Chapter Text
I’m moving this story—and my work as a whole—to AO3. FF is now overwhelmed with bots and scammers (my inbox has been flooded with an average of twenty spam messages a day, which is absolutely insane).
I’d also like to thank the author Angel Wraith for inspiring me to write this story. Make Me Feel is by far my favorite ATLA fanfiction, and I highly recommend giving it a read.
If you happen to be reading this, Angel—hi! I hope you’re doing well!
Book One : Family
Chapter One : Stranded
A year, Azula had remained sane that long, she counted day after day, despite the drugs, the "treatments", the psycological harassement. She kept track of time, looking for the day she would finally get revenge on Zuko and the Avatar.
No more dear brother, she had never treated him lower than he was, an idiot, yet he had thrown her into this hell. This madhouse created and run by sadist who hapilly welcomed "rejects" of the whole nation and made sure they were taken care of quietly.
The patient were all "women", assuming you count in people who identified as one. They had all been sent here for different reasons, spoke out of turn, expressed deviant ideas ... or attempted to claim and or defend their birthright. In Azula's case it was the later, and as the fire princess she was receiving very specific care.
They were too careful in their surveillance, she never managed to grasp freedom a single time, the staff savoured every second of her torment. They announced her brother would be visiting, that she had to be presentable for such an occasion, whatever they gave her sure didn't help her to make her look sane.
The tea cups she had been presented didn't either. She knocked the plate against a wall and pointed out to Zuko that she was in a straightjacket, and thus found very insulting that he expected her to drink like an animal.
His Kyoshi warriors or whatever they were called didn't hesitate to "teach" her how to behave in front of his majesty ... they were even using chi blocking moves, Ty Lee betrayed her to the very end. Zuko took his time to order them to stop, Azula was barely conscious then.
A week later she woke up, strapped into a chair, with the avatar holding her head, what happened then was a universe of pain, followed right after by a dreadful feeling of emptiness.
She didn't understand what happened until she heard the guards talking outside of her cell. "He finally did it, the doctor convinced him hahaha."
"No way, so that's why the avatar visited?"
"Yes, prince Zuko requested to "pacify" his sister, so he asked the avatar to do the same thin than he did to fire lord Ozai."
"That's almost sending shiver down my spine, but now she is even more pathetic than a non-bender."
Something broke inside Azula, she couldn't believe it ... yet she realised it was her new reality. Her fire, her inner self, Agni's gift, her individuality, gone. So Zuko didn't even consider her as a sentient being? The Avatar most likely didn't either, so much for following the air benders ways and refusing to kill.
No instead he condemned her to a cursed existence, even worse than it could already be.
Azula, now devoid of pride and will, decided that the best option she had was to die and move on. If she was lucky, she would not give anyone the opportunity to witness her demise.
What she didn't know was that someone was in fact watching, and had taken a very special interest into the physical plane's affairs ever since Ozai's defeat.
The fire princess had starved herself for two day now, the pain was horrible, but she was too physicaly exhausted to indulge it. She heard how people saw their lives flash before their eyes at the twilight of their life, Azula expected this kind of experience to happen quickly, it didn't quite go that way. Instead she could only think back of her worse moments.
The looks full of fear and disgust her mother didn't bother to hide, how she whispered to servants about her deepest fears and desires. It all culminated this specific moment when Ursa told Lo that she should have ended her pregnancy with Azula while she could.
Her pursuit of the Avatar, her brother betraying him, her friends betraying her, this water savage taking away her victory, her own people taking the side of Zuko, the fire sages lying and declaring him the winner or the Agni Kai.
And last, this agonizong minute, during which the Avatar- ... she couldn't explain what he did, Azula was missing her fire, a part of herself was gone forever. Putting her in hell wasn't enough, no, he had to reap away her soul and force her to live as a half person.
Azula closed her eyes, her head was pounding, she begged for this madness to end.
"Are you dead yet?" The voice was foreign, it didn't belong to any of the guards she knew. Azula willed her body to move and stand up, she had to defend herself, alas her legs couldn't even support her anymore. "Good, you still have some voluntee in you." The princess looked up, she didn't remember it was so dark ... no, this wasn't natural.
She blinked a lot, trying to force her eyes to adapt to the darkness but it didn't work. "Breath, I am not her to hurt you, quite the contrary. Save your strenght, you will need it."
"Show yourself !" Azula ordered the voice, the shadows in the room shifted, taking shape, then life. A spirit the princess concluded, it's body was dark as a bottomless pit, it looled mostly humanoid, but it had no feet, Azula thought of a spider, but with only two legs it should not be able to stand up. She saw a pair of straight sharp horns, white glowing eyes, no iris, no pupil, just two glowing orbs, no nose, no mouth ...
"I'll go straight to the point," the voice said, calm but grave, like a blade being unsheathed in the dark. "Tonight, if you choose—you will die. Or… you shall escape."
Azula snorted, low and bitter. Her shoulders shook with quiet laughter that didn't reach her eyes. Of course. Her last delusion was theatrical. How fitting. "That's it, then. I've completely lost it," she muttered under her breath, still chuckling. "A hallucination with flair. How dignified."
"What's so funny?" the voice asked, tone flicking into curiosity. "My horns?"
She tilted her head back against the cold wall, letting her laughter die into a hollow smile. "I don't care anymore. You, Mother, Zuko, even the Avatar… You won. I'm broken. Is that what you wanted to hear?" Her voice cracked—just slightly—and she clenched her jaw, as if angry with herself for the sound.
The silhouette remained still, watching in silence.
She sneered. "What, no triumphant monologue? That's all it took to shut you up? If I knew surrender would quiet the voices, I'd have done it long ago."
"…You think I'm not real?" The question carried a note of something... wounded. As if insulted.
Azula's lips curled. "Please. Don't pretend you're original. I've seen enough ghosts to tell the difference. Did you run out of nightmare fuel, or just recycling now?"
The figure shifted ever so slightly, head tilting in what could only be interpreted as disdain. "Then permit me to demonstrate that I am no ghost."
Its arm rose slowly, deliberately. Azula's eyes narrowed as it reached for her, but she didn't flinch. She refused to give it the satisfaction. If it was fake, it couldn't hurt her. If it wasn't… well, she was done being afraid.
Then she felt it—cold at first, then strangely warm, and then the sensation of something dissolving. Her straitjacket disintegrated where its fingers passed, crumbling into fine ash that drifted to the floor.
She blinked. Then again. Her arms dropped, numb from disuse but free. Slowly, mechanically, she raised her hands, pressed them to her face. To the wall. Real. Solid.
No dream had ever done this.
The spirit stepped back, its glowing eyes steady. "Now," it said, voice firmer, "are you disposed to listen?"
"H-How…?" Azula breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands were still hovering near her mouth, trembling.
"I just do," it answered coolly, with a flick of impatience. "And I am offering you a path out of this place."
Azula tried to push herself upright. Her legs betrayed her instantly, and she collapsed back onto the bed with a strangled grunt. She looked up at the spirit, eyes narrowed, chin lifted with what dignity she could muster. "Why would you help me? What game is this?"
"I cannot explain everything now," it replied, folding its arms, weight shifting like a shadow across water. "It would take too long. And it is not safe. There are reasons spirits are forbidden from interfering. I'm trespassing. Soon, others will notice."
She watched it carefully, eyes gleaming with old fire beneath layers of exhaustion. "You need me. You want a vessel. A willing one."
"Yes."
"And you came to me… like this," she gestured vaguely at herself, bitter. "Pathetic. Powerless."
"I did," it said, without hesitation.
Azula leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, lips curling into something between amusement and menace. "Then maybe I should be the one making demands."
The spirit's head dipped forward ever so slightly. Not quite a nod. More like a twitch of irritation. "We don't have time to waste," it said, a sharp edge entering its voice. "Once you're free, we'll negotiate terms. Agreed?"
She let silence stretch, weighing her options. Then her smirk deepened. "Right."
"Good," the spirit said, already moving to the side. "I'll provide you with energy. We can leave without raising too many alarms—"
"No."
It stopped mid-sentence. "…No?"
Azula straightened slowly, spine rigid, a spark flickering behind her tired eyes. "I'm burning this place to the ground."
The spirit did not move, but its eyes dimmed slightly in what could have been confusion—or concern. Azula continued, her voice sharpening like the edge of a blade. "No one else gets to live this nightmare. Not again."
It remained silent, clearly unconvinced.
Azula's gaze was steel. "And," she added with cruel precision, "it'll make it easier to cover our tracks. No survivors. No evidence. Just ash."
That got a reaction. The creature's face twisted—not with anger, but into a grin. A monstrous one, wide and full of wicked glee despite lacking a mouth. "I will allow that."
Before she could speak again, it placed a hand on her head. Azula gasped.
Power surged into her like a wildfire through dry grass. It wasn't like bending. It was primal—liquid lightning in her blood, a firestorm ripping through her veins, burning away weakness and fear in one glorious, violent rush. Her fingers clenched. Her back arched. Her fire returned—not just the bending, but the will.
The spirit stepped away, gesturing to the door with an open hand.
Azula rose.
Not fully aware. Not fully in control. But her body moved—guided by something deeper. Something feral. There were screams. Then flame. Then blood. And smoke, rising like a pyre for all the years she had lost.
And at the end, an explosion that cracked the night open like a drumbeat of liberation.
Then—darkness.
Azula stirred, her body aching as if it had been rebuilt from ash and splintered bone. Her back pressed against something solid—cold, unpolished stone. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of earth, smoke... and blood.
A flickering glow danced across the cavern walls, casting soft amber light that wavered with every breath of air. Shadows shifted, stretching like long fingers.
"Zirin, the Fury is awake," a voice said—young, brash, and too loud for the stillness.
"Don't just call her that, Chiyou!" another voice hissed—calmer, sharper, older perhaps. "She's not some weapon."
"She did kill a lot of those bastards..." Chiyou muttered. "And she still smells like it."
"Well you try bathing someone who's unconscious and twitching in her sleep," the second voice snapped.
Azula flinched at the sound. Their words buzzed through her pounding skull, each syllable a spike against her fragile state. Her throat was dry, raw, as if she'd swallowed fire. She tried to speak, but only a weak breath escaped.
A gentle hand touched her forehead, dabbing something cool and wet against her skin. The sensation made her shiver.
"Easy," the voice said again—softer now. "You're safe. You've been through a lot... just like the rest of us."
Azula blinked, her vision still unfocused. Two figures sat nearby—women, or girls maybe, barely older than Ty Lee. One was holding a damp cloth; the other leaned against the cave wall with crossed arms and wary eyes. They weren't guards. They weren't spirits. They were... real. Real people. Real survivors.
Azula's fingers twitched, and then curled into fists. Her nails dug into her palms. Her body felt alien—raw with stolen energy, every nerve humming with a distant echo of the firestorm she had unleashed. Her stomach churned at the memory: the screams, the heat, the way her hands moved like they belonged to someone else.
Her breath caught in her chest.
She was free.
And she didn't know what to do with that.
"You're safe now," the cloth-holder whispered again. Her voice was kind—sickeningly so. "It's okay to cry. We all did."
Azula's gaze snapped to her, golden eyes hardening.
Cry?
Princesses do not cry.
She wanted to laugh in her face. To sneer, to bark some venomous line about weakness, about control, about never letting them see you break. But her throat tightened instead, choked with something sharp and bitter she couldn't swallow.
It built inside her—pressure behind her ribs, behind her eyes. She clenched her jaw. Gritted her teeth. She wouldn't. She couldn't—
"It's better," Zirin said softly, "when it's tears of joy."
That did it.
The words slid under Azula's skin, past the iron armor she had worn since childhood. Past the cruelty, past the pride, past the fire. They struck something fragile, something scorched and forgotten. Her breath hitched. She turned her face away, but it was too late. The tears came. Hot, silent, shameful.
They traced the contours of her face like they had been waiting years for this one escape. Zirin said nothing more. She just sat beside her, still and steady, like a flame refusing to flicker. Azula hated her for it, and yet... she didn't move away. She allowed herself the tears. Just this once.
The next time Azula woke, she felt… well. As well as she could, at least. The fire was gone, extinguished completely. But something else caught her attention—something better. Food. Real food. Not bland, drug-laced gruel, but something warm, spiced, edible.
She sat up slowly, muscles stiff. The cave was dim, the smoke long cleared. Zirin and Chiyou were nowhere in sight. Instead, a third woman stirred a pot with a wooden spoon, her head resting lazily in her hand. Half her scalp was shaved clean, the other half hanging in uneven strands. She didn't even look up when she spoke.
"Hmm? Awake again? You going to drift back off, or actually stay conscious this time?" Her voice was flat, disinterested—like she couldn't decide whether she cared.
Azula didn't bother answering right away. Her throat was dry. "Food," she rasped, voice rough from disuse, eyes fixed on the pot.
The girl scoffed, but got up and approached, holding out a spoonful of soup. Azula's hand shot forward, almost snatching it before the girl pulled back slightly.
"We already ate. I made extra in case you woke up. Oh—and it's been three days, by the way." She said it like it was no big deal.
Azula was already halfway through her fourth mouthful before the information sank in. Her eyes flicked up sharply. "Three days? And there haven't been any patrols?"
"There have. We're hidden well, though." The girl shrugged, stirring the pot again with deliberate boredom. "We'll move tonight, just in case. Judging by how the whole place went up in smoke, I doubt they've got records left—assuming anyone survived to check."
She extended a hand without looking at Azula. "Name's Ningka. I was your third cellmate to the left."
Azula's body reacted before her mind could catch up, a flicker of memory flashing through her mind—distant screams, cold stone walls. She hesitated, then slowly reached out. "I don't think we ever saw each other."
Ningka gave a dry, sad chuckle, rubbing the shaved side of her head. "Not a pretty sight, right?" She glanced away. "I got the gentle treatment. The girl across from me… didn't. Pretty sure she didn't make it."
Azula's chest tightened. A pang of empathy threatened, but she swallowed it down hard. "Who else escaped?"
"Just me, Zirin, Chiyou, and…" Ningka gestured vaguely, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"You don't know who I am?" Azula's voice sharpened, the noble edge slipping in despite her effort to keep it steady.
Ningka smiled kindly, tilting her head. "Heard of the infamous 'Fury' next door, sure. But never caught your name."
Azula's lips pressed together. She dropped the spoon back into the pot and turned away without a word.
Ningka shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Girl, that place really did a number on your trust issues." She said it gently, voice softening, but her eyes watched Azula carefully.
Azula's jaw tightened. She stared at the cave wall, voice clipped and tense. "It's not—just… leave me alone."
But Ningka didn't move. Instead, she settled down beside her quietly, shoulders relaxed but still close enough to offer some kind of support. "I'm not trying to be your friend. Just think… if I were in pain, I'd want someone to at least pretend to care."
Azula exhaled slowly, her gaze flickering back to Ningka. "Why were you there? You don't seem like a…" The word monster hovered unspoken in her mind. "…psychopath."
Ningka's lips curved faintly into a sad smile. "Got a bit of a temper. Explosive, even." She chuckled dryly. "Friends used to call me a firecracker. Then the bullies came. I snapped once, just once. That was enough." She looked away briefly, then back. "My parents sent me away, and the healers 'tamed' me. I'm tired of fighting. I just want to live quietly."
Azula rolled her eyes with a dry laugh. "The world is full of idiots. Are you a firebender?"
"I wish." Ningka shook her head, fingers tracing patterns on her knee. "Something's off—I make explosions, not flames. My parents tried instructors. We didn't make sparks."
That earned a genuine laugh from Azula—short, harsh, unexpected.
"Let me guess: the explosion at the asylum… that was you?"
"Nope." Ningka puffed her chest proudly. "All Chiyou. Her masterpiece, she said. Though I doubt she'll get another chance to top it."
Azula wondered quietly—Combustionbending? Could be. She wouldn't even know the term.
"What about you? Crappy childhood?"
Azula's voice dropped, quieter now. "Something like that."
Footsteps echoed in the cave as Zirin and Chiyou returned, arms full.
"We brought back treasure!" Zirin announced with a wide grin, hoisting two bundles of meat wrapped in rope.
Ningka sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. "Salty. Where'd you find that?"
"Stole it," Chiyou said plainly, already slicing the meat.
"Thanks, Lieutenant Obvious." Ningka rolled her eyes with a smirk. "Where did you steal it from?"
Zirin tossed a bundle toward Ningka along with a knife. "Supply cart headed to the palace. So yeah—we just stole the Fire Lord's breakfast."
Azula suppressed a smile. Zuko's going to be hungry this morning.
"Chiyou made her scary face," Zirin added with a laugh. "One guard fainted."
"I did not make a face," Chiyou muttered, crossing her arms but unable to hide the small smile tugging at her lips.
"Sure you didn't." Zirin swiped a slice and ate it in one bite. "Ugh, slow down. We didn't bring water."
Azula's limbs felt heavy. The warmth, the conversation—it all lulled her again. They were… tolerable. She didn't dislike them.
Then a voice whispered—so close it was like a breath against her ear.
"While I appreciate your new allies, we have much to discuss."
Azula stiffened, eyes darting nervously. The creature.
"Calm now," it coaxed softly. "Wouldn't want to scare them, would you?"
The others noticed her sudden tension, pausing their chatter.
"Uh… this isn't another episode, right?" Chiyou asked, taking a cautious step back.
Azula waved a hand dismissively. "I felt something brush my back. Probably an insect." Her voice was steady, confident—a lie.
Zirin chuckled softly and passed her a slice of meat. Azula accepted it gratefully, hunger biting sharper than fatigue.
"Good," the creature whispered again. "Now, your fire. I doubt what the Avatar did can be reversed… not simply. But I know entities who might help. We must meet them."
Azula turned away, voice lowered to a whisper. "Where?"
"Our first stop is the Forgetful Valley."
Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Never heard of it."
"Tch." The voice sounded irritated, amused. "One of the most sacred places in your nation. Forgotten, of course. It lies in the Eastern Isles. I'll guide you."
Zirin caught the exchange and frowned. "Something wrong?"
Azula's eyes narrowed slightly, voice clipped. "Nothing of concern."
"Geez. You're always off by yourself." Zirin clapped a hand on her shoulder, smiling warmly. "Relax! It's over. We're free."
No, Azula thought fiercely, not until every last one of them pays.
Zirin tilted her head, voice light. "Can we at least get your name?"
Azula hesitated, the weight of her situation pressing down like a stone in her chest. Powerless. No fire, no weapon—just fragile flesh and brittle pride. The thought of Zuko finding her again made her stomach tighten; he wouldn't hesitate to recapture her, drag her back to the cage she'd barely escaped. But these girls—Ningka, Zirin, Chiyou—they had skill, strength, and something she could still use. Potential allies in a game where trust was a luxury she couldn't afford.
Her gaze flicked over their faces, searching for weakness, for loyalty—but found only cautious determination. She swallowed hard, willing herself to push down the fierce pride clawing at her throat. But not as Azula. Not yet.
"My name is Asura." The word slipped out, soft but steady, like a secret she was barely willing to share.
Agni forgive her. A year in that asylum, surrounded by cruelty and silence, was starting to crack even her sharp edges.
Zirin's face broke into a wide, triumphant grin. "There we go!" she said, voice full of genuine joy. "See, girls? Patience pays off."
Azula couldn't help the small scoff that escaped, brows knitting tightly as suspicion flared. "So you were pretending to be nice just to get a name."
"Me? Never." Zirin laughed softly, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Though it was either that or we call you Fury."
Azula's gaze sharpened. "You will use 'Asura.'"
"Got it. Sura," Zirin said with a playful smirk.
Azula winced inwardly at the nickname—too lighthearted, too much like Ty Lee's endless cheer. But it was discreet, and for now, that was enough.
Zirin turned her attention to their supplies, eyes sharp and calculating. Azula followed her gaze, noting the bundles of stolen meat, the sparse tools.
"We've got enough to last a few days," Zirin declared confidently. "Now we just need a direction—far from anything royal or military."
"Then we head east." Azula's voice was low but firm, a sudden spark of command flickering back to life. She paused, scanning their faces for hesitation or dissent. Finding none, she pressed on. "How far to the nearest harbor?"
"There's a small town, seven kilometers north," Chiyou replied without hesitation, her tone practical.
"Perfect. We'll steal a boat." Azula's eyes gleamed with a mixture of calculation and anticipation.
Ningka's lips twitched into a rare, almost shy smile. Even after everything, no firebender could fully suppress that spark of life.
"What kind of boat? Fishing?" she asked, curiosity brightening her voice.
"Exactly." Zirin nodded, tapping the map etched in her mind. "Soldiers use mass-produced steamships. But fishermen? They rely on wind and oars. In terms of speed and stealth, we'll outrun them easily."
"And even if we're spotted," Ningka added, voice dropping to a whisper, "they won't waste an airship on us, right?"
"Not unless we kidnap nobles or loot something significant." The trio murmured their agreement, the plan solidifying with every word.
The plan was solid. They would move that night.
For the first time in a year, Azula felt it again—that cold, fierce edge of purpose.
She was back in business.
Night draped its velvet cloak over the small town, muffling sounds and sharpening shadows. Years of peace had softened the edge of military discipline, even dulling the vigilance of the town's militia. The once rigid patrols were now lethargic echoes of their former selves. Azula noted this silently, her mind already spinning plans to correct such complacency when the time came. But for now, survival came first.
The four girls moved like ghosts through the darkened streets, slipping from one shadow to another with practiced ease. Every step brought them closer to their goal. Earlier that day, Zirin had ventured into the town with Chiyou in tow. They had found exactly what they needed: a small, nimble boat—fast enough to evade notice, discreet enough to escape the gaze of any careless sentries.
Best of all, it was nearly unguarded. At least, by Azula's exacting standards.
So far, the night had been mercifully quiet. No patrols crossed their path. No unwanted eyes lingered too long. Her new "allies," as she grudgingly acknowledged them, proved their worth more than once. Ningka especially surprised her—despite all her claims of wanting peace and quiet, here she was, weaving expertly through alleyways, avoiding patrols like a native born to these streets. Azula couldn't help but note the irony; "done fighting," indeed.
But the docks were another matter. A new obstacle awaited: six guards, slumped in the moonlight, their laughter and loud voices carrying easily in the still air.
"Are they actually drunk?" Chiyou whispered, lips curling into an exasperated sneer. The eye-roll that followed spoke volumes—she already knew the answer.
"Damned human factor," Ningka spat under her breath, eyes narrowed in disgust.
Azula's irritation simmered just beneath the surface. These careless fools threatened to ruin everything she had painstakingly arranged. Her escape, her freedom—jeopardized by the incompetence of drunken soldiers.
Then Zirin broke the tense silence with a pointed finger. "Luck's on our side." She nodded toward a pile of barrels, roughly lashed together, worn and weathered. After a quick sweep for patrols, she moved forward, the others following close behind.
"Beer," she announced with a satisfied grin, tapping one barrel lightly.
Chiyou crossed her arms, clearly impatient. "Can we get back to the plan now?"
Azula's lips twitched in a faint smirk as she glanced toward the barrels and then at the drunken guards nearby. She caught Zirin's eye and said quietly, "We're gonna need someone with enough authority to get these men in trouble. Use any means available—get creative."
Zirin gave a quick nod, a mischievous spark lighting her eyes. Without hesitation, she slipped into the shadows, moving with a fluid grace that caught Azula's attention. The princess arched a brow in surprise—she hadn't expected such ease, such natural command of presence from Zirin.
Minutes later, Azula watched from the edge of the dock as Zirin approached a figure in the distance, a purposeful sway in her step, the faintest trace of a practiced smile playing on her lips. Her voice carried just enough softness and urgency to pull in the passerby. Azula could almost hear the silent script unfolding: concern, frustration, just the right touch of vulnerability. Zirin was overdoing it—dramatic hand gestures, a slight quiver in her tone—but just enough to stay believable.
Meanwhile, Azula and the others moved with quiet precision. They nudged one barrel loose, letting it roll silently into the guards' line of sight. The soldiers, swaying and laughing, couldn't resist investigating the sudden disturbance.
Then came the crash—the barrel smashed open, sending a river of beer gushing across the dock and spilling into the dark water below.
"What's going on here?!" a harsh male voice roared.
The guards froze, faces blanching as a stern sergeant emerged, eyes sharp and demanding. Standing beside him, four young women watched closely—Azula's face shadowed beneath a hood, her gaze calculating every move.
Zirin returned, stepping forward with practiced ease and a convincing air of distress. "We're staying with a friend," she explained softly, voice trembling just enough. "They hurt their leg, and it's been hard for them all night. The noise from these men was unbearable, so I went to ask them to quiet down. But when I found them... they were practically swimming in beer."
Azula caught herself wincing at the little theatrical flourish Zirin threw in—almost too much, yet somehow perfect.
The sergeant's brow furrowed, torn between irritation and a sense of duty. Driven by protocol—or maybe a desire to impress the women—he strode toward his troops, who were caught red-handed.
"You idiots! What do you think you're doing?" the sergeant barked, his voice booming across the dock.
"S-Sergent, it wasn't us!" one guard slurred, swaying precariously as he tried to steady himself.
"You reek of alcohol! Don't lie to me!" the sergeant growled, stepping closer, his broad frame casting a shadow over the trembling men. "You'll be doing push-ups until that foolishness is out of your systems!" His tone brooked no argument, and the sheer weight of his presence silenced all protests.
Grumbling and muttering curses, the guards were hauled away, their stumbling steps echoing against the wooden planks as they disappeared into the shadows.
Zirin turned back with a victorious smile, throwing her hands up for a celebratory "team clap." Azula joined, though her smile was tight, her eyes cold and calculating.
Chiyou shook her head, voice low. "I almost feel bad for them."
Azula's sharp retort cut through the air. "Don't." Her gaze hardened. "They earned this. Maybe discipline like this will finally teach them some sense."
With the immediate obstacle removed, the group shifted focus back to the boat bobbing gently in the harbor's dark waters. Ningka climbed aboard with sure-footed grace, her hands grasping the thick rope that controlled the sail.
"Alright, serious question," Ningka said, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Does anyone here actually know how to navigate a boat?"
Azula squared her shoulders, voice steady and commanding. "We'll improvise."
Almost immediately, regret gnawed at her resolve.
The boat lurched violently as they narrowly missed a hidden sandbank, jolting everyone onboard and sending a ripple of startled gasps through the group.
Then the waves came—not just rolling water, but a gnawing queasiness twisting in their stomachs. Azula's head spun with every unpredictable sway, her vision swimming slightly. Chiyou and Zirin exchanged pale, uncomfortable looks, their usual composure slipping.
Only Ningka remained steady, her expression bright and unbothered, almost reckless as she grinned at the helm, eyes gleaming with excitement.
Azula's gaze lingered on her, unease flickering deep within. Ningka's grin was wide and confident—bordering on reckless.
Just like a pirate, Azula thought bitterly, only far less charming.
They had sailed for hours, the boat gliding just off the shoreline under a pale, forgiving sun. A soft breeze teased the sails, carrying with it the briny tang of salt and the faint sweetness of wildflowers blooming nearby. Ningka had swapped places with Chiyou once her stomach had settled, and the others—including Azula—lay sprawled, each lost in quiet respite.
Azula's chest rose and fell with steady breaths, but beneath the calm surface a spark of satisfaction flickered. Far from the suffocating grip of her past, free from Zuko's obsessive hunt, she allowed herself a small, bitter smile. She pictured him tearing at his hair in frustration, desperate to trap her once more. Let him stew in paranoia for months—enough time for her to reclaim the fire that had been stolen.
"Ah, if we're back to the main course then…" The familiar voice of the creature murmured softly, it's words hung almost unfinished as a heavy darkness tugged at Azula's eyelids.
Her vision blurred, then shuttered closed, surrendering to an otherworldly sleep.
When her eyes reopened, Azula found herself standing in a place that bent all reason. The ground beneath her feet was a surreal blend—stone and grass fused seamlessly, twisting vines stretched upward, unraveling into drifting sand and powder as if gravity itself had fractured. The air hummed with quiet power, vibrating softly against her skin.
A whisper drifted like a breath against her ear. "We have to settle our agreement."
Azula's head turned slowly, her eyes narrowing.
Beside her, a figure coalesced—a creature shifting fluidly between solid and mist, its head leaning over her shoulder like a living shadow.
Azula instinctively stepped back, fingers curling into a guarded fist at her side, muscles tensing. "What is this place?"
The creature's form shimmered faintly as it spoke, voice low and steady. "This is a projection of the spiritual realm. Since I freed you, we have been watched. My interference is limited—my actions noticed, and forces move to stop me."
Azula's patience frayed, and she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear with a sharp flick. "Cut the cryptic riddles. Get to the point."
The creature's eyes gleamed with ancient weariness as it regarded her. "Your world is dying—not from war or famine, but from the recklessness of a spirit who taught the Avatar forbidden knowledge."
Azula's brow furrowed. "You mean—"
"Yes. The power to grant or strip mastery over the elements. This knowledge was meant to be kept secret by the spirits—guarded, not shared. Humans are greedy; they already hold enough power to destroy their own world."
She folded her arms across her chest, lips pressed into a thin line. "Do you possess such knowledge?"
"No. And even if I did, I lack the strength to sever a mortal's connection to the spiritual realm."
Azula's skepticism sharpened like a blade. "Setting aside your uselessness, what war do you speak of?"
The creature's tone dropped, heavy with sorrow. It sank slightly, as if the weight of history pressed down on it. "The war is over. Spirits fled after your family decimated anything sacred to them—dragons, once revered, were hunted near extinction. Now, spirits have nothing left to fear... except one."
"Who?" Azula's voice was sharp, her gaze steady.
"When the Avatar nearly died at your father's hands, its spirit took over. The chaos drew everyone's attention—all but one spirit, who seized the moment. This spirit knows the forbidden knowledge and craves only chaos."
Azula's nostrils flared, frustration tightening her features. "I don't care for spiritual games."
"But the world is shifting," the creature insisted, its voice low but urgent. "Spirits will return, one way or another, and the next year will decide if that return is salvation—or catastrophe."
"For whom? Why involve yourself? You seem to know far too much for your act." She narrowed her eyes, stepping slightly forward, jaw clenched.
The creature's form pulsed softly, its gaze locking with hers, unblinking. "Spirits can inflict horrors beyond imagining. What you suffered for a year is but a whisper of what is possible." Azula felt a chill ripple down her spine. "The Avatar could have simply killed your father. But no—he committed an unforgivable act, twice. Severing a connection to bending curses a soul. Like your father, you have become a husk—cut off, cursed, unable to access the spiritual realm."
"You said this isn't the spiritual realm," she said, voice low.
"No. Only a projection."
"The difference?" Azula arched an eyebrow, folding her arms tighter.
"To spirits, you do not exist here—unless they cross the threshold, which most cannot. You remain unseen, untouched."
"And you? You said others noticed."
"They did. But by binding to your mind, I share your invisibility." The creature's eyes softened just a fraction, as if offering a fragile bond.
Azula's jaw clenched tight, her fists tightening at her sides. "I will not be your vessel."
"Not a vessel," the creature replied gently, "Without me, you cannot reconnect to the spiritual world. Trust me—that fate is worse than you imagine." Its gaze drifted toward a distant horizon, where a soft blue glow pulsed like a heartbeat.
Azula's eyes followed, drawn despite herself.
"Forgetful Valley lies ahead," the creature said softly, voice nearly a whisper. "A vast forest, one of the last sacred grounds left unspoiled by humans. You must seek the Mother of Faces there. Even if she cannot heal you, her ancient wisdom will guide you to others who can."
Azula's brow furrowed deeply, lips pressing together. "Can I expect more help? This task feels immense."
"I will be your guide." The creature's form began to waver, fading like mist in the morning sun. "But now—wake up, princess. Wake up."
"Asura? Hey, Sura." Zirin nudged Azula's shoulder gently, her voice soft but urgent. The sharp chirping of birds filtered through the air, signaling they were close to land. "We found a small village. Ningka's aiming for the shore. We've still got some money left to get more supplies."
Azula blinked, forcing her eyes to adjust to the morning light filtering through the sails. "How long have we been sailing?"
"Worried you slept more than one night again? Haha, you didn't go unconscious, nothing to fear. Ningka and Chiyou took turns at the helm to get us as far as possible," Zirin replied, a hint of teasing in her tone.
"Yeah, smooth sailing all the way," Ningka said, as she eased the sail down, eyes scanning the horizon. "Though I have no idea where we are. Definitely not Earth Kingdom, but somewhere far east of the Fire Nation."
Azula stretched, her limbs stiff from rest. "Far enough to rest for a couple of days if needed." Her gaze settled on the village sprawling along the shore—a scattering of wooden houses with steep thatched roofs, smoke lazily curling upward from chimneys. No signs of military patrols. No banners or guards. She nodded. "And no military presence here."
The boat slid softly onto the sand, the anchor dropped with a quiet splash. Chiyou secured the vessel, and the group stepped ashore, their boots sinking slightly into warm, sun-baked earth.
"Am I the only one getting strange vibes about this place?" Chiyou murmured, eyes narrowing as she scanned the quiet streets.
Zirin and Ningka exchanged a glance and shrugged, but their stiff postures betrayed unease. Azula felt it too—an almost electric sensation prickling her skin, as if dozens of unseen eyes watched from shadowed windows and hidden corners. Her gaze darted, sharp and calculating.
The village itself looked peaceful enough. It was alive—not empty or dull—but more secluded than Ember Island, quieter, less touched by the bustle of larger cities. The buildings leaned slightly with age, their weathered timber telling stories of generations. Children played barefoot by a small stream that cut through the village, their laughter mingling with the soft rustle of trees in the breeze.
The people were plain in dress and manner, their smiles polite but cautious. After only five minutes of wandering, Azula's group had already attracted attention, greeted with curious waves and polite nods as if they were an oddity—a novelty.
If Azula didn't know better, she might have found it boring.
"Oh look! An open theater!" Azula stopped, eyes catching on a simple wooden structure built into a gentle slope, its stage framed by ropes and pulleys.
She searched for Chiyou, who was nearby, and her interest deepened despite herself.
"Really? I've only seen one in my life," Ningka said, stepping closer to peer inside. "Looks impressive—for a village so far from any great city."
Zirin stood before a worn wooden board. Azula joined her, squinting at the faded letters.
"That's their program. They perform a lot," Zirin said casually.
Azula's eyes scanned the schedule. Two things struck her like thunder: the name of the troupe—and more chillingly—the name of the village itself.
Hira'a. Her mother's village.
She blinked, swallowing down the shock. Fate, it seemed, had led her here.
But then her gaze landed on the title of the next play: Love Amongst The Dragons.
A cold numbness crept through her limbs. Memories surged unbidden—summers spent under Ember Island's warm sun, the annual night at the theater, the villagers watching their mother's favorite play. Zuko's grumbles about the local actors butchering the story. The whispered laughter, the stolen moments acting out favorite scenes with May and Ty Lee. Her mother's quiet, sad gaze as she watched Azula take the stage, eyes full of something almost like envy.
"The water spirit role would suit you better."
"No. I would never be the villain. Villains always lose."
"Even the color of your fire matches."
"No. My fire is beautiful."
"Why do you always give your brother the bad role?"
"Do you want me to be the monster?"
Suddenly, the world tilted. Azula crumpled, hitting the ground hard. Her companions rushed to her side, panic flaring in their voices.
"Is she having a seizure? An episode?"
"Couldn't she have told us she was sick?"
"Roll her on her side! She might choke!"
A deep voice joined the chorus—stern, questioning. "What happened to her?"
The voices swirled incoherently as Azula's consciousness slipped, but one word floated clear—"Noren." The name from the play, from her childhood.
"-Noriko! Need water!"
It had never been this bad before. Why was this different?
Softness enveloped her like a cloud. Warm hands adjusted her position, wrapped a cloth around her, tucked her in carefully.
One last blurry image hovered—her mother's face, gentle and unyielding.
"Everything is going to be alright."
Since when had a ghost ever said anything that didn't hurt?
Zuko was furious. His sister was gone—most likely dead or on the run, a loose cannon capable of sparking another war or committing an unforgivable act out of sheer tantrum. Despite commanding the might of the Fire Nation, he felt powerless, as if his influence had dwindled to nothing more than whispers from exile days.
"You're going to set something on fire at this rate," Mai said from the doorway of his office, arms crossed, her voice sharp with restrained impatience. "There's nothing else to do but wait."
"Wait?!" Zuko snapped, his voice cracking like a flame. "When Azula is out on her own? She's dangerous, Mai. You don't just wait when someone like that's loose."
Mai stepped in, her gaze steady. "And you're not going to go hunting for her yourself, nor will anyone else. You have to accept that. The military isn't going to chase ghosts."
Zuko ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "Right… but it still puts me on edge. She's my sister. What if she's planning something worse than I imagine?"
"She's lost her fire," Mai said quietly, almost softer. "I know Azula well enough to say that if she's lost her fire, she might be more likely to disappear… or worse, consider ending things herself rather than face dishonor."
Zuko scoffed, the word "Azula" and "suicide" clashing violently in his mind. "That's absurd. Azula isn't that weak. She's the most ruthless person I know."
Mai's lips twitched into a smirk. "You always say that, but people change. Especially when the world turns against them."
Zuko shot back, "I have to make hard decisions every day. It's easier when you can just weigh the consequences over the coming days at most."
"Oh, how tragic," Mai said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "My boyfriend, the Fire Lord, burdened with 'hard decisions.' Tell me, Zuko, do you ever tire of being the tragic hero?"
Zuko's eyes narrowed. "If you think this is a joke, maybe you should take a closer look at the documents on my desk."
Mai's expression flickered with annoyance but she masked it quickly. "I'm expected to meet with the Minister of Agriculture soon," she said smoothly, shifting the topic. "He's livid. And I use that word deliberately, about the absurd amounts of wealth being funneled to the Earth Kingdom."
Zuko pretended not to hear, focusing instead on the scrolls before him.
Mai pressed on. "He's right. These taxes are bleeding our people dry. Not everyone profited from the war effort. Many are starving while reconstruction benefits a few. Peace hasn't made life better for most."
Zuko's fingers tightened around a parchment. "I cannot simply abandon the reconstruction effort. We must atone for our—"
"Sins? What sins?" Mai cut him off sharply. "Your popularity is plummeting, Zuko. I've seen people begging on the streets. You tell me that's atonement?"
Zuko's jaw clenched. "I don't want to continue this conversation."
Mai sighed, stepping back toward the door. "Then don't. But you need to start listening—before it's too late."
She paused, then added quietly, "Zuko, you're not just Fire Lord. You're supposed to be a leader who sees the people, not just politics."
He looked up, meeting her gaze, and saw the frustration behind her calm exterior.
As Mai left, the silence stretched between them. It was moments like this—moments charged with truth and tension—that reminded Zuko how different they really were.
Zuko's thoughts churned long after Mai's footsteps faded. She was infuriating—but not entirely wrong. The weight of rebuilding, of maintaining peace through bleeding tribute and compromise, had left him exhausted. The people are suffering, he admitted, but what's the alternative? Let the Earth Kingdom fester and wait for another war? He ran a hand through his hair, glaring down at the capital below. The Fire Nation looked tamed, but he knew better. It was simmering. So was he.
And Azula. The name tasted like rust. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but resentment dug deeper. If she was dead, it should have been on his terms. If she was alive, she was a threat—one he should've neutralized long ago. She made her choice, he told himself. She always does. But doubt lingered like smoke in his lungs. He had chased peace at the cost of power—and now even that peace felt as fragile as paper.
Outside, Mai walked briskly down the corridor, wind catching the edge of her cloak. She had tried to be patient with Zuko. Really, she had. But listening to him justify bleeding the Fire Nation for some abstract moral debt was getting unbearable. "Atonement," he called it. "Balance." All it sounded like to her was weakness dressed in diplomacy. He was too soft—on the world, on himself, and worst of all, on his sister.
Azula. Mai clenched her jaw. Zuko still spoke of her like a lost cause worth finding. But Mai had seen enough to know better. That girl wasn't lost—she was what happened when power met madness. She remembered Azula's voice, the venom-laced mockery: "Zuzu is an idiot. I can't imagine what you see in my brother." She'd never answered back then. Maybe because she didn't know. Maybe because Azula wasn't wrong.
Back then she should have said, "He's just the lesser evil." But even that felt generous now, and truly, she liked his kindness, he had his way to reach people ... But now they were all playing roles in a crumbling play, villains wearing crowns and titles. If Zuko wanted to torch the Fire Nation from the inside out to feel noble, Mai wasn't going to hold the match for him. Not anymore. He had to learn from his mistakes one way or another.
Azula woke up in the spirit realm—again. This time, it was a forest. Gnarled trees towered over her, their twisted branches filtering a strange, pulsing light. She wasn't surprised. They were approaching Forgetful Valley, and the spirit clearly had something to say.
"I apologize," it began.
Of course. She didn't know what for, but the word alone was enough to spark irritation—and right now, irritation was better than confusion.
"Go on, then," she said coolly. "Let's hear what noble reason you've conjured up for dragging me back into this foggy mind prison."
"You were having a panic attack," the spirit said, calm but firm. "When you saw that theater schedule, your mind unraveled. I tried to intervene. Tried to suppress the worst of it. But you resisted harder than I expected. It drained you."
Azula stepped closer and jabbed a finger toward its chest. "Never do that again."
The spirit raised its hands. "Understood. But don't pretend it wasn't necessary. You were losing control. I was trying to preserve what you still have—your composure, your allies, your purpose."
That struck a nerve. Azula turned away, but her thoughts twisted tightly. Why here? What were the chances that the place she was supposedly meant to recover her fire just happened to be near Ursa's village?
"This isn't a coincidence," she snapped. "You brought me here on purpose."
The spirit's tone darkened. "You think I care where your mother was born? The energy in this region predates the Fire Nation itself. The valley is ancient, powerful—untouched by your empire's maps or borders. If Ursa came from nearby, that's chance. I don't care about your family."
She glared at him. "You should. Everyone else seems to."
The spirit tilted its head. "Do you fear another breakdown? Is that it? Or are you afraid you'll find something here—something true—and won't be able to ignore it?"
Azula's voice was flat, dangerous. "I'm not afraid. I'm not weak."
"Not like your brother, then?"
She struck before he could finish. Her fist connected with the side of his face, and the spirit staggered back, flickering like a flame in wind.
"…Fair," it muttered, rubbing its jaw. "I provoked that."
"I'm leaving," Azula said, already turning.
"Fine. But don't delude yourself, Princess," the spirit called after her. "You're stronger than the rest of them. You always were. Your mother feared you, your uncle never trusted you, and your brother never understood you. And your father—he didn't want to break you. He wanted to use you. He saw what you were: pure fire, without hesitation."
Azula stopped, just for a breath, her back still turned.
"I don't need your commentary," she said.
"No," the spirit replied. "But you need to remember who you are. And what you're meant to become."
She walked away without another word, pushing through the thick silence of the trees. Her mind was a whirlwind—but her spine remained straight, her steps sharp.
There was still no fire in her hands.
But the storm in her chest was far from gone.
This cycle of waking up in unfamiliar places was getting exhausting. This time, it was a small room with low ceilings and a bed barely long enough for her. There were toys scattered across the wooden floor—stuffed animals, a few dolls, and carved wooden figures. A child's room. Lovely.
She tried to recall what had happened after her breakdown.
Right—she'd lost control. The others had caught up with her. Someone had kept her from choking on her own vomit. Then a man had arrived—probably the one who brought her here. A healer, maybe. Or his wife. Someone had cared enough to not let her die.
A soft thud snapped her from her thoughts. It came from the shelf. Someone was hiding. She could hear the anxious breathing.
"Get out and face me," she said, instinctively. Her tone came out sharper than intended—more suited for an assassin than a child.
A small girl, no older than eight, crawled out sheepishly from behind the shelf. So that's what she was afraid of. Great. Now it looked like she'd been startled by a child.
The girl approached the bed slowly, wide eyes studying Azula with unnerving curiosity. She didn't look scared—just fascinated. Azula didn't like it.
"What?" she asked. "Now you're nervous?"
"N-No! It's just..." the girl fidgeted. Azula exhaled slowly. No need to snap. Not here. Not now.
"Look up when you speak. Don't slouch. You can talk, can't you?"
The girl gulped, then nodded. "I... I was supposed to be at school. But I was curious, and Mom told me not to bother you, so I... Did I wake you up?"
Skipping school? Interesting. Maybe this kid wasn't as soft as she looked. Azula felt a flicker of approval.
"No. But your breathing is too loud. If you want to sneak around, cover your mouth with your hand. Don't hold your breath—it only makes it worse. Small adjustments. They matter."
The girl blinked. "What else?"
Azula frowned. "What?"
"How else can I improve?"
Before Azula could answer, a woman entered carrying a tray with a bowl and some fruit. She paused at the sight of the girl beside the bed.
Azula braced herself. She expected scolding—maybe yelling. That's how Ursa would've reacted.
But instead, the woman just sighed with a patient smile. "Kiyi, darling, our guest needs rest. Don't wear her out."
Azula tensed. The child—Kiyi—had no idea how lucky she was. That tone of care... it was foreign. And unbearable.
"This gift must've cost a fortune, Azula. A little Earth Kingdom girl would have cherished it."
Ursa's voice echoed in her memory. But had she ever asked what Azula wanted? Had Iroh? No. They assumed, and when she didn't fit their mold, they punished her for it.
Azula flinched slightly as the woman—Noriko, likely—gently placed a hand on hers.
"You're cold. Do you need more blankets? You had a fever when you arrived, but it's dropped. I'm relieved."
Azula didn't respond right away. The soup still steamed in the bowl.
"It's a local recipe," Noriko said. "Not the best tasting, but it helps fight off infection and weakness."
"Why—?"
"Oh!" Noriko chuckled. "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Noriko. This is my house. Your friends brought you here with my husband. Said you collapsed. The heat's been awful lately—especially with the humidity. I imagine you're not used to it."
"I..." Azula hesitated. That warmth again—it threatened to reach beneath her armor. She couldn't allow it. "I thank you for your assistance."
"It's nothing, really. What's the point of living in this world if we don't at least try to make it a bit better?"
It sounded like something out of a naïve fable. But Azula couldn't deny that honest people were often the most efficient—if not the smartest.
"Where are my..." She paused, searching for the right word. Servants? Subordinates? No—too cold. "...friends?"
"They're helping my husband patch up the barn. There's an extension we're building. They offered to help in exchange for food and shelter. A fair deal."
Azula nodded. Somehow, even unconscious, she had secured resources. Not bad.
"We won't be staying long," she added. "I promise."
Noriko only smiled and placed a hand on her forehead. Azula flinched slightly as Noriko's hand brushed against her forehead, gentle but unexpected.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended—defensive, not curious.
Noriko didn't seem fazed. She smiled, calm as ever, and let her hand linger just a moment before pulling it away. "Hmm? Just checking your temperature. You're cooler now, but you need rest. And lots of water. Dehydration's no joke in this heat."
Azula opened her mouth to reply, but her nose twitched. A faint, acrid scent curled through the air—burnt wood.
Noriko stiffened. "Oh no... the furnace!"
She turned on her heel. "Kiyi, show our guest the bathroom and where the fountain is, would you? I'll be right back!"
With that, she swept out, skirts brushing the floor as her footsteps faded quickly down the hall.
Left alone, Kiyi turned toward Azula with wide, excited eyes. She giggled, clearly pleased with herself, and scampered toward a small crate near the wall. She rummaged through it and pulled out something clumsily stitched, holding it up like it was a prize.
"This is Kiyi!" she declared.
Azula blinked. The doll was clearly handmade—lopsided, uneven, but handled with care. Its yarn hair stuck out in odd directions, and its dress, though crooked, matched the one the girl wore.
She held it out without hesitation. Azula took it delicately, examining the uneven seams, her fingers brushing over the rough stitching. "You named your doll after yourself?"
Kiyi grinned. "It's such a good name, I used it twice!"
Azula allowed herself a small exhale—just shy of a laugh. She glanced from doll to girl. The resemblance was, frankly, unsettling. "The haircut's different."
Kiyi puffed her cheeks. "I tried to give her a new style. Didn't go great."
Azula handed the doll back with a slow motion, her expression unreadable. "I had dolls too."
"Did you like them?"
"No. I had a habit of removing their heads."
Kiyi stared at her.
Azula looked at the window. "I didn't like what they stood for. While my brother was being gifted hand-forged blades, I was given toys... soft things. I thought if I trained, learned to fight, maybe Father would take me seriously." Her eyes darkened. "He didn't. Parents can be... strange. Always expecting. Never satisfied."
There was a pause. Kiyi shifted on her feet, gripping her doll tightly.
"I don't really know what you mean," she said quietly. "Mom and Dad aren't like that. I asked for a firebending teacher once—for my birthday—but they told me I hadn't shown any signs yet. Later, I heard them talking... they just couldn't afford it."
Azula turned to face her. "You think you're a bender?"
"Of course I am!"
"How do you know?"
Kiyi drew herself up with as much pride as an eight-year-old could manage. "I got really mad one time and—"
The door slammed open.
Azula barely had time to react before a tangle of limbs and shrieking teenage voices tackled her.
"You're alive!" Zirin cried, throwing her arms around her like a thunderclap.
"Don't scare us like that again. It's annoying," Chiyou huffed, but her hands clung tightly.
"You're weirdly heavy, you know?" Ningka muttered from somewhere near Azula's ribs.
Azula groaned and tried to peel them off, one hand pushing at Zirin's forehead, the other trapped under Ningka's elbow. "Alright, enough. I can't breathe. You've achieved sufficient physical contact."
"Ten more seconds!" Zirin pleaded, hugging tighter.
"No."
They stayed for twelve.
Azula sat up straighter as they finally pulled away, smoothing her hair with the dignity of a half-drowned cat. "You're insufferable."
"Oh, don't be such a mood, Sura," Zirin said with a wink. "Noren's awesome. His wife is the sweetest. If we help them fix the barn, we can stay a few days. And we get fed."
Azula narrowed her eyes. "You're bartering my collapse into lodging?"
"It's practical," Ningka offered with a shrug.
"Right..." Azula muttered, massaging her temple. "At least you made yourselves useful while I was unconscious."
"A compliment?" Chiyou gasped. "Somebody write that down!"
Azula turned toward her slowly. "How dare you—"
"Dinner's ready!" Noriko's voice rang through the open doorway. She smiled warmly. "Asura, do you feel well enough to join us?"
Azula paused, collecting herself. Then she stood with practiced grace, like her strength had never faltered.
"Yes."
Azula couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten surrounded by so many people. Not truly. There had been dinners on Ember Island with Zuko, Mai, and Ty Lee—but that wasn't the same. No, it went back farther than that. Back to when she was still small, her grandfather Azulon still alive, her mother present, and her father... well, scheming. Her uncle had been there too, a looming presence, kind but unreadable. Her cousin, Lu Ten, had perhaps been the one family member she hated the least.
Contrary to what others used to whisper, Lu Ten had not been "the one holding them together." There was nothing to hold. The Fire Nation royal family had never been a family—only a collection of ambitions bound by blood and duty. The concept of kinship had no place in the hearts of men like Azulon or Ozai.
Now, sitting on the floor of Noriko's modest home—because their small table couldn't seat everyone—Azula found herself ringed by warmth and light chatter. People laughed. Arms bumped. Food passed hand to hand. She watched them all, quiet, her spine straight as ever despite the exhaustion still clinging to her bones.
She hadn't realized how much she might have craved something like this. But of course... it was only possible because they didn't know who she was. If they did, this kindness would dissolve in an instant. All these smiling faces would twist with betrayal. They'd turn on her the way everyone always did.
Something soft bumped against her arm. She looked down.
Kiyi stood beside her, holding out a plate. "Moshi?" the girl offered, brows raised in hopeful sincerity.
Azula blinked, then nodded and picked two dumplings. Kiyi beamed like she'd handed her a crown.
"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," Noren said, glancing toward Zirin. "A few extra hands are always helpful—between repairs and construction at our house and rehearsals with our group, we're stretched thin."
"Oh, dear," Noriko sighed playfully, "we've performed Love Amongst the Dragons so many times, I'd hope you know your lines by now."
Noren sat up straighter, mock-affronted. "It's not about me! It's about the audience. If we weren't so dedicated, they wouldn't bother coming all the way out here. They'd just go to Ember Island instead—and I refuse to let those hacks perform in our place."
Noriko laughed softly and nodded. "The actors there don't put in much effort anymore. Tourists keep the seats filled, so they don't try. They've grown lazy."
She turned to Asura—Azula—and added, "I imagine you may have heard of it yourself?"
Azula gave a small, neutral nod. She'd seen it all. Over-rehearsed lines. Hollow performances. Masks worn only half-heartedly. How fitting, for a nation of illusion.
"If you don't mind me asking..." Noren said suddenly, his tone curious but not sharp. "Where exactly do you come from? You did appear from the sea, after all."
"Oh, well, we—" Zirin began brightly.
Azula tensed.
"—are travelling to the colonies," Ningka cut in smoothly before Zirin could say too much. "With the war ending, it might be easier to find work there."
"Didn't you hear? The Earth King and the Fire Lord have been… in conflict about the colonies." Noren's voice dropped as he glanced toward his wife, his brow furrowing. "They cannot agree on who should hold control over them." He shook his head slowly.
Azula's eyes narrowed, the weight of the news settling heavily on her. Oh great, she thought bitterly, the perfect way to end the day — a full report not only on Zuko's absolute moronic blunders, but also this puppet king they call Kuei.
Noren continued, gesturing with an open hand as if to emphasize the absurdity. "People are worried it would spark a new conflict… It's ridiculous, really. People from the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom have been living in peace there for years. The local governors even encouraged the use of earthbending despite the ban. I even heard one of them married, and his daughter is an earthbender."
Azula's jaw tightened. If neither Zuko nor Ozai could see the potential there, they didn't deserve the throne.
Chiyou, poking at her bowl with a chopstick, muttered darkly, "Great. No matter where we go, troubles follow us."
Noriko's gaze softened, concerned but polite. "You all seem quite young to be traveling on your own." Her eyes lingered just a little too long. A beat of silence. Then—unexpectedly—it was Zirin who answered.
"Far enough." There was no sharpness to it, but no space for follow-up either.
Noriko caught the tone and nodded. "I see." She smiled again, gracious and warm. "Well, we've got some jam left. Anyone interested?"
The mood shifted again. A few hands went up. The conversation rolled on.
The rest of the evening passed in gentle rhythm—local gossip, updates on trade, small talk about politics. Kiyi looked increasingly bored, poking at her food or staring out the window. Azula watched her from the corner of her eye.
When she was that age, she'd been desperate to join adult conversations. But if it wasn't her grandfather scolding her for being too young, it was her father dismissing her words entirely. "A princess shouldn't waste time on things she doesn't understand," Azulon had once said.
She still remembered Ursa's expression when he'd said it—tense, quiet. The silence of a woman biting back a scream.
Azula had thanked her mother for removing that man from the world sooner than nature would have. Had Azulon lived longer, he would've married her off the moment she bled.
Kiyi, at least, had been spared that fate.
Still, Azula couldn't tell whether the girl was uninterested in the adults' talk—or if she simply didn't know how to be part of it.
Noriko and Noren's barn was comfortable enough to spend the night, but Azula's mind refused to rest. The nightmares clawed at her, relentless—she feared waking up only to find herself back in hell.
Eventually, she gave up on sleep and slipped outside for a walk. The village was calm now—no sign of night life, the complete opposite of bustling cities like Caldera or even the tourist-filled Ember Island. Her thoughts drifted to that night at the Fire Lord's beach house… she tried to be honest then, something she rarely allowed herself.
Honesty means vulnerability, she reminded herself. You don't win with sincere words—only with strong, undeniable logic.
Soft sobbing broke the silence. Following the sound, Azula found Kiyi alone under the moonlight, wrapped in her nightdress. After a moment, the fire princess stepped closer.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Azula's voice was quiet but firm.
Kiyi gasped and spun around, her face relaxing when she saw it was Azula. "I—I couldn't sleep."
Azula made a wild guess. "Nightmare?"
She considered the other possibility—that the girl had wet her bed—but decided not to mention it.
Kiyi hesitated, then looked up at Azula with wide eyes. "You too?"
Azula smirked despite herself and sat down beside the girl. "I'll give you this—you're a clever brat. What's bothering you?"
Kiyi pulled her knees up, hiding her face against her chest. "There are these mean boys at school… they keep bullying me, but I don't want to tell my parents. I don't want to bother them."
Azula frowned, irritation flickering across her face. "Is your teacher that incompetent, he can't keep order?"
Kiyi shrugged weakly. "When I tell him, he just says, 'Boys will be boys,' then sends me away."
Azula felt a slow burn of anger. Incompetence was a poison she hated.
"Be better than them," she said sharply.
"How?" Kiyi's voice trembled.
"Make them submit. Assert your dominance. Hurt them so badly they never rise from the ashes of their shame." She had the feeling these words had been used before, not in the same context though.
Kiyi's eyes grew wide. "But… but they're so much stronger than me. And I'm alone."
Azula's gaze sharpened. "You're a firebender. Use your gift."
Kiyi looked away, ashamed. "I don't know how."
Azula rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Ugh… fine. I don't like pathetic people, so I guess I'll have to make sure you're at least a decent firebender."
Kiyi's eyes opened dangerously wide. "You… you would teach me?"
Azula was about to refuse but found herself stuck with an eight-year-old clutching her arms around her chest. She softened. "What are you—"
"Thank you, thank you so much," Kiyi sobbed, burying her face into Azula's side. The fire princess allowed it—no witnesses, and, truth be told, it felt good.
For once, Azula slept a dreamless night.