Sunlight slowly spilled over the palace of the Fire Lord. By Earth Kingdom clocks, it was the equivalent of three in the morning.
Not that the prisoner could tell.
His hair, greasy and unwashed, fell down over his face. His clothes were little more than rags, half eaten away by moths. He had not seen the sun for seven long years.
He had not seen the sun since the day the boy called Roku had received his startling news.
The prisoner's ears twitched, disturbed by a tiny sound from the hallway outside. Cloth on stone. The robes of the fire lord, dragging on the floor. The prisoner steeled himself. To become angry was to lose control of the situation. A conversation was all he could control. All he had left. The only thing he hadn't lost, seven years ago, on the day the Avatar had learned of his powers.
Piercing light sliced through the dust of the cell. A tiny rectangle of metal had been slid aside, creating a window through the door. Into the prisoner's cell.
Golden eyes looked into the cell. Royal eyes. Then came the voice. That cold, emotionless voice that somehow, everyone had failed to notice.
"And how are you today, my friend?"
The prisoner did not respond. He stared at the darkness where his knees were hidden.
"Would you like to know how things are going?"
The prisoner looked into the eyes of his captor.
"I don't have to. You're going to tell me anyway."
The mouth behind the door chuckled.
"My dear nobleman, if I didn't know better, I would say you were bored! Have you lost interest in the game?
The captive clenched his teeth. He was being baited, he knew it.
"Game? Game?"
The mouth behind the door was smirking. He knew it was. Maybe even grinning, showing those pointed incisors to the cold, unyielding metal of his cell.
"Oh no! Is it true? You don't find my game amusing?"
"This is no game, demon! People will die!!" The prisoner roared, glaring into the eyes of his captor. Those unblinking eyes.
"…Yes. People will die. Thousands. Maybe millions. But that's not the point, is it?"
"Please!"
"Mmmm. Please what?"
"I'm not asking you to release me… I'm just asking you, please, don't do this. The Four Nations--"
"Have lived in peace for an eternity! What has it been? Five, six millennia? Far too long."
The prisoner hung his head. "I don't know why you're doing this. I don't know what you have planned. But I do know this: the Avat--"
"Ah, yes. Your little messiah." The golden eyes suddenly weren't so bright.
"There's no way you can--"
"Trust me, the Avatar is not part of the equation."
"Wha…" Horror slowly dawned on the face of the captive. "No! The Monks are peaceful people! You cannot!!"
Once again, a cold chuckle emanated from the hallway.
"No, of course I can't. But you can."
"What are you…"
"You didn't think I was going to keep you locked up forever, did you?"
The prisoner roared, lunging for the door and spewing a meager flame at the eyes of his captor. Then he fell to the floor, coughing, and slowly looked up.
Directly into the eyes. The cold, piercing blue eyes.
"I'm not going to start a war." A strange static filled the room. The prisoner couldn't move, couldn't speak.
"You are."
And then he was released, falling limply to the floor like a rag doll. The will of a demon was burned into his eyes. The cell door was unlocked.
"Good luck, Fire Lord Sozin." Said Saint Dane.