I.
Azula
Dying, Azula rested on the damp forest ground. As the evening faded into night, glittering insects floated above, lighting the air only to fade.
For the past year, she tried to find her way out of the spirit woods. After she ran from Zuko, Mother, and the Avatar, she waited for a day and carefully retraced her steps, only to find the entire spirit woods had shifted. To her misfortune, logic wouldn't apply in her situation.
She supposed this fate was what Zuko, Uncle, and Mother wanted for her. Perhaps this was their plan all along. If so, it almost impressed her. With how he betrayed her and left her behind, used her as his pawn, she doubted Father cared she was missing.
To him, she was a failure like Zuko—therefore, useless. Disposable. He likely didn't ask after her.
Though Azula received years of training, as soon as she was able to walk, no one spoke to her about surviving in the wilds. Someone of her blood didn't need to know how to live without.
No matter. If Zuko and her buffoon uncle managed it, she could.
But indeed, she knew little of plants and food and hunting. To preserve her strength, she ate, and then she'd vomit, and she'd become weaker than before. She'd drink water from streams, and yet no amount of water sated her thirst. Her body thinned, her muscles softening. At night, only her internal fire kept her warm.
She lasted a year of constant sickness and exhaustion, but she always pushed forward. No matter the indignities this life forced on her, she couldn't surrender. She was Princess of Azula of the Fire Nation. Who conquered Ba Sing Se and the Earth Kingdom with no effort. Who would've burned the world, had she been given the chance. Had Father not tossed her aside.
Get up.
A chill raked down her spine. Azula's arm muscles ached when she sat up, and too soon bile rose in her throat. She'd refused to show it, but she still ached from when Zuko redirected her lightning and shot her straight in the chest. Turnabout was fair play.
In fact, she was impressed that, for a moment, Zuko went to her level of ruthlessness, even as he moaned about "saving" her. How rich, to plot with Mother to kill her and then, while smoke still furled off his fingers, to say he cared for her!
No matter what, you're still my sister, he said after he hurt her.
It took all her strength to stand and keep the bile down. When Azula looked around, she suppressed a sigh.
Wonderful.
As Azula had rested and stood, the forest completely changed.
The trees were now a deep green, but they no longer covered most of the sky, no longer made the entire land an eternal dusk. The sky was gray with the promise of rain. It never rained in the spirit woods. These treetops were pointed like blades, which reminded her of when she, Mai, and Ty Lee hunted the Avatar, and the Avatar's sky bison had broken some of the canopy.
She shook her head. Traitors. Traitors who despised her. Who didn't care if she lived or died.
She didn't need them. One day, she'd teach them what happened to those who crossed her. She'd reclaim the throne Zuko usurped, as the hero who would bring the Fire Nation back to its imperial glory. The people would cheer at the promise of restoration.
And Zuko, Uncle, and Mother—it didn't matter. She'd kill them, and she wouldn't care. Why should she? She'd laugh. She'd finally be free.
Mother. A hand on Azula's face, tears in her eyes. Sometimes, Azula woke up seeing that, and she'd blast what flames she could muster in her mother's direction. A split-second sight, like how Ty Lee once mentioned she'd see spider-wasps when she first woke up, but they weren't really there and dissolved in front of her eyes.
I'm sorry I didn't love you enough.
When Azula grabbed at her hair, another clump tumbled out.
Her mouth tasted sour. She'd worn the same clothes for a year, but she wouldn't let anyone make her feel small.
Yet, even Azula had to admit if she didn't find civilization, she'd die.
Die, and be forgotten, like everyone always wanted.
What drove her almost to despair was the silence. The complete lack of company. Azula would never admit to being so pathetic or lonely she needed others around, but she drew power from commanding, from discussing military tactics. Maybe she hadn't been the most adept at casual conversation, but she was at her best when she positioned herself above others.
Which required others. Others who wouldn't defect. Who would stay. Fear her. Love her. As if there was a difference. Others who didn't see her as a necessary burden, a weapon for their own means. As Father had.
Someone who wouldn't leave and deceive her, like Mother.
You think I'm a monster.
I love you, Azula. I do.
Not that it mattered now. No one lived in these wilds, except her. At least if he died and rotted, no one would see her humiliating state. No one would laugh at how the mighty had fallen.
In time, she'd be forgotten and replaced. After all, Mother had no trouble replacing her troublesome daughter with one who was docile and played with dolls like a good girl.
I love you, Azula. I do.
I want to help you!
Such weakness.
Pangs rippled from her stomach, and she clutched it as she went forward. Around her, some of the other trees budded pink and white flowers, and the air smelled sweet. Spring.
Vlad
After cleaning up his son's remains, Vlad Masters spent the next few weeks in complete solitude.
He sat by the hearth until the flames died, so he could watch them, and once they died, he continued to stare at the shadows. His throat was raw from screaming, and his entire body ached from Daniel's inexplicable new power slamming him against the lab wall.
Both his hands rested on the armrest, and in the darkness, he saw two green eyes. A hand reaching out to him. As much as he wanted to reach back, he froze in horror, remembering an old conversation.
Oh come on, Vladdie, whaddya say the three of us get a big house, you, me, and Mads? And we get a gaggle of kids to take care of. We could even teach them to hunt ghosts! What should we call them? If we had a girl, I think we should name her Jasmine.
I'd really prefer a cat, first. Then, we'll see.
Vlad was in that moment again, when he was prostrated over Daniel, the Daniel who wouldn't treat him with loathing and mockery. Those words echoed as Vlad's perfect son died in agony. Mouth agape, trying to form a word he couldn't know.
Father.
Vlad leaned over like a parent might lean over their newborn child, cradling them. But he couldn't hold his son, his perfect half-ghost son, because he already disintegrated before Vlad's eyes. Months of incubation, stress, worry, disappointment, sleeplessness. For nothing.
We'll see.
Every night, Vlad dreamed of it.
It was difficult to cry because that meant acknowledging he felt anything at all. Truly, he didn't. With a single blow, Daniel and the girl stole that from him. If they wanted a villain, if they wanted a monster, he'd give it to them, and monsters didn't weep.
For now, he was too tired to worry over that.
Vlad supposed those would return. The emotions. He wished they wouldn't. The best days at the hospital were when he felt nothing, when he accepted his lot and did everything by rote. The only good feelings he knew were apathy and hate. Apathy was an anesthetic, and hate gave him passion and motivation.
One morning, he'd wake up vengeful. None of this sluggish ennui. He'd realize he was being pathetic, closing himself off from the world like this. One day, one moment.
He wasn't mourning. How could he mourn? Grief meant he knew someone who was lost, but that someone never had the chance to be anything but an unstable amalgamation of another's cells in a life-sustaining chamber.
He didn't want anything. He didn't want food or sleep. Nor did he crave Maddie's company anymore. Nor Daniel's.
And yet he wanted, needed it all at once, which sickened him. Vlad gave them all chances to be with him. To love him. Even Jasmine, and they saw what he could offer and spat on it. Betrayed his trust. Forgave the fool who carelessly ruined Vlad's life and chose him, every time.
Of course they forgave Jack for Vlad's loneliness and despair, those hospital days he wished oblivion would claim him. When he couldn't eat, couldn't be in any position without a fever and immense pain bringing him to the verge of collapse.
They forgave Jack because they didn't live it. It wasn't their struggle to mourn and fight. They didn't have a body that tried to reject itself, where even his bones burned. Didn't come close to death and almost wished it'd come. They didn't know suffering. Daniel had his friends and sister.
Vlad's own friends abandoned him, content to leave him to languish as they lived their own bliss. Until that promised family no longer included him as anything more than auxiliary entertainment.
You really don't like the kids idea?
Let's focus on surviving college before we let you have any influence over a child, Jack. Or a living thing. Remember what happened to the houseplant?
Hey! How was I supposed to know dropping it from that height would break the vase. It was a pretty sturdy vase!
Vlad released a sharp breath through his nose. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning. He let his beard grow, and his hair grew oily and tangled at his shoulders.
If he were to destroy Daniel, he'd need his strength. "Destroy" wasn't only death. He wanted to humiliate and demoralize Daniel like the idiot boy had done to him. Only then would he end Daniel's existence, and he'd be free. He'd find his peace, finally.
Too long, he clung to the promise of love from those who despised him no matter the efforts he took to win them over. Because he lost all autonomy at the hospital, those seven lonely years, he worked to control what he could, to reclaim his lost years of no companionship.
If anyone would've reciprocated love the way he wished it, he would've given them the world. If they gave him a chance, he'd be a new person. Poor, rich. And yet, he was alone, always.
It was maddening. Why could everyone have love but him?
Because so long as another half-ghost was out there, the only kindred spirit in this existence, Vlad would crave that connection, that empathy.
As the room darkened from outside's clouds, Vlad stood and went to one of the front windows. He looked outside the crosshatched glass at a fading spring day, which grew pale and gray. Summer would come soon, and he supposed he'd return to Wisconsin. He set a hand on the burgundy curtains, which above had gold patterns and V insignia.
He expected little new, but he was startled when he saw a stranger collapsed in the yard.