Chapter One: Ursa Alone
The snow stopped as quickly as it had come; any last remnants melted away and the ground turned soggy. On his shoulders General Shichi carried his little daughter Ursa away from the still-smoldering tomb and away from the funeral, her small arms wrapped around his neck. His heavy boots squish-squished as the mud tried to claim them.
"Where are we going?" asked Ursa.
"Home," replied Shichi curtly.
They continued their solitary march all morning, pausing only when Shichi's boots would get stuck. Ursa recognized nothing of her surroundings; they must be very far from home. The road was brightly lit but deserted; red lilies clustered on the edge and she longed to pick one. But she remained silent as her father carried her home.
"Ursa?"
"Mmmm?"
"Are you sad?"
She thought about it. No, she was not sad. She barely knew her grandmother; just an ancient-looking woman who rarely visited and always looked at her so sadly.
"No, daddy."
Shichi stopped walking and sighed. Then he reached down carefully and picked one red lily from the road's edge. Carefully he tucked it behind Ursa's ear. She smiled.
"Let's go home."
They walked for another half hour before she recognized home. She smiled as she made out the impressive house nestled between two hills—it contained her favorite place in the world: the cherry blossom tree by the turtleduck pond. There were already several visitors waiting by the door: three military men, a messenger and a strange-looking man cloaked in black. Shichi plopped Ursa on the ground and poked her in the back. "Shoo," he said, and Ursa scampered. As she ran, she caught the eye of the man in black. He glared back with strange ice-blue eyes. She kept running. For some reason, she was afraid.
As long as she could remember, Ursa had always been alone. Her mother had died within days of her birth; her father, an important and decorated general, was expected to be everywhere but at a cradle. No brothers, no sisters—not even an odd cousin or grumpy grandfather. Just an empty house and servants who looked right past her. She leaned against the cherry blossom tree and sighed, watching the turtleducks. Ursa felt something biting at her hip and she jumped. She laughed—the turtleducks always knew they could get treats from her. The little turtleduck quacked at her and continued pecking. She reached around and petted it, digging into her pocket with her other hand.
"Fetch!" she shouted, grabbing hold of the spicy bread and tossing it away. Ursa laughed and watched every turtleduck in the pond go for it.
"But I won't always be alone," she said out loud. And she wouldn't be. School was starting, and for the first time in her life, she would be around children her own age, and have friends besides turtleducks. And one day, Ursa would have a family, friends—and never again have to be alone.
Prince Ozai was certain he hated everybody. His mother told him it was nonsense, a ridiculous idea that such a little boy could hate everyone, but like about everything else, he knew he was right. He hated his father, for holding all the Firebending he knew in his head and sharing none of it with him. He hated his mother, for being a weak woman who rarely got out of bed and insisting that he was "adorable." And he hated his servants, for thinking he was strange. But most of all, he hated his brother: his perfect, admired, older brother. Of course with his amazing Firebending and beautiful new wife, he would take the throne he didn't even want and start the perfect royal family. But it wouldn't always be like this, oh no, not while he was still breathing, still living. Every morning Ozai felt the sun rise and knew he could change things. One day he would wear the crown and lead the armies to victory, tear down the walls of Ba Sing Se and melt the Water Tribes off the face of the earth. Yes, one day it would all come true, it would be Ozai: alone.