Summary: Twenty years after the war, Azula is thriving in Caldera City as a respected professor and the world's primary authority on electricity. Turning over a new leaf has its benefits, and she can't imagine giving up her destiny as a famous alchemist for something as trifling as world domination.
Until Zuko tells her their father is dying.
Disclaimer: I neither own the rights to Avatar: The Last Airbender, nor to the extended Avatar universe, nor any of its associated media, derivatives or products. I do not profit from this work.
Trigger warnings: parental abuse of an adult child, physical violence, verbal abuse, choking, suicide attempt.
Azula wasn't exactly, well, happy about the loss of her bending. How could anyone be happy about something like that? It was like losing an arm; even if you didn't miss it after a while, it wasn't like its absence was a cause for celebration.
But after fifteen years, she had to admit, she was better off without it.
When all was said and done, having her bending taken from her by the Avatar had been the best thing that had ever happened to the princess. Since that day she had been permitted back into society-at-large (and had eventually learned to follow the rules of being nice to people, which it turned out were important for getting what you wanted in the post-Ozai world), and what was more, had finally been allowed to develop her non-firebending-related talents. Lightning, energy, power still held a deep fascination for her, so she had begun conducting studies, with her uncle's help, into possible ways to store and transfer that power. The result was the discovery of electricity, which had brought new economic prosperity to the struggling Fire Nation and revitalized public morale. Azula, in turn, had become the darling of her people and an esteemed professor in the Fire Nation's first university.
(Her, shall we say, indiscretions during the War had largely come to be viewed as the regrettable reality of life as a child soldier, something to be pitied rather than condemned. Azula didn't particularly agree with this assessment, but she knew it was to her benefit to keep her mouth shut and not talk about the War. If people wanted to interpret her silence as trauma, well, that was their business.)
She had a good life these days. Nice robes, good food, a room in the palace. Drilling her students into an elite team of alchemists five days a week, tea with Mai and Ty Lee on Saturday afternoons, occasionally tormenting Zuko when she felt like messing with someone. And her studies. World domination was so yesteryear; conquering nature, on the other hand, was a trial worthy of her talents. She threw herself into her studies relentlessly, and it seemed like every few years she and her students would present some new invention to the world, pulling it steadily into a new era. Any worries about her attempting a coup on poor little Zuzu had long since faded from the public consciousness. Not that Azula cared; being firelord looked like a hassle, and besides, she wouldn't have time for her work.
Not to mention she'd have to kill Zuko to do that, and Azula had learned, in her own way, not to take her friends for granted.
So, she was happy. Azula felt she had finally found her destiny and her place in this strange new world of peace and fair-play. She couldn't imagine ever being so foolish as to give all that up again.
Until the day her father came back into her life.
It was a sunny midmorning in late spring when the thirty-three year old professor heard a soft knock on her door, and then heard it open. She knew who it was without even looking; only two people in the world had the guts—or stupidity—to walk into her office without waiting for permission, and the Avatar was currently somewhere playing happy family in the South Pole.
"What do you want, Zuzu, I'm busy," the alchemist drawled, turning over a leaf of paper and squinting at her figures.
"I've received a notice from the prison. Father is dying."
Zuko saw Azula's back stiffen as she paused, and then she began writing again, quicker than before. "So what."
"So, I-I think we should go."
"Why?" She scribbled something down, eyes narrowed. "He'll just mock us. I've got better things to do than be insulted by a weak old man."
"That's why I think we should go. I don't think either of us are really...over...what he did to us."
"Over?" Azula set down her brush and stood up, glaring at her brother. "What's there to get over?"
"Azula–"
"He only turned us into child soldiers, banished our mother, burnt your face off and nearly got me killed by a bloodbender prodigy. If it weren't for him, the Fire Nation wouldn't be stuck in debt paying reparations to the Earth Kingdom. If it weren't for him, I might still have my bending!"
"Oh. You're being sarcastic."
"Obviously." She rolled her eyes and adjusted her glasses. "I don't have any reason to see him, Zuko. He can rot for all I care." She said this last with a sneer, turning back to her desk.
"Azula, I don't want to do this either. But I think we sort of have to. To get—I don't know, some closure."
"If you think father is going to give you closure," she blotted the page and scowled, "then you're even stupider than I thought."
Zuko was silent for a long while—long enough that even Azula felt a twinge of guilt. She sighed and straightened up, looking back over her shoulder. "Don't give me that kicked puppy look, Zuko, you knew what I meant. I just don't want him to hurt you any more than he already has."
"You need to see him, Azula." To her surprise, Zuko didn't sound hurt but thoughtful. "Maybe even more than I do."
"And why's that?"
"Because you'll never forgive yourself if you don't stick it to him one last time."
Zuko was the first to speak, in the waiting room of the Tower. "What do you think father will say when he sees us together?"
"How should I know? I haven't seen him in twenty years."
Zuko glanced at his sister out of the corner of his eye. Her arms were crossed as she leaned against the wall, one foot kicked in front of the other, but the faux-relaxed posture was belied by the way her eyes studiously avoided meeting his. His eyes traced the pinkish lines of scar-tissue that forked across her face like bolts of lightning; Azula had never told him or, as far as he knew, anyone else how she'd gotten the scars, but he could make an educated guess. "So much has changed," he agreed, turning forward again. "Even I haven't visited him in a long time…"
"What about uncle?"
"Father refuses to see him. Uncle doesn't want to push it."
"Tch." Azula rolled her eyes. "I'm not surprised.
"I wish he would. I think uncle's presence could do him some good…"
"Why are you always such a bleeding heart for the people who hurt you?" his sister demanded, turning her head to look at him. "It's going to get you killed one of these days, Zuko."
"I believe people can change. I did. You did."
"We had to change. To survive. I'll bet Father's locked up in a comfy cell, fed three square meals a day and given plenty of rest." In all the time that Ozai had been dwelling in the Caldera Tower prison, Azula had never asked Zuko about his condition, but her guess was right on the money. "I know you, Zuko, you haven't given him what he deserves. If he were going to change on his own, he would have done so a long time ago."
Zuko sighed, sensing that the conversation wasn't going anywhere. "Just—don't let him rile you up, okay?"
"Oh don't worry, Zuzu, I'll be on my best behavior."
That's what I'm worried about, he thought, but at that exact moment the door in front of them opened.
"This way, your Majesties."
The director of the prison led them deep into the bowels of the tower. The most secure prisoners were kept underground, to prevent breakouts—and suicides. Not that the Tower was as bad as it had been during the last firelord's reign—indeed by those standards, the new atmosphere was downright cheery—but a prison was still a prison, after all. Torch-flame flickered menacingly on the walls as they descended, stone step by stone step. Zuko knew the way well, but Azula cast suspicious glances at the curving walls. "You okay?" Zuko asked, concerned.
"Just taking a little look at where my new home would have been." She gave her brother a sarcastic smile. "The decór is excellent."
She was nervous, Zuko surmised. Azula often joked when she was nervous; it was one of the few psychologically normal things about her.
The director stopped at a door, pausing the royal siblings' conversation. "He's through here, your Majesties."
"Lead on," Azula said dryly. The director cast her an uncertain glance, and Zuko nodded.
Behind the door lay a dim hallway. There was no natural light here, but the torches burned brightly inside the individual cells, casting alternating patches of light and shadow. The cells were not exactly luxurious, but each had a decent bed with a comfortable mattress, a chamber pot, a pail of water and even a small shelf for a few personal effects, including several books. These were the cells for long-term, very dangerous prisoners. Azula gave her brother a curious look.
"Little more dour than I expected from you, brother."
"They get exercise above-ground. And there's a library for recreation." Ah. That explained the books on the shelves. Still, Zuko's response seemed distant. He was probably feeling guilty about chaining their father up down here in his old age, Azula thought, but for her part she felt Zuko had done the smart thing. Ozai was a menace—a real menace, even without his bending. The people of the Fire Nation liked Zuko, and feared Azula.
But the people had worshipped Ozai.
Near the end of the row the director slowed to a stop, and Zuko stopped with him. Azula followed their lead. The cell in front of them was dark, only half-lit by red torchlight from the hall. Azula frowned, confused, until she saw a torch with a charred end near the cell doors. Had Ozai put it out himself? How odd.
She had little time to think on that before a hoarse voice—hoarse, but horribly familiar—emanated from within the depths of the dark cell. "Zuko."
A chill ran down both siblings' spines. No matter how old they got, their father still held a…special place in their hearts. And nightmares.
"It's been some time since you've come to pester me." The statement was followed by a hoarse, wet cough. Zuko winced. Azula didn't. "To what do I owe the— well, I wouldn't call it a pleasure."
"I heard you're sick."
There was a dry half-chuckle, and as their eyes adjusted they could see just the barest twin pinpricks of light in the cell—two eyes reflecting the torchlight. "Your little spies are faithful. At least you learned something from my guidance."
Zuko ignored this, sitting down into a comfortable kneeling position. Azula followed his lead. Apparently they were going to be here for a while. "The guards tell me you haven't been eating. You need food, and rest."
"No. I am ready to die. I have been ready for a long, long time." Another wet cough. "I hear things, Zuko, even here. About all the changes you've made to our great nation. Is it true you've started paying reparations to the Earth Kingdom?"
"Your information is outdated. That's been going on for many years now."
"I had hoped it wasn't true. This is what happens when weakness leads a nation!" Zuko bit his tongue, knowing it was the last outburst of an angry and dying man. "And you've reduced your sister to—what, some sort of glorified mechanic? How pathetic."
"She's not a mechanic," Zuko said hotly. "She's–"
"What I am is none of your concern," Azula cut in coolly, to Zuko's surprise, but he followed her lead and shifted topics.
"You say you're ready for death. Why?"
"Why? What do I have to live for? My legacy is dead," Ozai sneered, "and my nation is dying with it. I'd rather not be around for the post-mortem."
"The Fire Nation is strong. We've made allies of the rest of the world, and our people are happy and prosperous. I had hoped that would give you some comfort, but I see now that I was mistaken."
"Boy, you have never known the meaning of strength. But enough of this. You're not the one I wanted to talk to." In the darkness they saw the shadows shift, and the twin reflections from the gleaming torch flickered to the younger sibling. "My Azula. How you've grown." Azula's eyes narrowed. "Last I saw you, you were only a child. Why haven't you come to visit me in all this time?"
"Children grow up, father. Eventually they stop needing their parents," she sneered. "If it makes you feel better, I haven't gone to see mummy in years either." Zuko cast a side-eye at his sister, but kept quiet.
"Oh? Is that the real reason?" There was yet more shifting in the cell, and Zuko saw his sister go stiff as the figure came into view.
Ozai was no longer the strong man he had once been. His hair and beard had long since turned white, and his face had paled with the lack of sunlight. If Zuko was right that the prisoners got exercise, he certainly hadn't been taking advantage of it; even for an old man, his arms and legs were disturbingly thin. Most unnerving of all were his eyes: they were blinking, mole-like and red-rimmed, like a creature that had refused to look at the sun for many years. Yet as the siblings looked, the irises still flashed gold.
"Or is it that you've been ashamed to see me?" the old man said coldly, looking down at his daughter. Azula's jaw clenched, but her eyes were wider than usual. She wasn't mad, Zuko realized—she was intimidated. "I've heard rumors, daughter. Slanderous rumors. But I know they can't be true. No daughter of mine would ever give up her bending to the Avatar." Azula held his gaze for a moment, and then her eyes flickered downwards and to the side in shame.
Quick as a bolt of lightning, Ozai's hand shot through the grate and seized his daughter by the neck.
"Father!" Zuko was immediately on his feet, but Ozai ignored him as Azula wheezed for air.
"Look at that pretty face," he hissed; the princess choked and struggled to pull away, but the deceptively weak man's grip was like iron. "Just like your mother's. But it hides something, doesn't it, Azula?!"
"Father, let her go!"
"That scar tells me everything I need to know. You should be ashamed!" He slammed Azula's face against the grate as she gasped for air, eyes bugging, the lightning-bolt scars standing out white as her face turned purple. "You're a disgrace! A disgrace to me, and to your nation!"
"That's enough!" The arch of flame blazed in front of Ozai's eyes, and as he jolted backwards Azula wrenched herself free, collapsing back onto the floor. "Don't you ever touch her again!" The princess massaged her throat, heaving for air. "Azua– Azula." A shadow fell over the light and she looked up; Zuko was hovering over her in concern. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," she rasped, getting to her knees. She shot an evil look into the cell, where Ozai, his burst of energy apparently spent, had retreated to a safe distance—back into the shadows. "He's too weak to do any real damage." Zuko wasn't sure he believed her; already bruises in the shape of fingerprints were forming around her neck.
"Do you want to go back?" She shot him a glare that clearly said, how dare you make me look weak in front of him! and Zuko quickly added, "I'm sorry, I thought seeing you would help him. I shouldn't have taken you away from your projects for this."
"I told you it would be a waste of my time," Azula scoffed, standing up. "You can come back if you want, Zuko, but I have better things to do than babysit a sick old man." Her words were confident, but by her refusal to look back at the cell Zuko could tell she was rattled.
"Director, show us out."
"Yes, Firelord Zuko."
As they turned to go, Ozai's voice called out from behind them: "A firelord is nothing without our bending. If you had any honor, you would have ended yourself long ago."
Azula felt Zuko tense as she turned back. "Big talk, coming from you," she retorted coldly, but a sickly laugh echoed back at her from the shadows.
"You think I haven't tried? Or haven't you noticed all the guards around here?" Azula said nothing. Ozai's wheezing sigh exhaled in the silence. "I'd have killed myself long ago, if they'd given me the chance."
"That's enough," Zuko said sharply. "I'll visit you again next week, father. Azula, come on."
But the woman felt rooted to the ground. Out of the darkness of the cell, she saw two faint gleams of light peering back at her—two hazel-golden eyes, catching the torchlight.
"I had such hopes for you, daughter. And look how you've disappointed me."
Zuko tugged on her arm. Wordlessly, Azula let herself be pulled away.
Once they were above-ground, both siblings felt they could breathe a little easier. "I'm sorry," Zuko insisted as they got into the palanquin that would take them back into the city center. "I swear, he's never done anything like that before."
"Well, he always did love me best," Azula sneered. Zuko noticed she was rubbing her neck a lot. "Your betrayal probably hurt less."
"Do you want to come back with me to the palace? We can have lunch together, or tea–"
"I'm fine, Zuko, I don't need a babysitter."
"I really don't think–"
"What part of I don't want your company are you not understanding!"
Zuko paused, and Azula prepared herself for a scolding before he spoke up. "…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed."
Oh. "…No, you shouldn't have."
"I'll leave you alone. But if you want company, you know where to find me."
She nodded, looking distracted, and they rode in silence the rest of the way to the university. As she was escorted out of the palanquin, Zuko added: "Drink some tea. It'll help."
"Tch. Stop worrying about me, Zuko. I'm not as soft-skinned as you." And with that she was gone. Zuko watched her walk up the university steps and past the gate, shrugging off the guards who tried to escort her and leaving them far behind as she strode again.
"Firelord Zuko? Shall we proceed?"
She's not okay. But when Azula didn't want help, it was better to clear the area. He turned to face forward. "Yeah. Go ahead."
As the palanquin passed out of sight behind her, Azula hurried into the main courtyard of the university and headed straight for the main building. Her office was on the third floor, a corner room with perfect natural light for her studies. It was one of the perks of being a founding member, and it also meant that nobody bothered her except her dissertation students. As she reached the third floor, the secretary stood deferentially, but Azula brushed past her.
"Cancel my meetings, Phueng, and let it be known I'm not to be disturbed."
"But Princess–"
Azula didn't stay behind long enough to hear the rest of the sentence. She slammed the door of her office behind her and then stood in the silence, a sense of relief settling over her.
Her office was, in Azula's opinion, one of the best places in Caldera City. The floor was made of gleaming teakwood and layered with soft rugs, her cherry wood writing desk set in the center of the room with an ever-stocked stack of fresh white paper. A small library of favorite books and scrolls stood directly beside the door. Frosted glass windows with lovely lattice work around the edges let in warm sunlight on two walls, while tables of alchemy instruments lined the third. Here she could be alone, away from the constant scrutiny of society. Here she didn't have to worry about the rules or hurting other people's feelings. Here she could study and lose herself in the world of the elements, oblivious to her failures, oblivious to her imperfections. Here she felt at home.
She sat down at the writing desk and threw herself immediately into her calculations, forgetting for a blissful hour everything that had happened in the prison. It was only when there was a knock at her door that she was yanked back into reality.
"I told you I was not to be disturbed!"
"I'm sorry, Princess–" It was Phueng's voice on the other side of the wood, "–but the Lady Consort and Madame Ty Lee are wondering if you'll be coming to tea today…?"
"I… no. Tell them I was detained." The secretary's footsteps faded away. Once she was gone, Azula slowly stood and went to the washroom attached to her office. She felt a little calmer now than she had before. In the afternoon light from the window she eyed the bruises blooming over her neck with something like shame.
Father had never treated her like that before. Zuko, yes. But never Azula.
She raised her hand and opened it just before her sternum, watching her palm in the mirror. She tried to remember how it had felt to will the flame into existence, but the memory felt foreign to her, beyond her grasp. Nothing happened, and she let the hand fall.
You should be ashamed.
She turned away and went back to her desk. So, father hated her, did he? Well, then that was fine. She hated him too. Crying about it wasn't going to do any good. She picked up her brush again…and stared down at the paper, motionless.
You're a disgrace.
She scoffed and wrote down a few characters. A disgrace? Her? She was the premier alchemist of the Royal Caldera University; she'd made the greatest discovery in a century at the green age of twenty-three, and had been pioneering modern alchemy ever since. Her work was used worldwide, from the mechanists of the Northern Air Temple to the scholars of Ba Sing Se down and the rebuilders of the Southern Water Tribe. What idiot could ever think of her as a disgrace?
To your father, and to your nation.
Her hand swept the inkwell off the desk before she knew what she was doing.
Azula found herself gripping the edge of the desk, breathing hard, rage burning her insides. "I am not a disgrace. You are a disgrace! You are the embarrassment of the fire nation!" Her words echoed off the opposite wall. Fury was consuming her; if she had been a firebender, she would have charred the desk to ashes. If she had been a firebender, she would have strode right into the tower and reduced that miserable old husk to a bed of cinders! If she were a firebender–!
But Princess Azula wasn't a firebender.
Not anymore.
The bruises got worse over the afternoon, and her throat started to ache. What had uncle said was good for a sore throat? She called for a servant to bring some lemon and ginger tea. As the door closed, she lifted the teapot and poured a helping of the golden tea into the cup, and then set the pot down, watching the steam rise in the tangerine light.
"Uncle, I want to ask you something."
Iroh looked up from where he'd been halfway through a bowl of breakfast rice, his face bearing an expression of surprise. His niece generally didn't speak to him during breakfast—or at all, really, if she could help it—but things had slowly been changing, for both of them. He set the bowl of rice down. "Yes? What is it, Azula?"
"I have a theory. I want you to help me confirm it."
"A theory?"
The princess rolled her eyes. "Believe me, I wouldn't be asking you for help if I had another choice, but if Zuko found out about it from someone other than you he'd probably have me executed. And besides, I…" She stopped short and then glanced away. "...Your firebending skills are formidable, much as it pains me to admit it." It had been better than saying the truth outright: that she needed a firebender, any firebender, to help her.
If her uncle noticed, he didn't comment. "What has so intrigued you, niece?"
"The teapot." Both of them turned their heads to look at it, Iroh with interest, Azula with calculation. "The ceramic gets hot when you firebend underneath it."
"Of course…?"
"Why?"
Iroh looked surprised. "Firebending is about manipulating forms of energy; when we firebend, we take some of the chi from within ourselves, or the world around us, and we transform it into heat."
"And then what happens?" Azula pressed. "Fire comes from living things, but a teapot isn't like a tree or a person; it has no chi. So why does it stay hot?"
"Hm." Her uncle stroked his beard. "I'm not sure. But lightning is not alive either, and when it strikes the sea or the earth, the heat and light from it goes into the other elements."
"So if you put heat into the teapot, can you take the heat out of it, too?"
"I'm not sure. I've never tried." He caught her look and realized: "Ah, and that is what you want me to do?"
"Obviously." She bit her tongue at his raised eyebrows and grumbled: "Yes, Uncle. Please."
Iroh held his hand over the teapot and closed his eyes. A moment later, as he rotated his palm upwards, a blaze of fire and rippling heat was pulled out of the teapot and sat hovering in his hands. Azula's eyes went wide, and Iroh looked a little surprised, before laughing. "Well, what do you know! Very clever of you, Azula; we'll have to remember that!"
Ignoring this, the princess reached out and touched the teapot, and then opened the top. The tea inside was frozen solid—exactly as she'd predicted.
That moment had been the key. If fire could be stored inside a ceramic teapot, perhaps it could be stored in other non-living things as well. It had taken years of experimentation with various materials, but eventually she had perfected the first rudimentary battery, and from there the study of electricity had exploded in popularity.
With her team of dedicated alchemists, electric light-bulbs and cross-ocean telegraphs had replaced lanterns and carrier-falcons. One of her proudest moments had been watching, with bated breath, as her brother had tapped out his first message to the Southern Water Tribe. A few minutes later, the receptor began to move of its own accord, registering the dots and dashes that contained Governor Sokka's message in return. The whole process, originally a weeks-long task, had taken less than ten minutes.
As bottles of rice-wine had been uncorked and cheers erupted through the room, Azula had merely sat back with a smug smile and watched. The revolutionary machine had been designed by two of her star pupils, and under her own direction. She had accepted Zuko's toast with a proud toss of her hair and a condescending smirk, but had refrained from saying anything herself. She hadn't needed to. Everyone in the room knew that the world had just jumped into the future, with all the speed of a lightning flash.
None of that would have happened, if you hadn't lost your bending. Back in the present moment, the princess stared down at the cooling teacup in her hand. If you'd kept it, you'd still be on the run somewhere, hiding out from Zuko and the Avatar. No—that was far too generous a prediction. If she'd kept her bending, Azula would probably have died. Back in her…less healthy days, her increasing insanity and desperation had led to a complete loss of control over her own bending, a phenomenon which had nearly killed her on several occasions. She subconsciously raised a hand to trace the lightning-burst scars across her face. But I'm alive. Alive, wealthy, esteemed by her people and famous across the world. She had everything she could possibly want.
So why had she let her weak, pathetic father make her feel so…small?
The sky outside the tall windows of her university office was turning pink as the sun began to sink towards the horizon, casting long beams of magenta light through the glass and over the teacup in her hands. A more introspective person than Azula might have come to a healthier conclusion—something about childhood trauma and letting go of the past, of finding peace and moving on from those who had hurt her. But Azula was not very introspective. She didn't know why she felt so ashamed; all she knew was that her father had challenged her, and she had lost. Azula did not like losing. It made her feel pathetic. It made her feel like lashing out.
Yet she was, at least, a little healthier than she had been in her childhood. After all, lashing out wouldn't do anything to restore her honor, and it wasn't anyone else's fault that her father had cheated her and humiliated her. Yes, he had cheated, that was all: he had sprung the battle on her, challenged her to a fight without spelling out the terms. Well, Azula wouldn't fall for it again. This time she would come prepared.
The fault was nobody but Ozai's. And it was Ozai that she was going to punish, in the best way she knew how.
She went to the door and opened it. "Phueng!"
The secretary scrambled to stand up from her desk and hurry over, bowing at the office door. "Yes, Princess?"
"Have this delivered to the Tower." Phueng looked surprised as the princess dropped one of her family tokens into her hand. "Tell them Princess Azula wants her father brought to the University."
"But, princess, I'm not sure the Fire Lord would allow–"
"Did I ask for your opinion? I'll handle Zuko; just see that it's done." Phueng bowed and turned to leave, and Azula added suddenly: "Tell them to make sure he's blindfolded!"
"Yes, Princess." She could hear the nervousness in Phueng's voice, but the girl knew her place, and left without asking for an explanation.
With her secretary gone, Azula shut the door again, pausing for a moment, staring at her hand on the brass handle. Then she turned abruptly and stalked to her book-case.
She opened the cabinet's teakwood doors and ran her finger along the books and scrolls, eventually pausing on a scroll slightly larger than the rest. She took it out and unfurled it. Rolled within the scroll was a second, smaller scroll, inscribed with characters and numbers in old brush-strokes. In the center of the page was a simple diagram of something vaguely spherical, with characters and arrows around it. The drawing was not of a design, but of a concept—a rough application of her work to a particular goal. Energy stored, energy released.
An eerie feeling prickling down Azula's spine as the sunset behind her painted the scroll in ever-deepening shades of red. She hadn't opened it in nearly two years, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to destroy it, either. If Zuko had known she still had it, she would have been in hot water… but peering over the diagram sketched out in brush-script on the page, she felt a hunger deep in her bones. She wasn't even sure if the idea would work, let alone how to build something of that…magnitude, but if it were possible…
If it were possible, then whoever possessed the weapon whose preliminary sketch she held in her hands would be the most powerful nation in the world. War would be an obsolete term. With a weapon this powerful, there would be only destruction—and surrender.
Zuko had forbidden her from doing further research into the idea, and to her own surprise, Azula had found herself agreeing with him. She'd had a happy life in Caldera City. She hadn't wanted to mess it up.
She rolled up the smaller scroll separately and tucked it into a secure pocket of her alchemist's robes, and then replaced the larger decoy text back on the shelf. Ten minutes later she found herself waiting in the top room of the tallest tower on the campus. The university was one of the newer buildings in the city and built in the new architectural styles, with external gallery hallways behind the clean white arches of the walls and even sharper-sloped red-tile roofs, but had maintained the traditional courtyard design—and the royal family's particular penchant for tall and imposing (and easily defended) structures in the center of their properties. This was Azula's favorite place on the campus; from here she could see the whole city, from the palace down to the lake.
As a cold evening wind blew through the arches she felt goosebumps rise on her arms, but didn't shiver. She approached the railing and looked out to see Fire Nation peasants traversing the roads and houses and shops beginning to light up with a steady, golden light. Power lines crisscrossed above the streets. In the distance the sun had sunk below the rim of the caldera and the sky was turning deep purple.
She hadn't received a scolding message from Zuko yet, who had doubtless been informed of her order, which meant that he approved of whatever he thought she had in mind. That was stupid of him. Zuko was, in Azula's opinion, perpetually too trusting of people for his own good. Then again, she thought that about most people.
"A firelord is nothing without our bending. If you had any honor, you would have ended yourself long ago."
Another, colder wind swirled through the tower, pulling at her hair, and she clenched the railing tightly, gritting her teeth. Who cared what he thought! She was successful, she was happy! She finally had her destiny! And what was Ozai? A weak, self-pitying old man rotting away in a prison cell, that was what!
As she brooded over the city, the purple deepened in the sky and more golden lights began to flicker out of the windows far below her. Azula had never been scared of heights, and while it allowed her more mobility in fights it also had caused her to be reckless on more than one occasion.
"Azula, stop!"
She whirled around, her feet pivoting precariously on the stone parapet. "Uncle?!"
Iroh sprinted towards her from where he'd appeared out of the wall's gatehouse. Azula jumped back instinctively, not for a second losing her footing on the parapet, but Iroh stopped immediately out of caution. "Azula, please, this isn't the way. Come back with me, we can talk this through."
"Uncle. Of course you're here to ruin everything." She laughed at the stupidity of it all, turning back to the view. The expanse of the middle ring stretched out before her, far below. "How did you find me, anyway?"
"The Dai Li told me where you were." She could hear the forced calm in his voice, and enjoyed hearing it jump as she carelessly kicked a foot out over the edge. "I feared I wouldn't reach you in time!"
"If the Dai Li didn't stop me, then you should have followed their example."
"Azula–"
"No, Uncle!" Her voice rose to a sudden, sharp pitch. "You're not going to ruin this for me!"
"Please. Let's talk about this," Iroh begged. She ignored him, studying the rooftops immediately below her. They looked pretty sturdy. "Why are you doing this?"
"Why? What do you mean, why?!" She cast a scathing look over her shoulder; Iroh looked at a loss for words, terror written across his old face. "Zuko's firelord, and what am I?! A bending-less tea waitress in a city that once feared me!"
"Azula–"
"I see the way your precious customers look at me! I should have ruled them, but instead I have to bow and scrape and bring them their food like a servant! But do you know what galls the worst?!" In the distance, a lighted window dimmed and went dark. "Even if Zuko were dead, I still wouldn't be eligible for the throne, not now. Without my bending I'm worthless! My whole life is a joke!"
"That's not true!"
"Shut up! You don't understand. If I can't be a firebender—then there's no point in being anything at all!"
She took a step forward, and toppled—
Backwards.
The hand which had caught her wrist yanked her back, further away from the wall, while Azula screamed and fought, but it was no use. "Let go of me, Uncle! LET ME GO!"
"No! I won't let go, Azula! I won't let you hurt yourself any more than you already have!" She tried to pull away, tried to hit him, even tried (uselessly) to firebend at him, but nothing she did had any effect. Her uncle restrained her until she gave up, panting for air.
"What is the MATTER with you!" she snarled at him, finally looking up at the old man's face. They'd ended up sitting on the ground in something of a ridiculous Kyoshi-warrior lock, and she wondered briefly where he'd learned it before deciding she didn't care. "Nobody will blame you! Tell Zuko you couldn't stop me; it's not like he'll question you!"
"You think I care what your brother thinks about this? I just saw you about to throw yourself off a wall!"
"So what! This is your chance to get rid of me; why do you care!"
"Get rid of you? Is that what you think I want?" She seethed again and pulled on her arms, but the lock was too tight. "Azula, I don't want to get rid of you, I love you!"
"Stop saying that! You don't love me, you never loved me! My own mother thought I was a monster!"
"Am I Ursa? Azula, if I didn't love you, why would I be trying to stop you!"
That gave her some pause. It had a sort of logic to it. Everyone wanted to get rid of Azula, and now they had their chance.
But Uncle was holding her back.
Apparently feeling her relax a little, Iroh cautiously let go. Azula yanked her arms free and rubbed her shoulder, shooting him a resentful look. "You're lying to me," she decided bitterly. "Nobody loves me, least of all you. What good am I to you?"
"You're good company. The shop has been lonely since your brother left, and I enjoy our conversations." Azula scoffed. "And you're my niece. Why should you have to do anything to make me love you?"
The question didn't make sense to Azula. Years later, it still wouldn't completely compute. Surely everyone cared about other people because they made them happy, right? But she gave no happiness to anyone. Nobody liked her. Over the last four years, people had made that very, very clear.
But Uncle said he loved her. And Uncle wasn't letting her go away.
"But I'm not a firebender anymore," she said slowly. "Not like you, and Zuko…and father…"
"Who cares! Azula, you are not your bending! Who you are inside—that is who you are, your true identity."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm not entirely sure. That is for you to find out." She felt a hand settle on her shoulder, and looked up to see her uncle's eyes swimming with tears. "Please. Come back with me to the apartment. I want to help you."
Azula stared back at him, bewildered, heart still pounding from the fight and her near-fatal attempt. A cold wind blew over the rampart, and she shivered, looking out over the edge of the wall. The city splayed out in front of her in a dizzying drop. It suddenly seemed like a much further way to fall. She looked back at her uncle.
And though she had no idea why, she started to bawl like a child.
For some reason, Uncle had never told anyone about that day, for which Azula felt relieved. She hated feeling humiliated—but it wasn't as bad around uncle, who always seemed to forget your most embarrassing moments the second they were over. You are not your bending. She hadn't believed him at first, but as she'd slowly started to get used to living at the Jasmine Dragon, she had begun to feel less ashamed of her new life. Then the day had come where she had asked her uncle to bend fire out of a teapot, and the spark she hadn't felt since the conquest of Ba Sing Se came back.
You are not your bending.
The trapdoor up into the tower suddenly opened behind her, and she turned. Two guards were leading someone up into the tower. Azula waited coolly as she watched her father, blindfolded as requested, ascend into view. Once the trap door was shut, she nodded to the guards. "Let him go, but stand at attention."
They did so, retreating to the other side of the square tower. As soon as they let go of his arms, Ozai slumped significantly, looking weakened. Azula walked over, taking her time. Her father waited, hands cuffed in front of him. but lip curled.
Azula undid the blindfold. "Hello, father."
The red-rimmed eyes remained staring at the ground for a moment, and then slowly slid up to her, looking resentful. "Where's Zuko?"
"Not here. I called for you myself."
"Why?"
She adopted a look of innocent surprise. "Why, father. Don't you want to see where your darling daughter works?" Ozai glared at her. "She's all grown up now. Aren't you proud?"
"How could I ever be proud of my children when they have betrayed me so often, and so thoroughly?"
That stung, but Azula marshalled her patience and ignored it. "Let me show you what I've been working on." She grabbed his arm roughly and yanked him forward to the edge of the tower.
The sun had finally set, and the sky over the city was a peacock blue. Ozai peered out, apparently in spite of himself. "I don't understand. What is it you wanted me to see?"
"Look a little closer," Azula encouraged. "Surely some things have changed? It's been twenty years, after all."
"The city has grown…the building we're in now wasn't here before, and there's another large building near the lake. And what are those wires for?" He frowned. "The street lamps; they glow so strangely. There's no fire in them?"
"It's called electricity. That 'large building' you see is our power plant." Her eyes gleamed proudly as she looked fondly on her greatest creation. In the corner of her eye she could see her father's bewildered expression. "Lightning-benders go there every day and store their energy in large machines, and then that energy is delivered after sundown by the wires to the streetlamps. It's even in some wealthier households now."
"Incredible…"
"Yes, isn't it?"
Ozai looked at her in shock. "You– you did this?"
"Of course. Who else could?" He stood in stupefied shock as she turned to face him. "But that's not all. I wanted to show you something…else."
She retrieved the scroll from inside her alchemist's robes and handed it to him. "How am I supposed to read this?" Ozai complained, but Azula pulled a small device out of her pocket—a small metal box which, when clicked, ignited a small flame. It was one of her personal inventions, useful around the lab when matches were too unreliable and tinderboxes too cumbersome. She held it over the paper as her father read the scroll, his eyes slowly going wider.
"Azula…what is this…?"
"A weapon. The greatest weapon the world." At his stunned silence, she continued smugly: "Imagine the power of a thousand firebenders, stored into one explosive device." Her father looked up in shock. "With that sort of power, the Fire Nation could level cities in a single instant. The walls of Ba Sing Se and Omashu would be meaningless; the Northern Water Tribe would be nothing more than a smoking snowfield! Nobody would stand a chance against the might of the Fire Nation ever again! Of course," she added, a little melancholy, "it's just a concept. I have no idea how to actually build it."
"But you are young!" Ozai rasped. "You have time! With enough resource–"
"Yes, with enough time and resources we could start the war again—and win it. Oh, I've thought about it. Talked to Zuko about it, too."
"What?!"
"Of course, he's not interested."
"Daughter, this is your chance!" To her surprise, and pleasure, Ozai seemed enthralled by the design he held in his hands. "Your brother is weak; I have seen how he trusts you! You could end his reign and restore the honor of the Fire Nation!"
"I'm so glad you approve of it, Father." She took the scroll and watched his hungry face for a moment, savoring it. Was there pride in those old, reddened eyes? Was he glad to have his little prodigy back? She smiled winningly at him, like she must have done a thousand times as a child.
Then she held the fire-starter up to eye-level, and lit the flame.
Ozai's gluttonous expression melted from his face in the glowing light. As he watched, Azula lit the bottom of the scroll on fire. "What are you doing?!" The flames licked up the sides of the scroll, the layers of paper turning brown and flaking off in embers. "Stop it! Azula! Stop that this instant, I command you!"
Azula dropped the burning scraps to the floor and stepped over them, coming almost eye-to-eye with the crippled man. "Zuko might pity you, father, but you and I both know I'm not such a bleeding heart. I brought you up here today for one reason:" She grabbed his chin and tilted it up sharply, sneering down at him. Ozai's old eyes, red-rimmed with age, peered back at her in confusion. "I wanted you to know that I am not your little soldier anymore."
"What are you–"
"You wanted me to conquer Ba Sing Se. Well, I will not. You wanted me to lead our country into a global war; I will not. The Fire Nation will dwell in the peace and prosperity that I have given them." She jerked his chin up higher, so that Ozai let out a pained gasp. "Do you understand? I gave them light in their darkness. I gave them noise in their silence. Everything they have is because of me! I will be beloved and remembered as the greatest alchemist in Fire Nation history! And you…"
She released him, and Ozai felt a chill run along his spine at the cold and unruly fire that still burned in his daughter's eyes.
"You, father, will be hated, and forgotten."
Silence reigned over the tower for a long moment as Azula let that sink in, and then nodded to the guards, turning back to the skyline. "Take him back to the prison."
"No," Ozai rasped suddenly. "Wait– Azula–!"
"Goodbye, father. I don't think we'll be meeting again."
"Azula!" The guards were dragging him away now. "Azula! You will listen to me! I am your father! AZULA!"
The door slammed shut behind her, and the princess was left looking over the city. Her city. With a smug smile she peered down upon the little streets and houses, all lighting up yellow as darkness fell over the world. Their little lights reflected on the water. She felt strangely maternal about it: the little ant-like figures, moving about their lives, and she herself standing watch over it all.
Azula stretched, cast a last imperious glance over the skyline, and strode back towards the doors down into the university, the wind in her hair and a warm feeling like fire in her chest. Who cared what Ozai thought? Azula was something of a parent herself now, after all. And her children loved her.
He can die jealous, she thought spitefully, and found herself grinning all the way home.
To her surprise, Zuko was waiting for her there. As she approached the stairs up into the palace residences she stopped, surprised. Her brother was sitting on the steps; he stood up suddenly when he saw her, his silhouette framed by the light from the doorway behind him.
"I-I know you said you didn't want company, but I haven't had dinner, so…" He gestured awkwardly behind him. Azula crossed her arms, eyebrows raised.
"What about Mai?"
Zuko shook his head. "I figured you weren't looking for an audience." He watched as his sister climbed the steps, nearly passing him before she spoke:
"Ugh, you're such a dork, Zuzu. Come on."
He ducked his head to hide his smile and followed after her into the house. As they walked, he saw her hesitate, and then say nonchalantly: "It's too hot in here. Let's eat in the garden."
He blinked in surprise, and then smiled openly. "That sounds like a great idea."
As dinner turned into drinking and drinking into tea, the royal siblings laughed and talked freely as they had never been able to during their childhoods. Their conversation drifted like smoke upwards as the sky melted to indigo and then to black, stars popping out and forming galaxies and constellations—glittering like nothing so much as a million electric lights.