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Chapter Text

In the center of the courtyard, Azula stood, a figure of fierce concentration. She took a deep breath before opening her eyes. She started off by twirling a flame on her fingertip, it zig-zag through her fingers effortlessly. With a flick of her wrist, that flame conjured a blazing inferno. The blue flame leaped, spiraled, and danced around her; each second is precise, each movement is organic, each turn with it’s whirl are calculated. 

So far, so good. A smug smile playing on her lips. Now, It’s time to dance with the lightning. 

As she extended her arm, her fingers splayed. She shifted her weight effortlessly, her feet gliding over the ground as if she were part of the wind itself. With a swift, circular motion of her hands, the lightning followed, spiraling around her in a mesmerizing display of control and power. She transitioned into a series of quick, explosive movements, a sharp turn of her body directed the lightning outward in an stunning arc. She finally point to a giant rock to blast all the lightning with, cracking it into two.

The courtyard erupted into spontaneous applause. Each clap full of admiration, awe and maybe a bit of fear: just how Azula liked it. As she stood amidst the blue flames, her chest swelling with pride, her head held a touch higher.

She scanned the crowd, searching for one face in particular, yours, hoping to catch a glimpse of your stupid amazed face. Her ‘fiery’ performance, as you repeatedly called it, was a spectacle to proof your dare. You had dare her to split the rock with only a finger, and she did just that.

As her eyes darted through the sea of mostly aged and ragged men faces, her heart sank slightly. You were nowhere to be seen. Instead, her eyes met her father’s. Their eyes locked, he stood, a stoic figure– his face betraying no emotion. He gave a subtle nod, it was terse, almost reluctant approval. But she knew almost it’s not good enough.

Finally, she had to maintained her composure, her face now a mask of indifference mirroring her father’s. With a graceful bow to the audience, she let the flames die down, taking her leave from there.

The performance had ended, and the courtyard was still buzzing with the leftovers of Azula’s fiery display. Azula had trained for this. Hours and hours that turned to days and days then it became to several weeks to months. But she felt nothing paid that hard work, those time were wasted. This performance was not a big deal, it was not a green light to be a Firelord either. Yet, she can’t help but failing.

Ty Lee rushed up to her, “Azula! There you are,”

Ty Lee already brimming her words of amazement with uncontainable energy, “The way you move the lightning and those dancing flames?! It was so amazing!” she exclaimed, her voice echoed the corridors.

Azula nodded in acknowledgment, “Naturally,” casually shrugging.

“You did well,” Mai soon approached with a small smile, “As always, you know how to leave an impression.”

“Leave an impression?” Ty Lee said, “She set the standard sky-high! Oh, Y/N should’ve seen this. Y/N would’ve been totally wowed!”

Azula almost jolt by the mention of your name. As if she had electrocute herself with her own lightning. Her eyes immediately glare at Ty Lee, usually fierce and controlled, but now it flickered with absolute disappointment. “Y/N or not, the performance would have been the same. I don’t perform for anyone’s approval.”

Azula felt weird. It was something bittersweet. It’s simple in words actually, she just long for your eyes to witness her element; her elegance and her perfection–all blended it in her ‘fiery’ performance, to share the countless training sessions into triumph–but now felt incomplete. Was that too much to ask?

“Maybe not,” Mai observed wryly, “but sometimes certain eyes matter more than other, don’t they?”

Azula’s gaze hardened to Mai, a silent glare that spoke volumes. But Mai was unfazed by the glare, somehow she was used to it.

“Y/N is busy with the date,” Ty Lee tried to defend, completely oblivious to the unspoken glares, “but anyway, we are going to celebrate! What about a dinner in your honor? Come on, it’ll be fun!” 

Azula momentarily lost in the fact that you are busy with something that you had to bail on her performance–wait, what is the date? She decided to ask that later on and quickly set that aside as she straightened her posture, the commanding edge returning to her voice, “A celebration in order, indeed. Lead the way.”

As they started to follow to wherever Ty Lee’s are leading them towards, Azula still let her eyes momentarily drifted back to the empty space where she had hoped to see you. It was a fleeting glance, one filled with a mix of hope and resignation, before she finally turned away.

———

You finally made it to the place, the place your date will be waiting. You stepped into the restaurant, and was immediately taken aback in an atmosphere of elegance. It was bustling with energy, each table almost occupied by well-dressed patrons engaged in lively conversation, the clinking of fine china and glassware creating a harmonious backdrop. Soft, golden lightning bathed the room, casting a warm glow over the sophisticatedly decorated interior, accentuating it’s luxury.

Though you were no stranger to luxury, having spent considerable time in Azula’s opulent surroundings, the ambiance here was a refreshing change—to say the least. This place was a modern version of luxury you’re used to—sleek, polished, and contemporary. It was less about showcasing heritage or history, it is simply about aestheticity.

Comparing this to the Fire Nation’s palace, specifically Azula’s bedroom or her study room—where every corner told a story, every tapestry and artifact held a piece of history. You had always been fascinated by that world, a world where elegance was defined by it’s connection to the past, it’s cultural significance to the Fire Nation. But, if you had to choose: you knew your heart leaned more on the timeless, old and dusty artifacts in no time since you are such a history nerd.

Your mind took you back to the palace. Your mind showed you her face—that damned face. Her stupid beautiful face with her arrogance, her high ego that seemed impenetrable, and her refusal to be vulnerable with you. Then you remembered that today was her ‘fiery’ performance, where she practically show off her skill and power that was undeniably impressive, yet tinged with haughtiness. 

You had deliberately missed it or rather bailed on it. It was a decision that is not easy but felt necessary. You believed Azula needed a lesson, a taste of what it felt like to have someone important to you not acknowledge your hard work, no matter how small or grand it is.

You remembered the countless moments when Azula had to let her ego overshadow their friendship. Azula always keeping a part of herself hidden, always maintaining that edge of superiority, always strive to perfection. You don’t need that perfect princess of Fire Nation; you had always been attracted by what makes Azula human. You love her intense passion, which made her arrogant but also made her deeply committed and earnest. You love her insecurities that she rarely voice out loud—but once she do, you savor her little doubts and asked your thoughts on it. You love her hidden softness in her usual confident and prideful exterior. You simply just love her, by her flaws.

Now, you are searching for a sign if you meant more to Azula than just another person in the friend group. You are reaching for cracks to Azula’s walls, to find a tender glimpse that you, more than anyone else, held a special place in her heart.

This date is more than just a dinner. It is a statement, a silent rebellion against Azula unyielding façade. Tonight, you wanted to feel that sting of absence, the pang of being ignored. You wanted Azula to realize what she was potentially losing. It was a gamble—provoking someone as strong-willed as Azula—but you felt it was necessary. 

You had only one question: Will this finally drop Azula’s barriers?

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” You said to the receptionist, “I believe I’m expected by Chan?”

“Oh yes, Y/N! He’s been looking forward to your arrival. Just follow me, I’ll take you to him.” The receptionist glanced up at you, there was a brief flicker of recognition in her eyes—maybe too quick to be merely courteous acknowledgment from a staff member to a guest. In a place where the staff typically meets countless strangers daily, such a look is a bit odd, as if the receptionist had been expecting you, or perhaps knew of you in some way beyond the scope of a simple dinner reservation. 

The receptionist weaved her way between elegantly set tables and past animated diners as you followed her through the bustling restaurant. The receptionist moved with a practiced ease, guiding you through with a casual grace.

 “Our chef has some delightful specials tonight," she mentioned, gesturing subtly towards the kitchen, where the harmonious chaos of culinary creation was just visible. “Is there a particular type of cuisine you're fond of, or are you looking to be surprised?”

“I’m open to recommendations. Surprise is part of the experience, isn’t it?” you said. You wondered how, in a busy restaurant like this one, the staff could still afford to be so casual and engage in small talk. Perhaps she was just exceptionally good at her job. 

The receptionist nodded, her smile still in place. But you caught a quick, almost imperceptible tap on her pocket. It was a weird gesture, a brief one though—but it made you questioned more. Was there more to this receptionist than met the eye?

No, no, you said to yourself. I’m here on a date. You shook off the thought as a byproduct of your cautious instinct.

Reaching a well-appointed table, the receptionist present you to Chan, who is apparently the restaurant owner, "Y/N, welcome!" Chan exclaimed, rising from his chair with a warm smile. He leaned in to peck your cheeks in a friendly greeting, then smoothly slid aside, gesturing gracefully to the chair, inviting you to take a seat. 

You sat as the receptionist departed, you found your gaze subconsciously trailing the woman’s retreating figure. There was something about her you could not figure out, something like a hidden agenda beneath her polished exterior that catch your curiosity.

“I’m glad you could make it!” Chan interrupted your thoughts. You scolded yourself for possibly reading too much into a simple exchange, a habit you often fell back on— especially now with your thoughts deeply entangled in how Azula might respond to this evening.

“Well, thank you for inviting me, Chan. I heard so many great things about your restaurant.”

“How could I not invite someone as knowledgeable as you in culinary arts? I’ve been looking forward to our conversation all day.” His gaze lingered on you just a moment longer than necessary.

 “And might I add, you look absolutely stunning tonight. Guess it’s not just the food that’s going to be exceptional.” His smile broadening, tone alight. He leaned slightly towards you, trying to close the physical and metaphorical gap between you two. His gestures were smooth and a well-rehearsed play.

The dinner progressed with a steady flow of conversation and laughter. Chan, ever the entertaining host, amused you with tales of the restaurant’s origins and his personal journey in the culinary world. Each story was accompanied by a detail explanation, his knowledge in arts and history were evident— that made you intrigued, his enthusiasm were entirely contagious too.

“I'm definitely interested in those stories,” you confessed, “Did you know I stumbled upon a recipe from Princess Azula’s ancestral line? It’s amazing to see how food connects with history!" 

"No kidding? That’s the kind of stuff that makes my job cool, right? We should totally whip that up sometime. Might impress the Princess or even the Firelord, too. You know, they got quite the taste for the authentic."

You nodded eagerly, you stand up by what he said, your smile brightened, “It's all about the details, isn’t it? She values that in everything, food included.” Your gaze briefly flickered to the door, half-expecting, half-hoping for her to burst in—but the door remained closed.

“Absolutely,” he said, as you two were finishing dessert, “Speaking of details, how about after dinner, we take a closer look at some of the exclusive wines I’ve got? A private tasting, just for us. It said dated a while back to Avatar Roku’s age! Could be a nice way to wind down the evening, you know?”

His invitation was clear, his gaze intent on you, slightly dimming. The suggestion was tempting, it was wrapped in the complex of his stories that you really enjoyed and it was a possibility to continue your fun conversation. But it was also unmistakably laced with an intention that went beyond a simple wine tasting. 

Chan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a suggestive whisper, his hand finding reasons to brush against yours under the impression of emphasizing a point. He was intruding  your personal space, his body language more assertive than courteous. 

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your mind’s racing. You were aware of Chan’s motives. And now he was trying his best to lure you into accepting his request. He sensed your hesitation; thus escalate his flirtations even more.

You look around for some form of silent support. You realized you might get none. The staff, loyal to Chan, were unlikely to intervene. The patrons were too absorbed in their own worlds, oblivious in your discomfort. Then, you locked eyes with the woman you noticed earlier— the receptionist. 

Her gaze was intense, not just observing the scene between you and Chan, but seemingly focused on you yourself. In that brief eye contact, you felt a strange sense of safety—a little bit. The receptionist, whatever her role or reason for being there, was a witness, an outsider to the unfolding scenario.

“You know,” Chan said, “I once threw a party back in the day, at my parent’s place.” 

He grew bolder; you could feel it. He was getting impatient with your hesitance, so he decided to shift tactics. 

“There was this girl, like you,” he began, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Sophisticated, smart, but impulsive. We hit it off, and well, let’s just say, we shared a memorable kiss that night.”

He paused for effect, his smile grew. “But here’s the twist— suddenly, we found the house in ruins. Turn out, she had a bit of a wild side. Wrecked the place. My parents were furious and I was too. But she still live up here,” he pointed to his forehead. “I couldn’t help admiring her spirit, now.”

The story, seemingly harmless, but you knew there was something intended; what is he trying to say? You knew he was subtly warning you of your next move. It was a veiled attempt to gauge your response. 
The clock ticked on, each minute stretching longer than the last. You found yourself at a crossroads. Part of you wanted to put an end to the evening, to assert your boundaries firmly. Yet another part, the strategist within you, contemplated the potential outcome.

Screw it. 
You went this far. 
Screw you, Azula.

“I’d be delighted to see your winery,” you said, voice steady. You made your decision.  Chan’s face lit up, he giggled boyishly.

You instantly pictured Azula’s reaction— would it be jealousy, anger, or indifference? The uncertainty was agonizing yet exhilarating. You doubt the effectiveness of this decision; Azula was a fortress of composure and arrogance. Could this be the key to crush her?

Your thoughts swirled as you left the restaurant, hand in hand with Chan. You decided the night was young, and the possibilities were endless. There was no turning back now.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a woman, disheveled and frantic, burst through the restaurant doors, clutching a young boy in her arms. The boy was pale, his condition visibly dire. The restaurant, a moment ago, a peaceful haven of lively diners, plunged into chaos.

“Help!” The woman cried loudly. “My son! He is sick because of your food!”

Chan, caught off guard, hurried back inside, with you following closely behind. Your heart pounded. The mother’s anguish was blatant, her voice breaking through the murmurs of the startled diners.

“Ma’am, please, calm down. Let’s not jump to conclusions. Tell me what happened.” Chan said, trying to maintain control.

“We eat your leftovers, and now he’s like this! You did this to him!” she cried out, almost hysterically. She clutched the poor boy close, her eyes were wild with panic and desperation.

“Everyone, please listen!” the mother continued, “This isn’t just about me and my son. It’s about you too, how can you eat here, not knowing if your food is safe? My son is dying because of this place!” Her voice cut through the room, her desperation resonating with every patron.

 Chan seemed irritated, he blocked her from reaching the diners, “Ma’am, I understand you’re upset, but making unfounded accusations won’t help. Let’s discuss this privately and find a solution, yes?”

The mother, ignoring Chan’s presence altogether, turned to other diners. “Would you all just sit there if it was your child? He was fine before eating the leftovers, but look at him now!” 

“I’ll assure you, our food is prepared to the highest standards. We’ll call for medical help right away, but please, let’s not cause a scene.” Chan tried again, though he was visibly flustered.

“A scene?” The mother shrieked, “My child is dying! How can you talk about scenes? You need to take responsibility!”

Chan struggling to maintain his professional demeanor, signaled his staff to intervene, hoping to move the mother and her son away from the public eye. 

You stood there, a bystander. You froze from the unfolding scene before you. Your plan to provoke Azula suddenly seeming insignificant in the face of such raw human vulnerability. It was heart-wrenching, a stark contrast to the calculated world you’re used to, a world you shared with Azula.

And you loved this. You would love to see it in Azula.

You heard Chan sighed. His earlier confidence had evaporated. This was not how he had envisioned the evening—what was supposed to be a simple date with a girl had spiraled into his career nightmare. He looked back to you, offering a small smile that he tried doing genuinely. He looked tired. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

As the tension of the restaurant simmered, the sudden arrival of men, dressed in crisp, light blue uniforms with the emblem of public health department prominently displayed. The health inspectors. What are they doing in here?

Accompanying the inspectors were a couple of royal palace guards, adding a layer of urgency to the situation. These officials grabbed the attention of all eyes in the place. 

What the Agni is this about?

“Good evening, Mr. Chan,” the health inspector said, “We’ve received an urgent complaint regarding a health hazard in this establishment. We need to conduct an immediate inspection.”

Chan with his face a mix of confusion and panic, quickly stepped forward to greet them. “This must be some misunderstanding. Our kitchen adheres to the highest of standards. Can we discuss this privately, perhaps?”

“I’m afraid this is a matter of public safety. We must proceed with the inspection now. In full view of your patrons.” He surveyed the restaurant with keen eyes.

“Please, let’s handle this discretely,” Chan practically begged and almost fell to his knees, “I promise, whatever the issue, we’ll cooperate fully. There’s no need for a public spectacle.”

“Our priority is the health and safety of the public, Mr. Chan,” said he firmly, “We need to inspect your kitchen and restrict all activities within. We are ensuring that there are no violations.”

The health inspectors, without warning, walked towards the kitchen, with a pleading Chan following closely behind them. As you stood by the door, left, deserted, you had no idea what to do now. The restaurant buzzed with whispers and speculation from the patrons. The air was thick with tension, drama after drama are unfolding way too fast.

The timing of the inspection was too precise, too perfectly aligned with the chaos the mother had caused. 

You grew suspicious to the inspectors. You observed them; they moved with an air of the outmost confidence and purpose that seemed beyond the usual protocol. Their approach was methodical, almost as if they were following a script.

Moreover, the presence of the guards, royal guards. What are their business with this?

These details, all in different kind that if were put together—it formed a picture. A scheme. An orchestration. You had aligned it all to form it’s real essence—which point to her involvement. 

You knew Azula’s penchant for dramatic flair; you knew this was controlled and design thoroughly, unyielding and impactful; you knew the guards were a show of force, a tactic that Azula often employed to assert dominance and control. And the mother? Was that her plan too?

This wasn’t just a simple health inspection; it was a revenge in a larger game she recently launched, in perfect motion. From this, you knew that this night was far from over, and that the aftermath of Azula’s actions would ripple far beyond the walls of the restaurant.

“Ms. Y/N,” a guard spoke, “Princess Azula request your presence at the palace immediately.”

You expected it, but you were also caught off guard. You were about to dismiss the guard when the receptionist from earlier appeared beside him. She gave you a subtle nod, her expression betraying nothing, yet is trying to tell something. In that instant, you realized the truth—the receptionist was more than she seemed, likely a spy placed by Azula, to monitor your movements.

You acknowledged Azula’s cunning and what a dick move she pulled. You can’t help but respect this carefully designed scheme but frustrated to the supervision that limits your own autonomy. The latter emotion got the best of you than the former. “Tell Princess Azula I’m not at her beck and call. I won’t be going to the palace.”

The guard’s expression remained impassive, but it was the receptionist who stepped forward, breaking her professional facade. In a swift, startling motion, she slapped you across the face, the sound echoed sharply.

“You don’t understand,” she said urgently, “You need to come with us now. It’s not a request.”

The slap left a burning sensation on your cheek. It was unexpected and forceful. The onlookers in the restaurant paused, the scene unfolding before them adding to the night’s surreal quality.

Realizing that resistance might escalate the situation further, you reluctantly nodded in agreement, “Fine, I’ll come. But this isn’t the end of it.” You shifted your eyes to the receptionist, she was somehow surprised herself. Her actions, It was a breach of protocol.

As they escorted you away from the restaurant, you felt a sense of being a pawn in a larger game, a feeling that was becoming all too familiar.
———
Azula sat calmly in her opulent study room, her posture relaxed, unpinning her hairpin and let her hair fall. She was waiting for you, expecting you to burst through the door at any moment, fueled by your anger and frustration.

 Azula had done the evening’s event with precision, pushing you to your limits. She anticipated that this act would be the peak to finally see your raw astonishment that she believed you harbored for her.

The door opened, but not with force or drama that Azula had expected. You entered quietly, your expression unreadable, your usual kindled spirit replaced by an unsettling calm. Azula’s lips curved into a sly smile, intrigued by this new side of you.

“Well, well, Y/N,” Azula started, “I must say, I’m terribly sorry. I was expecting a grand entrance. Did you lose your fire along the date?”

You remained silent, your eyes locking with Azula’s. There was a depth in your gaze, a tumult of emotions you harbored beneath.

“Come now, don’t hold back my account. I know my little game at the restaurant must have… stirred things up for you.”

“Your games are getting old, Princess,” you finally replied, “Do you always need to manipulate situations to feel in control?”

Azula leaned forward, breaking a genuine smile. You hadn’t change at all. And Azula is enjoying this.

“Oh, Y/N, manipulation is such a harsh word. I prefer,” she paused, “strategic planning.”

She saw your faint smile, she knew you would not backing down. “Strategic planning that involves putting a homeless family in distress? You’re losing your touch.”

“On the contrary, I’d say my touch is quite effective. It brought you here, didn’t it?”

You side eyed her, “Maybe I’m just here to tell you that your ‘strategic planning’ is backfiring. You’re not as in control as you think.”

Azula’s eyes narrowed, she was both admired and irritated by your resilience. She had long for your anguish to confront her, but your composed defiance was a curveball she hadn’t anticipated.

She sighed. “Or maybe you’re just afraid to admit that you enjoy my little game. Admit it, Y/N, you love the challenge as much as I do.”

You walked to her, leaning in close, lowering your voice. “There’s a fine line between a challenge and a reckless game, Princess. Be careful not to cross it.”

Azula waved her hand dismissively, “Always so serious. Where’s the fun in playing it safe?”

“This isn’t funny, Azula,” your voice impatient, “Your little game at the restaurant, using that woman and her son—it’s cruel. You manipulated their distress for your own amusement.”

“I’m being cruel to be kind. I gave the boy the best medical attention. Plus, the sister received a job now—but a shame it will be in ruins. Anyway, There’s no need for you to worry about that.”

Your face redden. Azula could sense you’re infuriated. “How dare you use someone’s vulnerability for your own selfish ends? These are people live. Our people!”

Azula, usually unfazed, was taken aback. She felt goosebumps in your intense voice, a seriousness that was rarely encountered.

“You think I don’t know that?” Azula raised from her seat, “Everything I do, I do for a reason. You of all people should understand that.”

“Understand? What is there to understand about exploiting a desperate mother and her dying child? I want to see you vulnerable for once, Azula. I want to see you hurt, to see you break.” You roared as you were shaking.
There was a palpable silence in the room as your words hung in the air. It was a raw, emotional confession, one that revealed the depth of your desperate goal to that date.

Azula did not know how to respond, your emotion was too intense for her to handle. Azula felt a twinge of something unfamiliar. Was it guilt? Regret? For a moment, her fortress of composure wavered.

“Is that what you really want, Y/N? To see me broken?” she asked, surprisingly soft and weak.

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” You choked, “But I can’t keep doing this. Not with you, not like this.” Tears, unbidden, spilled from your eyes, your resilience crumbling under the weight of your emotions.

Azula stood there, feeling a sudden urge to reach out, to offer comfort. It was an odd desire that clashed with her self-restraint, her need to always be in control.

You turned to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?” something within Azula compelled her to made you stay. It was a surge of emotion, random and messy, unlike anything she had ever allowed herself to feel. She rushed to you with a determined stride.

You suddenly paused at the door, looked back at Azula, watery eyes. “Every game has it risk, right, Azula?” your voice faltered, barely a whisper.

“What are you getting at, Y/N?”

Azula watched you looked down, thinking something. “In the next of your act, I promise you it would include real danger—a situation I’ll go that even you can’t control.”

Azula scoffed, “You wouldn’t dare, you’re not that reckless.”

That took so much to say for Azula. She half-expected to see your ego arise from the compliment. But as she looked into your eyes, she saw something that gave her a pause. There was no trace of the usual sarcasm or defiance. Instead, there was a deep, unsettling seriousness.

“Y/N, you’re joking, come on laugh it out,” Her heart pounded. “If you’re trying to provoke me, there are better ways.” 

You remained silent, your expression unwavering. You turned to leave for real now, your steps resolute.

Panicked, Azula lunged towards the door. Swift and forceful, she slammed the door shut, effectively blocking your path of escape. Her heart raced with adrenaline and unusually breathless.

“You’re playing with fire, Y/N. Literally and figuratively.” Azula searched your eyes, looking for a sign. But all she found was an empty resolve that send a chill down her spine.

You finally looked back at her, your voice cold and distant, “Sometimes, you have to get burned to see the light. You’ll understand when it’s too late, Azula. When you’ve finally lost.”

Azula felt your words like a physical blow, her face twitching in pain, her mask completely shattered. She knew this was a trap. But the threat brought something in the depth of her own feelings—the potential cost of losing you, forever.

You two just looked at each other, thick with absolute silence. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Azula gritted her teeth.

You pushed Azula away. Then your figure slipped from the door with a slam. The room felt colder. The air was suddenly think that almost made Azula suffocate. The door closed, leaving Azula alone with her thoughts.

The game had change, and for the first time, Azula was uncertain of her next move.

Chapter Text

The nation still slumbered in oblivious tranquility. It was before dawn; hushed and it’s eerie light crept to Azula’s study room. There Azula stood alone, perched high in the palace’s tallest tower. This sanctuary in the sky, a place of Azula’s mind to whirl around, was her refuge for both stillness and strategy. 

Here, amidst ancient books and maps strewn across the room; the room with it’s tall, arched windows, offered a panoramic view of the waking Fire Nation below. This view is always a constant reminder of the realm she fiercely vowed to protect and the personal battles she waged within.

Azula lingered motionless, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The calm beauty of the dawn stood in stark contrast to the whirl of her thoughts. Usually, each morning she came here to steel herself for the day, to weave plans and bolster her resolve, but today was different. Today, she felt the weight of her own high expectations—bearing down on her like the heavy title she so often found constricting.

Azula was drifted back to the confrontation with you; Could strength always be entwined with vulnerability? Is it appropriate to wield power with both compassion and resolve without yielding to emotional frailty? 

The piercing look in Y/N’s eyes flashed before her—a look that had somehow managed to penetrate Azula’s facade. 

Y/N perceived my ambition as a mask for vulnerability. Yet, is it not the duty of a leader to remain in control and fearless?

Azula knew better to not yield. Y/N was wrong. Vulnerability was a luxury she could not afford, a chink in her armor that could be exploited by those who sought to undermine her authority.

True power, the divine right to rule was something you’re born with and she was born lucky, her destiny written in the stars—resolute and plucky.

It has been weeks since she had spoken or seen you. She remembered how you had politely refused Ty Lee’s invitation to the welcome party for Zuko’s return.  Azula overheard your carefully chosen yet distant response. Your tone void of the warmth it once carried.

By then Azula had seized control of Ba Sing Se from the inside; and Zuko had vanquished the Avatar. In the midst of it's celebrations, amidst the victorious fanfare and the Fire Nation’s jubilation, Azula stood enveloped in her achievements—showing facts that Y/N was foolish to think that she, The Fire Princess, is weak or that she can be vulnerable. The thrill of victory, which should filled Azula with unbridled satisfaction, was tainted by an unspoken shadow, leaving her victories feeling unexpectedly incomplete. 

Azula sank back into the high-backed chair, steepling her fingers as she waged a silent inner battle that left her feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable. She was no fool - the princess knew well she could not afford visible moments of weakness that her enemies would seize upon.

Yet since the encounter with you, an unwelcome introspection had taken root, tracing restless spirals when left alone with her thoughts. Something about your charming audacity, the way you alone dared meet her piercing golden stare without flinching, ignited a traitorous fascination in her that blurred the sharp lines between strength and vulnerability she relied upon.

A curt rap at the heavy double doors interrupted Azula's brooding reverie. With an irritated flick of her wrist, blue flame erupted in the stone hearth nearby, banishing the creeping shadows. Smoothing the scowl from her features, she ensured no ripples disturbed the mask of self-assurance before answering in a clipped imperious tone.

"Enter."

A guard stepped in, his posture rigid. “Your highness, reports have arrived regarding the recent disappearances. They await your review.”

Azula turned from the window. “Bring them to me,” she said, her tone leaving no room for delay. “And did my father summoned a meeting?”

“Yes, Your Highness. The Firelord awaits you and the Fire Prince in an hour.”

“Good.” She flicked her wrist to dismiss him.

The guard bowed and exited. Azula’s piercing golden eyes darted to the documents scattered across her desk, each one a fragment of a disturbing puzzle. Reports of missing citizens, vanishing guards – lives disappearing without explanation under the veil of night.

She scrutinized every parchment, searching for threads to unravel this mystery. The princess felt the weight of duty – these were her people looking to her for protection. Her sharp mind raced, deducing connections and guessing at possibilities both rational and supernatural. The pattern whispering of orchestrated forces beyond the mortal world’s conventional understanding.

Azula leaned back, eyes momentarily leaving the ominous details. “Full moons, always at night, no signs of struggle,” she muttered. The notion of spiritual interference often elicited skepticism from her. Yet in every report’s chilling account, she sensed the lingering touch of mystical sabotage.

This obscure threat would require an unconventional response. Azula’s fingers traced the documents, memorizing names, dates, locations as an uneasy frustration knit her brow. She disliked the absence of clear motives, the inability to discern the enemy’s next move. It was a smoldering helplessness, slow-burning anger she refused to show openly.

The impending meeting would demand action, answers. Azula inhaled silently, stilling any ripples across her façade of control. She would solve this mystery, by any means necessary – no mystical opponent would evade her for long. The meeting would set events in irrevocable motion. Prepared for anything, Azula waited, flames dancing in her eyes.

Her eyes caught on a name that halted her cold. Linh; The girl Azula asked to spy on your date. 

Linh was desperate to save his dying brother and her hysteric mother. Out of spite, Azula had arranged her to become a receptionist as well as a momentary guard. Linh had been an unwitting participant in Azula’s intricate play of shadows and emotions, a pawn in a larger game that revolved around Y/N. The same person Azula had to banished for her overzealous action that night—a slap on Y/N’s face was uncalled far. A shame; she had potential.

The report detailed on Linh’s last known activities. Each word about Linh’s final activities seemed to pulse with urgency. One detail in particular leaped off the page; Linh’s last known interaction.

There, in the description, it didn’t say a name but it painted a picture, a brief description. Azula froze—she read it twice, in hoping absorbing the information correctly. 

Y/N. 

No. It can’t be.

The room felt suddenly smaller, the air around a bit heavier; this revelation was the connection she was looking for—a breakthrough. Just the kind that she was not anticipating for. 

Her hands hovered over the report, feeling the surge to tear it apart. This could be a fake report—confused and ambiguous, what was real and what was not possibly blended together. 

She didn’t want to admit it; the mere mention of Y/N—it was planting seed of anxiety. 

Azula tried to steady herself, pacing back and forth, quickly skimming to the other reports. Just as she closed her eyes, the door swung open. Zuko stood there, looking annoyed.

“Azula, are you coming to the meeting or not?” 

Startled, Azula’s gaze snapped, a glimmer of annoyance briefly crossing her features. She quickly masked it with a wry smile. “Ah, Zuzu, being punctual are we? Tell me, do they give out awards for that?”

Zuko’s posture stiffened, his expression turning more serious. “It’s not about punctuality, Azula. It’s what we might discuss...” He hesitated, then added with a hint of urgency, “You’ve heard the rumors too, haven’t you? About the Avatar?” 

“Oh? Do enlighten me, Zuzu. What’s this about the Avatar?” She returned to the report, deliberately avoiding direct eye contact.

“The Avatar might be alive. We need to discuss on it in the meeting.”

“Zuzu, my dear brother, always chasing the ghost,” she chuckled as she gathered the reports. “You do realize that our current disappearing citizen are a tad more pressing than your Avatar theories?”

Zuko turned to her, “Just because everyone says he’s gone doesn’t mean it’s true. We thought that before, for a hundred years—and we were wrong.”

Raising her eyebrow, “The evidence is overwhelming this time. Even father believes it.”

He halted mid-sentence. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, grappling the bait Azula had previously set before he knew it. He appeared to be searching for the right response either with a quick retorts or angry huff, but all he give out was silence.

“Then,” he started softly. “Why did you tell him that I killed the Avatar?” 

“Call it a generous gesture,” Azula placed her hand over her heart. “I wanted to thank you for your help, and I was happy to share the glory.”

“You’re lying.”

She sighed theatrically, “If you say so.”

Zuko squared his jaw, he took a rigid stride. “But what if I’m right? What if the Avatar is still out there?”

Azula tilted her head slightly, she pouted in a way of mock concern and cunning amusement. “You know, Zuko,” she began slowly, “All this glory could quickly spiral into a tale of shame and humiliation. Picture it: The returned Prince, alerting the court about shadows and specters he should have handled. What a spectacle that would be.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Can you even fathom father’s response? The scorn, the derision—it would be a tragic fall from grace, wouldn’t it? He would go even further than a mere burn to your face.” She paused, observing his growing discomfort. “Agni, think of the consequences, dear brother.”

His brow creased, shadowed with the onset of doubt. Words abandoned him, knocking him out to be a pathetic statue. Azula’s lips curled slyly in his silence. She seized the moment, extending the reports towards him with deliberate grace.

“Don’t just stand there! Chop-chop, Father is waiting.” she quipped. She brushed past him, and exited the room.

The meeting chamber, steeped in the hushed murmur of anticipation, awaited it’s final members. The heavy doors swung open, Azula strode in, her presence gained immediate attention. Zuko followed closely behind, his steps echoing in the grand hall. Together, they ascended the short flight of stairs leading to the elevated seats beside the Firelord’s throne.

Firelord Ozai, sat with perfect posture upon his throne. Azula took her place to his left, she copied her father’s, a mix of regal poise and underlying menace. Zuko settled to his right, his movement slow but steady.

Behind them, the crackling flames in the massive braziers cast dancing shadows across the walls, reflecting the ever-present element that was both their heritage and weapon. The flickering light lent a dramatic intensity.

Below them, the war generals stood, circling around a detailed map, marking territories and strategic points. The air was thick with the weight of impending decisions, the future of Fire Nation hanging in the balance.

As the room fell into a respectful silence, the Firelord’s voice cut through the stillness. “Let us begin,” he signaled to a general, the beginning of this meeting that would shape the course of their destiny.

“Ba Sing Se is still under our control,” the General stood, he paced as each of his steps echoed. “However, Earth Benders rebellions have prevented us from achieving total victory in the Earth Kingdom.”

The Firelord’s brow creased deeply; jaw set rigid, it’s like something brewing within him. “What is your recommendation?”

“Our armies are spread too thin. But once the eclipse is over and the invasion defeated, we should transfer more domestic forces into the Earth Kingdom.”

Firelord Ozai hummed thoughtfully. Slowly, he turned to Zuko. “Prince Zuko, you have been among the Earth Kingdom commons. Do you think adding more troops will stop these rebellions?”

Zuko, momentarily caught off guard by the direct inquiry. He casted his eyes downward, perhaps gathering his thoughts. “The people of the Earth Kingdom are proud and strong. They can endure anything as long as they have hope.”

“Yes,” Firelord Ozai murmured. A sinister edge crept into his tone as he continued, “You’re right.” His face twisted—a brilliant plan was stimming inside his head, and Azula can feel it. “We need to destroy their hope.”

Zuko’s face turned cold. He scrambled to retract his words, but they had already set an unintended course. “Well, that’s not what I—“

“Well, I think we should take their precious hope and burn all off their strongholds to the ground,” Azula interjected sharply, her voice adding the tension, nonchalantly twirling a strand of her hair. “We leave no question about power.”

“Yes, you’re right, Azula.” Firelord Ozai concurred, rising from his throne—his presence more daunting than ever. “Sozin’s Comet is almost upon us. No bender will stand a chance against us. Like my grandfather, Sozin, I will use that day to end the Earth Kingdom. Permanently.” 

His words were final. It is a declaration of the resolve of this meeting. Azula hate to admit; but it did sent shivers down to her spines—and all the spines of all present.

“We convene today to fortify our strategies for complete control. Our dominance must be absolute.” Firelord Ozai concluded. His gaze swept across the room, locking eyes with each of the Generals in turn. In those moments, time seemed to slow, each glance a silent but potent assertion of his unquestioned authority.

Clearing his throat, "Father,” Zuko said, “There are rumors of the Avatar's return. Should we not consider it in our planning?" 

Azula’s attention shifted to Zuko, she observed him with faint intrigue. The prince, tried to composed in the face of authority, now seemed to unravel slightly under pressure. He rustled uncomfortably, his movements betraying an uncharacteristic nervousness.

There was something childlike in his fidgeting, a stark contrast from the banished boy in search of the impossible. Zuko appeared younger, stripped of the layers of resilience and defiance he had built over the years. This display of vulnerability bordered on the pathetic, a far cry from the strength and decisiveness expected of a prince. It painted him as weak.

“The Avatar is a relic of the past. Our focus is the Earth Kingdom’s total submission.” Firelord Ozai retorted. It was a conclusion that left no room for further debate.

The General, who had been presenting reports, nodded in agreement, "Indeed, Firelord. Our military might is unparalleled. The Avatar is no longer with us, Prince Zuko. He poses no real threat to our conquest."

Zuko faltered at these dismissals; teetered on the edge of visible distress. Azula could tell that just a slight push, he could unravel completely with unguarded emotions he so often struggled to conceal. But Azula recognized that look in Zuko’s eyes; it was one of utter loss and resignation, an echo of the defeat he had faced in the Agni Kai.

She remembered purposefully averting her gaze from his face that day, her attention entirely captivated by the sheer power exuded by their father. The memory was vivid, almost intoxicating in it’s display of dominance and strength.

Now, as she observed Zuko’s dejected demeanor, she was disgusted; she felt a twinge of something she couldn’t quite place. It was unsettling. It was inappropriate. Feelings that had no place in the halls of power; a wasteful distractions.

“While we speak of external conquest,” Azula announced. “We mustn’t overlook internal matters. The recent disappearances of our citizens are alarming. Our citizens gone missing under mysterious circumstances.”

The General, slightly puzzled, “Missing citizens?” he said almost in a mocking tone. “Surely, that’s a matter for local authorities, not the war council.”

“This isn’t a mere banditry. The pattern suggests something more orchestrated.” She signaled to Zuko of the reports. “Ignoring it could lead to unrest, or worse, an unseen threat within our borders.”

“An internal threat?” Firelord Ozai’s expression hardened. “What do you propose, Azula?”

Azula unfurled from her seat with lethal grace, the shadows playing across her sharp features as she gathered the scattered military reports into an orderly stack. Turning with precision towards her father, she extended the documents, temporarily obscuring her cunning eyes. 

The General startled imperceptibly as Azula whipped a single leaf of paper to his chest without glancing his way, the faintest curl of a smile on her red lips the only indication she noted his reaction. 

“A twofold approach,” she began, “This is a matter of national security. I say, we continue our external show of force, but internally, we launch a discreet investigation.”

Her eyes locked with Linh’s file report. She recoiled at the sight; she was sure she had abandoned that report. Then her eyes naturally fell on the last bit of the report, Linh’s last interaction. 

“I propose a thorough private investigation,” she proclaimed without wavering, “We must root out this threat quickly and silently.”

Azula’s gaze shifted to her father, the only person whose approval was essential. She knew she had to tread lightly, her words carefully chosen to persuade without threatening his ego. The stakes were high, and the consequences of overstepping were not something she wished to contemplate.

“It could potentially weaken our position and undermine our efforts,” she continued, even as her father’s attention wavered between interest and irritation. “Stability at home ensures strength abroad. Perhaps these disappearances are linked to rebel elements, or worse,” she eyed Zuko, feeling a twinge of disgust for her brother’s naïveté. “It could be the work of the Avatar’s allies.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she could feel Zuko’s staring; like prey ensnared, powerless and confused. Azula knew she was gambling. But she knew he could be useful. His presence in the palace served as a constant source of amusement, an easy target for her more mischievous impulses. Whether it was his frustrated outburst echoing through the palace corridors or his childish cries about father’s approval. 

Zuko was the perfect foil for her schemes. For now, at least, he was a puppet she was willing to keep around.

Firelord Ozai, finally nodding in agreement, appeared convinced by her argument. “Very well,” he decreed. “Oversee this investigation personally.”

Azula suppressed a smile as she watched her father turning back to his throne. The ease with which she had swayed her father was almost disarming. 

"Prince Zuko," the Firelord added abruptly, "I want the results of these disappearances, and I want them quickly. We cannot allow shadows to linger in our nation." 

Azula froze. Is it loss or humiliation—which is which she can’t differentiate; it resonated through her being. She knew the risks of standing against him, yet it still compelled her to speak.

“Father, if I may,” Azula steadied her voice. “I proposed the investigation. Let me lead it.”

Firelord Ozai’s eyes was sharp and quick. “You have a role for the invasion plan, Azula. I can only entrust you to do it.”

“I know the invasion is crucial,” Azula pressed on. “But, this pose an immediate threat to our internal stability. I assure you I could solve this mystery quickly.”

There was a brief silence, a tension-filled pause.  The Generals exchanged uneasy glances; somehow this was a delicate volley of power play, tossed from her side to his.

Azula went on, “My involvement in the invasion plans won’t wane. I can delegate the necessary tasks and take both operations.”  She felt the faintest nod from him; Azula grasped onto that silver of hope.

Firelord Ozai’s face was unreadable as he sighed. “Your confidence in your abilities is noted, Azula,” he said, excruciatingly dragged. It was drawn out with painstaking care and Azula hated it. 

“However, the plans for the invasion require your full attention. They are your priority and within it; the survival of your father’s. Defy your Firelord for a nobody, and face the direst of consequences.”

Azula’s heart sank. The sinking feeling was more than disappointment; it was poignant and sharp. This could be the only thing to see Y/N again. Informally.

With a loud crack, an aide burst into the room, his entrance abrupt and breathless, turning all heads to him. “Forgive the interruption, Firelord, but there’s urgent news. Survivors of the recent disappearances have been found.”

Azula, almost gasped; her surprise quickly giving way to a steely resolve, demanded, “Survivors? Where were they found?”

The aide, struggling to catch his breath, replied, “They were located near the outskirts of the capital. They are disorientated, but safe. They’re being escorted and will be ready for questioning soon.”

Azula's eyes darted towards her father, seeking a hint of approval, but he remained oblivious to her silent plea. She turned to her father. “Allow me to question the survivors. I can use it for improving the invasion plan!”

Firelord Ozai sneered her down, he was considering for a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No, Azula. You cannot afford distractions.”

Azula felt as if the ground had shifted beneath her; a fusion of frustration and disbelief clouded her eyes. “But father, this could be vital to our security—“

“It is decided,” he barked with a wave of his hand. “Prince Zuko will do the questioning. You have your orders.”

The finality in his voice was like a door slamming shut. Azula's shoulders tensed, her fists clenched at her sides. A storm of emotions raged within her, but she masked them with a veneer of composure. She bowed stiffly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "As you wish, Firelord."

As the council dispersed, Zuko caught her eye, his face mirrored was tinged of pity and worry. Azula turned away, the sting of the rejection still raw. She had been so close to taking control, to stepping out from under her father's shadow. But now, she was reminded of her place, of the expectations and constraints that bound her. 

The game had change; and she ought to find another way.

Deep in the forest; under a moonless sky, you found yourself enveloped in a world of near-total darkness. The stars, as if shy, barely pierced the thick canopy of leaves overhead, offering a faint of light. Around you, the trees loomed like giants of the night; the earthy scent of the forest floor was both comforting and slightly oppressive.

You moved cautiously, taking light steps on the leaf-littered ground. You were concealed in the dense foliage. Tonight was the perfect time and the only time you can’t mess up.

Your objective was clear: to converse with the survivors, without raising suspicions from the ever-watchful gaze of the guard. You knew the urgency of subtlety and timing. If not, you would be taken to the presence of the Firelord, or worse, Azula herself.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you emerged from your leafy hideout. “Stop!” stepping onto the road, you were like a stone thrown into a still pond, instantly disrupting the caravan’s progress.

“Halt! By order of the Fire Nation Council, this caravan must stop!” You screamed your lungs out, hoping your disguise as a Fire Nation officer would be convincing enough. The guard escorting the survivors eyed you suspiciously, his hands inching to firebend you out of the way.
“I need to conduct a preliminary investigation with the survivors. It's crucial for national security.” 
The guard, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, narrowed his eyes. “We have strict orders to bring them directly to the palace. Who are you to countermand that?”

You met his gaze without flinching. Your mind racing like possible fireballs that the guards might fly off to you, if only you were unconvincing. 

“I am an agent working under direct orders from the higher echelons,” she tried. “The Firelord himself is interested in this matter.”

Playing The Firelord card should be effective, right?

Your voice sharpened, continuing, “Any delay in my investigation could be seen as treason. Do you want to be responsible for that?”

“The Firelord?” he scoffed. "He wouldn't send a lone guard, out of the blue, to countermand his very own orders to escort these prisoners to the royal palace."

Prisoners? Seriously? How absurd. But you were not surprised. This twisted regime had the thought to synonymized ‘survivors of a near death experience’ to prisoners.

“Oh,” you chuckled dryly. "Do you really believe the Firelord would reveal his every move to every rank in the guard? Some matters require discretion. He operates in ways that are not always apparent to everyone. Are you willing to question his methods and risk the consequences? 

“Who are you to begin with? You have nothing on me.”

You sighed. “You’re a good guard, you know that?”

“Sure I am. You’re a horrible bandit yourself.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, buddy,” You swiftly unfurled a scroll and summoned your messenger hawk, one bearing the distinct markings of royal service—a royal hawk. You watched his face bleach of all warmth, eyes blown and round as marbles.

“Dear Princess Azula,” you began to write, or pretending to write. It’s impossible to even recognize a letter in this ungodly hour. “I am to say of a suspiciously uncooperative guard. They don’t take kindly to potential traitors. Which is good and hence why I want him to be promoted! Such a good guard. I’d like to appreciate him so that his next promotion is a one-way ticket to the happy Boiling Rock. I hear they’re short on crew members, so why don’t—“

“Stop!” he yelled, hands clenched into fists, with fire mere moments from igniting towards you. With a strained grunt, he reined in his firebending, fully aware of the consequences of harming you. 

“Make it quick,” he said through gritted teeth, “Tomorrow’s a full moon.”

You gave him a big smile, genuinely proud at him; so easily scared to lose his honor. It was endearing but also exploitable.

Yet you wondered to your own concept of honor. In the Fire Nation line of work, honor was a badge worn proudly on the chest—only not to you. Your honor was a shadow that flickered in and out of existence. Your sense of honor, much like your identity, would likely not be found if there were no Azula. And if, without mentioning her name earlier, you would be left nothing but a mere wisp of smoke.

You approached the survivors, skillfully unlocking the cage that had been their moving prison. You greeted them with a reassuring smile, subtly promising safety. Your eyes met a pair of eyes— frightened and defensive, it’s body tensed and drawn inward. Among them, You saw only two: a short, old man and an unconscious teenage girl. A pang of disappointment hit you; there was no sign of Linh 

“Hello, fellow survivors,” you began warmly, taking a seat in front of them. You leaned in closer, your voice a hushed whisper, “Play along, okay? I’m here to help, not harm. I can assure your freedom if you trust me, alright?” 

The old man’s eyes, clouded with confusion. He nodded almost imperceptibly, his weathered hands gripping at his sides. He looked at the girl, still unconscious.

“I’m Y/N. Not your usual investigator, I guess. But, you know, extraordinary times, extraordinary measures, right?” You offered a small, uncertain smile, hoping to break the ice. 

“I’m Ding.” The old man simply replied—that gave the air back to your lungs. You almost choke to your death; holding your breath as if you were a statue while waiting for his answer. “On ji here is my granddaughter.”

You nodded as you observe them keenly. You noticed that, surprisingly, there were no obvious signs of struggle, no torn clothes or defensive wounds that might expect from an abduction. However, there were some light bruises on his knees, as though he had been kneeling or possibly fallen down repeatedly. 

You met his eyes, although tired and slightly unfocused—it had a certain alertness to them, as if he was constantly scanning his surroundings. A behavior typical of someone forcefully taken from their homes, likely by guards. You wondered what had caused the capture of them to the royal palace, who had ordered their transport, and why?

But that’s for future you to worry about. Now’s the time to seek answers.

“Alright, Mr. Ding,” you began, “So, about this… well, adventure you’ve had, being a survivor and all,” You stalled, fishing for the right words. “I understand this must be disorienting for you and your granddaughter. Would you mind sharing some details? Any strange rituals, or maybe a good look of the spirit? Anything that stands out?”

“Didn’t catch sight of any ghost of spirit,” he spoke slowly. You could sense a slight softening in his tension. “But somethin' weird did happen, felt like I wasn't in charge of my own body no more.” 

He nodded to On Ji, “Thing is, it started pushin’ me, sorta compelling me to walk toward that mountain over yonder. I tried puttin’ up a fight, but it was like I was a puppet on strings. On Ji followed me and it got her too. Nearly got us into a cave up there.”

Ding’s eyes drifted off, as if reliving the moment. “I remember lookin' up at the full moon, thinkin' that might just be my last bit of light ever. But then, lo and behold, the sun starts peekin' up. And just like that, We were back in the driver's seat. Didn't waste no time, high-tailed it outta there as fast as we could.”

The idea of an unseen force compelling them toward the mountain was unsettling, yet fascinating. The vivid imagery of him standing under the moon, contemplating his fate, lingered in your mind. Was it merely psychological, a trick of the mind under extreme stress, or something truly otherworldly? 

The way he described regaining control at sunrise – it felt significant, almost symbolic. Could there be a logical explanation, or was it a clue to something deeper; something ancient and historical?

“That was brave of you.” You said. “It couldn’t have been easy. Did you notice anything about your captors? Anything at all?”

“Well, my eyes aren’t the best to see clearly in the dark.”

“But did they speak?”

“Nah,” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “But I remember seein’ dying Fire Lilies as we ran.”

You absorbed Ding’s words; dots after dots must have it’s connection. It all seemed like pieced of a larger, more complex motivation underlying it. You made a mental note you should pay the library a visit. It may have a connection to local legends or folklore. Or maybe there were some kind of hallucinogenic plant in the area?

“Where did this—“

“Alright, your time’s up,” the guard announced abruptly.

Startled, you looked up. Your thoughts derailed as the stark reality of your surroundings crashed back into your awareness. Time is not a luxury you didn’t possess—and it all hit you afresh.

You glanced at Ding, seeing a faint, worry in his knitted eyebrows; a quivering lips and hopeful look to you.

“He needs to pee.” You quickly informed, turning to the guard.

“What? No. He can hold it.”

“Oh for Agni’s sake, let the poor man pee,” you persisted as the guard groaned. After getting the ‘fine’ respond, you ushered Ding to exit. 

“It’s just a quick stop. He won’t be long—“ 
With a swift and silent movement, you reached for a small pouch in your pocket, containing a fine powder. You blew it towards the guard to temporarily disorient.

 The guard inhaled the powder and staggered. His eyes blinking rapidly as his vision blurred. You dodge the sloppy fire he sent to you. You stepped forward, striking precisely the base of his neck with a sharp blow. The guard crumpled to the ground, unconscious but unharmed.

You quickly checked his pulse to ensure he was only knocked out, not dead. You then turned to Ding, already carrying On Ji. “You know where to go?”

“Yes. Thank you, Y/N.”

“Good, let me know where you’ll go,” you said as you maneuvered the unconscious guard’s arms over your shoulder, taking him to the caravan, ensuring he remained unseen. 

“We live near the market, at that village near the mountain. You’ll find me at the market eventually.”

“Alright, see you there tomorrow.” 

Ding gave you a nod and a toothless smile. He adjusted On Ji’s position in his arms, ensuring she was secure. He was pretty strong for an old man, but you doubt it won’t take them far. He turned and flight once again for their life.

'“Alright, let’s get you hidden somewhere, buddy.” you murmured to the caravan, your hand gently patting it’s side. As your fingers traced the engraved Fire Nation symbol, a sense of nostalgia washed over you. You still cherished the symbol but you can’t help feel the stabbing pain. 

But that does not matter now. Azula did what she will always do. And here you are, trying to mend her stupid games to her own citizens.

After confronting Azula, you rushed back to the mother, who was a bundle of nerves and worry. But Azula told you the truth, she was serious about the quality of medical care she had managed to secure for them.

Then there was Linh. The kid with a quick hand a sharp tongue. But that day, when Linh came back to her mother and brother, she appeared so diminished. It was almost disconcerting. You had cautiously broached the subject, trying to peel what might distress her (and you’ve forgiven her, of course). She gave you a humorless laugh and said, “I’m banished by the Princess.”

From then on, you have been taking the necessary means to aid the helpless citizens. You found yourself increasingly disillusioned with the Royal Palace and how it works; it’s obsessed with expansion and conquest, snatching peace from others while their own nation lay in ruins. This blatant disregard for the well-being of their people ignited a fierce rage within you.

The more you thought about it, the more you questioned the history of your nation. The tales you had grown up with spoke of the Fire Nation’s fascinating motivations and honorable deeds. Yet, now, these stories seemed to clash with reality you witnessed daily. 

Was there a gap in the historical narrative you had been taught? 
Were these tales part of carefully orchestrated indoctrination? 
A brainwashing notion to design a false image of national pride and glory?

The world around you was hushed; It was just you and your thoughts— a rare opportunity indeed. You steered the caravan through the serene embrace of the night. The rhythmic motion of the caravan and the huffs of the ostrich seemed to sync with your contemplations.  This was the life.

Until something rustle the leaves. The air around you seemed to shift, its every movement magnified in the hushed darkness. Your eyes darted across the shadowy expanse before you, vigilant for any hint of movement, any clue as to what lurked in the unseen.

The unsettling rustle seemed to whisper secrets as it came from the direction of the Royal Palace. What could possibly be approaching at this late hour, stealthily making its way from such a significant location?

Your grip on the caravan’s reins tightened, you tensed as a figure on a lizard drew nearer. A silhouette that was both enigmatic and familiar. Was it a friend—who sought refuge in the night, or a foe cloaked in deception?

You quickly put on the guard’s helmet as the figure neared. The caravan’s light source revealed subtle yet telling details. It was unmistakably a woman, her features shrouded beneath the red cloak.

“A little late for your shift, aren't you?” 

Her words reverberated through the air, startling birds into flight above them. As the birds soared away, you pondered their freedom. If birds have wings for their escape, what recourse do you have?  

“In the Fire Nation, punctuality is as important as loyalty,” she continued. “It appears sloth had began a growing trend among the guards these days.”

The sinister edge, the ominous inflection, the threatening undercurrent—It all clicked. Knowing it sparked an involuntary tremor down your spine. This was an unsettling reality. 

Why now (of all time) would you face the presence that you most dread for?

“Princess Azula,” you intoned, your voice dropped an octave lower and faking a surprise. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”