui strides forward with enough grace that she almost seems to glide over the forest's patchy undergrowth. The spirit raises an arm ahead of herself before sweeping it to the side in a smooth swoop.

The silhouetted figure stumbles and then falls back on his rump with a shocked yelp.

"What?" an elderly woman's voice demands in a shrill rasp as rigid, claw-like fingers grasp futility for their escaped prey.

"Hama of the Southern Seas!" Tui declares, "You have wrought atrocities in my name! No more!"

Technically speaking, Tui's Ceremony is not an appeasement ritual. The Moon Spirit has always been known to be a gentle and forgiving spirit. One ritual, used for everything from seeking the spirit's favor to offering praise to giving thanks, has been sufficient throughout their history. The Water Tribes likely have more varied and detailed practices for both Tui and La, but any such ceremonies are utterly and completely outside of Shadra's knowledge or training. Perhaps it is just as well. Starting a ritual specific to appeasement and pleads for mercy right after the Fire Lord's disappearance would have the potential to spark a panic.

Shadra sets the emptied jar aside and touches flame to the oil in the metal bowl. Gently, he nudges the bowl of oil and fire into place beside its water-filled counterpart and in front of the absent Fire Lord's brother.

Iroh stares at the circle of flames that now rests before him. "Perhaps it would be more appropriate for you or one of your brothers to be the one to request Agni's favor," the older man suggests quietly, using careful fingertips to push the burning bowl back around Tui's offering and in Shadra's general direction.

The young sage is not so bold as to grab the previous crown-prince's wrist to halt the motion, but he would be lying if he claimed he did not need to curb an impulse to do precisely that. Instead, Shadra catches the bowl with the side of his hand and halts its movement, mindful not to make the move too forceful, lest the burning oil spill.

"Prince Iroh --"

"General," the man corrects softly.

Shadra nods and finds himself grateful both that Iroh appears to be the patient, understanding sort of man and that most of the crowd surrounding them is occupied by Misha's and Abedni's work with the candles. "General Iroh," he says, "you are of Kuzon's direct line. More to the point, you are brother to Agni's Herald. It would be wholly inappropriate for any sage to perform such a rite when a member of the royal family is present and capable."

Iroh appears pained but resolute as he says, "I was passed over. Agni's favor does not rest with me."

Shadra stares at the man, opens his mouth, closes his mouth, and ultimately shakes his head in disbelief. "Sir, your bending remains strong and you acted as regent just this morning," the sage states, "I assure you, with how present Agni has been of late, this would not be the case if you had come under the Sun Spirit's disfavor. If my words are not enough for you, ask Sage Abedni to tell you the story of the prince that betrayed the herald on a moonless night and earned the King of Flame's full displeasure by daybreak."

Iroh shifts uncomfortably and asks, "You are certain?"

"Completely," Shadra says, "Please, accept your place tonight as our representative to Agni."

Iroh turns his gaze to the bowl of fire and sighs. "Very well."

"Thank you."

Chapter Text

"Hama of the Southern Seas!" It's an odd form of address, but all that truly matters is what it means. She's been found out. Hama barely hears, let alone cares, what else the voice lurking behind her has to say. "You have wrought atrocities in my name! No more!"

Shock and an aging body keep her from reacting as quickly as she should, but she will not go back! She'll sooner die fighting than be put in a cage again!

Hama twists, four daggers of ice flying blindly from her fingertips in the direction of her unwanted interloper. The intruder is not what she had been expecting, from the second or so Hama had to build up images of soldiers and wardens in her mind. The teenager who's interrupted her doesn't look Fire Nation in the slightest. Hama doubts she's actually so much as human, glowing as she is in the darkened forest.

Human or not, the girl crosses her arms at the wrist in front of her chest. In the next instant, she throws her hands out to the sides and the ice daggers shred themselves into snow. From there, the Fire Nation's natural heat makes short work of the remains. The patter of a miniature rainstorm, there and gone again in but a moment, announces Hama's failure to kill her assailant.

Another waterbender? Here? In this forsaken land of heat and fire?

"More spirits!" cries that fool of a retired blacksmith. As much as she hates to give credence to anything Taro has to say, this time he may be correct. There is the sound of scrambling in the dirt but Hama doesn't dare look away to check on what Taro might be doing. The decrepit oaf is as harmless as he is useless, which is to say completely. There is a yelp followed by Taro yelling, "Ghosts!"

Hama's other prisoners begin to make a ruckus of their own. Pitiful, croaking cries for mercy echo through the open doorway to the abandoned mine. Usually, she revels in the sound of the Fire Nation suffering even a fraction of the injustice they have inflicted upon her, but tonight the futile pleas of the condemned are only an unwanted distraction.

A pair of burning eyes watching from behind the girl's shoulder shift, drawing Hama's attention to a previously unnoticed second interloper. In another moment, those torch-bright eyes are moving, stalking away from the glowing teen to skulk through the trees, form cloaked by forest shadows and untouched by the illuminating light of the full moon.

No matter. The eyes alone are enough of a target, and Hama isn't about to allow herself to be so easily flanked. She looses another cluster of ice daggers. These, likewise, never find their intended target.

Moonlight glints off the airborne ice and highlights the changing trajectory as all four daggers instead arc toward the first interloper. The girl all but dances around the ice, arms extended ahead of wickedly sharp points and hands twisting over each other to set the daggers spinning before releasing them with an upward flick. The ice falls into an orbit above the teenager's head like a crown.

"That one," the impossible stranger declares, "is under my protection." It should be a laughable claim from this little slip of a girl, but the proof of her abilities twinkles in the moonlight as ice circles serenely through the air, defying gravity and its own melting point alike, without so much as a hint of visible waterbending. "You will not touch him."

The eyes watching her from the dark narrow into a glare but say nothing. They pin her with an unbroken stare as again the -- spirit? man? creature? -- unknown figure slinks through the forest, if slower and with greater caution than before. The fact that the being, whatever its nature, would dare to continue at all is itself nothing short of a taunt.

Hama has had enough of these games.

"Who are you, then?" she snarls at the girl who has caught and stolen her ice twice now, "What do you want?" She cannot deny that this new waterbender is powerful, but Hama has long since learned that the powerful are also arrogant. A mistake will be made. It is only a matter of being ready to exploit it.

"Do you not recognize me, Hama of the Southern Seas?" the glowing teen asks, "Very well. I shall introduce myself."

The stranger raises a hand skyward and performs a tight twist with her wrist. Hama finds herself stumbling forward as her own body betrays her. All around, the forest groans and the very trees bow to the intruder, effortlessly bent to the will of a being wearing the guise of a child. For the first time since her early days in the Fire Nation prison, Hama's fear grows to be stronger than her rage.

"I am pull," the being says. The second hand swings up to mirror the first, dragging Hama up to her toes before she falls to her elbows and knees as those same hands descend with the power of a crashing wave during a monsoon storm. "I am the change of the tide." The figure approaches and no matter how Hama struggles to escape, the hold on her blood pins her to the ground. A pair of glowing feet reenter her field of vision as the girl says, "I am Tui."

"No," Hama denies in a rasp before growing more adamant as hysteria comes over her, "No, you can't be! The great spirits are gone!"

Her protestations are ignored.

"I am sister to Agni," the imposter claims, a deceptively gentle hand comes to rest under Hama's chin and tips her face up to meet the teenager's pale eyes, "reflector of his light."

"Tui and La forsook us! You can't be --"

Anger flashes like lightning over the trickster's face before she spins in place. One moment a girl stands before Hama, but in the next instant a miniature moon hangs in the air. As suddenly as the transformation had happened, it reverts, and Hama is left to stare up into the silvery-blue eyes that glare back.

"Do not presume to know me, Hama of the Southern Seas!" Tui warns, "You have thought of me only insofar as the power I have granted you. And you have abused it." Tears slip down the ancient spirit's youthful face. "Never before have my brother's children reviled me. You shroud yourself in my strength and obscure your actions with my presence. You have sullied my name amongst my brother's people! They speak of me with fear and contempt!"

The great Moon Spirit would visit her after the tribes have suffered untold generations of silence, only to weep over the enemies of those that have dedicated themselves to Tui and La?

Hama's pulse pounds beneath her skin and bile coats the back of her throat.

"What should the slurs and insults of these small-minded magots matter to you? After what they've done, they should know the full fury of the moon and ocean! They should have learned to fear you long ago!" Hama rages, "Tui and La are our patrons, our source! These ashmakers invaded our lands, attacked our tribes, and imprisoned our people! Why should such barbarians receive your protection when we did not?"

"It is humanity's nature to wage war against itself," Tui says, "You should have sought your vengeance with your own name, rather than attempt to steal mine."

"You abandoned us!" Hama spits, "You abandoned the world! Centuries of silence and not a trace of you to be found during even our most desperate moments of need! Where were you? When our people died, when our land was taken, when our tribes began to disappear, where were you? Why should a dead spirit's name be held sacred?"

Tui scowls down at her but offers no answers.

"Hama of the Southern Seas," the spirit intones, pressing her fingers to Hama's forehead, "my blessing will be with you no longer."

The spirit withdraws her hand and suddenly the whole world seems to warp and twist before everything fades away into darkness.

The bloodbender's second set of ice projectiles shine as moonlight reflects off their facets and Ozai fails to produce so much as a spark in his own defense, let alone the protective wall of flame he intends to create.

Before the Fire Lord even has time to panic, the sharpened ice swerves off to the right.

His heart pounds in his chest from the near miss and it is only due to long practice that he keeps his breaths steady.

"That one is under my protection," the Moon Spirit proclaims, "You will not touch him."

Tui has saved him where his bending has faltered. But why had it faltered?

Heat does not bloom at his back, no steadying hands rest on his shoulders, and his eyes remain open, but for all of that, Agni's voice is clear in his ear as he answers, "The waterbender is not your concern. Tui alone will judge her fate."

"I wasn't going to attack her!" Ozai hisses under his breath to the Sun Spirit, but he makes sure to keep his eyes locked on the old woman in front of him. The last thing he needs is to be taken unaware by any incoming attacks while his bending is compromised. He tries not to think too deeply about the revelation that Agni can apparently just switch his bending off at a moment's notice. He can still feel the warm chi pooled in his belly, so he doubts the inability to firebend will be permanent, but the realization is disturbing nonetheless. "I could have died!"

"Tui would not allow that," Agni dismisses, "If necessary, there are healers in both the Lunar and Solar Courts." As an afterthought, the spirit adds, "Though Lady Jang Hui is needed elsewhere for a time."

Why does it sound like Agni has started planning for an inevitability when the easiest way to prevent it would be to leave his bending unhindered?

Ozai scowls. He feels a headache growing. The Fire Lord crouches lower and continues to make his way to the open doorway still leaking sounds of misery. "I don't know if it would be better or worse if you understood how not reassuring that is," he grumbles.

He feels ever so slightly better when the bloodbender turns her focus back on Tui.

"Who are you, then? What do you want?" the woman yells.

Tui's response rings clearly through the night, "Do you not recognize me, Hama of the Southern Seas? Very well. I shall introduce myself."

Ozai nearly runs face first into a tree branch that suddenly sways into his path and the metal door produces a grating squeal as it swings on its hinges. The Fire Lord frowns but quickly decides that whatever Tui is doing, it isn't his place to question or interfere any more than it was a second ago. He alters his course to account for newly bowed trees and reaching shrubs, but otherwise he remains focussed on his goal. There are people that need him.

Agni sighs. "It has been a long time since I have dealt with man, child mine. I am out of practice," the spirit admits.

"Why are you even here right now?" Ozai asks. He's almost within reach of the door. Nearly there. "You've set for the day. You can't have seen from the sky."

"Once-Prince Iroh of Second Fire prays during a peculiar time, at a peculiar place, and several others with him. It caught my attention," Agni says, "The choice of ceremony was enough to prompt me to seek answers directly from Tui." Softer, the Sun Spirit adds, "It is good to see my sibling feeling well enough to take on such duties again. You both have your tasks in hand. I will leave you to complete them."

Ozai's fingertips curl over the edge of the door but something about what Agni has said nags at him and his feet still. It is an odd time to pray to the Sun Spirit. Why would a whole group of people be praying to Agni hours after sunset? It doesn't --

Ozai strangles a groan down to a hissing sigh full of steam and sparks. If he wasn't so irritated with himself, he'd probably be relieved to see his bending returned as seamlessly as it had been repressed. As it stands, he's left behind witnesses to a mad dash through the halls capped off by fleeing the palace and vanishing into thin air. And this happened after the day had already started with a pre-dawn miniature sun -- with the night before plagued by spirit dreams -- to say nothing of how he was dropped into his current present in the first place. Unc-- Iroh probably thinks he's been spirit-napped.

...Considering that Tui is inarguably the one deciding where they go and when, the assumption would not be wholly incorrect, even if Ozai did leave with the Moon Spirit willingly.

What a mess.

With his luck, the entire capital will be in an uproar by the time he returns.

A deep breath in.

A slow breath out.

One thing. Focus on just the one thing that needs to be done right now. The rest can come later.

Ozai pushes open the door and immediately sets the brush at his feet on fire.

Hama is fortunate that Tui has a claim.

Chapter Text

The smell hits him first. The moment Ozai pushes the door aside to step through its threshold, a wall of stench thick with human waste assaults his nose. A moment later, his eyes adjust enough to see Hama's handiwork. Chains and hollow cheeks fill his vision. Men and women, elders and a few scattered teens, all stare back at him with wide eyes.

He is only vaguely aware that the grass and brush at his feet has caught flame, rising and falling with every misery-tainted breath he takes. Sparks slip past his clenched teeth and he's rendered half-deaf by his own raging heartbeat. Blood boils in his veins and his vision tints red.

Despite Tui's and Agni's warnings, it's a struggle not to turn back around and seek out the one responsible with fire-wreathed hands.

Still, blinding rage isn't exactly a new emotion to him, and he's learned the hard way how detrimental it can be.

Ozai wrestles his breathing into something slower, forcing his heart to follow suit.

Immolating the bloodbender won't help these people.

...Much.

Honestly, while it's not their most immediate need, the majority of them would probably sleep better at night if they knew for a fact that their tormentor was dead. But Tui already has a claim on Hama. They'll have to settle for whatever passes as justice among the spirits.

Temper successfully shoved down deep enough to let him function, Ozai takes another look around the mine's entrance. People have been chained haphazardly to the tunnel's walls, some by their ankles or wrists, others around their waists or necks. All of the prisoners in the makeshift dungeon look half starved, many of them have untreated wounds that have been left to infection. It's a good thing the Fire Nation has a fairly stable climate, seeing as some of the prisoners are clearly dressed in the rags of their winter outfits while others are draped in the remnants of their summer clothes. There are regions in the Earth Kingdoms where being dressed for the wrong season can be a death sentence all on its own, but more importantly...

How long has Hama been doing this to his people?

How had he never known about this?

Why hadn't any of his friends ever told him?

"Agni!" someone swears and the curse is taken up in a ripple of shocked whispers and murmurs around the room. The sole unchained occupant of the abandoned mine, Hama's latest victim, hurriedly falls into a kowtow.

"K-King Agni!" the old man stutters at Ozai's feet.

Oh.

...Right.

Between the white fire and glowing eyes, is it any wonder he might be mistaken for a spirit?

Ozai extinguishes the brush fire he hadn't meant to start and raises a hand. His audience falls immediately silent.

"I am Fire Lord Ozai, Herald of Agni," he announces, voice echoing through the man-made tunnel, "I came here tonight with Moon Spirit Tui to address the actions of Hama." He decides against giving the woman any identifier beyond her name. Drawing attention to the fact that Hama is Water Tribe or acknowledging bloodbending as a bending form that others could learn both seem like poor ideas. It isn't as if these people will need a further identifier for their captor, anyway. "Are any of you able to walk under your own power?"

Tui watches the mortal woman collapse to the forest floor as fresh tears slip down the borrowed face of a teenage Katara.

Despite the ignorance with which they had been spoken, Hama of the Southern Seas' words ring true. The mortal woman could not have known how promises made under the chaotic first charter had been rendered infeasible by the restrictions of the second charter, and yet... And yet it cannot be disputed that oaths have been broken, prayers have gone unanswered, and duties have been neglected. The ever growing distrust of the moon among man is justified, and the rebuke is all the sharper for it.

Only time will tell if the third charter is capable of bringing forth a prosperity between spirit and man that the previous charters have failed to foster. And even should it succeed, Tui must still work to mend the wounds of a long absence and perceived indifference.

The bonds of the reforging hum at the back of the Moon Spirit's mind. The night's events have already become upsetting and this is not yet the final leg of the evening's planned journey. Tui's essence of serenity wavers under the strain of her heartbreak.

...Her?

It would seem there are more symptoms of instability brought about by tonight's activities than she had previously suspected.

Tui frowns as she takes stock of her current state. A discordant note in the reforging and deep sorrow welling up from depths left carefully unexamined. Closer to the forefront of her thoughts swirl concepts of life, death, and suffering; of fear, anger, and cyclical violence; of familial duties and bonds. All said, while Tui remains in control rather than lost in vicarious memories, she nonetheless is feeling rather human at the moment.

Perhaps this explains why Agni persists in orbiting her within the Lunar Palace, dressed in the worry of flickering electricity. Her brother -- Brother. Another human term slipping through her mind as if it has always belonged, rather than being taken on for convenience's sake when speaking with mortals. -- is being quite distracting, and Tui has become unpracticed at effectively splitting her focus. It is not long before the Sun Spirit takes notice that her attention has wandered back to the spirit world when it is meant to be on the mortal plane.

"Tui?" Agni says, not in man's tongue, but rather in the subtle gravitational waves of their shared native language. "I could still --"

"Agni," the Moon Spirit interrupts, "I am fine. What I need from you is trust."

"It is a situation that is difficult to refrain entering," the fire spirit insists, "and there is no need for you to face it alone."

"If I am to reclaim my place and duties as a great spirit, I must begin somewhere," Tui reasons, "This is a relatively minor task."

"This is two of my aligned, recently reforged, confronting unnecessary strains," the burning sphere says in lingering disgruntlement.

While Agni's concern is valid, to put the endeavor off may as easily create greater distress in the future, and it is too late to abandon the effort now, regardless.

"Brother," Tui says, gentle but determined, "The path may not be painless, but I am ready. And let us not pretend between us that we are not both keeping a careful watch on Ozai the Reforged. Your herald shall be well. As shall I."

The Sun Spirit is not so easily dissuaded, but the next offer is given with some reluctance. "If not me, La could --"

"Agni," the Moon Spirit interjects before her fellow spirit can finish the thought. It is a tempting option, but she will not grow by sheltering within the ocean's shadows any more than she would by being bolstered under the sun's light. "I must be capable on my own."

Electricity crackles. The Sun Spirit's orbit dips and sways. "...I am only a call away."

"I know," Tui says, allowing gratitude to touch her words, before diverting her attention back to the mortal world. Sorrows and regrets run deep within her, but Agni's charter has opened a path forward and she will neglect her duties no more.

On a small island within the Fire Lands, Tui wipes shed tears from the cheeks of a borrowed form and steels herself for what will come next.

Ozai hisses as the chains burn under his hands.

He's reclaimed some control since discovering his ability to bend Agni's white fire, but two days isn't nearly enough time to relearn how to produce the fine, concentrated dagger of flame needed to cut through Fire Nation steel without heat radiating throughout the material. On the longer chains, he can cup his hands around the anchor point and blast the steel and rock with a tight cyclone of flames until one of them gives. For the short chains, however... There's nothing for it. He doesn't currently have the restraint necessary to keep the heat contained through the usual forms.

The woman yelps as her chain melts and molten steel drips to the tunnel's floor.

A deep breath.

Two.

Then a third.

The glow of the metal dims and the end resolidifies into a messy collection of broken and stretched rings.

"The end is still hot," he says, repeating a warning he's given over a dozen times now, "Be careful not to let it burn you, and try not to grab any of the closer links. They might be hot enough to burn, too."

"Yes, Fire Lord," the woman rasps, tentatively grasping at the halfway point of the ruined chain.

Her name is Zira, and she is the last of those his limited triage skills have prioritized as requiring treatment sooner rather than later. The rest will have to wait until local blacksmiths arrive with the proper tools.

Releasing the scorched metal hurts almost as much as continuing to hold it had.

Zira glances down at his hands with a concerned frown. She isn't the only one among Hama's victims to do so.

Ozai allows the long sleeves of his robes to obscure them from sight.

"Oh..."

The Fire Lord looks back to see Tui's pale form lingering in the doorway, eyes slowly trailing over the scene as the spirit gradually shrinks into herself as if she were actually nothing more than an uncertain teenager. The Moon Spirit meets his gaze and says, "This is... worse, than I might have hoped."

"Tui?"

"Uh... Fire Lord, sir?" a boy asks. The teen is probably the youngest of Hama's prisoners. "Who are you talking to?"

The small collection of teenagers seem to share the speaker's confusion, but are either too polite or timid to question the Fire Lord. Most of the adults wear uneasy expressions.

"You can't see her," Ozai realizes with a sigh. He glances back at Tui without much hope for an explanation.

Tui defies his expectations. "Forgive me, Nephew. I deemed it best to return to the space between our worlds." The Moon Spirit gestures to the forest beyond the threshold. The bloodbender lies motionless at the base of the ethereal staircase of light that descends from Tui's main physical form. "These people have suffered much," the spirit appears pained as she admits, "and they have been given no reason to see me as their ally."

"But you're here to help them now, aren't you?" Ozai points out, "This could be --"

"No." Tui closes her eyes and says, "I am not."

The Fire Lord frowns. Tui is right here. More to the point, the Moon Spirit is clearly unhappy with what Hama has done and the harm it has inflicted on these people. What could prevent a great spirit from doing as they wish?

"Hama's actions, made duplicitously in my name, gave me a claim. Details of my alliance with Agni allow me a secondary claim to you. Beyond this, my ability to interact with the Fire Lands and Agni's children will be limited until such a time as the war has been brought to a complete end. As is the case for the other great spirits.

"We nearly destroyed this world a dozen times over while under the first charter, and interference in all of man's conflicts has been forbidden since the second charter was adopted. Even now, what allowances the third charter provides in regard to mortal wars are carefully restricted."

"This is one woman's sadism!" Ozai argues, "It's not part of the war!"

"Is it not?" Tui asks. "Her personal vendetta aside, Hama is a warrior of her people. She is here only because she was taken captive by her enemies before escaping her imprisonment. Over these past years, she has continued to strike at those she considers to be her people's enemies. It sounds much like war to me."

As much as he hates to admit it, Tui may have a point. A platoon cut off from the higher command structure is still a military unit. A soldier separated from their unit remains a soldier. And he's seen for himself how far afield a war can reach beyond its frontlines.

"I see." He doesn't have to like the presented facts in order to accept them. "I've sent runners to the nearest villages, for healers and blacksmiths and any others that might be able and willing to help."

Tui nods. "I am sure Agni will send healers from the Solar Court to assist. I am sorry, Nephew, but this is the most aid we can offer in this matter." The spirit glances around the tunnel and the anxious faces imprisoned within it. Weariness and regret cloud the Moon Spirit's expression. "Come. We have one more stop to make before I return you to the palace."

Tui leaves him to offer his farewells and doesn't look back.

Right. The waterbender prison. He'd almost forgotten that Tui had mentioned it earlier in the evening.

"Help is on its way. You'll be taken to nearby villages to recover until such a time as you are ready to return to your homes," he announces, "I'm sorry I can't stay with you longer, but there are other matters that require my attention and they can't be delayed."

He makes perhaps three strides toward the door before the croak of an old man's voice stops him. "Fire Lord! Please, wait!"

Ozai turns to face the speaker. He thinks his name might have been 'Hanzo'?

"What is it?"

The old man glances around warily before gathering up his courage to continue. "If you're dealing with the moon, be careful. Hama likes to boast it's what gives her the ability to turn people into her puppets."

The woman beside Hanzo snorts. She's one of the prisoners in better condition but too weak to safely make a trek through the nighttime forest on her own, and so remains chained to the stone behind her. "The witch claimed she was the moon's curse on the Fire Nation. Retribution for the Water Tribes' suffering over the last hundred years. Crazy old crone. Like the moon cares about our little island."

"If Tui didn't care, I wouldn't be here," Ozai says, "The Moon Spirit is the one who has brought an end to Hama's kidnappings. You won't have to worry about her after tonight." He decides against trying to explain any further. "I need to leave."

This time, nobody attempts to stop him and he meets Tui at the base of the celestial stairs.

"Before we go," Tui says, "we should tend to your hands."

Ozai suppresses a flinch. He's been trying not to think about them. "Do you heal? Like the northern waterbenders?" he asks as he lifts his hands with the palms upturned.

The skin is badly burned, raw and deformed into overlapping imprints from the chains. Blood and some clear bodily fluid that he has no ready name for weep over the melted flesh from ruptured heat blisters. As bad as the burns look, the smell is worse. It had been buried under other scents in the stagnant air of the mine, but there is nothing to distract from the smell of burned flesh now that he is out in the open forest. It doesn't help that the smell of burned flesh never fails to trigger memories that leave him feeling nauseous.

"A waterbender's gift is push and pull in balance," Tui answers, "I am pull alone. However, even without La at my side, surface wounds are within my capabilities to relieve." A concerned furrow develops in the center of the spirit's brow as she examines the damage he's done to himself. "And I had assumed I would be the foremost cause for Agni's anxieties this night," the Moon Spirit sighs, "This will be uncomfortable, but please attempt to be still."

Tui waves a hand over both of his and bits of metal tear away from where they had resolidified over his ruined skin. Ozai bites off a hiss at the sting. Steel pebbles rain down to the earth as Tui releases the refuse from her influence.

"Agni didn't seem that worried when he checked in earlier," Ozai says, if only to distract himself.

Tui glances up at his face and the spirit's lips purse into something dangerously close to becoming a pout. "I was not aware Agni had contacted you directly regarding tonight's endeavor," Tui admits, "but I am not surprised he withheld his concerns."

"What concerns?" Ozai asks, suddenly invested in the conversation. Anything big enough to give Agni pause is more trouble on the horizon than he wants to think about, but better to face it and be prepared than to ignore it and be overwhelmed.

Tui hovers her hands just above his own and blood wells up from the burns to coat both of their palms and fingers. True to the Moon Spirit's words, the sensation is uncomfortable, but Ozai wonders if Tui is at all aware of how disturbing the imagery is. Do spirits bleed?

The red liquid begins to glow and the light it casts is eerily similar to the night Zhao killed the moon. If the sight disquiets Tui as much as it does Ozai, the spirit gives no indication.

The chill of waterbending-style healing is almost lost beneath everything else calling for his attention.

"The binds of a reforging can be strained by discordance between existence and perception. Emotional upset can promote thoughts that create such a discordance." The Moon Spirit looks up to meet his eyes and tells him, "I am not my Yue, although I grew with her for sixteen years and carry her memories. Nor am I the Tui that came before me, but rather a glimmer of a much larger whole that has been lost. And yet, although I am a new creation, they are my foundation and remain a part of me still. To forget the past would be unwise. To cling to it could destroy me. I must accept both what I have lost and what I have gained through my reforging.

"You are likewise a new creation reforged from two entities. While Yue and Tui were aligned, it is my understanding that Zuko and Ozai were irreconcilably opposed. Incompatible souls and mortal bodies demanded consideration, and so you are of Zuko's soul and Ozai's body. This necessary concession leaves a clear division within your being and renders your reforging brittle. If you pry at the seams, you might find the separation comes too easily.

"While your reforging should strengthen as it sets, I would counsel you not to dwell too deeply on the past and its pains until such a time as you can fully accept yourself as you are now," the spirit says with sympathy-filled eyes, "When the past beckons you, do not forget that there is yet a future before you and you alone can choose which will receive your focus."

Tui withdraws.

The Fire Lord's blood drips to the ground from two sets of hands.

Agni had told him that he'd nearly died from Liukshi's actions, and the Sun Spirit had become enraged after learning the contents of his dream. Is this the reason? Why hadn't Agni explained this to him?

Fingertips brush the smooth skin under his left eye. The unexpected slick feeling of the habitual motion reminds him too late of the consequences inherent to such actions when performed with unclean hands.

The Moon Spirit is staring down at her own red-painted palms, fresh tears gathered in her lashes.

"Tui?"

The spirit closes her eyes, allowing the new tears to fall, before looking at him. Tui takes in his thoughtlessly smeared face and allows her posture to sag.

"Perhaps we should make a short detour," the Moon Spirit admits.

The world blurs as the staircase brings Tui, Ozai, and Hama to their next destination.

Chapter Text

The sound of the ocean is a near constant roar as wave after wave crashes over a black sand beach.

Tui circles her hands around each other in front of her chest until she holds a suspended globe of sea water between them. The spirit nods to him. "I expect our unscheduled arrival will cause a stir as it is. Appearing while covered in mortal blood will only add unnecessary stress to the situation."

Salt water isn't ideal for cleaning, but it's better than nothing, and he can worry about washing up properly once he's home.

"Thank you," Ozai says as he submerges his hands into the globe of water. Red wisps away as he scrubs at his palms, leaving unblemished skin behind. It's a relief to see. There had been a moment while he was freeing prisoners from chains when he'd started to suspect he might be doing permanent damage to his hands, and he still isn't sure what capabilities the healers of the Solar and Lunar Courts have, nor what rules the spirits in question might hold to.

Tui waits for him to finish before washing her own hands, the water twisting over itself with every rotation of her wrists.

Ozai swipes a thumb over his cheek and hopes he's at least cleaned off most of the blood he'd accidentally painted his face with. "Why..." he licks his dry lips and tries again, "Why didn't Agni tell me that... being 'opposed' to my father created a... divide and brittleness in my reforging?"

He hopes he's saying this right.

He hopes he understands what it is he's saying.

"I know my brother well, Fire Lord, but even I could not claim to know every thought of Agni's, nor all that his many schemes entail." Tui's brow furrows as she thinks. "I suppose, if I were to guess, Agni might have judged it best not to bring up the matter, lest the knowledge itself became a source of distress. You have adjusted better than I did to the initial changes inherent to a reforging. It may have been his hope that it would not become an issue, but... allowing you to remain ignorant would have its own dangers."

"So, both options presented dangers, but you and Agni disagree on which path is safest."

Tui steps down to the beach, spins, and releases her orb of dirtied sea water as if from a sling. The water separates into a scattering of globules before splashing onto the sand. The next wave washes away any red tint that might have been hidden by the night and the dark color of the volcanic sand.

"That is my guess. For a true answer, you would have to ask Agni directly."

Ozai watches in shock as a rogue wave surges up to tower over Tui before just as suddenly breaking to crash onto the beach just short of reaching the Moon Spirit's bare feet. A man -- No, a spirit. He must be. -- stands tall as the waters retreat. No further waves dash themselves upon the beach as the sea calms to an unnatural still.

"La," Tui greets, caught somewhere between affection and long suffering exasperation.

"My moon," the Ocean Spirit returns with an undeterred smile full of literal shark teeth.

Ozai blinks in surprise, and then he wonders why some part of him still expects spirits to be more human, let alone the Ocean Spirit. The first time he'd ever seen La, the great spirit had been a gigantic, glowing fish-monster made of salt water. Unsettlingly sharp teeth might just be La feeling cordial.

The spirit masquerading as a tribesman glances over at him, and then Hama's still form, with eyes as dark as the depths before turning his attention back to Tui. "I see your errand goes well," La says.

"Yes," Tui confirms, squaring her shoulders.

La tilts his head to the side. "Ah," the Ocean Spirit says as if caught by a sudden epiphany, "Peace, my moon, I am not so fretful as Agni, and I have not come here to meddle. If you believe yourself ready, I will yield to your judgement." The spirit shrugs. "Though if you find yourself in need, I will catch you."

"Oh." Tui relaxes. "Thank you."

"Mm," La hums in acknowledgement. "Agni's new spark seems to be adapting quickly."

Tui literally brightens at that remark. "Would you meet him?"

"I would whatever might please my moon," La says.

He's about to go through official introductions with an angry Ocean Spirit ready to put him down like a rabid armadillo-dog. Oh, and La is also fully aware that he's responsible for a series of islands.

...Great.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Tui returns to the staircase only to capture his hand and tug him down to the beach to stand before La.

"Nephew, I present to you La, Master of Seas," Tui says, "Beloved, this is Ozai the Reforged, Herald of Agni." The Moon Spirit looks happier than Ozai has thus far witnessed through their limited meetings.

"I know this one," La says. The grin he levels at Ozai is amused but not friendly. La's eyes are swallowed by darkness as he leans forward and the Fire Lord forces himself to hold his ground in the face of the looming Ocean Spirit. "Three years of shouting from a rusting little boat seeking to imprison Raava, one night of particular foolishness in the Northern Seas, and a week of bitter words from a small raft."

Tui dims. "I had not considered your... past associations."

"Hm," the Ocean Spirit hums. La cocks his head to the side before withdrawing. His eyes return to a mostly human appearance. As do his teeth, for that matter. "My attention was elsewhere after organizing favorable currents for the raft. This," La says while pressing a single finger against Ozai's chest, "is not the first the King of Flames has schemed to preserve you."

"...Agni arranged for our passage?" It makes sense in hindsight. Making a voyage through arctic waters on a raft with limited steering capabilities should have ended in their deaths, one way or another. It also seems like it might be the safest direction to steer the conversation, considering the current company.

"Yes," La confirms, "and spent much sway to do so. This latest scheme had a deeper cost still. You should be careful, child of Fire. Agni is a great spirit and holds high status among us, but even great spirits can run out of favors to leverage." The Ocean Spirit's face softens unexpectedly, like jagged ice melting into a reflective pool. It's far from warm, but at least La no longer appears one excuse away from drowning him. "I... begin to understand the King of Flames' investment."

Tui perks up. "Yue?"

"The patronship prompts unanticipated tendencies," La admits. Dark eyes slide over Ozai again, measuring and judging, but whatever the ocean's verdict is, it goes unvoiced. "The hour is late. Yue of the Northern Seas rests. This spark should be returned to his hearth before the sun finds more to fret over. Be swift, my moon."

That's two spirits now that have mentioned Agni's anxiety over this outing, despite the Sun Spirit's apparent calm when they spoke while Tui was dealing with Hama. Spirits may not lie, but how much does Agni hide behind misdirection and silence?

Ozai frowns, recalling how Agni had allowed Iroh to assume his vision of a Fire Lord and Avatar performing a kata alongside dragons was some ancient ritual rather than an event that took place only a few years past. It doesn't seem to be based in the sort of malicious nature that his sister's lies so often were, but he can't help being a bit perturbed by the realization, either.

"That is my intent," Tui promises while allowing La to take hold of one hand.

The Ocean Spirit presses a kiss to the back of her fingers before his form dissolves into sea foam. A new wave crashes onto the shore seconds later as the ocean resumes its natural rhythms.

Tui sighs. "That did not go as well as I had hoped," the Moon Spirit says, "but perhaps introductions have still concluded better than they might have."

His mind's eye conjures an image of La as a glowing tower of water, so tall that it eclipses the sun above Caldera. The imagined spirit proceeds to crash down with all the might of a tsunami, destroying everything on the island. Ozai allows a grimace to cross his face.

"Honestly, so long as the ocean behaves more or less as it always has around the Fire Nation, I'll have no complaints," the Fire Lord says.

"...If it is of consolation, the same charter that prevents Agni from providing greater assistance likewise restricts La's actions," Tui offers.

"That's... something," Ozai says for lack of a better response.

"Come," Tui beckons, "The prison resides at the top of these cliffs." The Moon spirit gestures to the sheer wall of black rock beyond the beach. Perched high above them is a steel building pulled from the night's shadows by the full moon's light and a handful of thin windows.

Ozai nods and joins Tui once more on the spirit's celestial staircase.

"There is little I will be able to do here," Tui informs him as they reach the top of the cliffs and come to rest nearly a hundred feet from the outer walls of the waterbenders' prison, "The authority to make changes rests with you, Nephew."

Ozai frowns up at steel walls and nods. "Let's get this done."

The Fire Lord leaves Tui's stairs of light for the barren rock surrounding the prison. He lifts a hand, using his bending as a beacon in the night, and bellows, "Guards!"

The reaction is more or less what one might expect when showing up at a high security prison unannounced and unscheduled. Fireballs fly from the top of the wall, creating a rough circle around him. Before the fire even has a chance to burn out on the stripped stone, a tighter circle of arrows surrounds him.

A Yuyan squad? He wouldn't have thought there would be any stationed here.

"Stay where you are!" a voice yells as a large set of doors open, "Do not move!"

Guards pour from the compound. One team heads directly for him while another four spread out to search the area. "Identif--" the team leader almost chokes on his own words as he gets close enough to see Ozai more clearly, "F-Fire Lord?"

"It's true!" one of the other guards gasps, the declaration muffled by his helmet, as the team falls into formation.

"I am Fire Lord Ozai," he answers as he evaluates the team. All sergeants, not a single private among them, though that's not unusual for a war prison important enough to be located within the Mother Islands. The team consists of three firebenders and two spearmen. It's a fairly standard composition for a team, outside of specialized branches, balancing weapons specialists with benders for flexibility.

He can't be sure what exactly is going through the mind of each guard, but most of them glance none-too-subtly above his head before bowing. Ozai spares a moment to be thankful that Tui sought him out at his last meeting of the day rather than after he'd been prepared for bed. While it's not the full regalia he'd be wearing for most public displays or duties performed outside of the palace, it's a lot more convincing than showing up with unbound hair and dressed only in loose pants would have been.

"We weren't expecting you, sir," the team leader says, still bowing over the sign of the flame.

"Rise," Ozai commands, "I wish to speak with the warden."

"Yes, your majesty!" the lead guard says, dismissing one man with a quick hand gesture, "Is there anything else we can do for you until the warden arrives?"

"You can signal the all clear," Ozai answers bluntly, "The company I keep tonight won't be found through the usual search methods."

"Yes, sir!" the man says before pulling a whistle from his belt. The team leader stops just as he is bringing the small tool to his lips. "...Er, the sound can be unpleasant, your majesty, and loud," he warns.

"Proceed."

It is loud, but he's spent enough time on ship and at port to grow used to the noise created by a military whistle. He also knows the patterns. Rather than the 'all clear' he had ordered, the team leader signals 'hold fire; allies.'

The meaning is close, but willfully amending a superior's orders is a potentially disastrous act of insubordination and it carries an equally dire punishment. It could be argued that the guardsman had chosen a better message to relay, one that provided more information, but the problem is that the man hadn't offered that alternative to Ozai. Instead, the guard had substituted the Fire Lord's words with his own.

"That will do, Sergeant," he says as the team leader returns the whistle to its designated pouch, "The next time a superior gives you an order to sound an all clear, I expect you will sound an all clear."

All four of the remaining team members immediately still, betraying their sudden tension through the armor of their uniforms. "Y-yes, sir," the lead guard manages in a rasp, bowing low in apology, "...Y-you mentioned company?"

"You may rise," Ozai says before he looks over his shoulder at Tui and asks, "Will you join me as I inspect the prison?"

Tui stares up at the prison with a furrowed brow, but she soon meets his gaze. "Yes," the Moon Spirit confirms and spins, abandoning Katara's form for that of a middle-aged man, though the stark white hair makes him -- Him? ...Trying to impose consistency on a spirit of 'changing faces' sounds like a quick way to drive himself mad while accomplishing nothing. 'Him,' it is. -- appear older than the borrowed face likely is. It takes Ozai another second to place the new face as Chief Arnook of the Northern Water Tribe. The Moon Spirit lifts Hama with a little more than a wave of his hand before settling the unconscious woman over his shoulder.

The four remaining guards startle as Tui returns to the mortal world but all of the men keep their heads well enough that there are no attempted attacks on the spirit. Belatedly, it occurs to Ozai that he should probably come up with a better way to introduce spirits other people can't see or hear. Some handle shock better than others, after all, and his luck guarantees trouble sooner rather than later if he doesn't figure out a solution.

"This is Moon Spirit Tui," Ozai says, burying the embarrassment he feels over his own lacking foresight. One nice thing about being Fire Lord, however, is that his social blunders are rarely commented on.

After a moment's hesitation, the team leader bows as if greeting a visiting noble and the others swiftly follow suit. "Welcome, Moon Spirit," the guard says, "You honor us with your presence."

"Do I?" Tui wonders, "This visit is a necessity, but hardly pleasant."

"I... regret to hear that," the team leader says, clearly out of his depth by this point.

The sergeant and his team are saved from further conversation by the warden's arrival.

"Fire Lord!" the older man greets as he hurries to join them, the missing member of the guard team trailing him dutifully, "A pleasure to see you well, and an unexpected honor to have you visit us this fine night! Welcome to Kitaika Prison. I am Warden Masaki." He and the returning sergeant both bow upon reaching the odd group. "Please, what can we do to further serve the nation?"

Chapter Text

Kallik watches the door through too-long hair.

"What do you suppose has the gull-pipers flocking?" Hanta asks from his cage two down and across the catwalk.

"Dunno," Nuniq grumbles from the cage directly facing Kallik's own, "Nothin' good for us. Never is."

"Tch!" Hanta chides, "This place is depressing enough without your pessimism."

Nuniq answers only with a halfhearted shrug and a grunt.

"Quiet!" Aput hisses, located far to Kallik's left and closest to the cellblock door, "Boots!"

A second.

Two.

He can hear the ring of hardened soles on steel floors for himself now.

Four.

Fi--

The door opens and several guards swarm into the room. Torches are lit in rapid succession, the light harsh on eyes that have grown used to the prison's evening darkness.

So much for any hopes that the ruckus would pass them by.

Ozai has never actually met Warden Masaki before. He hadn't had the time to personally see to the release of the Southern Water Tribes' benders, between the pressure from the Earth Kingdoms to decolonize the Eastern Continent's western shores, and the Fire Nation's own reluctance to accept the results of the war's end. Still, there hadn't been any reported problems transferring custody of the prisoners to Chief Hakoda and his warriors to be taken back to the South. There shouldn't be any reason for Masaki to cause any trouble this time, either.

"Rise," he commands. "Politics in Caldera have been changing rapidly, including the course of the war. The waterbenders held here are of particular interest to Moon Spirit Tui."

"I... see," Warden Masaki says as his gaze slides over to Tui, seemingly taking in the Moon Spirit properly for the first time. Ozai isn't sure how. Tui literally glows in the dark. Even standing within the ring of light from Ozai's sustained firebending, the Moon Spirit shines brighter than white silk alone can account for. "Forgive me. We received word that the spirits had grown active in Caldera, and we witnessed for ourselves Agni's second sun over the capital this morning, but we had not considered that the Moon Spirit may come to visit us... here."

Ozai lifts an eyebrow. "Is there a problem, Warden?"

The man opens his mouth, hesitates, and then admits, "Quite possibly, my lord."

"Warden?"

Masaki's eyes glance over at Tui again before he answers, "I am uncertain these concerns should be discussed in present company, your majesty."

"Warden Masaki," Tui cuts in, "I am not unfamiliar with war, nor with man's cruelty to their fellow man."

Masaki's expression turns grim as he says, "...While I do not doubt your words, great spirit, you are the patron of my prisoners. Your presence alone could insight a riot. If not tonight, then perhaps in the future."

"I do not seek to inspire conflict," Tui assures.

"Tui is here at my invitation," Ozai says before the warden can try another carefully worded objection, "Any issues that result from my decision will just have to be dealt with as they materialize."

"Of course, your majesty," the warden says, though his misgivings remain clearly painted across his features. "And the... third member of your party?" he asks, gesturing with an upturned hand at the limp form slung over Tui's shoulder.

"A returned prisoner," Tui says, "Hama of the Southern Seas."

The warden suddenly appears pale as death. "...the witch?"

Ozai hopes he's managed to better disguise his own surprise at Tui's words. "You aren't taking her back to her tribe?" That had been his assumption when he'd seen that Tui had spared the bloodbender's life, but apparently that is not to be the case.

"I cannot. Ferrying mortals across the boundaries of man's wars is forbidden under the current charter. The exceptions created by right of my claim allow me to return Hama of the Southern Seas to the place where she first abused my name, but no further," Tui speaks firmly, but the spirit's eyes hold regret, "With our arrival here, the completion of my judgement and claim are nigh. Beyond that, her fate, and that of all the waterbenders housed within this prison, will lay under your authority, Fire Lord."

"I see." Just to be sure, he asks, "Then you likewise will not be escorting the other waterbenders back to their nation tonight?"

"No." So much for the easy option. Tui dips his head and holds Ozai's gaze as he says, "I would, however, be most grateful for any mercy you might extend to all who I will be leaving in your care."

Ozai glances at the still unconscious woman that has caused so much suffering. He can't help the scowl that steals across his face but he nods all the same. "I understand."

Warden Masaki clears his throat but his voice is still strained as he asks, "The prisoners are scheduled to be released, then?" The man doesn't take his eyes from the bloodbender.

"No schedule yet, but there are plans to return them to the South," Ozai corrects and barely keeps himself from slipping into a grumble as he adds, "Once I can arrange transport for them." He's not sure how he's supposed to accomplish that without causing an international incident -- at best -- but he'll figure something out. "For now, let's start with a tour of the facility."

"If I may?" the warden interjects a bit desperately, "Perhaps we should secure that one first, if the prisoners are not to be immediately relocated?"

"That may be necessary," Tui admits with a sigh.

If both Tui and Masaki have reached the same conclusion, Ozai isn't about to argue with them. "Lead the way, Warden."

"Yes, your majesty!" Despite his words, Masaki hesitates before visibly forcing himself to turn his back on the incapacitated bloodbender that so obviously unnerves him.

Ozai refrains from commenting on the man's apparent and persistent fear over a single waterbender. It isn't as if the agitation is unjustified, given what Ozai has witnessed of Hama's actions thus far. The remembered image of dirty faces with hollow cheeks is chased by the stench of waste and decay. If that is what Hama is capable of doing with her freedom, what must she have been willing to do to break her chains?

Ozai doubts the answer is one he wants to hear.

The steel is unyielding, heavy, and familiar. What is not familiar is the timing. Firebenders rarely do anything under the full moon other than patrol or sleep. They certainly do not feed or bathe waterbenders at such a disadvantageous time.

"What happened?" Kallik asks the guard securing him in shackles, "Why are we all being chained?"

Sergeant Yasu glances at him briefly, but the other man says nothing. Kallik would not expect otherwise. He likes Yasu well enough, considering that they each belong firmly on opposing sides of a generations-long war, but the young man is unfailingly serious in his tasks.

After the last manacle is fastened and locked, Yasu answers in a lowered voice, "A man claiming to be the Fire Lord has come to Kitaika. Apparently, he wields the white flames. The warden has gone out to meet him."

"The Fire Lord?" Kallik wonders. That has never once happened in all the years he has been held captive in this building of unfeeling metal. What could have prompted such a visit? "I hope I'm presentable enough," he jokes. He must have been the last of Yasu's responsibilities to secure this time because the firebender lingers long enough to listen to his response.

"This is precautionary. I doubt the Fire Lord, current or ascendant, will bother to check in on the prisoners personally." Ascendant? Has the throne come into question? Could this be the reason most of the guards had been so distracted all through the day? "And you look as well as you ever do," Yasu dismisses curtly, but he scrutinizes Kallik up and down with pursed lips before reaching out and straightening the shoulders of Kallik's prisoner tunic. Brusque but careful hands push Kallik's hair back from his face. "I can't help you if you let it slip forward again."

Kallik allows himself a wry huff rather than the chuckle he knows would ruffle the feathers of an easily embarrassed chick. Not for the first time, Kallik thinks of how Yasu might have benefitted if he had possessed a few more friends during his childhood years. Regardless, attempts at kindness should be acknowledged, and especially in places like this. "Thank you."

The young sergeant offers a stiff nod and walks away to tend to whatever his next duty is to be tonight.

Masaki does not much care for the padded isolation cells nestled at the heart of Kitaika, but there are times when they have proven necessary and he has never been more grateful for their existence than he is now. With the return of the blood witch, he is not sure where else she could be placed, let alone held. Unfortunately, they aren't designed for long-term detainment. He's going to need to come up with something else sooner rather than later. Regardless, an isolation cell will have to do until at least the full moon is past them.

He oversees Sergeants Hiroto and Michi as they fasten the restraint jacket with more attention than he has given to any procedure performed in the prison before it. He pays similar attention to the locking of the door. Only once the cell and its occupant are secured does some of the tension begin to leave his shoulders, but even then the relief is minimal.

He knows the blood witch -- 'Hama,' according to the Moon Spirit's words. -- solely by the stories she left behind. The report written by his predecessor (left at the top of everything, like a warning, or a premonition) had recounted the results of Kitaika's lone successful escape attempt with a deceptively concise bullet point summary followed by pages of ruthless detail. Three guards had been slain by the night's end, another four were crippled for life, and one inmate had been murdered. The inmate's death had been particularly chilling. Her lungs had filled with her own blood and she'd drowned in her still locked cell before the chaos had settled. Every interview Masaki had conducted upon accepting his current position as Kitaika's warden, both formal and informal, whether with surviving guards or less reticent prisoners, had only confirmed and further built upon the previous warden's assertions. As far as Masaki can tell, as harsh and rigid as Warden Akira is reputed to have been, the man hadn't deserved his forced retirement, nor the dishonorable mark on his military record that had come with it.

And now a Fire Lord wielding Agni's Flames and a great spirit have seen fit to return the blood witch.

Masaki has never particularly enjoyed his job as a prison warden, but he cannot recall another time when he has so fervently regretted not resigning from the military after completing his years of mandatory service. He should have gone back to work the family farm while he'd had the option. If he had, he wouldn't be here, wondering whether death or dishonor would find him first.

"This is the nearest occupied cellblock," Warden Masaki explains, opening a door that looks much the same as all the others in the prison, "There are four-hundred and seventeen prisoners currently interned in Kitaika. Each block has a maximum capacity of fifty inmates. The standard cellblocks are all uniform in their construction and the procedures followed, but I can escort you to each of them if that is your desire, Fire Lord."

Ozai barely hears the other man speaking. His gaze traces over hungry faces with too-attentive eyes and he wishes that this wasn't precisely the same sort of tableau that he'd become suddenly familiarized with in an abandoned mine scarcely an hour ago.

"Worse than I might have hoped, but better than I had most feared," Tui sighs, sounding tired, "It seems to be the unfortunate pattern this night is destined to follow."

"I'm sorry," Ozai finds himself saying in a hoarse voice. It is an entirely inadequate offering for the wronged spirit standing beside him, let alone the people caged and shackled in front of him, "I didn't realize..."

He'd meant to leave them like this until he'd had the warfront stabilized. That goal alone might take him months to accomplish, and in the meantime these people would have --

A hand falls to rest on his shoulder. Ozai looks over to discover sympathy on Tui's face.

"You had no part in this. Not the construction of the building nor the orders to imprison my people within it," Tui says, "And I have faith that you will act with compassion where your ancestors have shown only cruelty. You owe me no apologies, young Fire Lord."

Doesn't he?

Ozai swallows past the horror and shame before giving Tui an accepting nod.

"I'll fix this," he promises.

Chapter Text

For a brief moment in time, Ozai had assumed Hama to be a unique kind of monster for her displayed skill in human misery. He should have known better. One look around the room not only finds him disabused of that naive notion but leaves no doubts as to who her teachers had been.

Is it better or worse that the soldiers here act only on their superiors' orders rather than active vendettas?

The answer eludes him, but it was a pointless question anyway. Regardless of who has perpetrated the greater wrong, people under his authority have suffered.

The Fire Lord forces himself to walk through the doorway and face the results of his nation's actions.

Kallik watches as the new arrivals enter. The two men must be important, because Warden Masaki personally holds the door open for them.

They make for an odd pair, a living study in opposites highlighted by their underlying similarities.

The first to step into the cellblock is clad in the typical deep reds and black of the Fire Nation, complete with pointed shoulders and shoes. His black hair is collected up in the nation's standard fan-like topknot and decorated with a golden, five-pronged flame. Is this the Fire Lord, then? Despite his fine clothes, Kallik discovers that he is underwhelmed by this stranger. The guards always speak of their lord as if he were a god among men and Kallik had built up a few expectations over the decades. This man appears to be little different from any other firebender that Kallik has encountered. The most noteworthy feature about the man is his golden eyes, which catch the light of the torches oddly and almost appear to glow.

The second man moves with an eerie grace and soon stands shoulder to shoulder with the first. He is dressed as finely as his companion and of a similar height, but what captures Kallik's attention is his dark skin and pale blue eyes. Does he belong to one of their tribes? What is he doing here? Why does he walk free while surrounded by soldiers? Whatever the case may be, he stands out starkly from his surroundings. The man is dressed entirely in white, styled in looser draping shapes compared to the precise, harsh lines favored by the Fire Nation, and bare feet peek past the long, wide hems of his pant legs as he walks. His hair and beard are as white as his clothes with the longer locks that frame his face neatly threaded through round, luminescent beads.

"Benders of the Southern Water Tribes," says the man with the golden flame in his topknot, "I am Fire Lord Ozai." That is one question among many answered, at least. "Herald of Agni," he continues, because the Fire Nation loves creating endless titles, "and Nephew of Tui."

That causes a stir. His fellow prisoners bristle at the claim, guards shift uncomfortably, and the man dressed in white looks away with one hand poorly concealing a smile.

Across from him, Nuniq sneers, "Keh, liar." Thankfully, the other man has enough sense to keep his voice low and none of the guards appear to have heard the muttered accusation directed at their nation's sovereign.

"I realize you have little reason to trust me," Fire Lord Ozai says with barely a pause to acknowledge the tension in the room, "but I mean to end the war between our peoples, and one of the first steps I am taking to mend the relationship between our nations is to return you to your homes. I know this will not be enough, but I hope you will allow it to be a start."

And then the Fire Lord bows.

If that was not enough of a shock, Kallik realizes it is not the high, pointed sign of the flame he offers to complement the action. Instead... Kallik is almost certain the Fire Lord is bowing over the sign of the wave.

It's wrong of course. The Southern Tribes collectively use and recognize the sign of the moon when dealing with any outsider to their home tribe. The sign of the wave is used by their northern cousins. Still, the differences might be easily overlooked by foreigners, and he can only assume this is a genuine attempt at respect.

Respect is a good indicator of a man's character, but better still is his reaction to correction. What happens next will inform the tribes to what degree this Fire Lord should be trusted.

Kallik dearly hopes a few more of his expectations will be proven wrong.

"If I may, Fire Lord," Kallik says, raising his voice to be heard but mindful to keep the tone respectful. There's no need to make the test too aggressive a provocation. He's only looking to gain an initial measure of this Fire Lord, after all. "It is the Northern Water Tribe that bows over the sign of the wave. We use the sign of the moon."

If the room had been tense before, the frost in the air could not be cleared with a torch now.

A flush steals over the monarch's pale cheeks and his eyes lock onto Kallik as the perpetrator of his embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize... I don't know the sign of the moon," the Fire Lord admits. The man's long sleeves fall to cover his hands as he straightens.

The man in white laughs softly. "Like this, young Fire Lord," he says. The possible tribesman begins by folding his hands into the sign of the wave. "Rotate the fist ninety degrees, just the same as it would be for the sign of the flame," he narrates along with his demonstration, "The left hand's fingers should be kept together. Anchor the heel of the hand under the small finger of the fist. Cup the left hand over the fist's fingers to approximate the shape of my crescent phase."

The Fire Lord takes direction well and soon forms a passable sign of the moon, but Kallik is a bit stuck on the man in white's odd phrasing. His 'crescent phase'? Who is this man?

"My apologies," Fire Lord Ozai says, bowing over the correct sign this time, "I'll be sure to remember in the future."

The words could have been ominous, considering who had spoken them, but the humility with which they are offered renders them promising instead. Azulon's son seems to be a different sort altogether from his father.

The Fire Lord rises from the second bow he has given to the war prisoners and meets Kallik's gaze again.

Kallik bows his head, the most he can offer in return with his current restraints, and says, "Your consideration honors us." It's not the typical phrasing the tribes would utter amongst themselves for such a sentiment, but the words should translate well to Fire Nation ears.

The Fire Lord turns his attention to Warden Masaki. "Release them. Let them bring the news to the other cellblocks themselves. Send guards with them as an escort and to release the other prisoners as they go. Have the cooks prepare meals that are easy to keep down. Small portions, but served many times a day until the waterbenders regain their strength." There is a brief pause, possibly hesitation, and then the Fire Lord commands, "Start with broths."

Broth? To be sipped unshackled? It seems he is not the only one presenting a test of trustworthiness tonight. How many waterbenders does the prison still hold? Will they all be punished if some of the warriors choose vengeance over the promise of freedom?

Masaki looks nearly ill as he bows and says, "Yes, Fire Lord."

Kallik could almost sympathize with their latest warden. He and his allies are the ones set to be newly armed and his nerves are buzzing like the summer mosquito-bee swarms at just the thought.

The unknown tribesman clears his throat. "I would relish the opportunity to free some of the Southern Seas' waterbenders myself," he says, "This block, at least, if it meets your approval, Fire Lord."

Kallik isn't sure why, but the implied request causes warden and Fire Lord alike to freeze. Masaki appears ready to pass out.

The Fire Lord drops his voice from the clear projection of a man used to giving speeches and commands to a speaking voice that cannot quite be called hushed. With the room silent aside from the forced air, his voice still carries to most of the ears present. "What exactly do you intend to do?" he asks cautiously, as if he is decidedly not the most powerful man in the room despite having the permission of his authority entreated. "I know I said I'd free them, Tui --" The stranger claims to be the Moon Spirit? Is he crazy? "-- but I also don't have anywhere else prepared to house them tonight -- probably not for several nights -- and it will be months before the weather will allow us to send any ships south."

"Just the outer locks, then," the mad heretic bargains, "as a show of good faith. Would you believe yourself to be anything other than a prisoner as long as locks remained on your door?"

Fire Lord Ozai's eyes flicker across cages and shackles as much as they do prisoners before he sighs and says, "Do as you will."

The man in white laughs lightly and clasps the Fire Lord's shoulder. "Worry not, Nephew, I will keep the mess to a minimum, and the steel can always be reforged to a new life."

Fire Lord Ozai squints oddly at his companion and supposed uncle. "Was that purposeful, or..."

The heretic chuckles as he walks further down the hall. "You might recall that there was a certain young warrior that I was once quite fond of," he says in answer.

The Fire Lord tips his face down and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Purposeful. Very, very purposeful," he decides.

No further explanation is offered and the next moment ensures that Kallik forgets every one of his half-formed questions about the exchange.

The heretic spins toward Aput's cage, hands close together before being thrown wide in what might be some foreign bending form. Neither water nor fire are summoned by the move but everyone flinches at the deafening screech of the steel as it shears apart, pulled by an undeniable force in opposing directions. A sweep of two arms leaves the torn metal to orbit the head of the very-much-so-not-human being dressed in white. A second later, the being spins and dances with all the grace of a master waterbender to his next target.

The most terrifying thing, however, is not the impossible metalbending. No, what scares Kallik far more is how his chi is tugged toward the white-robed stranger with every lock torn asunder.

The being in white is no heretic.

For reasons and timing unknown, Tui has come tonight to free them.

Have other great spirits returned?

What does this mean for mortal men?

How is one meant to greet the spirits, again?

Kallik struggles to remember boyhood lessons and hopes fervently that the spirits will be merciful to a people that had believed them dead.

The guards all flinch with every new shriek of shearing metal. Ozai can't blame them. The sound makes a military whistle seem pleasant by comparison. At least Tui seems to be having a good time, under his growing crown of destruction. Considering what the consequences had been the last time a patron spirit of the Water Tribes had turned their attention on a target made of Fire Nation steel, Ozai is more than happy to let Tui rend as many locks as the spirit pleases.

Of course, the waterbenders seem as wary of Tui as the guards are. He might have to find a way to suggest Tui behave a bit less obviously spirit-like around people who don't spend their vacations traveling with the Avatar. Not that he has the first clue how he's supposed to say that tactfully.

"Try to relax, Warden," he says, eyes still tracking the twirling spirit.

Another lock, another round of flinching from guards and prisoners alike. The sound really is awful.

"Forgive me, my lord," Masaki says, voice reduced to a croak, "This is a bit... overwhelming."

It would be for the uninitiated, he muses. He's been chasing spirit tales since he was thirteen, and living in one since turning sixteen. Granted, he used to have time to breathe between encounters with Aang, be it as foe or friend, and the chaos the young Avatar was constantly surrounded by.

"One thing at a time," he advises, "Trying to think about it all at once can be too much, so breathe and focus on one or two things you can make progress on. After the storm in your mind clears, you can reorient yourself and focus on the big picture again."

"A storm of the mind? I can't say I've heard that one before, but it's an accurate descriptor," Masaki says. The warden waves a few of the guards closer.

Ozai's brow furrows. Who had he first heard that turn of phrase from? It's an old memory, clouded by age and relative unimportance, for all that a piece of it has stuck with him through the years. He knows Aang had used the phrase on occasion, but the Avatar hardly belongs in his early childhood memories of the palace.

"Start unshackling the prisoners behind Moon Spirit Tui," Warden Masaki directs.

"Yes, sir!" the guards chorus, some voices shakier than others, before moving to obey the command.

"The cells will have to suffice in the short term, but we'll need to provide better housing for them until we can return them to the South," Ozai muses aloud. If Masaki happens to latch on to it as his one thing to focus on, so much the better for them both.

"I'll have a few guards begin scouting the island at daybreak for suitable building sites," Masaki says, "I doubt the waterbenders will prefer to remain inside the compound if given a choice."

"That's not a bad idea. Tents would be fastest."

"I hear most of the tribes use tents in the South, anyway, for months at a time if not year-round. Perhaps the familiarity will be a comfort."

Ozai hums in half-agreement. "They're different from ours and not so uniform as you might imagine. There's a lot of variance by tribe in the size and shape of their tents. Most of them use hides as coverings rather than canvas."

Masaki doesn't answer.

Ozai glances over at the warden to find him staring.

"Is something wrong, Warden Masaki?"

The man turns butter-beet red and offers a hasty bow. "Forgive me, your majesty! I hadn't expected you to be well versed in Water Tribe subcultures. They haven't been of political interest in decades."

Ozai looks away as he feels a flush of his own take over his face. He's grateful that nearly every eye in the room is locked on Tui at the moment.

"I do know something about the Southern Water Tribes, if clearly not everything," he says. In retrospect, he probably should have realized that Katara, having trained under a Northern Water Tribe bending master, had in turn taught him a Northern-style of bow. He wishes Hakoda or one of the other Southern warriors had mentioned it to him at some point, though. This has not been how he would have preferred to find out he was mimicking a culture literally a world away from the one he had meant to honor. At the last second, the Fire Lord remembers to tack on, "You may rise."

After a moment's hesitation, Masaki asks, "What kind of tents should we requisition for them?"

Ozai shrugs. "Barrack tents will be the most practical, initially, but get a few of each type. If they decide they'd rather have a different style than the barracks or some other lodging entirely, we'll do our best to accommodate them. Send the requisition request directly to my office and note it as urgent. I'll ensure it gets approved swiftly."

"Yes, Fire Lord. And..." Masaki lowers his voice, "What should be done with the returned prisoner?"

Ozai grimaces. At least Warden Masaki has the discretion to ask such a question while Tui is distracted and simultaneously creating an effective distraction for everyone else. But then, the warden had obviously been concerned with such from the beginning.

"You can't keep her in that padded cell, can you?" he asks.

"A maximum of three-hundred-sixty degrees at a time," the prison warden confirms, "For long-term use with a single prisoner, it is recommended one-hundred-eighty in and one-hundred-eighty out. Greater isolation has led to... disturbing results in the past."

Well, that sounds ominous. "You'll have to elaborate on that."

"The reports mention prisoners either going feral or quiet. Most recovered, but recovery time got longer for each prisoner with repeated exposure."

He was right. That's nothing short of nightmarish.

Ozai takes a steadying breath and says, "Please tell me we haven't been driving waterbenders insane for the last century."

"No, my lord. The reports are from the first five years of Kitaika's operation. These days a strict policy is enforced across all prisons against extended isolation and robbing inmates of their minds. But that leaves me with few options as to how to contain the blood witch."

"Right," Ozai sighs. "...Bloodbending is only possible under a full moon, and the full moon is usually only three nights of a given month. You said the isolation cells can be used safely in half-day cycles?"

"Mostly. There can be some minor effects, depending upon the individual prisoner, but they don't deteriorate so far as to be mindless, at least."

Great. It will have to do. Masaki is the prison warden and has likely been stewing over this exact problem from the moment he realized who Hama is. If he can't think of a better solution, then there is little chance that Ozai will come up with something in the time he has before he needs to return to Caldera.

"No more than seven nights per month, warden," he decides, "That gives you two nights on either side of the full moon for margin if you misjudge it. She'll have to be let out during the days, but she'll be nothing more than a strong waterbender so long as Agni is shining."

"'Let out'?" Masaki wonders, "Do you not mean, 'moved to a standard cell,' my lord?"

"Tui asked for mercy," Ozai answers, not particularly happy himself with the thought of Hama wandering more free than not, "and he clearly expects Hama to be returned South with the rest of the waterbenders. Hama will be treated the same as any other waterbender except as precautions around her bloodbending are required."

"I --" Masaki rasps, "That is not possible, my lord. The blood witch -- Hama cannot be allowed to mingle with the other waterbenders."

Ozai turns to face Warden Masaki fully. "Explain."

"They'll kill her."

Chapter Text

Surely he's misheard.

"What?"

"They'll kill her," Warden Masaki repeats. "Or she, them. Either way, there will be bloodshed."

"Why?" Ozai demands.

"The remaining inmates from her cellblock view her as a traitor. She left them behind when she escaped," Masaki explains around his growing grimace, "She also killed another inmate when she left, along with a guard they favored for her kindness."

"She killed an inmate!" Ozai hisses in disbelief. He isn't surprised to hear about the guard, but for Hama to go after another waterbender... Somehow, this whole situation has managed to become that much more complicated than it already was.

"Yes," Masaki confirms, "Even if by the mercy of the spirits there are no attacks on my men, reuniting Hama with the other waterbenders would guarantee some manner of violence."

Ozai feels a headache starting to build.

How is he supposed to show mercy to a woman that will kill her own as readily as she kills enemy guards? ...and civilians, probably. Thinking back on the conditions of Hama's improvised prison, he wouldn't be surprised if there was a list as long as his arm of victims that had died while under her care. Just because he hadn't seen the bodies doesn't mean there had never been any.

Carefully banked anger flares high again. Showing mercy to Hama spits in the face of every victim left in her wake and treads callously over their suffering. He would swallow the injustice of it all in the name of peace, but now it sounds like the Water Tribe would demand Hama's blood, too. Personal request from the Moon Spirit or not, the effort to spare Hama the consequences of her own actions is becoming an increasingly intensive and ever more unpalatable project.

"I'll have to bring this to Tui's attention," Ozai decides, "I don't think he knows."

"There is one more problem with allowing her contact with the other inmates," Masaki warns.

Great. "Out with it."

"Many would reject it, because they forbid it for themselves, much as we do the Living Wick --" Ozai suppresses a shudder. Just the idea of it... "-- but there are some that might seek to learn how to bewitch the blood. Hama proved how deadly the technique is utilized by a lone bender. If there were to be a handful of them... They could slaughter everyone on this island in a single night."

Ozai pinches the bridge of his nose and, unlike the last time when he was fighting back a treacherous amusement, breathes out steam in genuine frustration.

He should have seen that particular problem coming. Hadn't he avoided calling Hama a waterbender when addressing her captives for that exact reason? Bloodbending is troublesome enough limited to one woman with a vendetta. If the only waterbenders that would deign to learn the technique are also of a character willing to violate their cultural taboos in the name of power and revenge... This either needs to be contained before the technique can spread, or they need a counter to quickly shut down new bloodbenders.

"I understand. Your office is secure for private conversation?"

"Yes, Fire Lord."

"Good. Once Tui is finished, the three of us need to speak."

"...Yes, Fire Lord."

Ozai barely registers Masaki's reply. He's already busy trying to devise a solution to the growing list of problems Hama represents. A dark part of him wonders if La would be willing to -- No. No, Tui hadn't wanted the Ocean Spirit involved when La showed up earlier, and Zhao is a still-breathing corpse because of La. That isn't a fate he's willing to inflict on anyone, regardless of their crimes. Better to keep La out of any situation that isn't already entangled with the Ocean Spirit.

"Nephew? Are you feeling unwell?"

Ozai opens his eyes to find Tui in front of him and drops his hand from where it had made a home for itself trying to halt the growing tension headache's advance. Beyond the spirit, the last handful of prisoners are being unshackled at the far end of the cellblock.

"I'm fine," Ozai assures, but apparently not well enough.

The Moon Spirit's brow furrows in concern before a cool hand is pressed lightly to Ozai's forehead. "Nausea? Lightheadedness? Headache? Difficulty breathing?" The hand is withdrawn but the spirit still asks, "Other symptoms?"

"No, I --" Ozai frowns and corrects himself, "There's a building headache, but I know what it's from. I'm fine."

"Are you certain?" Tui presses. "Agni will be justly displeased if I have allowed your reforging to weaken while I was distracted."

"I'm sure, but the warden has brought up an issue that needs to be discussed. Privately," Ozai says, "Warden Masaki, please, lead the way."

Masaki manages to hide most of his unease as he says, "If you will follow me, Fire Lord, Moon Spirit."

"Very well," Tui says with a brief glance at Masaki.

Warden Masaki leads them through a few different halls and up two flights of stairs but, overall, it is a short trip. Tui's gaze lingers on Ozai for the entirety of the journey.

"What is it that must be discussed?" the Moon Spirit asks as soon as the door to Masaki's office closes behind them. The question is technically given to the room at large but it's obvious that, after a quick scan of the room, Ozai continues to possess the bulk of the spirit's attention. "Particularly while hidden away in such confined quarters?"

Tui isn't wrong about the status of their location. The office is notably small for an officer as highly ranked as a prison warden, especially for a prison as important, if secluded, as Kitaika. A single, narrow window lets in moonlight, but it does little to ward off the claustrophobic feeling of largely unadorned steel walls and too many bookcases crammed into an already tight space.

"Please, forgive the discomfort, Great Spirit. Kitaika was not built with visitors in mind," Warden Masaki says while hurriedly lighting sconces, closing sliding shutters over their vents, and double-checking pipe covers, "The room is secure, Fire Lord."

Ozai holds back the sigh that wants to escape. "The situation surrounding Hama is more complicated than I thought when I agreed to offer her mercy. I'm not sure I'll be able to send her south with the other benders."

The furrow in Tui's brow deepens. "How so?"

"She killed another waterbender."

Tui's expression flickers through surprise before twisting with grief. The Moon Spirit is silent for a long moment before simply stating, "I see."

"I can extend mercy on behalf of the Fire Nation," Ozai says, "but I can't control what her tribe will do, or what returning her might do to the unity between the Southern Tribes." He scowls as he realizes he has somehow become responsible for preventing two potential civil wars from erupting, on top of the global war he is already attempting to end. How does he even get himself into these situations?

"No, you cannot," Tui acknowledges, "and I would not ask it of you. I will speak with the waterbenders. Perhaps they will accept my judgement as sufficient, perhaps they will not, but I will not attempt to hold you accountable for the actions of a people that do not belong to you. If the only mercy for Hama is the allowance to be judged by her own rather than by her enemies, then it is enough and I will abide by the result."

That's a relief, but it does beg the question... "What was your judgement, Tui?" Ozai asks.

Tui blinks at him. "She abused my name and power," the spirit explains, "so I withdrew the privilege. Hama of the Southern Seas no longer carries my gift."

"You took her bending?" Ozai can't keep the shock from his voice.

Masaki makes a noise Ozai doubts was purposeful. The warden's eyes are wide and he doesn't seem to be breathing as he stares at the Moon Spirit. Ozai can't decide if the man looks more terrified or hopeful.

"Yes, though not in full," Tui says, "My gift comprises only half of a waterbender's power, and it is La's half that tethers a bender's connection to water. Hama of the Southern Seas is now push without pull, but she remains a waterbender of sorts."

And just like that, Ozai finds himself reconsidering the possibility of involving La. It would make things so much easier... Ease doesn't equal right, though. Too bad things around Hama have gotten so twisted up he's having trouble figuring out what the right thing to do is. He wishes his friends were here to offer their own perspectives.

"Can she still bloodbend?" Ozai asks.

Tui frowns. "I would not expect her to succeed if she were to attempt the feat, but I cannot say if it would be impossible for her to relearn a portion of the ability given time. While Hama will no longer receive the boon of my strength as I wax and wane, there have been masters in the past able to bend the life-waters of men and creatures without the power granted by my full phase. None have done so with a divided gift, and few that were not skilled and devoted healers, but the future holds mysteries to us all and I cannot promise Hama will not be the first to overcome such obstacles."

"Bloodbending can be achieved outside of full moon nights?" Ozai demands. It's not a comforting thought, as illustrated by Warden Masaki's paling face.

"Yes, if the waterbender possesses the skill and power for it."

That is not what Katara had told him, reticent as she had been in sharing details about the technique, but he's starting to understand how ignorant of her abilities and limitations Katara had been. Even after attaining her mastery as a waterbending warrior, she had still grown up without any daily knowledge or a single model in her village to learn from. Old guilt rears its head but Ozai pushes it aside. He's actively working to fix that problem and he has a more pressing issue in front of him that needs to be dealt with first.

If Hama is unlikely to bloodbend for the rest of her life -- as disturbing as the slim but persistent possibility that she could reclaim the ability is -- then the next most important question needs to be asked. "Could she teach others to bloodbend?"

"It would be possible, but difficult," Tui says, "Learning to bend life-waters without example or experience is no easy task. There is a reason the art has been forgotten for a millennium."

Masaki makes a choked noise. "N-not 'forgotten,' Moon Spirit Tui," the warden says, plucking up the courage to interject into the conversation, "The waterbenders I have spoken with do not call it 'bloodbending,' but they do remember the practice and not one I spoke to described the technique as anything less than forbidden. Absolutely."

"Forbidden?" Tui's face grows confused and troubled. "When did this happen? Why has a portion of our gift been cast aside as unwanted?"

Ozai shares a glance with Masaki but it's clear the other man doesn't know what to say any more than he does and the warden is twice as reluctant to try. Unfortunately, dealing with foreign powers, up to and including spirits, apparently, is the Fire Lord's responsibility. Warden Masaki has every right to cede the task to Ozai.

"It's... disconcerting, to have control of your body stripped away," Ozai explains carefully, "Especially if that control rests in the hands of someone you don't trust."

"An unpleasant abuse of our gift," Tui acknowledges, "but the corruption of power is a common occurrence with humans." Ozai wonders if the spirit's statement should be taken as a condemnation of his kind. The words say 'yes,' but the tone is closer to factual than contemptful. Either way, it's not what he needs to focus on in the current moment. "While the disgrace to my name was the reason for Hama's judgement, do not think the misuse of the powers granted her was not a factor in the severity of her punishment. I am not blind to the suffering her actions have inflicted on you and your people."

"I know, Tui. Thank you," Ozai says and takes a steadying breath, "As for why bloodbending might be forbidden... My guess is that someone else -- maybe more than one, actually -- abused bloodbending long before Hama, and the Water Tribes refused to let it happen again."

Tui looks down at his folded hands with a frown. "That is troubling," the spirit says before meeting Ozai's eyes. Grief paints the Moon Spirit's features anew. "Both that, if this event truly did happen, I missed it, and that the art has been discarded. My waterbenders once used it to great effect. Healers saved many lives, halted blood loss, set broken bones, turned inverted infants in the womb, restrained the disoriented to prevent injury. The art has been used to catch food, escape or slay predatory beasts, and rescue victims from fatal falls. I will not pretend every instance of its use was so benign. It has been used as a tool of war and bloodshed before, but that alone would not be reason enough to abandon it. The Frozen Seas are not gentle lands. Relinquishing any tool comes with a high cost. If the art has truly been forbidden rather than forgotten in both the Northern and Southern Seas..." Tui falls silent as distress creeps over his face.

"...I kept a mortal form to be close to them, but I missed this," the Moon Spirit says in a hushed, horrified voice, "What else have I missed?"

"I don't know," Ozai says, placing a hand on the distraught spirit's shoulder, "but you're aware of the situation now. That means you can start thinking about ways to resolve it. And you're here. There's nothing to stop you from speaking with the waterbenders and getting answers to your questions."

Tui sighs and covers Ozai's hand with his own. "Thank you, Nephew," the spirit says, "It would seem there is more work ahead of me than I had realized."

"I'm familiar with the feeling," Ozai says wryly.

Tui huffs a singular laugh and allows Ozai to withdraw his hand. "Yes, I suppose you are no stranger to setbacks." The Moon Spirit studies Ozai's face for an extended moment before a sad smile touches the spirit's lips. "I begin to understand Agni's confidence in your reforging."

Ozai raises his eyebrows in a silent question but Tui only shakes his head. "Another time, perhaps, young Fire Lord," Tui says.

Right. There are other things they need to take care of sooner rather than later.

"What do you want to do with Hama?" he asks. They've spent enough time dancing around the issue without reaching any conclusions. A decision needs to be made.

Tui's expression pinches. "Would it be possible to keep her from the other waterbenders for a day?" the spirit asks.

Ozai looks to Masaki.

"It can be arranged," the warden confirms.

"And you are not opposed to my continued presence as my people are prepared for their return to the Southern Seas?" Tui asks.

"Your assistance with smoothing the peaceful transfer of waterbenders to the South Pole from the Fire Nation would be welcome," Ozai replies, because he does have some experience with political maneuvering after three years on the throne.

"We are honored by your consideration," Masaki adds, regardless of what his true opinion on the matter is.

Tui nods and examines the man's office with a frown. "Do you not possess a large mirror?"

"Er... No, Great Spirit," Masaki says, "I could have one brought in, but it would be some days."

"No matter," Tui decides and approaches the office's exit, "This will do." The spirit does not open the door, instead Tui lays a hand on the steel.

Ozai and Masaki watch as the metal is polished to a mirror finish and the spirit's hand falls through the metal. Tui proceeds to step through the reflective surface and, as soon as the spirit has a foot planted on the other side, the Moon Spirit's surroundings transform into pale stone walls and white silk curtains. The ceiling seems to disappear in a gradually darkening fog full of stars and streaked through by auroras. Tui turns and holds out a hand.

"I would appreciate your assistance in returning to the mortal plane, Nephew," Tui says, "It can be a laborious process without help."

Ozai approaches the spirit world portal curiously. Can all great spirits do something like this? Tui clasps his forearm in the Water Tribe style and steps back through. The polished steel mirror reasserts itself and the connection between their worlds is sealed away once more.

Tui holds Ozai's gaze and says, "If it is agreeable to you, Fire Lord, I would request that Hama be kept secluded from the rest of my people held here until the next moonrise. I would like for them to have this night to accustom themselves with the prospect of reclaiming their freedom and returning to their homes before placing the burden of such a heavy judgement on their shoulders. Tomorrow night, with your permission, I will return here to inform my people of Hama's presence and my judgement of her. I will also tell them of what actions I know her to have taken while away from the eyes of the tribes. At that point, Hama of the Southern Seas will be subject to the will of the people to which she was born. Will you allow this, Herald of Agni?"

Ozai doesn't answer immediately, instead asking, "Warden Masaki, is there anything in the Moon Spirit's request that we would be unable to accommodate?"

"No, Fire Lord."

Ozai nods. "I will allow it. May it be done just as you have proposed," he says. It feels strange to utter something so formal in a cramped prison office rather than a throne room or court of some sort.

"Thank you," Tui says, "May I make one final request for the night?"

Ozai steels himself. "Speak it. I am listening."

The spirit smiles. "Will you join me and mine for a meal before I must return you to the palace, Nephew?"

Well, he hadn't started the day expecting to end it with a midnight snack in the heart of a prison, shared with a great spirit and hundreds of half-starved ex-prisoners while anxious, wrong-footed guards linger in the periphery. But Tui looks hopeful and there hasn't been much about this evening that Ozai has expected. He's been hours away from Caldera at this point. A few more degrees to model peace between nations for the waterbenders and prison guards would not be time ill spent.

Ozai returns the Moon Spirit's smile with a wryly amused smirk of his own and shrugs a shoulder.

"Sure."

To think, two days ago he had thought it strange for a great spirit to help him with a simple haircut. At least he can't claim his life is boring.

Chapter Text

Warden Masaki has been running himself ragged, flitting between different groups of guards like a busy humming sparrow and issuing orders as he kicks the entire prison into activity around the visiting Fire Lord and great spirit. As a result, Kitaika is now buzzing like an angry hive. Or maybe just like an agitated hive? There has been a surprising lack of anger, all things considered, Sergeant Yasu thinks. That can probably be pinned on the lingering shock.

The sergeant watches from the corner of his eye as the warden disappears in the direction of the kitchen once more. Yasu doesn't envy the man his job. Greater good can be done with greater authority, theoretically, but the stress and headaches seem enough to destroy a person not suited to the task. Yasu sometimes struggles under the weight of just his sergeant's rank and low-level guard assignments.

Still, Masaki is as kind as a warden can afford to be toward his charges, whether guard or prisoner. It's good, especially compared to what Yasu has heard of Warden Akira. Apparently, the last warden had been so cruel that he created a witch that had stolen his honor and left him an empty husk. The upper brass had had no choice but to cart Warden Akira off to a seaside home for 'recovery' and early retirement while his soulless body slowly wasted away.

...Yasu isn't sure how much of that particular rumor he believes, but it's clear that something bad had happened at the end of Warden Akira's tenure overseeing Kitaika. It would be nice if the older guards weren't always trying to find new ways to frighten the freshly assigned sergeants, though. How is he supposed to perform his duties properly if he can't even trust the information given to him from the established personnel at Kitaika? The behavior is endlessly frustrating but, after almost a year's worth of experience, Yasu has some idea of who is more likely to lead him astray and who will give him reliable facts. Mostly.

A throat clears from too nearby and Yasu has to stifle a flinch when he realizes he's been so distracted that two waterbenders have been able to draw far closer to him than he is comfortable with. He relaxes slightly when the two enemy -- non-enemy? -- benders refrain from coming any nearer than they already are. His fellow guards offer no support or guidance, pretending not to notice the situation at all. Traitors! He knows he isn't popular, but would a little backup from his compatriots be too much to ask?

...Possibly. The Fire Lord's unexpected orders have upset everything and no one is sure of where the lines are anymore. It would be strategic, as a matter of self-preservation, not to engage unless directly pulled into a matter and to otherwise avoid at all costs any interactions with the waterbenders. At least until such a time as the rules of conduct have been reestablished.

Good to know his usual luck is holding up even in the current circumstances.

"Sergeant Yasu," says one of the waterbenders, voice calm and level. It's a marginal reassurance that he doesn't seem actively hostile.

Yasu is almost sure his name is 'Kallik.' (Learning the names of the prisoners --ex-prisoners? -- isn't encouraged, but it's not outright forbidden, either.) Almost-Certainly-Kallik is usually one of the less aggressive and more inquisitive waterbenders. Yasu isn't foolish enough to mistake the behavior as 'safe' rather than dangerous in its own right, but the old waterbender's words have proven helpful before.

Yasu is less certain of the waterbender standing at Almost-Certainly-Kallik's shoulder. He's usually in the cell across from the other waterbender, but the man has thus far been all silent, menacing stares throughout Yasu's stint as a guard. The sergeant has a tentative thought that the second waterbender's name might be something like 'Nanook.'

Might-be-Nanook merely grunts in response when he catches Yasu's wary gaze. It could possibly be meant as a greeting of sorts? It seems dismissive, regardless.

Almost-Certainly-Kallik says in an exasperated tone that reminds Yasu of his father, "Nuniq, could you be a bit less like a polar-dog with a toothache?"

...Yasu had been close on the second watrbender's name.

Another grunt. "You're lucky I'm this cordial while you're trying to get yourself killed," Nuniq rumbles, "Again."

And there is the long-suffering sigh from Almost-Certainly-Kallik that Yasu had been half-expecting based on the previous tone. "Sergeant Yasu," the man begins again, apparently deciding to ignore his companion's simmering discontent, "I have a request, if you would hear it." He bows shallowly over the sign of the flame.

Huh.

Yasu fumbles through mimicking a half-glimpsed sign of the moon from the Fire Lord's earlier demonstration under the Moon Spirit's instruction and offers a return bow. "What is your request?"

Almost-Certainly-Kallik stands a smidge less rigidly and Nuniq's expression shifts... somehow. Yasu won't pretend he's ever had any talent in parsing other people's facial expressions.

"Information gathering," Almost-Certainly-Kallik says, getting right to the point, "Neither of our people will feel settled until we can be sure of the new situation between us, and stress has a way of leading a person to make poor decisions. With the promise of peace close enough to grasp, a riot now would be a detriment to us all."

Yasu stiffens. It's not as if that isn't a worry on every guard's mind tonight, but none of them have dared to speak the words aloud.

The sergeant sets his stance and steels his nerves. "What are you proposing?" he asks.

"There are only two people with the needed answers," the man replies, nodding toward the center of Kitaika's open-air courtyard, "I'd also feel better if I knew those closest to them were of the sort inclined to protect them."

Yasu follows the ex-prisoner's gaze to the conspicuously clear area in the growing crowd with the Fire Lord and great spirit at its heart. The two men -- Is it proper to refer to a great spirit as a man? It feels like it might be blasphemous. -- The two sit together on a spread of rarely used but ancient prison blankets, absorbed in whatever conversation they are having and paying no attention to the tense mob surrounding them.

Oh.

Yes, Yasu would likewise feel better if some form of protection detail was close at hand for their inarguably important visitors. He's shocked Warden Masaki hasn't already ordered one. It's a horrifying oversight.

"Let's go."

Almost-Certainly-Kallik gives him a relieved grin. "Thank you."

Yasu shakes his head, eyes already straying back toward the goal set before him. "It's my job as part of the Fire Nation Military to protect the Fire Lord and any visiting nobles or dignitaries," Yasu dismisses.

It's more obvious under the night sky than it had been in the torchlight of the prison's interior that the two beings are something more than human. The Moon Spirit emits an undeniable glow that matches the full moon in the sky, as perhaps should be expected, and the Fire Lord's eyes burn through the dark in a way that no normal human's do. It is probably only that otherness that has maintained their bubble of space and relative safety in the middle of the filling courtyard.

Better to close that gap in security before the wrong people notice it, too.

Yasu takes precisely one step forward only to find himself stumbling under an unexpected weight. "Get off me!"

"You wouldn't leave an old, emaciated man to walk without support, would you?" The-Annoyance-that-is-Probably-Kallik asks, arm thrown carelessly about Yasu's shoulders.

"Don't startle a firebender! Weren't you just going on about tense situations and stress leading to bad decisions?" Yasu demands as he recenters his balance. He rolls his shoulders before repositioning the arm across them for a more stable hold and loops his left arm around an admittedly too-thin waist. "What if I'd burned you? We could have started that riot you were talking about!"

"Kid's right," Nuniq grumbles with crossed arms and a glare for his fellow waterbender, "Stop acting stupid just 'cause you've got a soft spot for guards that act half-decent, Kallik."

"I'm not a kid!"

Traitorous laughter comes from Yasu's right. "Don't act surprised, Yasu!" Sergeant Michi cajoles, "You can't fraternize with the pri-- the waterbenders and expect that none of them will take a spark to you!"

"I don't fraternize!"

"Friend of yours?" Actually-Kallik-and-Definitely-an-Annoyance asks, sounding entirely too interested as he leans around Yasu to look at Michi.

"No!"

"A few squads are still trying," Michi offers unhelpfully, "but the kid is as snappish as a catogator and thick as a Komodo rhino."

Yasu glares for all he's worth as his cheeks burn. Michi only shrugs back.

"I'm burning your tea, next time," Yasu promises.

"Not my tea!" Michi says with a laugh as he mimes clutching at his heart.

"We're wasting time," Yasu huffs, marching forward and half-dragging the nosy waterbender using him as a crutch.

Kallik gets his feet under him in short order, in part because the ever thickening crowd forces Yasu to go slower than he would prefer. Even in the open air of Kitaika's lone exercise courtyard, the closely packed bodies are quickly producing a terrible stench. To say nothing of the odor coming off the waterbender draped across him.

The prisoners are bathed regularly enough to ward off infections and other health problems, but Yasu's nose would nonetheless appreciate a more frequent routine.

Kallik opens his mouth to say something, but Yasu has suffered enough indignities in the last degree and he doesn't want to hear whatever it is that would tumble past the old man's lips.

"I'm making sure tubs are on the next requisition order," Yasu says, rattling off the first thing that comes to mind with no thought as to how his words may be taken, "If you waterbenders are going to be allowed access to water, then there's no reason to keep tormenting all our noses with the smell of unwashed bodies."

There is a distinct pause before Kallik breaks into laughter, which quickly transforms into a coughing fit.

"Are you... alright?" Yasu asks, trying not to panic. They're halfway through the crowd at this point and the ruckus is drawing more stares from the surrounding waterbenders than their odd combination of persons already had been. Is there a healer nearby if Kallik needs one? How does one identify a waterbending healer?

Kallik waves both the question and the stares off. "F-fine," the old waterbender says with a lingering chuckle, "You just continue to surprise me with your ability to say the sweetest things in the most insulting manner."

"I do not!" Yasu objects, "And I'm not sweet!"

Kallik ignores his protests, "It's quite impressive."

Yasu continues to shuffle through the smelly crowd and tries not to let himself become irritated by the too-slow progress toward his goal and the increasing difficulty in navigating the packed courtyard as more waterbenders and guards filter in from all the prison's various cellblocks.

"Why do you stop to answer our questions?" Kallik suddenly asks, "Half the guards refuse to wait long enough to listen. Of those that do, few offer a spoken response."

Yasu glances at the old man before refocussing his gaze ahead.

Should he answer? Things are clearly changing, but...

No. It's too early to tell which direction the winds are blowing the brush fire, and it wouldn't just be himself that he would risk putting in the path of destruction. It would also be dishonorable to divulge the secrets that have been entrusted to him, particularly to a tenuous ally he is still uncertain won't turn the information into a weapon should the need arise.

"My reasons are my own," Yasu settles on saying.

Kallik hums. It sounds too contemplative for Yasu's liking. "Perhaps one day I will earn them," the tribesman muses, "It will be a while before any of us are fit to survive the South Pole, and your ships never came outside of the summer months."

Yasu grunts in response. Nothing he wants to say is polite and some of it might be knowledge he shouldn't be giving away.

Maybe Nuniq has the right idea.

As soon as they break past the final layer of waterbenders and step into the void of people surrounding the undeniable focus of the courtyard, both the Fire Lord and Moon Spirit glance their way. The two are not as oblivious to their surroundings as they first appear, then.

...Good. That's... Good. The Fire Lord and a great spirit should both be more than capable of protecting themselves so long as they are aware of what is happening around them. Especially considering what Yasu witnessed the Moon Spirit do to steel locks. ...It is entirely too easy to imagine what the great spirit before him might be able to do to steel armor with a soft human body inside.

Yasu can't help the shudder that runs through him. Against his side, Kallik likewise grows tense. It is vaguely reassuring to know that Yasu is not alone in his trepidation.

The Fire Lord and great spirit return to their conversation, but Yasu won't fool himself into thinking Kallik and he have been so easily forgotten.

"I would not hold it against you, if you chose not to proceed," Kallik says quietly.

Yasu straightens and scowls. "I'm no coward!" he hisses back.

Kallik hums in return. The note used is a study in neutrality, offering neither argument nor agreement.

Yasu scowls more as it occurs to him that maybe Kallik thinks Nuniq has the right idea, too. One waterbender might just happen to use a softer delivery than the other.

Yasu does his best to wipe the unwanted frustration from his features -- He likely doesn't succeed very well. He never does. -- and sets out to meet the Fire Lord and Moon Spirit at the center of the courtyard, shouldering one very irritating waterbender with him the entire way.

"...Anyway, I followed the turtle-seals through a network of underwater tunnels," the Fire Lord is saying as Kallik and Yasu draw near enough to hear the conversation past the murmurs of the crowd.

"The turtle-seals?" Moon Spirit Tui asks, face painted in open surprise, "Nephew, turtle-seals can go hours between surfacings. You are fortunate you did not drown."

Fire Lord Ozai snorts and then smirks at the great spirit. "Sokka said something similar when I told him the story, though he made an 'educated guess' based on tiger-seals and his phrasing was a bit more colorful."

The Moon Spirit's eyes gleam as a smile scrunches their corners. "I imagine that it was," he says with a laugh.

"You know most of the rest, but I can fill in the gaps at a later date if you wish," Fire Lord Ozai offers.

"I will look forward to it," the great spirit promises.

Golden eyes burn into Yasu's soul and his breath catches in his chest as the Fire Lord looks directly at him.

"I was beginning to think no one would approach," Fire Lord Ozai says, staring, staring, staring with those inhuman eyes, "Will you join us for the upcoming meal?"

Yasu panics.

Some embarrassing noise he cannot begin to categorize escapes his throat and Yasu rushes to state his purpose before he can do anything more mortifying than he already has. "G-guard, guard duty," he chokes out, "This one wanted to t-talk."

Yasu carefully sets Kallik down to sit with the Fire Lord and Moon Spirit. The waterbender probably doesn't need the help -- All prisoners receive a turn exercising under Agni's light, in this courtyard, at least once a week to maintain basic mobility and prevent wasting diseases rooted in long-term sedation. -- but it seems like the thing to do.

At the last moment, Yasu remembers to add, "His name is Kallik." He then turns to face the rest of the courtyard and the crowd around them before falling into parade rest as his face burns.

Maybe he is a coward.

Chapter Text

"G-guard, guard duty. This one wanted to t-talk," Yasu sputters with none of his usual rigid certainty. He assists Kallik down to the pad of rarely-used blankets on the ground, seating him just off to the side of the Moon Spirit and Fire Lord. Once the waterbender is settled, the sergeant blurts as an afterthought, "His name is Kallik."

Kallik tips his head back to watch as Sergeant Yasu then straightens and spins to face the courtyard rather than the small group gathered at its center. The young man takes up a standard guard position behind him, effectively abandoning Kallik to deal with two beings beyond mortal men on his own.

In another scenario, Kallik probably would have found the other man's retreat and subsequent vigil at his back to be humorous. (Novel to have a guard stationed to protect him, rather than detain him.) With things as they are, however, he is not having an easy time finding that humor.

Maybe it should have been expected. Yasu is barely more than a boy. It was always asking a lot of the young man to approach the leader his people revered almost as if the Fire Lord was a spirit himself.

As close as he is, Kallik is no longer so certain that the Fire Lord is not some manner of spirit. He'd thought the man's eyes odd before under the torchlight, but now they appear to pierce through the night like twin stars. However the Fire Lord began life, Kallik hesitates to say he is fully human today.

Kallik watches as Tui and the Fire Lord exchange a glance. The Fire Lord's face twists into a grimace while the Moon Spirit offers a rueful smile.

"What is it you wished to speak of?" Tui asks.

Sometimes, Kallik wishes he could bring himself to listen to Nuniq more often. Not that he will ever tell his grumpy, pessimistic cousin as much.

Kallik clears his suddenly tight throat. "I was wondering if a time had been set for our return to the South."

The Fire Lord frowns. "We've learned the hard way that traversing icefields during the seasonal shifts of spring and autumn is unnecessarily hazardous. Winter creates miles of additional ice that would require more fuel than our ships carry. The voyage will have to be made during a southern summer, but returning starved people to a polar climate would be nothing less than a death sentence.

"The earliest window is just over half-a-year away. Seven, perhaps eight months. It's possible that some of you could be ready to return at that point, but most of you won't have recovered enough in that time frame and will have to wait another year." The man's burning gaze roves over the crowd. He grimaces once more as he says, "In a group this large, deprived as long and severely as you have been... There will inevitably be complications. It's likely that some of you will have to wait multiple years, and a small portion may never be fit to return to the South Pole."

Kallik fights not to react to that statement. He's not a fool. He'd already suspected that it would be several moons and possibly full years before they might return to their homes. That they are being presented with the opportunity at all is nothing less than a miracle of the spirits, as evidenced by Tui's involvement. He hasn't yet had time to think through all the probable hiccups, though. The news that some of his fellow waterbenders might not see their homeland again after all... Well, it hits like a harpoon.

"And what will happen," he forces himself to ask, "to those who cannot return?" What will he do if he is one of them? Could he endure a prison made of his own weakened flesh after being freed from this prison of steel bars and walls?

The Fire Lord looks at him. The gaze is unsettling both for its intensity and its unnaturalness.

"I'm not sure," says Fire Lord Ozai, "but my goal is for them to have options. A chance to return to the South Pole with the understanding of the risks with their health. Another possibility would be to remain in the Fire Nation, though I'm not sure what it would look like yet. It's difficult to plan years into the future when I don't even know how many people I will need to accommodate. I'd like to think there will be an option to help them immigrate to the Earth Kingdoms, but that isn't something I can guarantee will be available."

Kind options, all things considered. Time will tell if Fire Lord Ozai has the will to fulfill such pretty promises or if his words are as hollow as the howling winds.

While he is thinking over what he has been told, and before he can decide on his next question, a loud cry rises up from the far side of the courtyard and is quickly taken on by more of the crowd. Kallik tenses and hurries to stand so he can see what the commotion is. He is not as spry as he once was and in this moment he bitterly misses the easy movement of his youth.

"Calm down," Sergeant Yasu says, voice pitched low. Despite the young guard's words, he catches the waterbender's arm and helps Kallik to stand. "The first female cellblock just arrived."

Ah.

That would easily explain the sudden clamor.

He and his fellow prisoners had known at least some of the women were also held in this facility, but information concerning the other cellblocks was always difficult to come by. The most Kallik has seen of any of the women is during brief moments following death. It has been an unfortunate but nonetheless heartening association.

For his entire tenure running the prison, Warden Masaki has placed a priority on keeping prisoners meekly passive. Kallik is just grateful Masaki prefers to utilize small acts of mercy and appeasement before he resorts to the harsher tactics. (Warden Akira had instead started with the greatly unpleasant and escalated punishments from there. As a result, there hadn't been much room left between first infractions and final offenses.)

One of the first changes their current warden arranged for was burial rites. The warden never allowed for a team of more than three women, and those women were under heavy guard throughout the whole process. Still, for the first time since their capture, they had hope that when their deaths came for them, they would be tended to properly and returned to La rather than being burned into so much ash. It was a thought of comfort, however small, to cling to when the walls pressed in too close and the days passed too slow.

"Have you someone to look for?" the Moon Spirit asks him.

"No, not me," Kallik answers, "My parents rejoined the waves ahead of me, my wife was no bender, nor were any of my siblings, and I have no daughters."

He'd had two sons, once. The first had perished to illness before his capture. The second had barely reached his hip when Kallik had last laid eyes on his boy. Neither had been waterbenders and, spirits willing, Kallik's second son remains in the South, alive and with a prospering family of his own by this time.

...Perhaps he will have a chance to meet that family, if they do exist.

Kallik tucks that fragile hope away in his heart. Although future dreams call for the first time in many decades, the present demands his attention.

Even with the crowd blocking his view of the women, and knowing he will have no direct connection with any of them, it is still difficult to look away. These are the first steps to the healing of their tribes. There is much work ahead before they can rejoin their people properly, but simply being allowed to mingle across cellblocks is a privilege to be cherished after so many decades kept isolated from each other.

Another ruckus rises up from off to the left.

It isn't women this time. Guards are herding waterbenders away from the entrance Masaki had last disappeared through. Soldiers wearing red armor continue to pour into the courtyard carrying... a very eclectic collection of empty bowls. There are the tin cup-like vessels Kallik is better acquainted with attached to metal arms and thin enough to be maneuvered past steel bars. There are also wider, wooden bowls that he can only assume are typically reserved for the guards' use.

Warden Massaki himself brings up the rear, a pair of gleaming white bowls in his own hands. Kallik can tell the precise moment that the warden spots him sitting next to Tui and the Fire Lord. The other man halts in his tracks and Kallik can practically see the political calculations happening behind the warden's eyes.

Masaki has been the best of their captors, and Kallik holds no particular animosity for the current warden, but he is still a high-ranking ashmaker. Politics is what they do.

(From what his wife used to tell him, their sister tribe suffers from much the same. Kallik wonders if he has been infected with enough political thinking over the years to pass for a Northern man. He hopes not, but he cannot deny that learning to honey his words has served him well in this place.)

Masaki collects an additional bowl from one of his nearby guards. Kallik can at least count on not being removed or punished within the sight of their visitors then. He will likely not have a chance to discover Warden Masaki's long term intentions until after their guests leave.

"Fire Lord, Great Spirit," Masaki greets, bowing over his short stack of bowls, "The meal will be presented shortly. I am afraid it will likely not be up to your usual standards. While our cooks have taken to the task with fervor, the current stock has limited their efforts." Kallik would bet that much is true. He certainly wouldn't want to fail the surprise inspection by the Fire Lord if he were in the cooks' place. Never mind being asked to serve a great spirit such as Tui. "I would humbly request that you not judge the meal harshly."

"I wasn't expecting otherwise," the Fire Lord answers, "I'm aware that I left you no time to prepare. It's just as well, in the end. From the look of things, the waterbenders won't be able to stomach richer foods any time soon. You may proceed."

"Thank you, my lord." The two white bowls clink -- Are those porcelain? --  as Masaki places them before their two guests before setting a wooden bowl in front of Kallik. The warden's brow furrows ever so slightly as he examines the waterbender's face. Kallik meets his gaze neutrally without displaying fear or challenge. He has no desire to invite unneeded aggression, not that Masaki has proven to be the sort so easily ruffled, but lessons learned under Akira and the wardens before him are not soon forgotten.

Masaki places a hand on Sergeant Yasu's shoulder, causing the young man to startle slightly, and asks in a near whisper, "Block D, cell twenty?" The slight nod at Kallik leaves little to doubt as to the warden's true question.

"Er-- Y-yes, sir," Yasu stammers back in an equally quiet voice.

Masaki nods, already dismissive of the young man and thinking of next steps now that he has his confirmation. "Thank you, Sergeant. As you were."

"Yes, sir."

Kallik tries not to be annoyed by the fact that the warden apparently knows him best by the location of his cell. They've spoken fewer times than Kallik has fingers on one hand and it's not as if he has ever been elsewhere than where the warden expected to find him before tonight.

Masaki settles between Kallik and Fire Lord Ozai. Kallik is unsure if it is to distance Kallik from the Fire Lord or himself from the Moon Spirit.

"Warden Masaki, will you not be eating with us?" the Fire Lord asks, noting the lack of bowl before the man.

"Ah. I am afraid not, your majesty," Masaki says, "There are not enough bowls on hand for the waterbenders without sharing. Including the guard and staff before the regularly scheduled breakfast hour is an unnecessary strain on available resources. I'll be sure to resolve the issue in the next requisition request."

'Requisition'? Isn't that the word Yasu had used earlier? Kallik is fairly certain it was, and the request for tubs will come better from the boy than it will from him, even with the young man's habitual social floundering. "Sergeant Yasu had an idea for the upcoming order."

The clank of armor plates shifting too quickly has Kallik glancing up and back at the young sergeant. Yasu stares at him with wide, betrayed eyes. Kallik can only offer a shrug in return. He wants those tubs and he's more likely to get them if the proposal comes from a Fire Nation mouth.

"Sergeant Yasu, I take it?" The Fire Lord asks wryly.

"Y-yes, sir!" Yasu squeaks, clears his throat, and tries again, "Y-yes, sir." It's a bit less pathetic the second time, but not by much. Poor lad. At least he'd managed to banish the gull-piper screech from his pitch. "I, uh, I thought that tin tubs might be added to the order, f-for the waterbenders to bathe themselves, since they're being allowed water, now. The showers would be cramped for so many people, and maybe too slick for them, and I'm not sure they wouldn't st-struggle to learn how they work, so... So, um... Yeah. Tin tubs."

Firebenders have always turned the most interesting shade of red when embarrassed. It's quite the drastic change from their normal pale skin. More importantly, however, how difficult can it be to learn to use a 'shower'? What abomination has the Fire Nation crafted for itself this time? Suddenly, Kallik is unbearably curious. He'll have to see if he can pester Yasu into showing him these 'showers' at some later time.

"It's a good idea," the Fire Lord says gently and coaxes, "Why don't you join us, Sergeant Yasu? Tui and I are capable of protecting ourselves if necessary."

"B-but --"

"Sergeant," Masaki says. He doesn't need to say more.

"Yes, sir."

Yasu still hesitates and Kallik takes pity on the sergeant, gingerly scooting on aged joints to leave space between himself and the warden so the boy doesn't have to muster up the courage to approach the Moon Spirit that clearly intimidates him as much as the Fire Lord does. Kallik's action is far from being subtle but the relief on the young man's face is painfully apparent.

"I'll see about adding tubs to the requisition," Masaki says, "Have you chosen Kallik as a liaison to the Southern waterbenders, your majesty? There are few who would do as well in such a role."

So, Masaki does remember his name. Kallik isn't thrilled with the man's attempt to thrust him into unearned responsibilities, however.

"If liaisons are needed," Kallik interjects and hopes his assumption of the word's meaning is accurate enough to carry him through this conversation, "it would be better to allow each cellblock to select their own representative. Someone they know and have grown to trust. I can't speak for the other cellblocks, nor my own. I came to seek answers, not to claim an authority I do not have."

"I --" Masaki cuts himself off and Kallik does not need to wonder why.

Even without looking, Kallik can feel the push and pull of water growing closer, approaching from the same direction the guards with the bowls had entered the courtyard.

"Ah," Masaki says, tense but making some attempt to cover it, "The cooks have arrived with the meal. Please, excuse me."

"Go," the Fire Lord says.

Masaki hurries to join the cooks and inspect the large vat of the promised broth they have brought with them. Seemingly satisfied, the warden moves on to address the crowd.

"Attention, Prison--" Masaki catches himself and clears his throat, "Excuse me. Southern Waterbenders. Tonight is a night of celebration. Fire Lord Ozai and Moon Spirit Tui have graced us with their presence and bring with them news of your impending return to the South Pole. Arrangements are being made to organize the effort but the process will not be a swift one. In the meantime, Fire Lord Ozai has generously ordered an increase to your rations, beginning with this evening's broth.

"Remain seated. The food will be brought to you." Masaki waves to the cooks to start doling out the broth to the waiting crowd.

It is not surprising that the first to be served are Fire Lord Ozai and Tui. By the sole virtue of having joined them in the center of the courtyard, Kallik has the honor of being served third.

...

Neither the Fire Lord nor Moon Spirit are eating.

Would it be inexcusably rude to partake of the meal before them?

Kallik's stomach twists with hunger and anxiety makes him itch to move. It is torment to have food so close and be uncertain of when he will be allowed to consume it.

The Fire Lord's brow furrows and a slight frown crosses his face. Kallik has only a moment to wonder about that before the man rises to his feet.

"People of the Southern Water Tribe," the Fire Lord addresses the crowd himself, "I understand you are hungry, and I apologize on behalf of my nation for what we have put you through, but, please, eat slowly. Your bellies will take time to grow used to food again, and eating too quickly could cause your body to reject the meal entirely. It is our goal to restore you to good health before sending you home. There will be more frequent meals going forward. So, please, be patient and kind to your bodies."

It seems to be a time for speeches. Tui scoops up both porcelain bowls and also stands. "Listen close, Children of the Southern Seas," the spirit speaks in a clear voice, "This is my nephew, Ozai the Reforged, Herald of Agni and reigning Fire Lord." Tui hands one of the bowls off to the Fire Lord. "He has my trust. If you will give him a chance, I have no doubts that he will likewise earn your trust. Already he has made moves to cease the Fire Nation's aggression against other nations and bring an end to Sozin's war without further bloodshed. An age of peace and brotherhood between nations is before you, if you will only accept it."

Tui extends his arm and waits silently as the Fire Lord hesitantly mirrors him. The Moon Spirit gives a subtle nod before linking their arms and balancing his bowl of broth between his hands.

The Fire Lord huffs a singular, quiet laugh, but Kallik is too stunned by Tui's gesture to form an opinion on the other man's reaction. Ozai mimics Tui with his own porcelain bowl. "The last time I saw something like this was Sokka's and Suki's wedding," the Fire Lord remarks in a low voice to the great spirit.

Tui smiles and answers, "It was a beautiful ceremony and I was gladdened to bless it. I did tell you that I am a spirit of enduring partnerships, did I not?"

"You did," Ozai acknowledges and grins, "To enduring partnerships, then."

"To enduring partnerships," Tui echoes.

"I don't understand," Yasu whispers from beside Kallik, "Weddings? Is this some kind of toast?"

"A vow," Kallik corrects, just as quietly, though most of his attention is taken up wondering if the Fire Lord is truly aware of the weight of his actions, "shared at weddings, yes, but also between chiefs to establish binding alliances between tribes." And apparently between Fire Lords and Tui directly. He watches and bears witness as the two step closer and drink, sealing the pact. "We needn't worry about your Fire Lord now," Kallik finds himself saying, "No waterbender here would dare strike him, for fear of offending Tui."

Just who is this man that consorts with spirits and possesses a gaze that burns like starlight? Kallik isn't certain, but it just became imperative for him to find out.

Chapter Text

The midnight meal at the prison had gone well. More waterbenders and guards had joined Tui and himself at the center of the courtyard as time passed. (Oddly enough, always paired together, if sometimes in unequal numbers.) There had been a lot of questions, some easy answers, a few difficult admissions, and many, many unknowns that would take more thought and preparation to reach a satisfactory resolution. Tui had allowed him to do most of the talking, only chiming in to soothe tensions or offer information, but then, the spirit had warned him before they entered the prison that Ozai would be the one with the authority to make changes. (He really needs to ask more about the details of Agni's spirit charter. He'll be working half-blind until he knows what rules the spirits are playing by.) Overall, Ozai knows that staying to share a meal with the waterbenders and set an example for Warden Masaki and the other guards had been the right choice.

It's difficult to remember that when he sees what his unexplained disappearance has done to Iroh. Rarely has he seen his uncle look so worn and fragile.

He's left Tui's staircase behind before he's given it a single thought and ignores how the gathered crowd startles around him.

"Ozai," Iroh says, voice as raw as his face. The fire before him turns erratic and Ozai extinguishes it before it can become a problem.

Ozai falls to his knees and pulls the older man into his embrace. "I'm right here," he says for Iroh's ears alone, "You haven't lost me."

Iroh huffs a startled laugh that quickly dissolves into sobs as he clings to Ozai. It hurts to hear but Ozai only tightens his hold. Iroh loves, and he loves, and he loves, and life takes his loved ones away without pity or remorse. Grandfather Azulon, Cousin Lu Ten, Aunt Airi, Grandmother Kimiko, Lady Ilah... Iroh has too much experience with losing family members, and most of them before they can grow old.

Ozai looks over the gathering of sages, generals, guards, and servants. All sit seiza in a closely packed ring around Iroh and Head Sage Hijiri. In the surrounding crowd, hands cup small flames or else hold burning candles. Have they all been here since he left? Why didn't Agni or Tui tell them to go home? Both spirits had to have been aware of the crowd here. Agni had specifically told Ozai of the strangely timed prayers earlier in the night!

...It's probably disrespectful and foolish to expect great spirits to act as his personal messengers. Ozai is Agni's Herald, not the other way around, after all.

Right. Time to be the Fire Lord.

"The situation has been stabilized," he announces. If anyone thinks he appears less regal kneeling on the ground with Iroh weeping on his shoulder, they can take that complaint straight to the Agni Kai arena. "You may return to your posts or beds as your duty shifts dictate. Dismissed."

Fires are snuffed and the entire crowd kowtows together as many voices murmur, "Yes, Fire Lord." The crowd then shuffles to stand on half-asleep legs, younger guards and servants bending to assist their elders back to their feet. They've probably been sitting seiza for hours. Slowly, his people offer bows of departure and begin to disperse, either out the gates or through the palace's front doors.

Ozai allows his forehead to rest on Iroh's shoulder in order to hide a grimace. He needs to set up a protocol for when he leaves the palace unexpectedly. The sages are used to offering up extended prayers and the discomfort that can come with doing so, but the rest of the population is decidedly not and it shouldn't be asked of them just because Ozai fails to explain something while in a rush.

"Fire Lord?"

Ozai looks up to see Head Sage Hijiri with several other sages behind him. "Speak."

Hijiri bows. "Fire Lord, it is good to see you returned to us unharmed. Are there any prayers you would have us take up at the temple?"

Maybe he should have been expecting such a question. "N--" Ozai stops to truly consider the idea further as a thought suddenly crosses his mind. "...Actually, prayers for the Ocean Spirit's continued blessings would not be amiss. Regularly. Alongside prayers of gratitude for the Moon Spirit's patience and support." He doesn't know if the prayers will do anything to placate La, but he doesn't see any reason not to try it. Agni is their patron and held in highest honor throughout the nation, but they have never prayed exclusively to the Sun Spirit.

Surprise paints the face of every sage but all Hijiri says is, "As you wish, your majesty."

"Good. Was there anything else?"

"No, your majesty."

Ozai nods. "Then you may leave."

The sages bow and depart.

Aside from the usual guards and Iroh, he is finally alone.

Ozai sighs. He slept through the first half of the day and he's still exhausted. Tomorrow is his meeting with the interior ministers, which he won't be as rested for as he should be, and it will be a grueling day-long affair. ...Assuming it doesn't spill over into a multiple-day argument of backhanded compliments and political games that forces him to rearrange his schedule again, that is.

He really doesn't want to think about all of that until such a time as it becomes absolutely necessary.

Iroh's crying has tapered off by this point but the older firebender continues to cling to him. Ozai regrets the distress his disappearance from Caldera has caused, but he can't bring himself to resent the extended contact that's come about as a result. It's... nice to be held. The silent reminder that he does not need to carry his burdens alone or without support is reassuring. Still...

"It's late, Uncle," he says as he pulls away.

Iroh lets him go with a furrowed brow and worried eyes. He opens his mouth but another speaks first.

"My apologies, Nephew," says a voice from behind Ozai, "Our errand ran longer than I had anticipated."

Ozai holds a hand up to halt the startled guards and glances back at the Moon Spirit, still wearing Northern Chieftain Arnook's form. Tui's eyes crinkle at their corners in silent amusement. Both spirit and Fire Lord know it wasn't Tui that Ozai had been addressing just now. Regardless, it's good to have confirmation that the great spirit has no apparent objections to the title. Ozai hadn't been sure with the whole 'changing faces' thing muddying the waters of how to refer to Tui. (Is it a good or bad sign for his reforging that Ozai's two lives are blurring together in his mind? Spirits help him, he needs sleep.)

"Great Tui," Iroh greets, falling into a kowtow, "Thank you for returning my brother."

Tui's face softens. "Please, rise," the spirit says, "If any gratitude is owed between us, then it is to your favor, Iroh of Second Fire. You will not remember the encounter, but there was a time when I came upon a crossroads in my destiny. Your words helped me to realize my duty. Although the choice was not without pain, it has also led me to great joy. I am on the path to where I belong and, every day past that crossroads, I grow more comfortable in my role and assured of my choice.

"Iroh of Second Fire, thank you."

Iroh stares at the spirit, but eventually finds his voice again. Carefully, he says, "You are correct in that I do not recall the encounter, Great Spirit. I hope my words were as helpful as you say."

Tui smiles. "They were."

Ozai sits alone at the table. If the children don't arrive for breakfast in the next degree or two, he'll begin to worry. Until then, the solitude is... peaceful. He could use some peace after yesterday.

Just as his peace is starting to bleed into anxiety, the door slides open.

...Mom?

The world wobbles.

How? Why now? Ursa had never returned to the palace, either unable or unwilling to do so. After one of the imposters -- Why had there been so many? Did they really believe he wouldn't remember his own mother well enough to identify her from impersonators? -- had turned out to be decoy for an assassination attempt, he'd been forced to call off the search.

"I don't understand," the words fall out of his mouth before he can think better of them.

The woman smiles and bows. "Fire Lord," she greets.

Ozai goes to her. "Please," he says, voice thick, "Please, rise."

The woman wears a smirk as she meets his eyes. "Hello, Zuzu," she purrs.

Ozai reacts on instinct as she sweeps her right arm toward him and light glints off metal.

He catches the knife through the palm of his left hand, but better that than allowing it to be buried in his gut. Ozai growls, clenching bloody fingers over hilt and manicured hand alike as he spins them and slams the woman into a wall under his bodyweight. He makes sure to capture her other wrist before she can try another attack with her off hand.

She doesn't fight his pin. If alarm gongs weren't already ringing in his head, that alone would be enough to start them up.

"Azula!" he snarls into the woman's face, "What do you want?"

She has to want something. That swing had been telegraphed. She isn't here to kill him, so there has to be some other reason for her presence here.

His sister laughs. Their mother's gentle voice isn't meant to carry the cruelty Azula infuses into it.

"You're so pathetic, Dum-Dum. Are you really still waiting for her to come back after she abandoned us?" Azula sneers. Despite having always taken strongly after Mother in appearance, his sister's open scorn looks foreign on Ursa's face.

"That wasn't her choice," he insists.

"Like it wasn't yours?" she challenges.

"...What?"

Azula rolls her eyes. "Have you even tried to go home?" she asks before scoffing, "No. Of course not. You've been too busy playing house to think about the world you left behind. Why return when you can live a charmed life here? Tell me, do you think itty bitty Zuzu and Lala will forgive you when they find out you're wearing their father's corpse like a secondhand robe?"

Ozai feels ill. Azula always has been skilled in finding the words that will hurt the most.

"I am their father." That much is true. Whether or not they'd forgive him for not being their original father, well, he doesn't want to think about that. "That's all they need to know."

"Oh? Are you saying I'm their mother, then?" Azula asks, raising one perfectly sculpted brow, "Your wife?"

Ozai can't keep his face from twisting at the thought. "No." He refuses to entertain that line of questioning further.

Azula laughs and her facade of sanity slips. "I wouldn't trust me around children, either," she says, tears falling to be consumed in a razor smile, "This is the end, isn't it? No more room in your life for your crazy little sister. Everyone leaves me in the end."

Oh.

Oh, of course.

Ozai's throat works past the sudden constriction. "I -- We can figure something out."

"Ha! You were already leaving me behind!" Azula accuses, "You stole my throne and locked me away in a padded cell! A broken toy conveniently hidden in a forgotten closet so you wouldn't have to look at it!"

"That isn't true!" he objects, "The doctors say you've been getting better! With some more time, we might --"

"Don't pretend you would have let me near that little brat you were having with Mai any more than you will the little cuckoo-robin's nest you're presiding over now!" Azula snaps.

He can't deny that. "Not the children," he admits with a grimace, "You're too dangerous and I have a duty to protect them."

"Am I?" Azula asks, eyes sliding to their bloodied hands wrapped around the dagger piercing his palm. "I've been reduced to blades," she says, voice hitching as her breath control falters, "Mother had no fire, no spark." She meets his gaze again, eyes wide and brimming with fresh tears. "I can't bend. Who am I if I can't bend?"

And then she breaks.

Ozai's heart clenches painfully in his chest. He gathers up his weeping sister as well as he can with one arm and lowers them both to sit on the ground. Azula ends up in his lap, clinging to his robes and crying into his chest.

He doesn't know how to fix this.

The door slides open.

"Mom?" Zuko asks in shock. The bundle in his arms wails in response to the wild cries already filling the room, distracting the boy.

In contrast, his sister -- the Azula that belongs to this time -- remains focussed on the scene they've walked in on. Ozai can pinpoint the exact moment his daughter spies his injured hand.

"Traitor!" the eleven-year-old rages, flying at her older counterpart with fire-wreathed hands, "I'll kill you!"

"No!" Ozai yells, reaching out to snuff newly achieved blue flames.

The world falls apart into chaos.

Fire Lord Ozai wakes to sweat-soaked sheets tangled around him, one arm reaching out to stop a disastrous collision that had never actually been in danger of happening.

Ozai groans and lets his arm fall to cover his eyes. His head aches, his chest feels tight, and he's just nauseous enough that the idea of breakfast is utterly unappealing.

...That's the same list of symptoms he had after Liukshi visited his dreams last night. He doesn't feel as terrible as he had yesterday morning, but that's a difference of degree, not kind. He's strained his reforging again, hasn't he?

Ozai scowls at the thought. If his regular nightmares can cause problems in the reforging without spirit intervention, then sleep has become that much sharper a double-edged sword. As if he needed another reason to hate sleeping.

The first rays of dawn spill over the horizon and Ozai's sunsense suddenly doubles. No Sun Spirit manifestation appears nearby and the direction of Agni's nearer presence points to the guest wing. It would seem that Iroh will not be spared sunrise training for a second day in a row, despite the late night Tui had caused for them.

Ozai thinks about going to meet them in the royal training courtyard, but... He really doesn't feel well enough to do much more than meditate. Agni would probably insist on keeping him to breathing and control exercises, anyway. Dragging himself from his bed for such a meager prize doesn't seem worth the effort.

Spirits preserve him, he hopes he doesn't spend the whole day feeling this bad.

Agni's warnings from the previous morning drift to the forefront of his thoughts.

"Death for mortals comes in many varieties."

"I reinforced the binds that Liukshi weakened."

"Your reforging remains fragile."

"You, child mine, nearly died."

...No. No, he refuses. This family has lost too much already. He refuses to be another mourned too soon. He refuses to abandon the people who need him most. He has a brother to support and children to raise, to say nothing of the nation he is tasked with leading. He isn't allowed to die so easily.

Ozai tosses the sheets aside and pushes himself up to sit on the edge of his bed. He allows himself one breath to steady the remaining queasiness in his belly and quiet the voice in his head insisting that asking for help is admitting weakness he can't afford. (He knows better than that. He's known better for years now, but sometimes the old insecurities still rear up.) He is weakened. To continue the fight, he needs help. More importantly, he has allies willing to help. He just needs to remember that.

Resolve set, he calls, "Agni?"

His eyes close and heat washes over him. The Sun Spirit has arrived.

Chapter Text

"You called for me, Fire Lord." Ozai is beginning to suspect this is Agni's standard greeting whenever a Fire Lord reaches out rather than waiting on the Sun Spirit to initiate a meeting between them. The words are very ritualistic, very formal.

Ozai's response is decidedly neither of those things.

"I think I strained the reforging," he blurts. If there is a good way to bring up injuries in a conversation, he has yet to learn what it is.

There is a slight pause and the red shade of his eyelids shifts before heat presses over his belly, then his chest, and finally sweeps over his neck and along the sides of his face. The discomfort isn't so great as it had been directly following Liukshi's dream of his first Agni Kai, but that is also a difference of degree rather than kind.

Too-warm hands retreat as the great spirit sighs. "So you have," Agni says, "It is not unexpected, after Liukshi's disturbance of the initial binds and the events of your journey with Tui last night."

"How are Hama's victims?" Ozai asks. He hadn't gotten the opportunity to wait with them for any potential rescuers from nearby villages and the anxiety over their wellbeing has been nagging at the edges of his thoughts since.

"They have been scattered among the local settlements," Agni says, "Some of my court currently work to relieve injuries and infections, but there are other mistreatments that cannot be resolved without time. Not all that was broken will be restored, but healing has begun and they have the benefit of aid from spirits and mortals alike. There is little more that could be done for them.

"As for you, child mine, light the sconces. Your bindings will be easiest to strengthen with a manifestation nearby, and offering your fire directly in your current state would create unnecessary stress."

The red shade of his eyelids darkens to black as the intense heat of the spirit vanishes and Ozai opens his eyes to a room dimly lit by the first rays of sunrise streaming in past his open balcony curtains.

Ozai almost rises to his feet before he remembers that the palace has not yet been retrofitted with gas lines and there are no fiddly knobs in need of turning. As long as he can throw the flame accurately -- and his aim is not a portion of his control that has suffered from the sudden boost to his firebending -- there is no reason for him to move from his spot. Ozai winces at his own too-bright flames before carefully paring the fire down into a small dart he can toss at the nearest sconce.

Agni immediately begins to draw from the new fire, collecting the flames into a growing sphere. Ozai lights another two before deciding that three sconces and the literal Sun Spirit he is inviting into his room will provide more than enough light for early-morning eyes.

Ozai pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to ignore his headache and nausea.

Heat wraps itself around his waist, slants from hip to opposing shoulder along his back, brushes his neck and ear, and falls down his chest to rest over his heart. Ozai's breathing begins to ease and the nausea starts to fade. His headache stubbornly persists, but there could be other stresses beyond the strained reforging feeding into that particular annoyance.

Ozai slits his eyes open to spy a clawed hand pressed to his chest and a rather fluffy-looking tail splayed over his abdomen. A glance into his dressing mirror reveals a small dragon of white fire wrapped snugly around his person, head resting on Ozai's shoulder. Maybe one day he'll stop being surprised by how quickly spirits adopt different forms, changing bodies as easily as mortals change clothing.

Agni's fire-furred tail flicks lazily like that of a pet lizard-cat luxuriating perched in a sunny windowsill.

...He really shouldn't try to stroke Agni, no matter how curious he is about the fluffy look of the spirit's tail and mane. It would probably break some kind of ancient protocol or something. Ozai folds his hands over his lap rather than letting his fingers test the texture of the fire spirit's wavering fur.

"Tui mentioned my reforging was fragile because my father and I were 'opposed.' Is that true?" he says, addressing the mirror due to the lack of comfortable angle by which he could view the Sun Spirit directly. Agni doesn't look up to meet his gaze, focus remaining on whatever invisible work he is doing to reinforce the bindings.

The fire spirit rumbles a sound Ozai doubts a human could reproduce convincingly. He doesn't think the sound is an indication of anger. "Spirits tell no lies, and Tui seeks your wellbeing," Agni reminds him, "The Moon Spirit's words can be trusted."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ozai asks.

The dragon tisks.

"There are many reasons for your reforging's fickleness," Agni says, "and little you could do to improve the bond of the reforging beyond allowing yourself time to grow into your new identity. A reforging's setting process cannot be rushed."

"I don't like it when people keep information from me, allies or otherwise," Ozai says, "It usually ends with me getting blindsided by it later at the worst possible moment. What else aren't you telling me?"

Agni chuckles as the dragon coils around Ozai's shoulders, leaving enough of his long body free to face Ozai properly. "Many things, child mine," Agni answers, "Tell me, should your heir have been included in last night's events? Is he ready to see the horrors of war? Would you send him tomorrow to negotiate with foreign powers? Could he navigate the politics of his home court? Should he suffer a father who cannot love and a sister who would kill him?"

"No," Ozai grumbles. Even he can figure out what the Sun Spirit is angling at.

"A son may grow to fill many of his father's roles, but growth requires time and some roles cannot or should not be passed down," Agni says, "If this is true of your heir, separated from you by a mere six years of experience, how much more should this expectation hold true between a man and a spirit?

"Make no mistake, despite your reforging, you remain fully mortal." Ozai hadn't even thought to question that. He suddenly wonders if maybe he should have. "My role is not for any mortal to fill, child mine, let alone you, and it would be to your detriment to learn all that I know. Human minds are not suited to such. Trust that my knowledge will be shared freely with you as it becomes beneficial for it to be brought to your awareness."

"I suppose your worry last night wasn't considered beneficial information," Ozai mutters only to immediately regret giving voice to the comment. He is getting far too comfortable around great spirits if he's letting his mouth run away with him like this.

White flames continue to dance but Agni's underlying form freezes in position, the subtle swaying Ozai hadn't noticed before stilled in a frankly disturbing manner. Agni's gaze is as intent as it is unnerving.

"Tui told you," the Sun Spirit says at length, more a blunt statement rather than a question.

"...And La," Ozai adds. He's making a blind guess that the admission will serve him better than risking the omission would have, to say nothing of how hypocritical the decision would be. He shouldn't have pushed the issue. He really, really should have just let it be.

The Sun Spirit grumbles wordlessly and his gentle swaying resumes. After a long moment, Agni says, "Spirits, with few exceptions, do not have families as mortals do. We are not born to parents. We do not have siblings or children. Instead, we borrow these terms for the alignments between spirits for which mortals have no ready words and limited understanding. A compromise to smooth conversation.

"My understanding of fatherhood is pieced together through observation followed by varying success with my heralds from Kuzon to you. I will not pretend my understanding is perfect even now, but from what I have gleaned, children are rarely better off for having their father's worry brought to their attention. Hatchlings tend to cry, adolescents are prone to irritation, and worry is contagious among adults."

Ozai can't exactly argue that point. Tui had mentioned Agni was withholding 'concerns' and Ozai had instantly begun bracing himself to face an unknown threat in response.

Agni continues, saying, "Your assistance to Tui was important and appropriate. My fretting was out of proportion but, although I was aware of that fact in the moment, I found the feeling difficult to set aside. It was an unneeded distraction for you and you should not have been burdened with it."

Ozai supposes that makes sense. Being Fire Lord often means directing the right people to do the right tasks, despite any misgivings he may have and regardless of how justified or not those misgivings are to begin with.

Still, in for a copper, in for a gold.

"La also mentioned you'd been calling in a lot of favors recently," Ozai says.

Agni's head tilts to the side. "Child mine, the point of collecting debts is to later leverage them to your benefit."

"He... La implied that you might run out of favors to leverage at the rate you've been using them," Ozai tries again, "and that several of them had been for my sake."

Agni chuckles. "Is that your concern?" the spirit asks. "It needn't be. More debts can be collected over time. The ocean comes by favors far slower than I. La is not of a social nature and many spirits prefer to go through Tui should they be in need of a boon from La. This is not one of the very few similarities I can claim with the Ocean Spirit."

"You're sure?" Ozai presses, "It won't be a problem?" La had certainly seemed to think it could be. The lingering insinuation that Ozai's continued wellbeing had taken a substantial amount of favors to secure, and has for years, is like a persistent itch, refusing to be soothed by the initial brush.

"I am, and it will not," Agni says, uncoiling from around Ozai's shoulders to hover suspended in the air instead, "Now then, the binds are as strong as they can be made in short order and you must prepare for the coming day. Call for me if you notice weakening in the reforging."

It's a clear dismissal, but mad, tearful eyes framed by the wrong face flash across his memory and he suddenly needs to know.

"Wait!"

Agni freezes in a half-completed dispelling twist, fire flaring outward before just as quickly being pulled back to reform the small dragon. "Child mine?" the Sun Spirit queries.

"I..." Ozai swallows. It had been a dream. And yet, the questions it has stirred up are impossible to ignore. One, in particular, needs to be answered no matter how much he dreads what that answer may turn out to be. "Are there others? Is there anyone else from... from my unwritten future in this new world?"

Agni is silent for an extended moment before he speaks. "You are the only fully mortal reforging we have ever endeavored to create, and also the only human who will remember the events of the lost six years."

That is not a 'no.'

Ozai pushes aside the new questions the obvious deflection offers as distractions. They can be pursued some other time. "There's something more you aren't telling me."

Agni tips his head in acknowledgement. "There was one more I sought to pull from the mortal world before we unmade those half-dozen years. Her condition remains tenuous and Lady Jang Hui tends to her. If she survives, Lady Jang Hui shall arrange your introduction. If she does not, it is better that you not dwell on a failed scheme."

"Azula?" Ozai isn't sure what he's hoping to hear.

"This matter is out of your hands, Fire Lord," Agni rebuffs, "and I will not answer further questions on it. Prepare for the day. You have many tasks of your own to tend to."

"But --"

Agni doesn't stop a second time, dispersing in the air and leaving Ozai alone.

Chapter Text

Ozai shouldn't be staring the way he is. His daughter is doing a very good job of pretending she hasn't noticed, but Zuko keeps glancing back and forth between them while growing increasingly confused and nervous. Azula's only tell is the slight rigidity of her shoulders, easily mistaken for a child her age attempting to keep proper court posture.

He keeps thinking about that dream version of his sister, reforged into their mother's body. If he'd initially thought his own reforging as Ozai was cruel of the spirits, it pales in comparison to the concept of Azula being remade into Ursa. Their father's abuse had left him scarred and drowning in denial. The way their mother had treated Azula laid the groundwork for the eventual shattering of her mind.

Ursa had been a good mother to Zuko. She was probably the sole reason he'd lived to see his twelfth birthday.

She... really hadn't been good for Azula at all.

It hurts to think, but it may be for the best if Ursa never returns to the palace. If she is able to return to begin with. He never did uncover the ultimate fate of his mother.

Still, he'd been learning how to move on. Zuko is learning how to move on even now. And Azula... Azula is so eager to please, if only she can grasp what standards her parents expect from her. Looking back on it, he doubts Ursa had ever been very good at explaining her expectations to a daughter that didn't think remotely in the same manner that she did.

"My own mother thought I was a monster."

Ozai scrubs a hand over his face and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He... He isn't going to look for Ursa this time. He needs to let her go.

On the off chance that three years is enough to make the difference and he could find her, bringing Ursa back to the palace would be destabilizing for the children. And also the court. And he doesn't particularly want to think about the awkward position he'd be putting himself in on a personal level, though he'd find a way to work around that sticking point if he thought her return would be good for Zuko and Azula. But she wouldn't be, and he can't allow his mother to hurt his children any more than he could allow it from his sister.

"I'm sorry," Ozai says, dropping his hand and opening his eyes to find both Zuko and Azula watching him, "I didn't sleep well."

"It was rather inconsiderate of the Moon Spirit to keep you so late," Azula says.

He shouldn't even be surprised. Of course his daughter already knows about his spirit escapades from last night.

"The Moon Spirit?" Zuko asks, only growing more confused.

Ozai ignores the question for the moment, focussing on Azula. "Don't speak ill of the spirits. Some of them take offense easily," he says, "And you should have been in bed sleeping when Tui showed up."

Azula bows her head. "Yes, Father," she offers, "I only learned of the Moon Spirit's actions this morning. The servants are eager to speculate about your time away from the palace."

Ozai scrubs a hand over his face again and hopes the rest of the day goes more smoothly than how it seems to be set on beginning. He knows better than to cling too tightly to that wistful thought, though. The island ministers are often more stubborn than the generals and twice as catogator-ish. His whole day promises to be full of backhanded compliments and political jockeying, and while only a small portion will be directed at him, all of it will be irritating.

Still, that's a problem for after breakfast.

"Moon Spirit Tui had concerns about the Southern waterbenders being held as war prisoners," Ozai says. He is not going to include Hama and her prisoners in his explanation of last night. Agni was right. Children don't need to know everything their parents do, and especially not at eleven and thirteen. He's not going to think about how the world threw a twelve-year-old at its problems with barely a second thought. "The concern was warranted. Waterbenders are not easily held, and their current condition reflects that. I'm not sure how long it will take for them to regain enough of their health to safely return them to their homes."

"They're... ill?" Zuko asks.

Ozai raises an eyebrow at the prince. Had he really once been that naive? He'd been shocked to see the severity of it in person, but he'd known going in that a prison for waterbenders wasn't going to be pleasant. "They're war prisoners that have been kept from every conceivable source of water we could manage. They've been deprived and half-starved."

"Oh," the prince mumbles, looking ill himself at whatever pale abstraction he's put together.

Azula, unsurprisingly, has completely different priorities. "What will the Water Tribe savages be giving us for their benders?"

"Nothing," Ozai answers, "They'll be returned as a gesture of goodwill to the Southern Water Tribes."

"But --" Azula cuts herself off and her eyes widen in the split second before she bows her head, "Forgive me, Father. It is not my place."

"No, speak. I would prefer to know your mind rather than have you hide it from me, Little Dragon," Ozai encourages. He has a pretty good idea of what Azula's objections will be, but she needs to voice her thoughts if he is to begin guiding them along kinder paths. He meets Zuko's gaze and tips his head in a shallow nod before adding, "Breakfast is not court."

Zuko blinks and then sags in relief as the meaning behind the words registers.

For her part, Azula is clearly expecting a trap behind her polite facade. Her porcelain mask is firmly in place as she says, "I was merely surprised at the decision to give away a resource that would be a powerful bargaining chip at the negotiating table. I'm sure you have your reasons, Father."

"A few," Ozai answers, "perhaps even enough to bring an idealist and a tactician to the same conclusion."

Zuko and Azula share a glance. It doesn't take a genius to figure out which each of them is between the two siblings.

"A portion of the waterbenders we've been holding were never warriors," Ozai explains, "They were taken as part of our search for the Avatar and to ensure our navy remained an uncontested power, but it could be argued that non-combatant waterbenders should have been considered civilians and that their imprisonment as part of the war effort is dishonorable.

"Setting that aside, right now the Southern Water Tribes have little reason to trust us enough to even come to the negotiating table. We've been raiding their summer camps for decades and we've done a lot of damage in that time. An act of mercy and recompense might be necessary to buy enough faith to open communications.

"With the war ending, even if Agni had not instructed me to build peaceful relationships with the other nations, I would seek to establish as many trading routes as possible. The entire nation is geared to warfare, including our economy. Opening up trade outside of our borders will help offset the hardships that will result from the cost of retooling our factories and the reshuffling of jobs."

"So, returning the waterbenders is what's honorable," Zuko says slowly, cautiously, "and also what's good for the Fire Nation."

"Provided those Southern savages are civilized enough to react to a gift with proper gratitude," Azula sneers at her brother, "and can offer something of value in return." Only after speaking does she seem to realize that her porcelain mask has slipped. Her eyes dart to Ozai as she hurries to add, "Not that I am questioning --"

"Let's give them the benefit of the doubt," Ozai insists gently, "And the people of the North and South Poles are tribesmen, not savages, Azula. You might be surprised by what they are capable of despite the harsh climate they call home."

The conversation may have continued if the door had not opened and interrupted them. Ozai has to blink away the half-expected image of Ursa to see a nervous Iroh standing in the doorway.

Iroh appears equally startled to see Zuko and Azula in the room. "Ah, please forgive the intrusion," he says as he bows, "I had not realized you were breakfasting with the prince and princess again."

"It's a new arrangement," Ozai confesses, "Like lunch, though I'd understand if you missed today to keep working with Kazuya Kai and Masao. Getting the plans ready for presentation in tomorrow's war meeting is an important task."

"I will make time," Iroh promises, "but I should not keep you from enjoying a meal with your children. I will see you --"

"Iroh," Ozai cuts the other man off before he can finish his retreat, "You came here for a reason. What is it?"

"Nothing that cannot wait, my lord," Iroh insists.

Ozai rolls his eyes. "Unless you're here about something to do with your 'associates,' I doubt it's anything that can't be said with Zuko and Azula in the room. Just tell me." He ignores the curious glances from the two children in question.

Iroh clears his throat before admitting, "I only wished to see how you were faring after last night's excitement."

Ozai blinks at the answer. "You could have just asked Agni." Of course, Iroh had probably figured out that even benevolent spirits are perfectly capable of dancing around the truth far more quickly than Ozai had, and there's something to be said for seeing the proof for yourself.

"Ah, that's true! Forgive me, I should have thought of that instead of disturbing your meal," Iroh rambles, once more reaching for the door.

Ozai thinks this may be the first time he's witnessed Iroh use his jolly old fool guise since arriving in his new present. He doesn't care to be on the receiving end of Iroh's guise any more than he does Azula's mask. Neither have a place in a room free of outsiders, and Ozai has no intention of allowing what remains of their family to crumble so thoroughly as it had in his last life.

"Have you eaten yet?" Ozai asks. "The kitchen always sends more than enough, if you'd care to join us. For today."

He would make it a standing invitation, but the children deserve to have his undivided attention for at least a few degrees every day, barring occasional disruptions to the schedule, like now. It would also probably be a poor idea to effectively force Azula and Iroh into close proximity so regularly. At least at this stage. He needs more time to coax each of them into rethinking what their expectations of the other should be.

It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to look into arranging a few family suppers in the meantime. ...Once the nation is somewhat stable and he isn't using that time as often as not to squeeze one more audience into the day.

Iroh's shoulders drop slightly as a cautious hope sneaks over him. "If you would not mind the additional company," he relents, "perhaps --" Surprised hurt flashes behind his eyes after glancing at Zuko and suddenly Iroh is again attempting to excuse himself from the room, "perhaps I will be able to accept your kind invitation some other day! Today, I should really --"

"No! Stay!" Zuko blurts and flushes.

Ozai frowns. What caused this? What is he missing?

Iroh hesitates and asks, "Are you certain, Prince Zuko?"

The prince nods. "Please stay, Uncle."

Iroh looks worried even as he settles on the cushion next to his nephew and Ozai rings for a servant. An uncomfortable silence persists as the prince stubbornly stares down at his lap, embarrassed by his outburst and equally reluctant to share whatever led up to it. The quiet is nearly oppressive by the time the servant retreats from the room, a fresh set of tableware now sitting ready for Iroh's use.

Right, he'll make time to talk to Zuko privately if the boy doesn't scrape together the courage to address it before breakfast is concluded. For now, any conversation has to be better than letting this silence stretch further.

"How was training this morning?" Ozai asks as he watches Iroh begin plating his meal. It reminds Ozai that he should start eating his own meal before he runs out of time.

"Bruises on bruises," Iroh admits in a wry tone, "Agni seems to prefer sparring over all other training activities." Almost as an afterthought, though Ozai knows better than to think for a second that is actually the case, Iroh adds, "Perhaps it should not be surprising, but the corrections Agni has given for my form lean toward the old styles of firebending rather than Sozin Form."

Azula perks up upon hearing that last sentence, eyes trained on Iroh. "Something like this?" she asks eagerly and demonstrates a sinuous strike that ends sharply, though thankfully without any actual fire. The move looks closer to being a waterwhip than any of the short, straightforward strikes from Sozin Form. It looks a lot like the Sun Warriors' dragon-inspired bending, a style carefully preserved from possibly as far back as Kuzon the Uniter's time.

Iroh manages to contain his surprise to a blink. "Very much like that, Princess Azula," he says, "Where did you learn such a move?"

Azula preens. "I danced with Agni yesterday in the fires of the pre-dawn sun and mastered the blue flame," the girl boasts.

"Danced?" Iroh says before the end of Azula's sentence seems to register, "You have mastered the blue flame? Congratulations, Niece! It is not an accomplishment many in our history could claim. It would seem you learn more quickly under Agni's tutelage than I."

Azula basks in Iroh's praise. "Well, I am a prodigy. It's natural that I should learn faster. But you mentioned older styles, Uncle. What forms should I have Li and Lo research for my future lessons?"

Ozai wishes he could take comfort in watching two of his most mutually antagonistic family members getting along for once as they discuss one of their few shared interests, but Zuko continues to shrink in on himself and Ozai is starting to get worried.

"Zuko," he says quietly in an attempt not to disturb Iroh's and Azula's ongoing conversation. The prince looks up at him with an expression caught between surprise and dread. "What's troubling you?"

Zuko hesitates for a second but then blurts, "Agni hasn't spoken to me!"

So much for not drawing the attention of the entire table.

Zuko flushes but continues, "Azula learned the blue flame from Agni, and Uncle apparently spars with him in the mornings, and it sounds like you and Agni talk often now, Father, but I never -- Agni hasn't spoken to me at all since he returned! Have I done something wrong? Is it something that I haven't done?"

Oh... That... Ozai can see exactly how such an exclusion would have preyed on some of his deepest fears at thirteen.

He bites back on his knee-jerk reaction to call for Agni. The Sun Spirit is patient with him, but he's brushed up against those limits a few times now and he'd last seen Agni less than an hour ago. The spirit world has to be tumultuous under the recent adoption of its current charter -- Ozai still needs to ask about its specifics. -- and Agni is almost certainly as busy handling matters there as Ozai is with his own courts and preparing to establish new relationships with the other nations. It wouldn't be fair to demand Agni's time over something as minor as unfounded insecurities.

"Is... Is Agni displeased with me?" Zuko asks as the silence threatens to grow uncomfortably long.

"N--" The sconces in the room flare white before Ozai can offer the prince any encouragement. The flames dotted around the room return to normal in short order, but by that time Iroh's and Azula's gazes are already locked on him. "Not me," Ozai says, keeping a careful watch on his son's face. In a nearly worrying contrast to the rest of the table, Zuko stares ahead with wide, unseeing eyes.

After a second that feels like a small eternity, Zuko blinks, lifts a hand above the table, and summons a fistful of fire. "Agni?" he calls tentatively.

The prince yelps and ceases bending as his fire is pulled from him into a small sphere of white flames. The sphere spins for a moment and then, instead of pulling from a different source, twists itself into a palm-sized, man-shaped form in Zuko's hand.

"Greetings, Prince Zuko of Second Fire!" Agni says, looking quite comfortable reclining against the boy's fingers and dangling a swinging foot over the side of his chosen platform, "Please forgive our belated introduction. I assure you, I hold all gathered around this table dear."

Zuko stares in awe at the spirit cupped in his hand. "Hello," he says with no small amount of wonder.

Never one to let her brother outshine her, Azula summons her own fistful of fire. "Agni, Father of Fire, I offer my flames."

The blue flames turn white, twirl in a quick circuit around the princess' head, and explode over the table in a shower of swiftly disappearing embers. Agni chuckles. "I believe one manifestation at the breakfast table is enough, Princess."

"Yes, Agni," Azula says, ignoring her brother's glare.

It's probably better if he steps in now before Zuko and Azula have a chance to fall into another squabble. "The children are eager to spend more time with you, but it would be understandable if your attention is needed elsewhere."

Agni freezes for a moment before sitting up in Zuko's palm. "Is that an invitation to play with your hatchlings, Fire Lord?"

Ozai hesitates. He'd thought Agni too busy, but maybe he has underestimated how much the spirit prioritizes Ozai's family in general. On the other hand, he knows Agni's scheming has been done at least in part to protect the royal family. With that to consider, should he really be shocked by the idea that Agni might be at least a little invested in the daily activities of their lives? Still, there is something in Agni's question that feels suspicious.

"Children, Agni. They're human children, not dragons," he reminds the spirit.

"There is little difference between the two when it comes to younglings and play," Agni dismisses, remaining fully focussed on Ozai and the impending answer.

Ozai resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Just tell me, am I going to regret it if I say 'yes'?"

Agni's head tilts to the side as the Sun Spirit thinks for a second or two. "I do not believe so," he states, and then says, "No burns, I will return them no later than fifteen degrees past collecting them, and we will not leave Caldera."

...Is Agni bargaining?

Ozai opens his mouth, closes it, tries again, "Can you try to keep it to the palace grounds? The city will still be stirred up from... everything." Spirit dreams, and pre-dawn suns, and spontaneous firebending from previous nonbenders... Spirits help him, he has so much he needs to do.

"I shall abide by your request," Agni promises.

"Fine," Ozai sighs, still not quite trusting Agni's unforeseen eagerness but unable to pinpoint a reason he should object to the arrangement, "So long as everyone is alive and well by the end, and nothing important is burning to ash, it's fine."

The spirit claps his hands together. "Excellent!" Agni says, rising to stand on the prince's hand. Returning his attention to Zuko, Agni instructs, "Call for me on the lava field surrounding the palace at noonday." Directly to Azula, the Sun Spirit adds, "A second manifestation will be appropriate at that time."

And then Agni jumps off the edge of Zuko's palm, vanishing in a trail of sparks without so much as a farewell.

Zuko stares at the spot where Agni had disappeared for a moment before lowering his hand. "He's... not what I expected," the prince says.

Iroh hums a politely noncommittal tone and Ozai snorts at the understatement. He's not sure anymore what expectations he had when he first met Agni. All he knows is that Agni has taken a torch to almost all of them by this point. "Welcome to the club," he mutters as he shakes his head.

He spends the rest of breakfast listening to Zuko and Azula theorize back and forth over what Agni might have planned for them.

Chapter Text

There is a servant dithering at the edge of the dais. They are either a weak firebender or else not a bender at all, judging by their low-banked inner flame, and the only reason Ozai notices their lingering presence is the nervous back-and-forth movements typical of indecision. They're probably a messenger and Ozai has inadvertently created a problem for them by being on the other side of the flame wall.

He should probably order construction to have the bank shortened slightly and a discreet pathway around the curtain of fire put in on either side for the servants, considering that Ozai fully intends to sit behind or in front of the elemental barrier as the politics surrounding each meeting are best benefitted or the practicalities of the discussion served.

The servant turns to backtrack. Ozai raises a hand, creating a cleared arch through the wall of white flames and --

The servant yelps. Loudly.

Ozai barely manages to keep his own composure through his shock.

The arguing ministers turn to locate the source of the unexpected noise.

Ozai hadn't meant to snag the servant's inner flame with his bending, but that doesn't change the fact that he had. At least the man himself appears unharmed, if badly startled and embarrassed. The servant's inner flame returns to its previous state as the man clears his throat and bows to the room, hiding his flushed face.

Ozai supposes that confirms his ability to do more than merely sense another person's inner flame.

"Honored guests, p-please forgive the interruption," the servant says before rising and quickly scurrying to Ozai's side. The man crouches low to whisper, "My lord, there is an occurrence ongoing at the northwestern entrance involving Prince Zuko and Princess Azula, as well as two fire spirits."

Ozai frowns and half wishes he'd been holding this meeting from behind the flame curtain. It would have afforded more privacy from the ministers' prying ears and openly watching eyes, and the message itself could have been relayed with minimal intrusion to the ministers' quarreling to avoid prolonging the meeting further.

Regardless, it's just after noon and he'd felt it when Agni manifested a new form to the northwest, though at this distance all he feels is the pull of the Sun Spirit on his chi as any firebender paying attention will. He can't tell if there are currently two of Agni's manifestations in that direction or if Agni has brought another spirit with him, but the former seems more likely after his last words to Azula at breakfast. Either way, the children shouldn't be in danger.

...Unless the limits of mortal children slip Agni's mind.

Ozai smothers the urge to grimace at the thought. It's likely fine.

"That will be Agni," he tells the servant, "Am I needed?"

The servant almost looks panicked. "I... do not know?" he admits before hastily tacking on, "My lord." His eyes flit over the clearly listening ministers, though there is no way to be certain how much they are successfully overhearing between hushed voices and the natural crackle and whoosh of the fire at Ozai's back.

Ozai sighs and rises to his feet. "With me," he orders, parting the curtain and stepping past the flames. The servant quickly falls into step behind him. Ozai reseals the wall of fire. "Tell me."

"I'm not sure I have the words, Fire Lord," the man murmurs, mindful that although the flame curtain will mask a low conversation and obscure facial expressions, that is also all that it will cover, "It would be best for you to see for yourself. It will certainly have political repercussions once it is known, though I cannot predict what they will be."

Ozai almost asks if it can wait before realizing it doesn't matter. The meeting has already been disrupted. He may as well dismiss the ministers for a lunch break. "Thank you. I'll be there shortly."

The servant bows and retreats. Ozai passes back through the flame wall and invites the ministers to take advantage of the palace chefs' cooking for the noonday meal. He then forces himself to keep an unhurried pace as he makes his way to the palace's secondary entrance.

He is only halfway to his destination when his sense of Agni shifts. The manifestation traveling southwest, then south at a disconcerting speed. What is going on?

Ozai ditches his first plan and his outer robes, shucking the heavy fabric and its voluminous sleeves behind him before locating the nearest window large enough to climb out of.

Southeast, now east goes the Sun Spirit. Agni is looping the lava field around the palace, but why?

Ozai finally makes it up onto a roof tall enough to see --

Ozai blinks.

He blinks again.

The two dragon-like manifestations -- a bit short for their size, two pairs of wings each, and with entirely too many legs, but otherwise very much so dragons -- do not disappear, twining and weaving over one another, nor do their young human riders.

Ozai watches from a distance as one child is tossed with a shriek -- Zuko! -- and caught by the other fire dragon after it launches its own rider. Azula flips through the air and lands half-lost in the first dragon's mane, grasping its -- Agni's -- horns. Azula cackles. Zuko, recovered from his fright, whoops. Agni's game continues, something between a race, dance, and catch as he circles the palace and tosses exhilarated, laughing children through the air.

That is so unf-- Ozai swallows down the envy. He can't blow off the ministers for the rest of the day. They aren't anywhere near finished. They're still hashing out everything from the rebalancing of taxes owed by each province and the planned repurposing of war infrastructure. And he has lunch with Iroh that he needs to get to.

His prior engagements are too important to be brushed aside.

Ozai sighs and begins his climb back down the side of the palace.

Maybe he'll have a chance to join Agni and the children next time.

Another servant is waiting for him in the hall outside of the dining room he is to meet Iroh in for lunch.

"Your majesty," the elderly servant greets with a bow.

"Rise," Ozai commands, "Speak."

"Minister Daiki has requested an audience at your earliest availability, Fire Lord. He insists that the matter is urgent, but he offered no details."

He had noticed Daiki's agitation through the morning hours, with no shortage of frowns sent directly at Ozai. Is the minister really so put out over yesterday's cancelled meeting?

Ozai sighs. Regardless of what Daiki wants, his earliest availability is now and he'd rather have whatever this is over with today rather than antagonize the minister further. "Tell Minister Daiki that he may join Iroh and myself for lunch."

"Yes, Fire Lord," the servant says, bows, and shuffles away to deliver his message.

There goes his break from the ministers.

"Rise," Fire Lord Ozai says and gestures to the seat at his right, "Please, join us, Minister. I am told you have a matter of urgency to discuss."

"Thank you, Fire Lord," Daiki says, moving to obey. He cannot restrain himself from glancing in General Iroh's direction as he settles on the indicated cushion. The inclusion of the Fire Lord's estranged and disgraced brother is yet another unexplained difference in Ozai's behavior. It likewise does not escape Daiki's notice that although he sits in the place of an honored guest, Iroh occupies the spot of a trusted advisor. Both men kept close at hand by the pleasure of the young Fire Lord.

These are not the actions of the ambitious and covetous man that had inherited his brother's birthright just two years prior. Something drastic has changed in Fire Lord Ozai, something beyond the unanticipated inheritance of a sacred title and role that had been withheld from his most recent predecessors.

For Yota's and Tadashi's sakes, Daiki hopes this new side of Ozai has also discovered some measure of mercy. Regardless of any personal hopes, however, Daiki has a duty that must be fulfilled.

"You may begin," Ozai says, gesturing to the table's spread, "both with your meal and your concerns."

Daiki nods. "Thank you, Fire Lord." He plates his meal slowly as he considers the best way to introduce the topic. After his audience with the Fire Lord yesterday had been unceremoniously cancelled, he had not expected to have his request for a meeting with the Fire Lord granted so swiftly. Unfortunately, Daiki can think of no manner to phrase the looming problem without courting suspicion. "I should start by stating that my loyalty rests firmly with Agni and his herald."

That gets immediate attention that neither Ozai nor Iroh attempt to disguise.

"But?" Ozai prompts.

"Forgive me, your majesty, but today's happenings require yesteryear's context," Daiki says, "Could you tell me what the palace teaches its heirs regarding Fire Lords Hinata and Kenzo?"

"Not much," Ozai says, glancing at his brother, "The names are familiar from the lineage records, but they are many generations past and I was not taught more of either man. Iroh?"

General Iroh shakes his head. "My tutors mentioned there was some unrest late into Fire Lord Hinata's reign and that it plagued the early years of Fire Lord Kenzo's rule, but I confess it has been some time since my studies and I do not remember if any further details were discussed."

"I see. Then I shall do my best to recount the tale for you." Daiki grimaces. This will not go well. "Fire Lord Hinata was blessed with three heirs and cursed by his fourth. His third child, Saburo, had greater ambitions than his birthright alone would grant him."

Ozai remains stone-faced and his stare does not falter. Iroh has not become so unpracticed at the courts' political maneuverings as to glance in his brother's direction, but the stiffening of his shoulders betrays his fresh unease with the conversation.

Daiki continues.

"Late into Fire Lord Hinata's reign, the Fire Lord went abroad to speak with the Earth King of the time. The trip was not meant to be longer than two weeks. It happened to coincide with a moonless night. With his father away, and both Agni and Tui blind for several hours, Saburo cast off his cloak of meekness and made his bid to secure his place as heir.

"Under the dark of night, Saburo led his supporters in the coldblooded slaughtering of his siblings, nephews, and nieces. Most died in their beds, unaware of the betrayal that was coming for them. Saburo succeeded in making himself the sole heir of Hinata's bloodline, but this is the only manner in which Saburo met success that night.

"Royal Guard Kenzo marshalled the remains of the palace's security forces -- those who had survived the initial assault and were not traitors themselves -- to put up a resistance to Saburo's coup. They were too late to save their charges, but they managed to detain Saburo and his conspirators. Saburo's supporters were executed at daybreak, but Saburo and his young son were the last of Hinata's line, and there was arguing over what to do with the traitor prince and his small family. It was ultimately decided that they would be held until the Fire Lord could return to pass judgement.

"Fire Lord Hinata returned five days early, eyes bright from Agni's illumination and with a bristling Sun Spirit whispering in his ears. Fire Lord Hinata had rather understandably not wished to believe Agni's forewarnings of the tragedy waiting for him at home and his heart broke upon seeing it with his own eyes.

"Fire Lord Hinata did not have the heart to pass judgement upon Saburo. Instead, he begged Agni to have mercy upon the last son and grandson remaining to him, and then he turned them over to the Sun Spirit.

"Agni was incensed by the bloodshed of Kuzon the Uniter's line, and, despite Fire Lord Hinata's pleas, the White Dragon did not hesitate to destroy Saburo. The traitor prince was ash on the wind in seconds. And then Agni turned his attention to Saburo's wife and son.

"Agni believed the woman's claims of ignorance and ordered her returned to her father's household to live out the rest of her days in shame. As for the boy, Agni smothered his inner flame and cursed his line to be forever exempt from the blessings of Agni, especially those reserved for Kuzon the Uniter's line as they had been what Saburo sought to steal for himself and his descendants.

"Agni named Royal Guard Kenzo to be Fire Lord Hinata's new heir, as a man of honor and courage from a recent branching of Kuzon the Uniter's line. Yours," Daiki gestures to a grim Fire Lord Ozai and a pale General Iroh, "is the line of Kuzon through Kenzo."

Daiki lets the silence rest and focusses on eating his lunch. The two other men at the table continue to ignore theirs as they instead work on digesting something altogether less appetizing than the chefs' offerings.

"I trust you have a reason to bring this story to my attention now?" Fire Lord Ozai finally says.

Daiki sets his chopsticks aside and proceeds to finish the tale for the current Fire Lord.

"Fire Lord Hinata kept his last grandchild near for a time, and Crown Prince Kenzo did not begrudge the aging Fire Lord that comfort, but the murmurings of the people kept growing. The situation grew increasingly tense and it was only a matter of time until the child's presence would have sparked an assassination attempt -- either against him or on his behalf -- to clean up the perceived loose ends to the line of succession.

"Fire Lord Hinata chose not to tempt further bloodshed over the inheritance of his throne. He ordered all written records of his bloodchildren destroyed and renamed his living grandson as Ichiro, the only remaining child of his blood. He then gave Ichiro to Crown Prince Kenzo with instructions to hide the boy away. The Crown Prince dutifully fulfilled the Fire Lord's request and in turn entrusted Ichiro to my ancestors. Ichiro grew up to become a servant in their household, well provided for and of no interest to the nobility or political powers at work in the capital.

"Since that day, Ichiro's line has faithfully served my own for generations." Daiki takes a breath before confessing, "More to the point, there is a servant in my household by the name of Yota who is of Ichiro's line, and a situation that has remained stable for centuries now threatens to erupt.

"I hope you will understand. Yota holds a measure of my affection as a friend from our shared childhood, and I do not believe he possesses the bloodlust of his ancestor Saburo, but he has ever chafed under his role as a servant in my family's household. The story of Saburo's destruction is passed down our families as a warning, but Yota is a dreamer and he has long wished to reclaim the lost birthright of his forefathers. He was a young fool when we were growing up and today he remains an old fool who has never learned to think through consequences before acting.

"Yesterday before dawn, Yota's son, Tadashi, touched Agni's flames and became one of many to be gifted with the ability to firebend. Tadashi does not carry the same ambitions as his father, but he is a loyal son and he often yields to his father's whims. Yota sees Tadashi's new firebending as a lifting of Agni's curse on their bloodline, perhaps even as a call from the Sun Spirit himself to reclaim the throne for Hinata's bloodline over that of Kenzo's.

"Late in yesterday's evening, I quarrelled with Yota. He left my employment, and Tadashi with him.

"Alone, Yota is no threat to your rule, Fire Lord, but there are doubtlessly those that would happily use him and Tadashi for their own ends if presented with the opportunity, and Yota is making enough noise that he may well draw their attention."

The silence rests heavily in the room.

"...You say Tadashi does not share his father's ambitions," Fire Lord Ozai says, "but he is the one who has been gifted firebending, not Yota. If he were to be removed from his father's influence, would he still seek to claim the throne?"

Daiki holds the Fire Lord's gaze as he answers, "As I said, Tadashi is a loyal son; however, he is also a far more realistic and thoughtful man than his father. The last I saw of them, Tadashi was already attempting to speak sense into Yota. I believe his hopes rest in convincing his father to give up his poisonous dream before it can doom them both."

"I see. Do you know where they are now?"

"No, my lord," Daiki admits, "But Yota is not a patient man. He will seek an open confrontation and sooner than would be wise for achieving his aims."

Ozai frowns. "How soon?"

"I cannot say."

The frown turns into a scowl. "Of course," the Fire Lord huffs but shakes his head, "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Minister Daiki. Are there any other matters you wish to discuss?"

Daiki considers the question, weighing his duties, what he knows of Ozai's temperament, and the uncertainties of the Fire Lord's recent behavior against each other. "Some of my fellow ministers, specifically those who live on the eastern portion of the Southern Tongue, have received reports of a traveling woman who has displayed miraculous healing abilities. Given the patterns of her sightings, it is possible that her destination is Caldera but there has been no confirmation of her intentions. She keeps another woman and an infant in her company. There is also a creature of shadow that appears to ferret-dog their steps, only glimpsed during the night.

"I have not received such a report myself, but I would not be surprised if one were to arrive from Shuhon before I leave the capital."

General Iroh's brow furrows. "More spirits?" he says, the words halfway between question and suggestion as he turns to look at his younger brother.

"Possibly," Ozai says, gaze lost to unseen horizons. Is it merely his own thoughts he entertains, or does he commune with Agni as the great spirit's herald even now? The Fire Lord's eyes return to focus on Daiki. "Your cancelled audience from yesterday, I believe it was to petition funds for Eastern Shuhon. Why have you chosen not to bring the matter up when the opportunity is before you?"

Daiki forces himself not to react visibly. He had nearly forgotten the slight, busy as he had been trying to corral Yota's worst tendencies. Has Ozai agreed to meet with him so quickly as a subtle apology for the earlier dismissal? The idea that the heir to Kenzo's line yet values Daiki's family, forgotten though their greatest service to Fire Lords Hinata and Kenzo may have been, is a balm to a resentment he has carried for far longer than a single day.

"The requested funds were to be used to update our shipyard and docks for the newest cruisers. With the war ending, the project is likely to be completely scrapped. If it does continue, the project can be pursued at a more moderate pace, lessening the need for workers and funds. As things stand, Eastern Shuhon has no right to ask the capital for more gold, particularly not with the economic hardships you predicted in this morning's council."

"A judicious and honorable decision, Minister Daiki. Eastern Shuhon and the Fire Nation as a whole are fortunate to have you." Daiki cannot help the swell of pride in his breast at the recognition. "I'm afraid I will have to excuse myself, however. You have given me much to think about and it sounds like there will not be much time to prepare for the fallout of Yota's actions. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. I will see you in the continuation of the day's meeting."

The Fire Lord rises to his feet before Daiki can offer his thanks. Ozai looks to his brother. "Iroh, walk with me." Despite the demand, Ozai sweeps out of the room without waiting for his brother to reclaim his feet.

"Minister," Iroh says as he stands and offers a nod.

"General," Daiki returns.

Iroh hesitates at the doorway. "Thank you," he says, "for your loyalty to my brother." The words even sound genuinely spoken.

Perhaps this new accord between Azulon's sons has deeper roots than has thus far been witnessed. Daiki hopes that is indeed the case, if only to avoid a new round of bloodshed and bitter rivalry within the royal family.

"Agni's illumination shines from Fire Lord Ozai's eyes," Daiki responds, "I would be a fool to deny his role as the Sun Spirit's chosen herald."

Iroh nods once and finally departs.

Daiki finishes a very fine lunch in his own company.

Chapter Text

"I want the spymaster waiting in my office by the time today's meeting finishes," Ozai tells the inner flame hiding in the wall, "Go on and deliver the message now. Better to give the spymaster time to make any necessary arrangements."

The warm inner flame hesitates for another second before slinking away soundlessly.

Ozai resumes his previously aborted trek to the northwestern entrance. It would seem he has reason to speak with Agni sooner rather than later, after all.

He makes it down one more hallway at a leisurely pace before Iroh catches up with him.

"Where are we going?" Iroh asks as he falls into step with Ozai, "Minister Daiki's warning was lacking in direct leads to follow."

"I am going to speak with Agni," Ozai answers, "and you are welcome to either join that conversation, or depart to continue planning with Masao and Kazuya Kai once we reach the northwestern entrance. In the meantime, we need to talk."

"Talk?" Iroh asks cautiously.

Ozai hums. "Daiki's story made you uneasy. I saw the obvious parallels with Saburo, too, but you needn't worry over them. You have my oath. And we both know you have no desire to sit the throne."

"Do we?" Iroh eyes him warily.

Ozai snorts, amused despite himself. "You're uncomfortable taking on so much as the role of regent, let alone a more long-term rule. You may not agree with every decision I make as Fire Lord, but you'd trust your own handling of the Fire Lord's responsibilities less."

"Agni has made his preference between us more than clear," Iroh interjects hurriedly, "To defy the Sun Spirit's will would be madness."

"He has, though Agni might as soon argue that you were the one to make that decision," Ozai muses. The Fire Lord smirks at his elder brother as he adds, "Unfortunately for you, Agni and I happen to prefer you over any other option for regent in my absence. You won't escape your duties to the nation quite so easily."

"I'm afraid I do not understand why," Iroh admits, "There are others who could fill the role."

"We trust you," Ozai says, "and you're the most prepared of anybody for the task, despite your doubts. But while we're on the subject, have you given any consideration to who you'll be naming in your will for regent? It shouldn't be necessary, but it would look bad not to have something on record with the clerks and sages."

Iroh grimaces. "I have not. I will give it some thought once we finalize the initial withdrawal plans in tomorrow's war meeting."

Ozai accepts the answer without further comment. The palace's secondary entrance isn't far now, and there is one pressing matter that he doesn't dare leave to a later time. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Oh?" Iroh glances up at him.

"Yes," Ozai catches Iroh's elbow and pulls him to a halt in the corridor, "Don't mention Saburo's tale to anyone, especially Zuko and Azula. I'm not sure yet how much either of them should be told, but palace gossip has a way of reaching small ears, and it might be best if I spoke to them each separately about it."

"I had not planned to," Iroh says and frowns at him, "but what concerns would prompt you to address the children individually?"

Ozai doesn't let himself flinch. "Azula is fully capable of killing Zuko, and they both know it," he states bluntly. Brutal honesty is the least likely method to bite him later, but it certainly makes for an uncomfortable conversation in the here and now.

Iroh recoils. "She's eleven!" he sputters in protest.

"She's eleven, a bending prodigy that few adults could challenge, and she sees people in the way that most see tools or toys," Ozai says seriously, "She cares about Zuko, in her own way, but it wouldn't be enough to stop her if she decided for whatever reason that Zuko needed to die. Any regrets would come too late to prevent tragedy.

"It's not her fault, not totally. A lot of her worst behaviors have been encouraged instead of corrected. I'll work with her on it, but this isn't something that can be fixed quickly. In the meantime, Zuko doesn't need new nightmares any more than Azula needs to be antagonized by well-intentioned meddling. Leave the children to me."

"You tell me Princess Azula is eager to commit fratricide and then expect me to do nothing?" Iroh demands. Ozai isn't sure if the older man looks more horrified or outraged.

"Not eager, only capable and willing. Under the wrong circumstances," Ozai corrects and adds, "This isn't something you can help with, Iroh. You don't hold her respect and you've never understood how she thinks. Whatever you would try is more likely to backfire than anything.

"I know Azula, and I know Zuko. Let me be the one to smooth their rivalry into a more productive relationship."

Iroh stares at him, brow furrowed and mouth pressed flat. Finally, he says, "Every time I think I have found my feet, you ask me for something new I do not know how to give."

"I know," Ozai says, "I'm sorry."

Iroh nods sharply. "I will do my best not to upset my niece and nephew, but I do not think I can pretend not to have heard what you've said about Princess Azula's disposition."

"Good. Ignoring it wouldn't change who she is or make her less dangerous. Setting an example of strong family bonds and their benefits might. I want that. For all of us." Ozai glances over his shoulder although this particular corridor has no outside windows. Agni is approaching on his latest lap of the palace.

Ozai turns back to Iroh. He doesn't know what to make of his brother's current expression and so he ignores it in favor of more pressing matters. "Will you be joining my conversation with Agni? There's still time before the other generals will be expecting you back, but I'd understand if you don't want to come."

Iroh sighs, shoulders sagging. "While it becomes increasingly tempting to retreat to more familiar duties, I would prefer not to add to the matters of which I am kept ignorant when you are offering an open invitation to participate." At Ozai's grimace, Iroh adds, "That is not a complaint, Brother, merely an acknowledgement. I suspect every Fire Lord in our history has kept secrets."

"Probably," Ozai grumbles but the guilt remains curled around his shoulders. He's asked a lot of Iroh over the past few days and offered little in return, let alone an explanation that would help make sense of the turmoil erupting around them. "Come on, Agni will be passing by the entrance soon." Iroh follows readily as Ozai turns to lead the way to their shared destination.

Rounding the last corner on their path reveals a crowd of servants gathered to watch Agni at the northwestern entrance. It shouldn't be surprising, there are probably similar crowds at every window and entrance in the palace, but Ozai had failed to expect them all the same. In retrospect, this explains why the halls had been deserted and he'd been able to converse with Iroh in relative privacy. He should have thought to question that sooner.

He takes a page from his mother's book, clapping sharply twice to draw attention to himself. "Return to your duties," he orders and waves off the collected servants' hurried bows, "Go."

The hall clears quickly as servants scuttle away to fulfill the jobs they have been neglecting in favor of gawking at the circling great spirit. He can't blame them for their distraction. Even if Agni were not revered as their patron spirit, the Sun Spirit's literal brilliance ensures he is a spectacle at any size, never mind the twin dragon-creatures large enough to carry children that he has chosen to manifest as.

Ozai strides past the remaining guards to stand under clear skies. Iroh follows, though he hangs back by several paces. Agni's twinned forms enter view, complete with rambunctious riders bouncing between the legendary mounts.

"Agni," Ozai says. There's no need to raise his voice beyond a normal speaking volume. He hardly needs to be within the hearing range of any particular manifestation of Agni's, not as the spirit's own herald. Ozai had not come here to be heard. He came here to avoid drawing the great spirit's attention elsewhere while Agni is busy tossing about Ozai's children through open air. He doubts the precaution is necessary, but he feels better having made the effort. Just in case. "I need to speak with you."

One of the white dragons swoops low as it passes him, breathing a stream of fire over the lava field and leaving behind the humanoid form Ozai is more familiar with.

"Fire Lord, Once-Prince," Agni greets in a jovial tone as his other two manifestations continue their race along with their young passengers.

"King Agni," Iroh returns.

"You may rise," Agni says to Iroh before focussing on Ozai. "Have you come to join us, child mine? I had not expected you to have much free time today."

He wishes. Ozai sighs. "Another day, maybe," he says and asks, "How much did you hear of my meeting with Daiki over lunch?"

"My name was mentioned several times but it did not sound like a call and the tones of speech remained civil throughout," Agni answers, "I did not pay the conversation much mind. Should I have?"

"Minister Daiki told us," Ozai gestures to Iroh as he speaks, "the tale of Saburo and your judgement of his line. Daiki also reported that he had servants with him of Saburo's line, but they left his employment after one touched your flames and gained the ability to firebend."

Agni freezes in place, the flickering of live fire unable to completely mask the new rigidity of its underlying form. Over to the southeast, the dragons glide to land on the rocky plain and take on a new, tightly spiralling dance with a distinct lack of tossed children arcking through the air. Electricity crackles and sparks off Agni's human-shaped form as the great spirit says, "Tadashi."

"You didn't know," Ozai concludes.

Agni shakes his head. "My memory of the event and its results is clear, but it was brushed aside as one such occurrence of thousands until you gave me reason to seek the information. I was distracted and Saburo's line was not a matter at the forefront of my thoughts. I do not know where Tadashi and Yota of Ash are now, but I know their faces and they will not be able to hide from me for long."

"I'll have more mundane means set to the task from this end," Ozai promises, "but I have a request."

"Speak it," Agni says.

"Fire Lord Hinata didn't feel as if he could judge Saburo fairly. I am not Hinata. You charged me specifically to care for the land and people when you made me your herald. Give me a chance to resolve this matter my way.

"I won't see a son punished for loyalty to his father without trying to reason with him first. I can't."

Agni growls, flames flaring briefly before being pulled back and contained. A moment passes as Agni regains control of himself. "It may be possible," the spirit allows, "Yota is a fool, but he loves his son, and Tadashi keeps to the old ways, regular prayers and sacrifices that had previously earned a measure of my fondness."

"You chose to spare Ichiro's life," Ozai reminds the spirit, "Please, Agni, don't retract that mercy."

Agni stares at him. "You have one chance, Fire Lord," the great spirit decides, "If you fail, I will burn what I must to protect what is mine."

The manifestation unravels.

"That... could have gone worse," Ozai concludes.

"I wish you would stop provoking our patron at every turn," Iroh says in a strained voice, "I am not sure if I should be more concerned for your personal safety or the nation's."

Ozai doesn't get the chance to respond, not that he had a response ready, before Agni's dragon manifestations skitter swiftly toward Ozai and Iroh on their many legs. The dragons gradually shrink as they approach until they successfully deposit two stumbling, elated children in front of Ozai and disappear.

"Father!" Zuko exclaims, breathless and flushed, as Azula echoes the greeting with only a little more control and reserve. They offer hurried bows and then Zuko continues, "Did you see? Agni made dragons for us!"

Ozai isn't sure he'd ever looked so excited as the young prince is now. For that matter, he's not sure he's ever seen Azula so openly or innocently bright-eyed. Had this always been possible? Could he have had this with his sister if the adults around them hadn't constantly pitted them against each other?

Ozai swallows down the ache and smiles at his children. "I saw," he confirms, reaching out to wrap an arm around Zuko's shoulders. The boy startles slightly before beaming up at him and leaning closer. "I need to get back to the ministers for the second half of our meeting, but walk with me. You can tell me about your time with Agni on the way."

Ozai looks at Azula and lifts his free arm in a silent invitation. The girl's eyes flicker between him and Zuko quickly before she tucks herself under the offered arm. She doesn't settle as easily into the touch as her brother but she also does not hold herself so stiffly as she had the last time he'd tried something similar. It probably helps that he isn't obviously frustrated this time.

Iroh's face is grief-stricken when Ozai glances over at his brother.

Ah.

Ozai is learning how to be a father to his children, but Iroh is learning how to live with the absence of that role. "Iroh," he says, "Thank you for accompanying me. You may return to your duties with the other generals. When you are ready."

Iroh blinks at him, drawn out of whatever thoughts or memories had sunk their claws into him. "Th--" Iroh clears his throat and tries again, "Thank you, Fire Lord." He bows.

Ozai offers a nod in return and pulls the children along as he re-enters the palace. Zuko glances back at his uncle in concern. Azula does not.

"I think it's safe to say Agni isn't upset with you if he let you ride two of his manifestations," Ozai says, "So, how was it? Dragon riding?"

Zuko doesn't need further prompting to allow a flurry of chatter and expansive gestures to burst forth, eager to recount the story for Ozai. Azula occasionally chimes in with her own, often snide, remarks, but she's clearly riding as high as her brother on the excitement and it softens her sharper edges. There's a bit of bickering but it falls aside readily whenever Ozai steps in to redirect the conversation back to more harmonious elements of the children's shared experience.

It's... good. It's just really, really good.

Something he can't begin to identify settles into place within him and Ozai sinks into the warmth. For one glorious degree, the world consists solely of Ozai, his children, and the bubbly, infectious joy of the moment.

Chapter Text

The meeting runs late -- very late -- but they manage to settle everything that's necessary to be argued out as a group. Any further changes can happen between Ozai and individual ministers through letters, or else be put off until whenever Ozai will no doubt need to call an emergency meeting to readjust things in the following months. (There will be issues either purposefully put off or accidentally forgotten that will need to be addressed before the next regularly scheduled island ministers' meeting. Not the least of which will be the influx of returning soldiers, once it's clearer what the timetable will be and what the final numbers will need to be for holding their borders.) For now, however, war projects have either been cancelled or repurposed, the tax duties of each province have been reconsidered along with the budget for imperial programs, and it will do them all good to be allowed to rethink the future at some leisure in the comfort of their own homes.

Change takes time, even with the pressure of a patron spirit's demands and the expediting force of hindsight-turned-foresight behind it.

Ozai enters his office to jot down a few quick notes before retiring for the night.

"Fire Lord," a woman purrs, rising from the chair behind his desk.

Ozai almost throws fire at her on instinct alone. The only reason she doesn't see him jump at the unexpected greeting is the respectful bow she offers him.

...Right.

He'd asked for the spymaster.

This... is not the person he'd been expecting to see.

"Rise," Ozai says as his mind races.

He doesn't know the name of the old man who had been the spymaster he is used to working with -- It's an old tradition. Kemurikage do not give their names, and their only allegiance is to the crown, not any particular Fire Lord who may wear it for a time. It helps ensure they remain a stabilizing force in the nation rather than becoming a tool for warring factions and revolutions. Or so the old man had claimed when he'd introduced himself. -- but the fact remains that this woman is not the spymaster he knows.

Her age is another mystery. She's young for the role. Is she even forty yet? What happened to her in Ozai's original timeline? There are three years between now and when he'd first taken the throne. Had his father done something to her? Had she been banished by his sister and chosen not to return? Had she fled because she feared what he might do after the war's end? Had something happened to her that wasn't directly related to the actions of his family?

"You look well tonight, Ozai," the woman says, approaching him slowly.

He takes a moment to process the words. A Kemurikage spy will acknowledge a Fire Lord by name no sooner than they will freely offer their own. It just isn't done.

Who is this woman?

"How may I serve you this evening?" the woman asks and Ozai tenses as hands slide over his chest.

Ozai snatches the woman's wrists and pulls her hands off his person. "I'm --" married. Except he isn't anymore, is he? Mai -- his Mai, not the little girl that must exist in this time -- is gone. Ursa has likewise disappeared two years before the present moment, and she is either dead or as good as dead insofar as the majority of the nation is concerned. He cannot claim that tie twice over.

The woman stares up at him with startled eyes and Ozai is forced to recognize that she bears no fault for the circumstance, or at least none so extensive as to justify his reaction to her unanticipated familiarity. Even with whatever reports she's received on the changes in his behavior, could any of it have warned her of an entirely different person living behind the face she knows?

Ozai swallows and releases his grasp on the woman. "This can't continue."

What had Father been thinking, getting entangled with a spy? Let alone the current spymaster. Was it all more power games? Ego? Pride? Had any of it been built upon whatever twisted form of affection his father might have been capable of? Was this woman a willing participant, or had she been coerced?

Ozai's stomach rolls at the last thought.

He feels sick with himself for the thought that follows immediately after.

It would be better for him if the arrangement had not been entirely wanted, lest he end up with a jilted spymaster motivated to create trouble.

Maybe he should have her replaced, but that would further risk turning the woman into an unnecessary enemy, one with skills he'd rather not have focussed on himself. There is also the fact that anything he can avoid changing sidesteps piling on that much more instability to the nation.

The woman retreats three steps and kowtows before him. "Please forgive me, my lord. Agni has called you to the heraldship and left many changes in you," she says, tone suddenly distantly polite, "I should not have presumed to be an exception."

"Rise. You've nothing to apologize for," Ozai says, extending his hand.

He must have really thrown the spy off her game. She stares at his hand in open surprise for a moment. Her eyes flick up to his face and then back to his hand before she finally accepts the offered help.

He brushes past her on his way to his desk. "A moment. I need to make some notes or I'll forget them."

"Of course," she says as he settles at his desk and carefully lights a few candles.

Technically, if he absolutely has to, he can consult the transcript of the meeting, but it takes a while for the scribes to clean up the shorthand version they initially create and it's practically illegible to non-scribes. It was also an absurdly long meeting. He really doesn't want to skim through the whole thing when he can make a few notes now to remind himself of the most important matters in need of further negotiation with individual ministers or follow-up with the imperial accountants.

He startles badly when he looks up again to find her standing directly across from him, far closer than he'd thought she was.

He hadn't heard her move at all. No footsteps, not a whisper of cloth, nothing. It shouldn't be such a shock. She's a spy, and a relatively young one at that. Of course she can move quietly.

His heart continues a too-swift beat in his chest that screams danger. Why? What else is he missing?

She raises a questioning eyebrow at him in the firelight and he suddenly realizes that he knows her face. She's the assistant librarian for the palace, often left in charge of the night shift. She'd departed from the palace staff sometime during his banishment, but she'd been kind to him during his childhood, in her own quiet way. He'd known her as Akane, but, considering her apparent status as a spy, he suddenly has reason to greatly doubt everything he once thought he knew about her.

False or not, at least he has something to call her in his head other than 'woman' and 'spymaster.'

He's not about to test aloud if she gave another name to his father, though.

"I need two men located," Ozai says, refusing to acknowledge his shock at her ability to sneak up on him, "A father and son. They should both be in Caldera. They were under Minister Daiki's employment until recently. The father's name is Yota. He should be a nonbender, close in age to Daiki. The son's name is Tadashi. He's a new bender, blessed by the fires of Agni's pre-dawn sun."

"Understood, Fire Lord," Akane says, "Is there anything more you would request of the Kemurikage?"

"It would likely be a good idea to keep tabs on anyone they have a prolonged interaction with. There's reason to believe they're looking to start a coup."

Akane blinks. "Not very clever, are they?"

Ozai looks at the spymaster quizzically. "Not from what I've heard thus far, but you reached that conclusion faster than I did. Why?"

Akane offers a reserved gesture at him. "You have an undefeated Agni Kai record, and there were no few challenges when you claimed the crown upon your father's passing. Now, you have Agni's blessing written boldly across your face and our patron spirit has displayed little restraint in his recent actions. Attacking you openly would be suicidal.

"If they instead meant for their attack to be concealed, then they have been exposed in two day's time. Assuming the pre-dawn sun was their inciting incident, and that they have not been plotting against you before their arrival in Caldera alongside Minister Daiki. If the pre-dawn sun was not their inspiration and they have indeed been conspiring outside of Caldera, then they have still been found out before making their opening move, despite having time to plan away from the eyes and ears of the capital.

"Either reckless or incompetent, I would not place any faith in the wisdom or discernment of such men."

"No," Ozai muses, "Daiki did say he was more worried about how others might use Yota and Tadashi, rather than anything they may accomplish left to their own devices. All the same, I can't ignore them."

"Perish the thought," Akane says, flicking her fingers as if to remove an unwanted fluid in a spray of droplets, "but have you considered using them to draw out other fools?"

"I hadn't," Ozai says, weighing the thought. He discards the idea with a sigh. "I've already brought the matter to Agni's attention. He's eager to see it settled. Yota's family line has the misfortune of being tied to old spirit business, and Agni has begun his own search for them."

"Patron or no, I cannot imagine a more different approach from the Kemurikage than such methods as the Sun Spirit must use," Akane says, eyes gleaming, "This promises to be an interesting game. I look forward to discovering how well our network compares."

"It is an interesting contrast, isn't it?" Ozai asks, likewise amused at the concept. Spies versus the literal sun, who can find two men in a city of nearly one million people first? Granted, there are large swaths of the city that would make little sense for Yota and Tadashi to wander through.

Will Agni recruit Tui to help search?

...No, probably not. Tui likely has more than enough to focus on, between whatever is going on with Princess Yue, the Water Tribes in general, and the Kitaika inmates. Both spirits have made it clear that they can miss things that are outside of their active attention.

A yawn sneaks past Ozai's control and he pinches the bridge of his nose briefly.

"It's late," he says, rising to his feet. "Find them. Send a messenger directly to me when you do. I'll decide how to best confront them once I have better information on the situation. You're dismissed."

"Thank you, Fire Lord," Akane says, bowing. The woman walks over to the dragon carved into the back wall, feeding flame into its open maw with a flick-twist of her wrist.

The hidden mechanism clicks and the office's secret entrance to the space between the palace walls opens just as it was designed to, but Ozai stands frozen in place as an entirely different collection of interlocking pieces click together in his mind.

Akane slips beyond the threshold and the door closes behind her, removing her from Ozai's senses. All of them.

She has no inner flame.

None. Not the low burning candle flame of a weak bender, nor even the banked coals and embers he's come to expect of nonbenders. She may as well be a ghost drifting by, silent and cold.

But then there had been that sudden burst of external fire, drawing his attention sharply to that which should have existed but did not.

Ozai isn't sure what he just witnessed, but he knows down to his bones that it had not been firebending.

Just who is this woman?

No answers are forthcoming, and he goes to bed feeling distinctly unsettled.

Chapter Text

From his place sitting on the palace rooftops, Ozai watches as the sun kisses the horizon. Is Agni rising? Setting? At his back, Tui rules the opposite end of the sky, full and round. Down in the garden below, his son and daughter throw fire at each other. Despite Zuko's frustrated shouts and Azula's jeering, it is closer to being a children's game than anything serious.

Without turning to look, Ozai knows that the woman resting her head on his right shoulder wears his mother's face and his sister's bored, half-lidded stare. Sharpened steel glints as it tumbles over skilled fingers that nonetheless lack the mastery his wife had attained over small blades.

He misses Mai.

They hadn't been gushing sweetness and showy gestures like Aang and Katara, nor had their relationship held the flirtatious push and pull like that of Sokka's and Suki's relationship. Their marriage had been quieter, steadfast and devoted. It wasn't the sort of love that poets immortalized in romantic verse. They weren't Oma and Shu. Still, he had loved her, and her absence in his new life aches deeply whenever he slows enough to think about everything and everyone he has left behind.

"Brooding isn't going to help you, Dum-Dum," his sister says.

"I know." He doesn't want to ask her about Mai, though. He doesn't want to know how he'd react to whatever answer she might give him. So he asks something else entirely. "Did you know Father had a mistress?"

Azula snorts. "I'd have been more surprised if he didn't," she says, "and I doubt either of us want to know any more on the matter than we have to."

She's right. He really doesn't want to know, except he can't be sure there isn't anything dangerous hiding in shadows he hasn't checked. Is there greater peril in ignorance or investigation?

"She's the assistant librarian, Akane," he finds himself saying.

Azula hides her blade away in her sweeping sleeve before she reaches around and flicks his ruined ear. Half-dead nerves jangle and Ozai hisses at the unpleasant sensation. "Don't go prying further into things you already know more of than you want to. It's practically the second rule of snooping. Right after not getting caught."

Ozai scowls, feeling healthy skin pull taut when the scar tissue refuses to yield as readily, but before he can say anything his younger counterpart screams. The following splash and cacophony of quacks clue him in to what happened faster than his eyes can locate his children. His daughter is doubled over in laughter by the time his son stalks out of the turtle-duck pond, quite literally steaming.

At his side, Azula leans forward to watch with him. The young prince yells at the laughing girl, complete with flailing arms and reddened cheeks. The princess remains utterly unabashed, bouncing the heel of her hand off the boy's forehead before she turns to run, daring Zuko to catch her.

The chase is on.

"They're almost cute," Azula says with a smirk, chin resting on her hand as her eyes track the children below.

"I worry about her," Ozai admits softly.

Azula's sharp eyes focus on him, and he refuses to meet the gaze he can feel burning into the side of his head. "Why?" his sister asks, though her tone makes it a demand, "She isn't broken like I am."

"Isn't she? Mother --"

Azula's scoff cuts his words short. "Mother may have been the first to leave," she says with an impatient gesture at her own stolen face, "but she was hardly the only one. I wasn't so weak as to crumble because of one desertion. You all left! You, Mai, Ty-Lee -- ...Father." She looks away and shrugs with none of her or Mother's usual grace. "I suppose, if only by the technicality of blood, that Uncle Fatso should be included in the list. Everyone I should have been able to trust abandoned me."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't -- Father banished me, Azula. I had to --"

"And the second time?" his sister snaps, whipping around to sear him with tear-filled eyes, "When you slunk away under the false dusk of the black sun without so much as a thought for where that left me?

"I brought you home! I restored your honor and gave you a share of my own glory to cloak yourself in!"

"That glory was a trap!" he protests hotly. He certainly hadn't asked her to tell Father that he'd been the one to 'kill' the Avatar.

"It wouldn't have been if you hadn't lied to me! Don't be angry with me for turning your own trap back on you!" Azula sneers, "You endangered the entire nation by withholding crucial intel about our enemies!"

"That isn't --"

"I gave up my crown for you!" his sister screams, tears finally spilling over lashes and down cheeks, "Why wasn't it enough?" She breaks, curling in on herself and burying her face in her knees. "Why am I never enough?"

"I... That isn't..." Ozai swallows and wraps an arm around her shaking shoulders. Miraculously, she doesn't shrug him off. "I didn't leave because of you, Lala. Never because of you."

Down in the garden, the princess squawks and then laughs as her playmate tackles her to the grass and the children's tussling begins anew.

Ozai wakes with a groan. Lingering regrets and an aching loneliness tighten his chest, but the tell-tale headache and queasiness are absent this morning. So, at least he hasn't strained the reforging with his dreams again.

It's one less worry, but not much of a comfort.

Unless his sister really is the second person Agni pulled through time, he isn't going to get any more chances to untangle their fraught relationship. He still isn't sure if that possibility is something he hopes for or dreads. Azula always makes things difficult for him. A part of him misses her regardless of all logic and frustrations.

He can't remember a time when their squabbling hadn't contained a very real thread of malice and danger. He'd thought it pretty normal, until he'd spent enough time around Sokka and Katara to realize that most of what the two said about each other was grossly exaggerated and half in jest. Even then, it had taken watching a few other sibling pairs for him to fully accept that there was something truly wrong between Azula and himself. Normal siblings didn't clash so violently as to actually risk life and limb against each other and then fall in at the other's side as if it was only to be expected.

And he still has to speak with both Zuko and Azula about Fire Lord Hinata's lost line.

Ozai pinches the bridge of his nose. When is he supposed to have the time free to pull each child aside for a private conversation over that mess, anyway? He's stuck in meetings for most of the day and the nation's needs aren't going to slow any time soon. Trying to separate the children at breakfast would make it too obvious that he doesn't want to give them both the same information. Lunch might work for one of them, but he's worked clear through supper and late into the night for the past two days and he's starting to suspect it will be a pattern followed more often than not for the foreseeable future.

He doesn't want to risk delaying these conversations by more than a three-hundred-and-sixty degree cycle. The longer he delays, the greater the likelihood that Zuko or Azula -- especially Azula -- will hear something on the matter outside of his guidance first.

...He's going to need to speak to them together at breakfast. His schedule doesn't allow for anything else in the necessary timeframe.

Ozai sighs and pulls himself from bed. It seems some of the more precarious politics will start alongside the morning meal today.

He waits until the children have had a chance to settle before starting in on the topic.

"I spoke with Minister Daiki over lunch yesterday," Ozai says, "He brought me news of a possible coup. Apparently, Fire Lord Kenzo was an adopted heir to Fire Lord Hinata, and a lost bloodline of Hinata's is looking to take the throne."

Silence.

Ozai glances up from his meal.

Zuko stares with wide eyes. Azula watches Ozai intently.

...Right.

Political unrest and assassination attempts would still be novel experiences to these two. Not counting their elderly grandfather's conveniently timed passing and their mother's suspiciously coincidental disappearance -- probably the fastest, quietest, least bloody coup in the Fire Nation's history, and technically unproven -- they've never had a real brush with the dangers associated with holding royal status. The world may be at war, but the Fire Nation's internal institutions have been stable and strong up to this point in their young lives. The idea that anyone would challenge the imperial might of their family from within their own borders is nigh on unthinkable.

And now he's telling them that a vague possibility first mentioned three days ago has already grown to be whispers with actual intent behind them.

Agni's words about a father's anxieties come to mind. It's been a long time since Ozai has feared threats to his life rather than treating them as a matter of course, but he suddenly doubts complete nonchalance is quite the right tone to set for the children, either.

Ozai tries for a reassuring smile. He's not sure he succeeds. "We were alerted early and I'm working on de-escalating the situation. It shouldn't come to much of anything." And it shouldn't. It's the ones he never saw coming that have always been the most dangerous. "From the sound of it, there's been some confusion surrounding the event of the pre-dawn sun and its after effects. If everything goes well, it should be possible to reach a resolution without any violence."

Zuko still looks worried. Azula is hiding behind her porcelain mask again.

Ozai restrains a sigh. "This is breakfast, not court. Ask your questions."

"We aren't from the line of Kuzon?" Zuko blurts.

Azula rolls her eyes. "Half the nation is some line of Kuzon's or other, Dum-Dum," she tells her brother, "Father wouldn't be Agni's Herald now if Fire Lord Kenzo had been deemed unacceptable as a legitimate heir for the royal line of Kuzon."

"We inherited the bloodline of Kuzon the Uniter through Fire Lord Kenzo, and our right to rule by Fire Lord Hinata's willing adoption of Kenzo as his heir. Our family meets all the requirements to serve the nation as its royal line. Those requirements simply come to us from separate sources past a certain point in our history." Ozai reaches out and tugs lightly on the nearest of Azula's framing locks as he says, "Try to be kind to your brother, Little Dragon. It's important that the two of you get along, and we can't all be prodigies at everything."

Despite his intentions, both children look embarrassed and chastised. He's not completely certain why.

"Yes, Father," Azula says.

"Good," Ozai says, "Did either of you have more questions?"

Azula rallies and asks, "Fire Lord Hinata's blood-heirs must have all been unworthy of the throne if he chose to adopt Fire Lord Kenzo as an outside heir. Why is this discarded bloodline making a play for the throne now? What happened during the pre-dawn sun to make them believe they have any right to it?"

"It goes back to the reason they were disinherited to begin with," Ozai admits, "Fire Lord Hinata had four blood-heirs. The third's name was Saburo, and he tried to place himself at the top of the succession through betrayal. He slaughtered all three of his siblings, their spouses, and all their children. Agni was enraged by the bloodshed of Kuzon's line. He destroyed Saburo for the transgression, but he allowed Saburo's son to live for Fire Lord Hinata's sake.

"However, what is left of Saburo's -- and thus Hinata's -- bloodline remains under Agni's scorn. He declared them removed from his blessings, both those he placed specifically on Kuzon the Uniter's line and those he gave more freely among all children of Fire. Their line has not produced a firebender from that time until two days ago, when the fires of the pre-dawn sun reawakened the gift in one of them. They've taken it as a sign of Agni's forgiveness, perhaps even as a direct call to reclaim the throne."

"He just killed them all?" Zuko says in horror, "For the throne?"

"And then Agni killed him and cursed his bloodline," Azula dismisses, "Clearly, acting in such a fashion without the Sun Spirit's blessing is nothing less than a deadly folly. It certainly backfired spectacularly for Saburo."

Zuko glances at his sister warily and something flashes in Azula's eyes before she smiles. "Oh, you needn't worry, Zuzu," the princess says, "Agni seems to like you for some reason, and you're more entertaining alive than you would be dead."

Zuko recoils with wide eyes.

"Azula," Ozai says, unable to suppress his exasperation, and pinches the bridge of his nose. This is precisely the sort of thing he'd been hoping to avoid. It could be worse, though. Azula could have seriously considered the possibility rather than choosing to blatantly throw it in her brother's face as petty cruelty.

When he opens his eyes, both children are watching him.

Ozai rises from his place at the head of the table before resettling on the floor beside Azula. He waves for Zuko to join them and the boy cautiously approaches as well. Azula holds herself painfully still, from her face to her long-perfected court posture.

The girl stiffens as Ozai places a gentle hand under her chin, but he waits until his daughter meets his eyes. "Please, Azula," he says, "be kind to your brother. I want both of you to live good lives that bring honor to our family and the nation. I want the two of you to be able to rely on each other so you can achieve greater heights than either of you could alone, but that will be difficult to do if Zuko doesn't believe he can trust you. Can you do that for me, Little Dragon?"

"Yes, Father." The mask remains firmly in place.

"Thank you."

Slowly, carefully Ozai pulls Azula against his side, draping his arm over her slight shoulders. The girl stays stiff and rigid, but he doesn't know how to better reassure her.

Ozai turns to address Zuko. "I know it isn't easy when she says cruel things, or when she lies as easily as she tells the truth, but try to have faith in your sister. She has an impressive ability to surpass the expectations placed upon her, and she has all the potential in the world to be your fiercest ally. You will need that as Fire Lord. On a more personal level, she loves you --" Somehow, Azula grows even tenser against his side.

Ozai looks into the wide, wide golden eyes of his daughter. As gently as he can, he tells her, "You are allowed to love, Azula. The whole world becomes a lonely place without it."

The girl says nothing in response, only stares.

Ozai sighs and turns back to Zuko. "She loves you, and she needs you to prove that you can keep loving her even when she's being prickly."

"Yes, Father," Zuko answers.

"Good." Ozai gives his son's shoulder a brief squeeze, and the young man's posture eases into something more confident. "If the two of you can learn to work together rather than against each other, you could grow to be twin guiding lights for the nation, beckoning us into a bright future that balances our ideals and ambitions.

"A unified royal family is perhaps the greatest gift we can give the Fire Nation. A loving family would be the gift we give ourselves."

Ozai gives each of his children what he hopes is one last comforting squeeze before disentangling himself and reclaiming his seat. Zuko lingers in place for a moment, watching his sister, but Azula stares stubbornly across the table and avoids glancing at either prince or Fire Lord. After another second's hesitation, Zuko retreats wordlessly to finish his meal.

The rest of breakfast is quiet, tense, and contemplative.

Ozai reminds himself of the value of patience, and forces himself not to further overwhelm the children by saying anything more.

Chapter Text

"...The aroma that graces a good pot of ginseng is a light, soothing scent. And while the root itself naturally carries an earthy taste with a bitter undertone, the traditional steaming process ginseng undergoes before steeping helps to bring out its hidden sweetness. However, honey is still a popular addition for children or..."

Ozai listens with half an ear to Iroh's steady voice and politely sips his tea. It's the first chance they've had to actually go through with the threatened tea lessons over their shared lunch. Honestly, Iroh contentedly espousing the virtues of tea is more calming than any flavor of tea could ever hope to be, and the familiarity of the situation is lulling him into a near meditative state.

"Ozai?"

"...Hm?"

Iroh sighs. "Have you been paying any attention to what I've said?"

"Vaguely," Ozai answers honestly, shaking off the peaceful, hazy feeling he'd been drifting in, "This is the most relaxed I've been in days. It's nice to have a break from all the stress."

Iroh raises a brow. "Only yesterday we learned there is a coup brewing against us."

"There's always a crisis or five hanging over the Fire Lord's head," Ozai dismisses, "I've been jumping from meetings to active situations and back again for days now. Even the day I took off was spent on preparations. Time free of anything demanding my attention with international consequences attached is at a premium right now."

Iroh hums and peers into his tea. "They have been busy days," he acknowledges, "I hope you have been taking care of yourself as well as you tend to the demands of the spirits. A man cannot continue to support others for long if he leaves himself to neglect."

Ozai snorts. "I wouldn't worry too much about that. Agni is as attentive as he is demanding, maybe more. Tui isn't much different in that regard, either." He decides not to mention La. The Ocean Spirit is far from warm, but La at least seems disinclined to do anything that would truly upset Tui.

"And what was it that Tui needed you for, the night before last?" Iroh asks, "You were away for hours. Without previous notice." A day and a half removed from the event itself, the only tells of Iroh's lingering worry are the slight furrow of his brow and the carefully bland tone of the man's voice.

No one would ever guess he'd clung and wept over Ozai's return that night.

Ozai isn't sure what Iroh's opinion of him is at this point, and he wouldn't be surprised if Iroh had no ready answer should he ask, honest or otherwise. These past few days have been almost as busy for Iroh as they have been for Ozai, after all. Still, he doubts Iroh would have been so distraught over the man who stood across the Agni Kai arena from his son. It's progress, and in the right direction, even.

Ozai isn't foolish enough to look that particular gift ostrich horse in the beak.

"It couldn't be helped," Ozai says in answer, shrugging one shoulder, "There was a developing situation and Tui needed help to see it resolved."

"What was it?" Iroh asks.

Ozai scowls before he can think better of it, sighs when he realizes what he's done, and summarily decides he's not digging into the Hama problem during what had been (and hopefully will again become) a particularly pleasant lunch -- despite any obvious displeasure he's just displayed over his thoughts.

"Resolved," he repeats firmly, before relenting enough to add, "but it also led into another matter that will take longer to untangle. The waterbender prison is currently working to rehabilitate its inmates for their eventual return to the South Pole. We'll open negotiations with the Southern Water Tribe once the strongest of them are well enough to go home. It will probably be over a year until more than a handful of them will be ready for the voyage, though."

"You plan to release the waterbenders before opening negotiations?" Iroh asks, setting down his teacup to stare openly at Ozai, "Was that part of Tui's request?"

"Tui didn't need to. Agni already has by insisting the war end and peaceful ties be created." Not that Ozai needed the encouragement, but it's a convenient excuse all the same for a change in policy that some might argue against.

Iroh says nothing but Ozai knows by his expression that the older man is biting his tongue, perhaps literally. Ozai's brow furrows. He hadn't expected Iroh to fall into the previously considered 'some' category. Azula hadn't been a surprise, when he discussed his plans for the Southern waterbenders with the children over yesterday's breakfast, but Ozai can't recall a time when Iroh and Azula have held anything resembling aligned opinions regarding foreign policies.

That's... vaguely concerning. With his luck, he should probably do something to remove at least the 'vague' part of that sentiment before it has a chance to rear back and bite him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Iroh insists, "Nothing. It is not my place to --"

"Iroh," Ozai sighs.

Iroh frowns and resettles himself on his cushion like an irritated lizard-cat. He stalls by taking a long sip of his ginseng. Ozai waits him out with a pointed stare. He knows all of Uncle's games and this Iroh has six years less experience in handling him.

"After your Agni Kai with Prince Zuko, when this all began, you voiced intentions to keep the colonies," Iroh relents, "Now, you plan to return prisoners of war before even beginning to negotiate an end to the southernmost warfront. I do not understand the difference in your strategies. Have you changed your mind regarding the colonies?"

"No, they're... They're very different situations," Ozai says, feeling a bit dumbfounded.

At least he can put the idea of Iroh and Azula agreeing on foreign policy from his mind.

"Are they?" Iroh asks. The downturned eyebrows make the words seem like a challenge but Iroh's tone carries little beyond confusion. Frustrated, then, but uncertain if he should be. Ozai can work with that, though Iroh is the last person in his war council he expected to make the mistake of conflating the Water Tribes with the Earth Kingdoms.

"Yes. The South has nothing that we want. It never has. There aren't any colonies. Any resources we could pull from it we'd be just as happy putting in twice the work to harvest from more hospitable climates. They don't even keep prisoners we could reclaim in an exchange, and they drown their stray sparks at birth." Iroh looks a bit ill at the last point. To be fair, when Katara had bluntly told them the usual fate of war children in the South Pole, Sokka had looked ill too.

Ozai continues, "We didn't raid the Water Tribes because we wanted anything from the poles. We attacked their waterbenders so our navy would be uncontested, so the Earth Kingdoms couldn't hire them to protect their ports, and so no potential Water-born Avatar could interfere in our conquest. It wasn't about what they had, but what they had the power to do -- a preemptive strike against people who might choose to defy us before they had a chance to gather their strength and become an obstacle to our goals. It was all about the war effort on the Eastern Continent. If there is no war between us and the Earth Kingdom, then withholding the waterbenders from their home gains us nothing.

"Pursuing peace with the Water Tribes won't be easy -- We've given them more than enough reasons to hate us. -- but the path forward will be simple in that there isn't much to figure out between our nations. We return their people. We send restitution gifts. If they're willing to talk to us after that, we can start negotiating trade and business arrangements. In this case, the kindest option also happens to be the best strategic choice.

"The colonies aren't as simple. Our oldest settlements on the Eastern Continent were first created over a century ago. Some families have been there for five or six generations. I can't tell them that they have to give up their homes to people who haven't grown up in the area, worked its land, or built its industries. I can't tell them I signed away all that they own just to end a war we've largely been winning since its onset. They'd revolt before following an evacuation order, and they'd be right to. It isn't conquered land to them. It's the home plots of their grandfathers and great-grandfathers, passed from father to son.

"I know war has a terrible human cost, Iroh, but the world isn't static and solutions aren't always clean. I have to negotiate with the Earth Kingdoms based on my map, not Sozin's. I'm sure the Earth kings will push for as much of the land as they can claw back, but any descendants of the people that used to live in those territories would have resettled elsewhere by now. Come to that, most refugees find somewhere to resettle within five years of being displaced, and I'm not exactly eager to create what amounts to Fire Nation refugees for people who have already found new homes elsewhere.

"That's not even touching the cultural backlash that surrendering the colonies would invite. Almost a hundred years, and even if we discount the Si Wong Desert in the south, we've managed -- What? Perhaps a fifth of the promised March of Enlightenment? All that time, effort, blood, and gold... All things considered, we don't have much to show for all the trouble we've caused ourselves and the rest of the world. As it stands, we're going to have to spin ending the war as a new approach to fulfilling Sozin's promise. There's been too much sacrifice to relinquish what headway we have achieved, too many dead fathers, husbands, and sons on both sides to redraw a century-old map afresh as if the lives lost meant nothing. Both the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom need to be able to look at the final lines and know that their soldiers did their jobs, that all the struggles and pain were for something.

"In short, we can't let the colonies go, especially any of the more established ones. Not if the nation is to survive."

Iroh stares into his empty teacup, spinning the painted porcelain between his fingertips with slow, pensive movements. "You have put much more thought into this than I had expected," he admits with a furrowed brow.

More like three years of desperate scrambling to pull together a peace that was constantly trying to unravel around him while frantically balancing a country constantly teetering from the brink of one crisis into the next. He can't exactly tell that to Iroh unless he wants to spill all his other secrets, however.

"Agni gave me a job to do," Ozai says, "It's not one I can afford to do poorly." Every word is true but they may as well be lies. All the same, he can at least say them convincingly enough that they are not immediately suspicious.

"No, I suppose not."

General Masao is perhaps halfway through presenting the possible plans Iroh, Kazuya Kai, and he had put together yesterday when Ozai's eyes seal themselves and intense heat sears across the Fire Lord's back. Agni grasps Ozai's shoulder tightly, fingertips digging in like talons, and growls, "I have located the missing Line of Ash, child mine. They invite themselves to my temple."

"Agni damn it all!" Ozai swears and pinches the bridge of his nose. The timing could not be worse. He'd left the last war meeting with the generals due to spirit demands a mere two days ago, and they've barely started this one!

"Do not tempt me, Fire Lord," the Sun Spirit hisses, "I would gladly raze the temple's entire western wing to rebuke the Line of Ash's hubris, but you requested my restraint."

"Sorry. You're right. I'll take care of it," Ozai promises, dropping his hand.

"Hn..." Agni hums an acknowledgement and warns, "Act swiftly. My temper draws near its end for this foolishness."

And then Agni withdraws, leaving Ozai to deal with the halted war meeting around him. Every general, sage, and servant in the room is staring at him but no one breathes a word.

Ozai represses an irritated sigh and instead rises calmly to his feet. "I have just been informed that Agni has business for me to attend elsewhere. You all know our goal. I want the plans finalized for our soldiers before any of you leave this room. Iroh, you're in charge. Get it done and have the orders sent out," he says before splitting the curtain of fire and turning to leave.

"Where are you going?" Iroh calls after him.

"The temple!" he snaps back.

Ozai doesn't wait to hear any further questions.

He has a coup to smother and a spirit to appease. Anything else can come after.

Chapter Text

This isn't like last time.

Ozai strides through the long palace corridors at a brisk pace. At some point, he needs to meet with the royal tailor to prune away the abundance of fabric inherent to the traditional style of the Fire Lord's outer robes. He'd had the cut of the sleeves and the hemline shortened within his first year ruling, and he's finding it more than a little irritating to again be hindered by the unnecessary extravagance.

Agni is angry -- furious, really -- but that's a far cry from the hysterics Tui had shown up in.

Ozai wrestles open fastenings without breaking his pace.

And, unlike with Tui's rushed plea for aid, Agni has given him a where and when. Yesterday, Daiki had given him the who, what, and why. He isn't going into this situation blind.

"Get this to my usual clothing staff," Ozai says and shoves the voluminous robes into a startled servant's arms.

He has time, is the point. He has some idea of what the problem is, it hasn't reached crisis level yet, and Caldera's Fire temple is laughably close to the palace. He has time.

The capital Fire temple is a straight shot from the palace's secondary entrance, but that puts several long corridors in his route from the throne room. Long corridors full of witnesses that he would greatly prefer not to panic with his haste.

He will not run. He has time and he will not run.

He keeps a swift, purposeful stride all the way to the northwestern entrance but his journey seems to take hours, all the same. The towering wall of white fire Agni has erected across the welcoming courtyard of the Fire temple can be seen from the palace as soon as the doors are opened.

Ozai frowns and descends the short staircase outside the palace. So much for handling any of this subtly.

Aside from the growing crowd bowed before Agni's display of power, the wide stone road that connects the palace and temple is completely clear. Ozai hasn't had a chance in days to do anything with his bending but practice restraint, mostly with unruly fistfuls of fire and an erratically flaring curtain of flame in the throne room. (Freeing Hama's prisoners had been a particularly infuriating experience, between his tenuous grip on his temper, overall lacking control, and the burning that had slowly consumed his hands -- all while being keenly aware that he was surrounded by nonbenders who didn't have the same subconscious protections against high heat that firebenders routinely take for granted. He'd been one slip away from hurting the people he was trying to help the entire time.) Progress has been frustratingly slow, but there has been some improvement in his control. Now that he knows Agni has already destroyed any chance of maintaining discretion...

The opportunity to practice firebending for a goal beyond mere restraint is too tempting to ignore.

Ozai runs, arms held out and back with fire streaming behind him as heated air pushes at his back, propelling him along faster. He stumbles before righting himself and turns more of his focus to keeping his bending both even and consistent. His feet barely make contact with the ground, the motion more of a light-footed leap than a hard run as he rides the rapidly expanding air his firebending is producing. If he trusted his bending more, he'd try fireskating like his sister had managed during Sozin's Comet.

He's attracting attention. He can't bring himself to care as much as he should. It feels good to firebend again in a manner that isn't all about limiting his flames.

It's over too soon, and not as gracefully as he would have preferred. It takes several precariously balanced steps after he drops his firebending to slow to a stop and he feels the impact in his joints -- especially his ankles. He'll have to see if he can't do something to strengthen them. (The last thing he needs is to twist an ankle because this body isn't used to running through forests or over rooftops.) Still, he manages to avoid falling flat on his face and the itch to bend isn't quite so persistent as it was, now that he has done something to stretch his firebending a bit.

A quick glance over his shoulder reveals a line of scorched stone along the center of the wide road and anything that wasn't anchored to the ground has been knocked aside. He frowns. There has to be a way to keep those side effects better contained. (His sister would already know what he needs to fix in his technique. Sokka would be able to figure the mechanics out in seconds and offer suggestions, despite not being a firebender himself. Ozai can almost hear the smack of a hand meeting a forehead and Azula's sighed 'Dum-Dum,' both of them exasperated with his lack of forethought in their own ways.) Regardless, nothing is actively burning and no buildings appear to be damaged by his actions. Overall, it's a decent result for a first attempt.

By the time he returns his attention to the Fire temple, the crowd has already cleared a path for him without the need for a single command.  They stare with wide eyes and hushed murmurs as he walks past. Ozai doesn't bother trying to pick out any words. He has a more pressing goal than reading the crowd's reaction to his presence or actions. There will be time to worry over his public perception at some later date but not now. Agni's wall of flame parts for him upon his approach and seals just as quickly behind him.

The temple's main courtyard is... The best word he has for it is distressed. A contingent of sages and a few civilians kowtows before the flame wall, mirroring those on its other side. Scattered around, more civilians look near panic or tears as sages attempt to calm them.

"Fire Lord!" Head Sage Hijiri carefully rises from his place at the front of those clustered close to Agni's wall. "We are at your service. What can we do for you, Herald?" He offers Ozai a bow.

"Rise," Ozai says, "What's happening here?"

Hijiri strokes his beard in a distinctly fretful manner, eyes scanning over the courtyard. "Agni has..." the sage grimaces and admits, "I am not sure. I can sense my inner flame, my chi feels unhindered, and yet --" Hijiri raises a hand, palm up, and his face twists into a worried frown, "-- nothing. Not even a spark. As far as any of us can tell, it is the same for everyone in the temple. I doubt it is a permanent dampening of our firebending -- else our inner flames would not remain intact and strong -- but... It is a frightening experience for the new firebenders who have come to learn."

Of course. Ozai orders the sages to train the unexpected surge of inexperienced firebenders -- Has the program actually started already, or are these people here because the Fire temple is the obvious place to go when one suddenly develops an ability to firebend? -- and the temple itself becomes the grounds for confronting conspirators against the crown just two days later. This goes beyond bad luck. There has to be a spirit out there somewhere that likes laughing at him. They probably take tea with La once a week.

Ozai pushes the bitter, irrelevant -- irreverent -- thought away and forces his focus back on the matter at hand. It sounds like when Agni suppressed his firebending during Tui's judgement of Hama, taken and restored so smoothly that Ozai had failed to notice either in the moment.

Ozai raises his own hand and warily attempts to bend. White flames burst into existence and Ozai hastily closes his fist to snuff them back out. It isn't done quickly enough to avoid drawing every eye in the courtyard, however.

"I suppose it shouldn't be surprising that Agni's Herald be exempt," Hijiri ponders aloud, beard stroking growing more contemplative.

Ozai looks out at scared civilians searching for direction. He hadn't come here expecting to give any sort of public address. Seems like he'll be giving one, planned or not.

"Children of Fire," it feels right to use the more traditional address, here, standing in the courtyard of the Fire temple, "I am Agni's Herald, Fire Lord Ozai. I have come here today to resolve a matter on King Agni's behalf. There is no need for fear. Once I have completed the business I was sent for, I am sure Agni will --" How to phrase this? "-- lift the pause he has imposed on your firebending." Good enough. "Until then... Sit and practice breathing exercises. Sages, attend your charges."

The crowd murmurs a buzzing, ill-coordinated, "Yes, Fire Lord."

The people shuffle and soon settle into a vaguely distraught but calmer overall order, sitting in groups as sages lead them through foundational breathing patterns. Most of the sages even have the good sense to pick meditation patterns.

One crisis averted. For the time being at least.

"Head Sage," Ozai says, "Walk with me." No need to cause further upset by talking here. Spirits, he hopes Yota and Tadashi aren't part of this crowd and are instead tucked away somewhere more private. He hasn't given up the hope of dispelling this misunderstanding without violence, but he really doesn't want civilians caught in the crossfire if the worst case scenario awaits him.

"Of course, Fire Lord," Hijiri says, falling into step as Ozai leads them into the temple proper.

As soon as the doors close behind them, Ozai turns to the sage and says, "I'm looking for two men, a father and son pair, by the names of Yota and Tadashi. Do you know where I can find them?"

"I'm afraid those names are unfamiliar --"

"Follow," Agni's voice rings through Ozai's head a moment before there is a sudden tug on his sunsense. A sconce further down the corridor burns white. As soon as his eyes land on the flames, they return to a more natural yellow-orange and the tug shifts off to the right, beyond his sight.

"Fire Lord?" Hijiri asks in concern.

Ozai glances back at the man. "You can't sense that?"

Hijiri frowns. "I am uncertain to what you refer, Herald," he admits.

Ozai hums an absent acknowledgement of the words as he considers his options. It's probably best to keep Hijiri with him. The Head Fire Sage will know the temple and other sages better than Ozai could ever hope to, and he's a good witness to have for whatever happens next. At the very least, Agni has given him no instructions either way regarding Head Sage Hijiri, so it is likely he is free to dismiss or make use of Hijiri at his own discretion.

"I can only assume your sunsense is as suppressed as your bending, then," Ozai muses.

Hijiri blinks in surprise before grimacing. "So it seems. I can sense neither Agni's position in the sky, nor his wall of flame outside," the sage says, and strokes his beard in apparent agitation, "This experience grows more upsetting with each new realization. Thankfully, the fledgeling benders in the courtyard are unlikely to have noticed that nuance of firebending yet, never mind its absence."

"You're right. That is fortunate," Ozai agrees and says, "Agni is using my sunsense to guide me further into the temple. I'm not entirely sure what I'll be walking into, but the men I'm looking for might be dangerous. Or they could simply be working under poor information. I won't know until I find them. As the Head Sage, I'd prefer to have you come with me, but I'll not make it an order."

"Herald of Agni, it would be my greatest honor to serve you at this time, in whatever capacity I may," Hijiri says with another bow, "There is nowhere else I would wish to be."

"Thank you," Ozai says, placing a hand on Hijiri's shoulder, "Let's go find out what Agni has for us."

"Yes, Fire Lord."

Chapter Text

Agni leads Ozai through a maze of halls, Head Sage Hijiri keeping pace at the Fire Lord's side.

The capital's Fire temple is the oldest building in Caldera, and a mix of expansions and renovations have only added to the purposeful confusion of the temple's layout. The sages do more than pray to the spirits or serve Caldera's citizenry here. They also safeguard some of the nation's deepest secrets and most important cultural relics. Outsiders to the brotherhood are not welcome to freely wander the premises, and everything from long established customs to the defensive architecture are designed to ensure that end.

The next tug on Ozai's sunsense is high overhead, but there is no stairwell awaiting him after he and Hijiri turn the corner. Instead, a two-story room full of shelved scrolls hosts a small white dragon twined amongst the branches of one of its chandeliers, tall candles slowly bowing toward the King of Flames as they melt under the spirit's radiant heat.

Ozai stops outside the room and holds up a hand to signal Hijiri to a halt as well. He points at Agni perched near the ceiling. The Head Sage draws a sharp breath beside him, but Ozai ignores that in favor of listening in on the voices he can hear coming from within the room.

"-- must be something!" a man insists.

"And as I have already told you," a calmer but growing irritated voice replies, "what you suggest would have been treasonous. The sages of the time were thorough. You will find nothing to confirm your claim."

The second speaker is almost certainly a sage, then.

"Bah! I run a minister's household," the first voice says, "There are always more records of something than are remembered. It doesn't need to be direct to prove we are of Hinata's line."

Ozai can only assume that voice belongs to Yota.

"Father, please," a third voice that must be Tadashi says. He sounds younger than the other two but definitely full grown nonetheless. At least this rules out any lingering worry of a child being caught up in the pending confrontation. That's some comfort. Even after Daiki had called Tadashi a more thoughtful man than his father, some part of Ozai had still half-expected Yota's son to be a teenager. "It's not too late to go back to Master Daiki. He's always been kind to us."

"Daiki should have been the first to support you!" Yota snaps. "Instead, he dismissed your fire as inconsequential!"

"Father, the courtyard was full of new firebenders!"

"None who could claim royalty! None who saw the end of a sentence in exile! Kenzo's line produced no more than four heralds before Agni withdrew his presence from the nation entirely. It is clear the great spirit's patience with his line has run its course. This is a sign for all the nation, Tadashi! You shouldn't doubt yourself so!"

"I am no herald, either!" Tadashi objects, starting to sound desperate.

A snort. "Your boy can barely light a candle. He'll be dead in record time if he's foolish enough to issue an Agni Kai. He's right to be afraid," the sage dismisses, "More to the point, buzz around the temple is that the Fire Lord found Agni's favor this past week. He is Herald Ozai, now. That's five heralds for Kenzo's line, all more recent than any from your own."

That sounds like his cue. Ozai waves for Hijiri to follow as he begins to wander through tall shelving in search of the voices' source.

"Lies!" Yota says, "They must be! Why would Agni call for our line's return if another of Kenzo's line was found worthy? And there will be no Agni Kai. With solid proof, we can --"

Ozai clears his throat in a pointed manner as he rounds a shelf of scrolls and finally comes within sight of the three arguing men. The nameless sage and Yota both appear a bit older than Iroh, and Tadashi looks to be about the same age as the three junior sages Ozai left behind in the throne room of the palace.

"You!" Yota yells, though it seems more an exclamation of shock than anything. Ozai isn't even sure Yota recognizes him in any capacity beyond an unexpected interloper.

The gruff, heckling sage is quicker to regain his wits. "Herald," he greets, placing a less-than-subtle emphasis on Ozai's newly awarded title as he bows, "Head Sage, welcome."

Yota blinks, stunned. Behind him, Tadashi's face breaks into wonder before it just as quickly transforms into a mask of horror. The younger man takes a step forward, grasps a fistful of his father's sleeve, and falls to his knees in a kowtow. Yota makes a small sound of discomfort at suddenly being pulled halfway into a bow.

"Please forgive our transgressions, Fire Lord Ozai!" Tadashi begs, "My father suffers the effects of his age and is growing senile." Somehow, Ozai thinks that claim might be a bit of a stretch. He chooses not to dispute it just the same. "He meant no harm. I should have been stricter with him. The fault is mine. Please, accept my deepest apologies, Herald of Agni!"

"Tadashi! You --" Yota does not get far with his objection.

"Father, look at his eyes!" Tadashi hisses, "He is the herald. The time has come to yield. Now, bow!" He reinforces the last word with a short tug on the sleeve still caught in his clenched fist.

Ozai meets Yota's eyes and watches as the old man's dreams die, heartbreak and resignation slowly taking over the would-be usurper's face.

Yota folds himself into a kowtow beside his son with some difficulty. "My son is brave and kind," Yota says, voice unsteady under the weight of his emotions, "but he lies to protect his father. He argued against my plans from the first." Yota looks up with tears streaming down his weathered cheeks. "Please, Herald, spare my son. The fault is none but my own."

Tadashi makes a small noise as if he has just been stabbed, but he says nothing to refute his father's words.

Ozai's throat feels tight. This has gone better than his wildest hopes for defusing the situation, and he knows with certainty now that he was right to ask Agni to let him handle it. That knowledge does not ease the pain in his chest.

"I would have given anything for my father to love me half so much as you love your son," Ozai confesses before he renders his judgement, "Yota, your line was spared for Fire Lord Hinata's sake, and hidden away to prevent bloodshed. I'll not revoke that mercy without cause. Go home, and avoid creating further troubles. Consider all your transgressions pardoned." Father and son alike sag in relief. Ozai adds, "Tadashi, I do not punish sons for their fathers' actions. As best I can tell, you have done nothing that would require anyone's forgiveness.

"You may all rise," Ozai finishes, including the sage he still doesn't know the name of in his last command.

The sage straightens, Yota reclaims his feet, but Tadashi remains on his knees with a look of trepidation painted across his face. "Your judgement is to uphold Agni's previous decree in full, Herald?" Tadashi asks.

"Yes." Why does he suddenly feel like he has forgotten something?

"Then --" Tadashi licks his lip in a nervous gesture, tone strained, "Then there is only one thing left to right." He cups his hands and calls forth a tiny guttering flame, offering it up to Ozai. "A herald should have the ability to, to temper inner flames. S-some of the family stories claim as much."

"Tadashi, no!" Yota yells, wide-eyed and distraught.

"It was a mistake, Father, an oversight! I've known from the beginning, and those people in the courtyard only confirmed it! Not even the Sun Spirit can keep track of everything that happens under his watch. Agni never meant to return our firebending. I was just one of many, overlooked because our line is insignificant in his sight. I, I cannot keep what is not mine to claim. It has already caused problems a-and I, I am unworthy."

Ozai feels cold.

Tadashi's inner flame is as pathetic as the flicking tongue of fire in his hands. His inner flame is utterly dwarfed by the bonfires of the two sages with them. It is barely more than the cool, long-banked coals of his father's inner flame. Any young heir to the royal line would be devastated to learn they possess an inner flame so weak. How cherished a gift must it be to a man who has always known that none in his family would ever firebend at all?

His stomach roils.

Tadashi is right. Upholding Agni's previous decree means smothering the man's fragile inner flame.

Ozai had only wished to prevent unnecessary bloodshed when he'd asked Agni to leave Yota and Tadashi in his keeping. He'd hoped a reminder of Agni's will for Hinata's line might be enough to restore the stability of the judgement. He hadn't expected -- didn't think far enough to realize -- that the removal of Agni's gift from a man who meant no harm might be required of him to do so.

He --

He can't!

"...That is a matter I must entrust to Agni's care," Ozai forces himself to say after a tense silence, looking up at the small dragon of fire still perched high above their heads, "This is not something I can judge fairly."

He'd thought he could, when he'd made his request to Agni on the lava field surrounding the palace.

He was wrong.

Agni takes wing, flying an unhurried loop of the room to shocked gasps before diving to alight on Ozai's right shoulder. The Sun Spirit tisks, and it takes Ozai a moment to realize that, despite Agni's nearby physical form, the sound originated from within his head rather than coming to him through his ears. Agni speaks to him alone with a voice no other can hear as he says, "The bindings hold, but you are distressed, child mine." The dragon presses against the back of his neck -- heat, and pressure, and the slide of carefully crafted scales -- as it travels from one shoulder to the other. "Peace. I am here. You do not walk alone."

And then Agni leaps to land neatly in Tadashi's cupped hands, devouring the offered fire. When Agni speaks this time, it is aloud for the room to hear, though the spirit's focus is fixed firmly on Tadashi.

"I know you, Tadashi of Ash," Agni intones in a flat voice, "You have lived a life of dedication. Regular offerings and sacrifices you have given me. Today, you recognize my chosen herald, yield to my judgement, and willfully relinquish a most precious gift. You keep nothing from me."

"Yes, Agni!" Tadashi squeaks, somewhere between awed and terrified as he returns the great spirit's stare.

There is a long pause as the unintentional staring match draws out, but then Agni chuckles, solemnity giving way to a cheery playfulness.

"I relent. You have earned a boon," the fire spirit announces, nuzzling one of the man's thumbs before hopping into his lap. Tadashi squeaks wordlessly and his hands hover uncertainly over the spirit, too afraid to touch. Ozai is familiar with the feeling. "Your line will no longer be that of Ash," Agni says, pressing two small, clawed hands against Tadashi's belly and over his weak inner flame. The inner flame grows steady and ever so slightly stronger under the Sun Spirit's will. "I restore you among my children. Tadashi of Second Fire shall have offspring with the same chance for my blessing as any other man born to me."

"O-oh," Tadashi breathes, going slack in shock as tears run down his face, "I, I --" The man covers his mouth as he sobs.

"Hm," Agni hums and then flies back to reclaim Ozai's right shoulder. "This outcome pleases me," Agni tells him, practically purring, "You will be an excellent herald." Agni's warmth briefly brushes the corner of his jaw before the Sun Spirit jumps from his shoulder and disappears in a shower of sparks as he is wont to do.

Yota stiffly kneels beside his son and holds Tadashi as the overwhelmed man cries, murmuring soft reassurances and praises to the new firebender. Agni is satisfied and back in a good mood. Ozai himself is nearly dizzy with relief that it all has turned out so well. If only all coups could be so absurdly easy to dissuade.

That just leaves one last matter to tend to here.

Chapter Text

"I'm afraid I didn't catch your name," Ozai says, turning to the still unidentified sage in the room.

"Sage Yuki. I'm charged with caring for the western library of the Caldera Fire Temple," he says, "It's an honor to meet you in person, Herald."

Ozai hums an acknowledgement and asks, "If all record of Hinata's blood heirs was destroyed, why did you believe Yota's claims?"

Both sages stiffen. Yuki glances at Hijiri and the Head Fire Sage offers a nod that is not quite subtle enough for Ozai to miss in his peripheral sight.

The Fire Lord sighs. "Do you need confirmation from Head Sage Hijiri before you answer a direct question from Agni's Herald, Sage Yuki?"

Chastened, Yuki and Hijiri bow.

"No, Herald. It was grossly inappropriate for me to do so," Yuki says, "Please forgive my failure to recognize your superior authority."

"It has been a long time since a Fire Lord has come to the temple rather than being attended at the palace, let alone a herald," Hijiri adds, "Please forgive my failure to properly prepare the brotherhood for you, Herald. With your continued blessing, I will ensure that the temple has received a refresher on the authority structure of the order before your next visit."

"Rise. I'm more interested in answers than apologies," he tells the sages, "What do you know of Fire Lord Hinata's heirs?"

Hijiri gestures for Yuki to answer, but this time it is more a yielding of the floor than permission to speak. For his part, Sage Yuki clears his throat in discomfort and selects his words carefully.

"Fire Lord Hinata's rule was plagued by turmoil in its last years, most of it centered around the massacre of his children before one could come to the throne. One grandson of his blood remained, Shingo, but he was the heir of the son that betrayed his siblings in a bid for power. Fire Lord Hinata sent the boy away to prevent an assassination. Or a civil war, whichever would have come first for the tatters of the royal family.

"Yota gave the name of 'Ichiro' for the lost prince rather than 'Shingo,' but the rest of his claims matched the story too well to be guesswork, and changing the young prince's name to better hide him would fit with the rest of Fire Lord Hinata's actions. Regardless of when or if the lost prince's name was changed, Fire Lord Hinata ordered all written records of his children and heirs to be burned. Every name, every mention, every hint that Hinata had ever had any heir outside of then Crown Prince Kenzo was to be turned to ash. The sages of the time obeyed the Fire Lord's decree to the letter and the fires burned for weeks as various documents were scoured through.

"But..." Yuki grimaces, "The sages are also charged with keeping the history of the nation, a charge that is suspected to go back almost to Kuzon the Uniter's time. A history with gaps is about as useful as a blanket with holes. It remains better than nothing, but its value is greatly lessened for the damage.

"So, the sages burned the scrolls, but they created chants to fill the void. The temple keeps an oral account, restricted solely to the brotherhood, of all the secrets past Fire Lords have tried to erase. The tale of Hinata's tragedy is but one of many."

"I see," Ozai says, hand coming up to his chin as he absorbs that revelation, "How many?"

Hijiri and Yuki glance at each other again, grimacing.

"They aren't numbered. Must be at least five hundred or so?" Yuki suggests.

Hijiri frowns, "Are you sure it isn't closer to a thousand?"

"Can't be that many, Head Sage," Yuki says with a scowl, "We cycle through all of them every two years. We don't sing enough of 'em in a day to make those numbers work, and there are ones that get repeated through the cycle. Nevermind the weekly chants taking up time."

"At least five hundred?" Ozai asks, suppressing a wince. That's a lot of secrets buried by his ancestors. Does he even want to know? Does it matter what he wants? A skewed view of the world's other cultures and their own history was a large factor in his family's ability to keep the Hundred-Year War going without the peasantry revolting under them.

Ozai resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and says, "Start reintegrating the chants into the history archives. You can write them as you would normally come to them in your established cycle. You have the two years you mentioned to get the first pass finished, and the following two years to make sure none were missed. After that, cut the chanting down to the ones that have relevance beyond repeating dead men's most embarrassing mistakes and heinous actions. I'd prefer to allow the dead to rest rather than have the sages give voice to the worst of them at regular intervals.

"That said, I want a list delivered directly to my hand in a month's time of all the most relevant chants. Include any involving Fire Lords back to Taiso." Agni help him if there are any chants that have been created in the past two years. That could easily turn into a messier legacy than any other his father had left him in either lifetime, and he doesn't have past experience to fall back on as a guide for this particular political quagmire.

Sage Yuki clears his throat and says, "I'll gather some brothers to begin work on the project before the day is out."

"Let me know who you're recruiting," Hijiri says, "I'll have them excused from their other duties for the first month to ensure the completion of the Fire Lord's list. We'll reconvene afterward to discuss what allowances you'll need for the remaining daily transcripts."

Yuki nods. "Thank you, Head Sage."

"Is there anything more I should know about these chants?" Ozai asks.

Unexpectedly, Sage Yuki cracks a smile. "You already have one of my best students at your disposal, Herald. Agni went and snatched up Junior Sage Abedni for your use at the palace." The man huffs, caught somewhere between fond and exasperated. "Kid's a bundle of nerves, but his studies are solid. He knows the chants, and knows them well. Any questions you might think of, Abedni will be able to answer. Decent voice, too, when he can calm his anxieties enough to focus on what he's doing." Yuki shrugs. "A bit of encouragement is usually enough to settle the lad.

"Speaking of Agni and juniors, though..." Yuki glances back at where Yota and Tadashi are still huddled on the floor, lost to the world. The sage drops his voice just a little and asks, "Kid can barely light a candle, but that's about all that's required for an acolyte, isn't it?"

Ozai and Hijiri stare.

Yuki raises his hands. "Just think on it a moment. Kid got Agni to relent on a generations-long curse. And you heard the Sun Spirit, the boy's faithful in his dedications. Seems to me he's at least earned consideration."

Head Sage Hijiri opens and closes his mouth before clearing his throat and prompting, "Fire Lord?"

"An acolyte?" Ozai murmurs, leaning back as one hand rises to hold his chin. Fire Sages are required to be powerful firebenders. Those who are not blessed with Agni's gift are not allowed to serve in a Fire temple at all. But acolytes run the full spectrum of firebending strength and skill, working under the sages to maintain the temple and grounds as well as seeing to the lesser rites and duties so the sages are free to focus on more important tasks. Often, it is a volunteer position, but larger temples like the Caldera Fire Temple also employ full-time acolytes. It's a modest but honorable career to serve as a temple acolyte. "Agni said he was restored, and the great spirit proclaimed no exceptions to that restoration. I will not make such a choice for him, but... If Tadashi chooses to become an acolyte, he can be assured of my blessing in the endeavor."

Hijiri hums and strokes his beard. "There would be something almost poetic for both Fire Lord Kenzo's and Fire Lord Hinata's bloodlines to return to the temple's hearth within the same week." Hijiri steals a glance of his own over at Yota and Tadashi. "Perhaps we should allow the young man another moment to collect himself before making the offer, however."

Ozai stops himself from rolling his eyes. 'Kid.' 'Boy.' 'Young man.' As if Tadashi is not somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, by Ozai's estimation. But then, sages tend to be older and spend most of their time in each other's company. It's not uncommon for them to look at half the population as if they are yet children.

Ozai nearly makes a comment on his own age before abruptly realizing a fact he hasn't paid much thought over the past few days. He can't claim to be nineteen anymore, can he? Father would have been... Spirits, is he thirty-five now? No, thirty-four. Barely. His new birthday falls in mid-summer rather than early-winter.

He's missed the entirety of his twenties. In both lives. That hardly seems fair, but unfairness goes part and parcel with spirit bargains. Of course, usually the mortal plays a role in making and accepting the terms of said bargain in the cautionary spirit tales that mothers tell their children. It's just his luck that Agni and the rest of the spirits had seen fit to skip that nicety in his case.

...He misses his friends. Sokka would make old man jokes if he were here. Toph would be preemptively eulogizing him. Katara would pretend to chide them for the teasing, but she'd be overly helpful like she thought he was infirm and her eyes would be laughing just as loudly as the others' voices. Aang would probably laugh along, make a crack about him still being a 'young whippersnapper' or else make use of some other terribly outdated slang that poked fun at both of them simultaneously. Later, though, once things were quiet again, Aang would... Aang would have been there, when the quiet got too loud and all he could hear were the thoughts crowding his head. Aang would have been a solid presence at his side, a silent reminder that he wasn't alone and that the Avatar knew exactly what it meant to wake up in a world radically changed from the one he'd gone to sleep in.

Ashes, but Zuko misses his friends.

"Fire Lord? Herald Ozai?"

Ozai comes back to himself with a blink.

"Are you feeling well, Herald?" Hijiri asks politely, though the furrow of his brows hints at genuine concern.

His chest aches, but breath comes easily enough. He's not particularly nauseated and calling the mild twinge behind his eyes a headache feels dramatic. It could just be that he's let himself get emotional. It could be that he's begun straining the binds of his reforging again. Either way, the easiest solution is to set thoughts of his friends aside for the time being. He's been warned not to pry at the edges, and he isn't foolhardy enough to disregard a spirit's words lightly.

Beside the head sage, Yuki scowls with an assessing eye. "When were the herald's quarters last aired out?" he asks Hijiri in a low mutter.

Ozai groans and runs his hands over his face. "I'm fine," he says, "I just realized -- It doesn't matter. It doesn't concern the temple or anyone here. I'll deal with it later."

Hijiri and Yuki are both frowning at him when he drops his hands.

"Very well, Fire Lord," Hijiri says.

Yuki's expression twists at the head sage's acquiescence. "Sit," he says, gesturing to a nearby table, "I'll bring tea." Yuki doesn't wait for any agreement before heading for the library's exit.

Why does everyone try to ply him with tea?

"I'm fine," he repeats to the retreating man's back.

Yuki turns back around and bows deeply. "Fire Lord Ozai, please forgive my bluntness. You are the first Herald of Agni to bless the nation in centuries. The brotherhood plans to keep you. Please, sit. I will bring tea." Yuki rises, nods, and leaves.

Ozai stares after him, unsure if he is being slighted, coddled, or both.

At Ozai's side, Head Sage Hijiri moans softly and rubs his temples. "Please, do forgive him, Fire Lord," Hijiri says when he reopens his eyes, "Sage Yuki holds the position he does in part because he is extremely competent, and in part because he lacks any trace of political acumen. He means no disrespect by his brusqueness."

"You know each other well, then?" Ozai asks idly.

"Oh, yes," Hijiri says, drifting over to the same table Yuki had pointed out before his exit. The head sage pulls out two chairs and gives Ozai a small smile to complete his silent offer. It is a far gentler coaxing to comply with his fellow sage's gruffly voiced desire. "We came up through basic sage training together. That was some decades ago. He kindly continues to put up with my, 'two-faced, fussy-footing political talk.'"

Ozai snorts and claims the nearest chair. He makes an absent gesture to the other chair in equally silent permission to join him. "A blunt friend ready to beat an ego back down to size is an underappreciated boon in most of my circles. It sounds like you're lucky to have him."

"He is quite prepared to assist in assuring my ego never grows burdensome," Hijiri says wryly before adding in a more earnest tone, "but you are right. I am fortunate to have such a brother. He pulls me back from indulging the worst of my inclinations and clears the soot from my eyes when I am tempted to lie to myself."

Ozai swallows the longing that threatens to choke him. "Cherish him, Hijiri. Honesty and loyalty are precious commodities as far into politics as we are. True friends are precious."

"I do and he is," Hijiri assures softly.

"Good," Ozai says and has to look away as he clears his throat.

The conversation lulls for a moment until Hijiri speaks again. "I think I will order the herald's quarters renovated," the head sage muses, "I'm not sure if you are aware, but they have gone unused for centuries and are quite due to be updated. They are a holdover from a time before the palace's separation from the temple, and few heralds have used them regularly since, but it would only be proper for us to be prepared to fully receive you. Should you ever be of the mind to seek the presence of brothers outside your blood, the hearth will be ready to welcome you, Herald."

Ozai's startled laugh threatens to become a sob. "Thank you, Head Sage. Your consideration is appreciated."

Hijiri shakes his head but smiles kindly, eyes soft. "The opportunity to serve Agni's Herald is the honor of my lifetime, and basic care for a brother is hardly something that requires thanks."

Ozai nods, throat too tight to respond further.

Mercifully, Hijiri is content to accept his wordless answer and allows the peace of the library to fill the space of their lapsed conversation.

Sage Yuki returns.

More tears are shed as Tadashi flounders through an eager but flustered acceptance to an acolyte position at the capital's temple.

Ozai... Ozai allows himself to slowly sink into the odd comfort of being flanked by two older brothers (Uncles? They feel Uncle-adjacent in their fussing.) as he sips tea. He lets Hijiri and Yuki handle the arrangements and explanations and assurances, only contributing where necessary.

He came to stop a coup. In the course of doing so, he has somehow gained two long-lost cousins, a temple's worth of honor-brothers that it will likely take him decades to properly meet -- only to have new initiates added to the list in that time, no doubt -- and a looming series of particularly unpleasant history lessons. Considering that coups usually end in bloodshed whether they are successful or not, Ozai is quite content to walk away with his collection of improbable outcomes and avoid adding to the nation's more widely known unpleasant history. His life has never followed the paths he expected of it, anyway.

Chapter Text

Ozai nearly misses a step as he exits the Fire temple. A dozen imperial firebenders are waiting in the courtyard. It looks like a full squad of ten, plus a lieutenant, plus the captain. At the heart of the squad's formation, an empty palanquin and its matching team of carriers completes the assembly of royal staff.

The palanquin carriers are quick to bow, as is the rest of the courtyard's crowd of sages and new benders.

"Fire Lord," the captain greets. He and his squad also bow, though they do so in the swift and efficient military style before rising again, "Is your business at the temple finished?"

Ozai releases a slow breath.

Right... It's traditional for royalty, and especially the Fire Lord, to travel with an escort of imperial firebenders as their guard. He knows that. It's just...

The last time he'd been confronted with imperial firebenders, it had been a coup roughly a month and a half after his coronation. The end result was the complete disbanding of the imperial firebenders -- all confirmed traitors executed and the rest reassigned across the Fire Nation's various martial branches -- and their replacement by the Kyoshi Warriors as the leadership of the royal guard until such a time as a new generation of imperial firebenders could be trained up. There had been some outrage over outsourcing the protection of the reigning monarch to a foreign militia, but the nation had been too fractious and turbulent in the wake of the war's sudden end to risk more traitors being able to position themselves at his back. Kyoshi Island's long established neutrality and the warriors' continued loyalty to the Avatar over the centuries had made them the most trustworthy option available for the job.

...Honestly, he'll probably get used to having imperial firebenders operating in his periphery again faster than they'll adapt to his eccentricities.

He misses Suki and her girls already, but there's nothing for it.

Ozai clears his throat and addresses the party trailing behind him, "This is where we part ways. Head Sage Hijiri, Sage Yuki, thank you for your hospitality. Yota, Tadashi..." He isn't sure what to say in parting. He sticks with something simple, an honest wish and the kindest title he can afford them. "Be well, Cousins."

Yota's surprise soon transforms into pride at the recognition. Tadashi appears awestruck anew. They both hurry to follow Sages Hijiri's and Yuki's lead in bowing a moment later, just a little slow to recall proper conduct in the face of unexpected acknowledgement from the Fire Lord.

"I'm ready to depart," Ozai announces to the gathered palace staff as he turns and strides to take his place on the palanquin. Once settled on thick cushions and behind sheer curtains, he orders, "Take me to the palace." The palanquin rises smoothly until it rests on the shoulders of well trained men.

The captain falls into position at the palanquin's side and gives a quick hand signal to his fellow imperial firebenders. It's a command to match the target's pace. The command is expected, more formality than necessity. Ozai still needs to repress the instinct to tense in preparation for a fight.

Ozai wishes he remembered the captain's name. More than that, he wishes he could remember whether or not the man had been among the executed traitors. He's not about to punish someone for crimes yet -- or perhaps never -- to be committed, but just knowing the captain's political leanings with greater certainty would ease his nerves.

They pass easily through the crowd filling the courtyard and the road beyond it, the people hurrying to part and bow at the sight of a royal palanquin passing through. One particularly fine set of robes among assorted citizens outside the temple's grounds catches Ozai's eye.

It's Minister Daiki.

Daiki breaks from his bow earlier than a man of lower station would dare, though Ozai only sees because he has turned to stare. Daiki doesn't appear to notice, eyes quickly scanning the passing assembly before hurriedly maneuvering through the crowd toward the temple. Whatever Daiki is looking for, he has not found it in Ozai's assembly.

"Yota holds a measure of my affection as a friend from our shared childhood..."

Ah. Ozai should have known such a confession from a man as reserved yet quietly proud as Daiki would be decidedly understated. It certainly explains the man's persistent minimizing even while reporting Yota's actions. Whatever the two men's relationship is today, it is certainly something stronger than the lingering nostalgia for a friendship left behind in childhood that Daiki had implied.

In his last life, Minister Daiki of Eastern Shuhon had been staunchly loyal to the Fire Nation, but also spiteful and petty. Daiki could be counted on to be an ally at court more often than not, but a cantankerous and reluctant one. Knowing now about how Daiki's family had been charged with the safeguarding of Fire Lord Hinata's line... Ozai wonders if the man hadn't been so ill-tempered because he felt slighted, forgotten, and perhaps hunted. The relatively rapid turnover of the crown from Azulon, to Father, Azula, and then himself must have created an air of looming danger for a man harboring a rival bloodline, particularly with the warnings of Saburo's tale ringing in his ears.

...There's a chance that Minister Daiki might become a more willing ally in the future. That would be nice. Daiki is clever enough to make himself endlessly frustrating when the mood strikes him. Ozai wouldn't mind avoiding that particular -- recurrent -- headache in this life.

The palanquin and its escort pass through the gates of the palace's outer wall.

The space between the outer wall and the palace itself yawns wide and desolate before them, and purposefully so. The barren land of the undeveloped lava field surrounding the palace is a defensive feature, designed to make approach past the wall impossible to hide. Of all the places on the palace grounds, or even if the options were expanded to the entire city, it makes sense that Agni chose to meet the children on the lava field to play. There is nothing here to burn. And, if there were, burning it to ash would only be a part of the lava field's usual maintenance. It's the perfect place for a fire spirit to allow themselves a bit of fun without the worry of unintended destruction.

Or, Ozai realizes, a Herald of Agni that is still struggling with control.

"Halt," he commands, "Down."

The palanquin carriers and the imperial firebenders all obey immediately, but there is an air of uncertain tension in response to the unanticipated orders.

"Fire Lord?" the captain inquires even as he gives his own orders in sharp hand signs.

The rest of the imperial firebenders shift into a defensive ring around them.

Ozai brushes aside gauzy curtains and exits the palanquin.

Technically speaking, Ozai should probably return to the throne room now that Yota and Tadashi have been dealt with, but Iroh is already managing the war meeting in his stead. Ozai trusts his brother's abilities as both a general and his regent. There's no true need for him to interrupt the meeting yet again and further delay its conclusion. The change in plans leaves Ozai's schedule suddenly and miraculously free for the rest of the day, and the itch to really bend had not been fully sated with just his trip to the capital's Fire temple.

"We are back on palace grounds," Ozai says, already walking toward the edge of the path and the almost featureless black stone beyond it. "You are all dismissed. You may return to your posts."

The captain responds with a crisp, "Yes, Fire Lord." Whatever opinions he has on the unusual order he is too professional to display, and another brief series of silent commands is given.

The imperial firebenders stop in their tracks and the two in front of him quickly part to allow Ozai past without obstruction. The palanquin carriers lift their lightened burden almost hesitantly before continuing down the path to the palace. The captain and the rest of the squad march to the outer wall and its nearest ascension point.

The outer wall is a minimally manned posting. Considering that Ozai is the one who initiated the irregular scenario the captain will be responsible for defending, he pays the decision little mind.

How far can he push his flames? What is his endurance now? How long will he have to train this body before the eclectic collection of moves he prefers become as natural as the sharp, brutal Sozin Form strikes he knows are already burned into its muscle memory? Will he even be able to regain all that he had been able to do in his old body? He doesn't know, but he's eager to find out.

It's been his habit to warm-up by running through Dancing Dragon. That seems as good a place to start as any in refamiliarizing himself with his firebending. It will probably take some concentration to recall all the steps without the muscle memory to fall back on, but he knows the kata well. He's sure he can find it again, even if he stumbles a few times in the process.

Ozai assumes the opening position and it feels like the first time all over again. In a very real way, it is. He leans into the feeling, doing his best to remember the ancient architecture of the city the Sun Warriors had paradoxically left to ruin while maintaining the traps and mechanisms hidden within. The air had been musty and stale. Their only guides had been the stone statues lining the wall and the pressure plates built into the floor. The sound of Aang's airbender-light footsteps had shifted into something more earthbender-rooted behind him, and the subsequent click of purposefully depressed switches that had grown sharper for it.

Ozai breathes, bends, and it's almost like being under the comet's light again. Fire burst forth in an eager jet. It's not as wide sweeping or far reaching as his flames had become under the influence of Sozin's Comet -- He and his sister had set several buildings alight during their Agni Kai for the throne, and Ozai is in no hurry to repeat that destruction. -- but it's far more than he had been able to call for previously without pushing himself to his limits. And this is only the opening move of his warm-up.

Ozai frowns as he shifts into the next move and a similarly large plume of white fire roars to life. There isn't any strain to the effort. It just comes, easy as drawing breath. He's already sweating from the heat of his own bending. The lava field should still be sufficient to practice his firebending some, but Ozai now suspects he may have to find time outside of the city if he wants to rediscover his upper limits.

The third movement comes with a warm chuckle as Agni asks, "Shall we play, child mine?"

Breath control is important in firebending -- in all bending, really, but it is absolutely vital in firebending -- so Ozai allows his words to follow his exhale with the fourth strike, rather than shaping his breath to strengthen his voice. "What game?"

Agni laughs again, and just as the flames leave Ozai's control and should begin to dissipate, they instead twist. A dragon pounces across the dark stone of the field before unraveling just as quickly.

Ozai barks a laugh of his own through the fifth movement. Agni catches the fresh fire. This time the dragon form dives into a brief swoop before disappearing.

On the sixth, the dragon climbs through the air in a wide spiral with outstretched wings and does not dissipate. The seventh strike turns into a second dragon that flies higher, faster. The eighth strike and third dragon, flies straight up through its circling brethren, twirls in a short series of flips, and dives right back down. The second and first dragon follow on its tail, and all three dragon forms explode in a shower of sparks as they impact the ground.

A polar bear dog bounds ahead in two long, loping strides.

A low sweep turns into a colony of scurrying fire ferrets that disappear into nonexistent burrows.

A whale dolphin leaps and crashes back to the ground, fire breaking around the form in a mimicry of splashing water.

The large snow leopard caribou Agni conjures surprises Ozai by turning back on him. Ozai stumbles under the bulk of the form as Agni twines around him and forces him to improvise his footwork. That form disappears as swiftly as all the ones that preceded it.

Agni's laugh rings through his head and Ozai huffs out an amused breath as he resets his stance. Is that how it's going to be?

Ozai resumes the kata.

Agni makes another set of three dragons.

A pair of ostrich horses race away before dissipating.

A tigerdillo pounces, swipes a heavy paw at invisible prey, and roars at the sky.

Ozai grunts under the sudden weight of the hog monkey that backflips and catches his shoulders but manages to avoid disrupting his kata. The weight is gone a moment later.

And on it goes. Agni catches and reforms Ozai's fire into all manner of creatures, occasionally sending one back to test the Fire Lord's ability to adapt and persist through the kata.

Ozai loses track of how many times he cycles through Dancing Dragon. The ache of extended exercise has begun to burn all throughout the muscles of his limbs. With this much fire, his sweat evaporates as soon as his body can produce it, and he'll need to remember to rehydrate sooner rather than later once he stops. His chi, though... It doesn't feel like he's so much as touched it. The well of energy in his belly still feels full, as if he hasn't been bending at all, hasn't been burning it to fuel the great blooms of fire that leave his hands. That isn't natural. Is it another quirk of the heraldship? He can feel the flow of chi in his body, fast and eager, easy, but the reserves that energy should be pulled from don't diminish in turn. How does that even work? Where is it all coming from?

A subtle movement off to the left snags his attention.

Ozai glances in the direction of his interruption as subtly as he can, mindful to keep his kata smooth.

High up on one of the palace roofs, a trio of watchers is clustered together. Azula sits flanked by Mai and Ty-Lee, arms carefully copying his own motions as she studies a kata she's never been exposed to before.

Agni doesn't miss the diversion in Ozai's attention. But then, the Sun Spirit had likely noticed the girls' presence on the roof far sooner than Ozai had. "Shall we greet our audience?" the spirit asks, playful and predatory all at once, like a lizard-cat preparing to pounce on a favored toy.

Ozai smirks, twists on his heel, and sends a burst of white fire well over the girls' heads. Agni breaks the flames apart into a flock of lemur-bats and dives.

"Azula!" Mai and Ty-Lee shriek, clutching at the young princess' shoulders.

For her part, Azula openly startles at the oncoming flames before hurriedly creating a fire shield. It probably would have worked if the assault had come from anyone but Agni. The swirling blue flames are effortlessly absorbed and reformed into yet more lemur-bats, and then the girls are buried under the swarm.

Ozai laughs loudly and Agni chitters his own oddly echo-y laugh from every lemur in his impromptu flock.

The girls stare wide-eyed at the surrounding lemur-bats made of a fire that doesn't burn and the Fire Lord laughing without restraint in the lava field. They won't be the only witnesses to the break in the untouchable royal facade that most Fire Lords wear like an additional layer of armor.

Ozai can't bring himself to care. This is the most fun he's had in months. He's going to let himself enjoy the moment for all it's worth.

Chapter Text

Azula's heart pounds in her chest and half-deafens her ears but she maintains determined control over her breath.

In.

And out.

Around her, she can hear Agni chitter-chortle between the too-loud beats. A fire shield had been a -- quite literally, it would seem -- laughable choice of defence against the Father of Fire.

In.

And out.

It hardly matters in the end. There is nothing she could do to defend herself against Agni's whims. She lives because it pleases the Sun Spirit. She had known that from the first. It remains a terrifying lesson to experience first hand.

In.

And out.

Off to her left, Ty-Lee's eyes are wide and rimmed with tears, hands plastered over her mouth. On her right, Mai stares and gapes in a decidedly un-Mai-like fashion.

Azula dares to look past the roof's eaves, out to the lava field where Father had been practicing.

In.

And --

And out.

Father is bent over, arms holding his midriff, and laughing without restraint. Azula has never before witnessed Father in such a state. The closest comparison she has is perhaps when Father had fallen to giggling over Azula's swift mastering of the blue flame.

In.

And out.

There is a shameful lack of achievements on Azula's part to account for Father's merriment today. There will be no open pride or earned affection this time.

Azula does not know what will come after the laughter. None of Father's old patterns seem to hold true since he became Agni's Herald. Azula has no recourse but to learn Father's new patterns.

In.

And out.

Her heart has begun to settle, allowing Azula to hear in more than snatches between beats.

One of Agni's silly, little lemur forms hops onto her foot and perches its forepaws on her knee. Its large ears pivot and twitch. Several of the other matching forms hop and skitter along roof tiles. It's a very good imitation of animal life for a spirit, but Azula still prefers the many-legged dragons Agni had allowed her to ride, or the serpentine streams of living fire with which she found her blue flames.

"Agni," she greets. This is not an easy position to bow in, particularly without dislodging the fire spirit attached to her person. She still makes an attempt to affirm her respect for the great spirit, though it ends more as the sign of the flame under a nod than a proper bow.

"Fledgeling," Agni returns, jumping up to balance fully on her knee. The fire spirit reaches out. Azula freezes in place. Agni wraps a small paw around the lock of hair framing the right side of her face and tugs lightly.

Azula blinks.

Agni chitter-chortles again, though only from the one manifestation this time, and releases her.

This is not at all something Azula had been expecting. She glances back to the lava field, but Father is not where she last saw him.

The sudden sound of a firebending strike is their only warning.

Azula yelps and Mai shrieks as the Fire Lord comes flying past the eave of the roof. Father flails, throwing one arm down to catch the slanted surface of the roof and turning his ill-controlled arc into a somewhat controlled tumble landing. Father groans, sounding somewhere between resigned and frustrated. She's never noticed before, but Father sounds remarkably like Zuzu when he does that.

And then Agni swarms Father, burying him under half the flock of chittering lemurs.

Ozai takes a moment to be sure he has reclaimed control of his breath after laughing. Then, he charges at the wall of the palace. He takes two steps up the vertical surface and then performs a concussive fire-blast kick to --

Ozai yelps.

Too much!

Instead of providing just enough of a redirection and boost to allow Ozai to catch the roof, the fire-blast sends him flying past the eave altogether.

Ozai manages to catch the incline of the roof under one hand and redirect his unanticipated momentum into a roll. ...Unfortunately, he left the muscle memory for that maneuver in his previous body. It still works, mostly.

Ozai groans and then finds himself mobbed by white lemur-bats. Ozai doesn't try to get up right away, too busy grumpily trying to calculate how much he needs to hold back his concussive redirection moves now and how long it will take to train his body to instinctively perform recovery tuck-and-roll landings. One hand absently settles on the back of the lemur crouched on his chest and scratches lightly between the little thing's shoulders.

He only realises what he's done when Agni's purr starts to vibrate through him. Ozai's fingers freeze mid-scratch and he looks down at the fire form under his hand. The purr fades away. Agni's ears perk and his tail lashes in anticipation.

"Um..." Ozai utters. He might be a little too used to Momo.

Agni laughs. A small paw bats his nose before he can react and the lemur-bat form escapes from under his hand, quickly becoming lost in the rest of the flock.

Ozai blinks and sits up, scattering yet more of Agni's manifestations. One lands on his right shoulder and another two crowd his lap. One slips under his hand and arches its back, and, well, he can take a hint when it's that blatant. Ozai gently scratches down the lemur's spine as Agni presses into the offered attention.

"Father," Azula greets him, one of Agni's other forms sitting on her knee.

"Hello, Azula," Ozai returns. He carefully picks up Agni, cradling the fire form to his chest and scratching behind large ears. Ozai hadn't realized purring could sound so smug but Agni manages it as he sprawls in Ozai's arms.

Okay, then. Good to know.

Another lemur form hops into his lap to fill the emptied space. Ozai represses an amused huff.

"Miss Mai," he continues his greetings, and he's relieved by how little the sight of her actually reminds him of his wife. She's too young and far too obvious with her emotions. He'd have an easier time imagining the girl in front of him as his daughter alongside Azula than seeing her as his wife. He'd been afraid interacting with this time's Mai would remind him of what he's lost. If anything, seeing Mai like this just makes him feel nostalgic for his childhood, and that is a far gentler ache that he already knows how to deal with.

"Fire Lord Ozai," Mai says, nodding in place of a full bow. Seeing as they are all sitting on a roof and Ozai made a complete fool of himself not a degree ago, that's a better adherence to protocol and more respectful greeting than he's inclined to demand from any of the girls.

The lemur by her feet creeps closer and Mai glares at it. Agni stops, but the slow wave of his tail is more patient than resigned.

"Miss T--" Ozai stumbles over his own tongue but presses on despite his sudden concern, "Miss Ty-Lee."

The girl sniffles and blubbers something that might have been a return greeting, face bowed low over the lemur clutched to her chest. There's another lemur pressed to the girl's side. Both forms in contact with Ty-Lee flicker with snatches of color like dragon's fire.

Ozai clears his throat and addresses Azula in a quiet voice. "I think you should check on your friend, Little Dragon." Azula glances at Ty-Lee with reluctance before squaring her shoulders and Ozai realizes his mistake. He catches Azula's shoulder and adds, "A true friend's loyalty can go beyond all logic. Check on her kindly, Azula."

Azula's flash of trepidation is quickly hidden as she nods. "Yes, Father."

Ozai nods back and releases his daughter.

Azula shuffles closer to Ty-Lee and asks, "What's wrong?" Her tone is stiff and not precisely gentle, but the effort to be less demanding and condescending is clear to anyone who knows Azula.

Ty-Lee blubbers more incoherent words, peeking up at Azula with a tear-streaked face.

If Azula hadn't already looked uncomfortable, she certainly does now. "I can't understand your caterwauling," she doesn't quite snap, "Take a breath and speak, Ty-Lee."

Ty-Lee gulps down a lungful of air and holds it.

And then she does it again.

And again.

One more time.

Azula shows better patience for the attempt at breath control than she had for half-sobbed mumbling.

Finally, Ty-Lee extends the Agni manifestation in her hands for Azula to inspect and says, "I can hold fire, Azula! And I'm not burned!"

Azula's head tilts as she considers the statement. "I suppose if Zuzu could bend and I had not been blessed with the ability, I would also find that distressing."

Ty-Lee's eyes flit through a riot of emotions. Her mouth opens, but closes again without anything said. Frustration firms her jaw for a moment before something almost defeated takes its place. "I don't know how to say it," she finally admits, drawing Agni back to her chest and wiping away tears with the heel of one hand.

"The little dancer required assurance of her welcome in my hearth," says the fragment of Agni in Ty-Lee's arms, "I offered direct greeting as proof of my goodwill."

Ty-Lee nods rapidly and hugs the manifestation closer.

"My parents say you shouldn't trifle with spirits," Mai cuts in, edging away from encroaching lemurs with a narrow-eyed glare.

Azula scoffs. "Only fools would trifle with spirits," she says, "However, we may as well surrender the nation to our enemies now if we do not trust Agni."

Mai starts, looking over at Azula and then back at the surrounding white fire lemur-bats. "Agni?"

"So I am," the entire flock responds, the synchronicity of the statement turning it almost eerie. Agni laughs, not the chittering lemur-bat sound, but the deep chuckle Ozai is used to hearing from the great spirit. Lemurs run into each other and reform until their little group of four is walled in by the lazy loop of a dragon made of white fire.

Ty-Lee squeals a cheer of, "Fluffy!" and tosses herself on top of Agni's tail in a full-body hug. The fire of Agni's tail proceeds to take on more flickering colors around the half-buried child.

It's not the first time Ozai has seen Agni produce colors other than white with his fire, but Agni's anger had been a clear cause then. Agni shows no sign of anger now. So, what is causing the wisps of color in the Sun Spirit's fire?

"Would you recognize me more easily in this form?" Agni asks, drawing Ozai's attention, though the question was not aimed at him.

Mai shrugs, cautiously reaching out to brush testing fingers through the dragon's mane. "I haven't been taught much of spirits except to avoid them."

Agni huffs in dissatisfaction. "False heralds and the unreasonable second charter have eroded much," he grumbles. Agni grows intent as the spirit says, "Lady Mai of Second Fire, you will not remember our meeting, but you have managed to wrest a favor from me. What would you ask for?"

The words fall out of Ozai's mouth before he can think better of them. "You've met Mai?"

When? How? For what purpose? Why is this the first he's hearing of a meeting between his wife and Agni?

"We have conversed before," Agni says, "Once."

"Wh--"

"Child mine," Agni interrupts and warns, "do not interfere in spirit bargains to which you are not party, particularly not the payment of deals already agreed upon."

Ozai digs his fingers into the flesh of his legs and forces himself to say, "Yes, Agni."

"Peace," Agni says, "Schemer and deal-maker though I am, trickster I have played rarely. Furthermore, I am the debtor between the two of us. Mai of Second Fire is in no danger from me."

"What did I give you?" Mai asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"That which was mutually deemed precious but impossible to preserve without intervention," Agni answers.

Mai scowls before her face smooths of all expression. Her hand drops back to her side. "You won't tell me what it was."

"You have my answer, Lady Mai of Second Fire," Agni says. The great spirit's voice is neither cruel nor dismissive, but it is firm.

"Can I have it back?" Mai asks.

"No."

"Fine." Mai considers the fire spirit waiting for her request. "Can I have time to think about what favor to ask for? I'd hate to set an insulting price for something 'mutually deemed precious' out of haste."

Agni's grin unfurls slowly, full of sharp dragon teeth. "I will allow it. The wise do well to request as much."

Mai nods sharply. "What are the limits? No experienced 'deal-maker' would agree to a completely open favor."

"It cannot exceed my ability to provide. It cannot require infringement of the current spirit charter. It cannot disrupt schemes I have already set in motion. It cannot be something which would result from actions I would have taken regardless of your request."

Mai sighs. "How am I supposed to know how to avoid the requirements of your secret schemes and a charter I've never read?"

"I will tell you if your request is invalid," Agni says, "and you will be allowed to make a different request."

"And how do I let you know when I have decided on a favor to request?" Mai asks.

"Light a candle and speak my name," Agni responds, "I will find you."

Mai shrugs. "That seems easy enough."

"Indeed," Agni agrees. "Consider your price well, Lady Mai of Second Fire. It is not often I allow myself to be cornered as debtor in a deal."

"I will," Mai vows, lifting her chin.

Agni chuckles. "I will take my leave." The spirit gently shakes Ty-Lee out of his tail and onto her feet. To Ozai, he says, "Enjoy your time with your fledgeling, child mine. They tend to grow faster than their parents anticipate." And then Agni leaps off the roof and disappears in a shower of sparks over the lava field.

Ozai looks over at Azula to find her already studying him, and then she asks, "Is Agni the reason I am 'Little Dragon' now?"

Ozai laughs and grins. "Agni called you 'dragon-hearted' once. He gave the definition of fierce, loyal, and ruthless. I couldn't argue." He shrugs helplessly and tugs lightly on his daughter's hair.

Azula smirks as she preens. "I am quite fierce," she agrees.

"Oh, Little Dragon, that has never been in doubt," Ozai assures. "Now, how were you three planning to get down from this roof?"