In the royal courtyard, under the beating heat of the sun, fire bloomed.
It swirled and danced, tongues of scarlet flame under an endless sky. It twisted it turn with the bender's body; jets and plumes, in time with kicks and punches. The bender's feet hardly ever touched the stone ground; she jumped up, as agile as a cat, and moved quickly into a summersault.
Anyone could tell this was a master fire-bender; she moved in a flurry of heat, and wielded the flames like a dagger.
She was coming to the end of her routine. A roundhouse kick, accompanied by a burning wave. A swift jump to her feet, and a volley of punches. A quick roll to the left; a jump up. And then she was perfectly still, like a stone statue with eyes of gold.
And now, it was obvious; the bender was only a girl, no older than twelve.
She was hardly out of breath; only a single bead of sweat rolled down her neck. But her muscles ached, and she longed for a drink to soothe her parched throat.
"Good," said a man to Azula. He was shaded in shadow, out of both the burning sun and the path of any wayward fire-blast. He was dressed in fine robes of crimson, and mounted atop his head was a simple crown of gold. "But not perfect."
Azula shivered despite the hot air.
"Please father, can't I take a rest? We've been working for hours." She tried not to whine; Princess's didn't whine. They were too good for that.
The Fire Lord's face was as impassive as stone. "Can the Fire Lord take a rest? No he is always working, always keeping our nation safe. Only the weak take a rest."
Azula didn't want to be weak; she wanted to be strong, unbeatable, just like her father. But she was tired, and all she wanted to do was to lay down under the shade of a tree. At that moment, it didn't sound too bad to be just a little bit weak.
But out loud she said, in her most polite voice; "No father."
Ozai nodded, his face still blank. But there was a faint glow of pride in his eyes. "Good. You will make a wonderful Fire-Lord, one day."
Azula felt as if ice water had been dumped over her; it wasn't entirely unpleasant. In fact it was almost welcomed. It felt like a rush of power.
But she had been raised in the royal palace; a place always swirling with deceit and shadows, and so she was wary. "What do you mean, father? Zuko is in line to be fire-lord, not me."
Ozai leaned forward, and the first spark of an expression flickered on his face; it was almost hungry. With his amber eyes he looked like a cobra, ready to strike. And suddenly, she was all the more aware of what a dangerous and powerful man her father was.
But she wasn't scared.
"Do you want to be fire-lord?"
She thought about it. Did she want to be the most powerful person in the world? Did she want to have armies at her command?
Did she want to be better than her brother, Zuko? The first born, the one all the servant's liked. The wimpy boy, who could hardly fire-bend? The one, who for some unperceivable reason, her mother had loved more than her?
The feeling of icy cold seemed to swell up into her, and her resolve hardened.
"Yes."
"Then keep practicing," Ozai ordered, and leaned back.
And so, Azula pushed all the other thoughts out of her mind; of resting under the tree, or pestering the servants or even playing with Mai and Ty Lee. Instead, she began practicing; channeling all her energy into the flames, putting as much force as possible into her jumps.
She was going to be powerful. She was going to be strong. She was going to be perfect.
The cold feeling inside of her began to grow, filling her. It became terribly strong; and then it became hot; as hot as the coals in a heart, or the sun's very power. It was cold and hot at the same time.
Azula kicked, and into the air swirled her first blue flame.