Guest: Thank you :) I hope it continues to be so!
gemsofformenos: "Sometimes you have to reach your lowest point to find new hope and strength." Very, very true. If not pushed to extremes and to a point well beyond his moral line, he might not have had the guts to push forward. "He has dared to take Azula's bending but it seems he has destroyed her spirit with this action." Yeah, her fire, at that point, was all she had left and was the last bit of fight that she had. So he effectively smoldered her. "It was the last part which she was sure about it was really hers." Like you said, it was one final certainty but that had been taken too. Her one grounding factor has been stolen. But this is what pushes him to really go forward and free her. "I'm already looking forward to find out why Aang has become so broken and passive as well and why he doesn't seem to trust in his own strength" those answers should be coming up in the next few chapters. But as usually I'm not sure exactly when as I let the fics write themselves to a degree. And thanks again! You take care as well and (if I don't here from you for a while) happy holidays!
mordin154: I don't want to spoil anything so all I can really say here is just, trust me. I got a direction and it isn't just straight up nonsense even if it can seem like that sometimes xD I mean ngl 90% it's me just throwing words into a document and hoping that it sounds cool, but sometimes I have a plan lmao.
The world passes by in smudges of green and blue and brown. The rush of trees, mud, and sky as they fall behind. But mostly her world is grey, even the most vivid of the blues and greens and the purples of the odd flower are dulled. Her world is muted and she can't bring herself to care. She isn't sure if there is anything to gain by caring.
The wind is warm on her face. The sun through the canopy is warmer still. Warmer and loving as the rays caress her cheeks. But she is beyond feeling things like affection and hope. She knows that she should be thrilled to see the light of day and see so much of it. For a flicker she tries to muster up joy. That flicker passes as the leaves rustle.
She isn't sure how long he has been running for, she isn't sure how he isn't yet tired of carrying her but he finally comes to a stop. He sets her down, propping her up against a tree trunk before making his way to the water. The sound is quite lovely, a soft burbling with a plop every now and again. Sometimes a bird will add to the music of the jungle. Distantly, a small waterfall churns and stirs the lake. And every once and a while she will hear something small, likely a toad-squirrel, skitter through the brambles creating such a soft and alluring ambiance. She closes her eyes, she would like them to remain that way.
After a few minutes she hears him shuffling towards her, his hand falls on her shoulder and she opens one eye. He gives her a slight smile and brings a makeshift waterskin to her lips. She knows that he is using his shirt because she can taste him in the water, but can't muster up the ability to be disgusted by it.
"It's exciting to be outside again, isn't it?"
She stares at her palms. When she looks back up, she finds that his eyes have dimmed.
"It's really warm." He tries again.
Yet she feels no warmth at all. She is so, so cold, right from her very core. She presses her hand to her belly, hovers it over her fire chakra as though she can poke or prod it to life.
There is nothing left of it to rekindle and she has no matches to strike.
She closes her eyes again.
She thinks that they should keep running, keep putting distance between themselves and the facility. But then, what is the point? They have taken everything from her. They have accomplished what they had aspired to achieve; they have taken her essence. They have taken her.
They might as well have her body too.
.oOo.
Aang swallows as he observes the princess. He finds that there isn't much to observe at all; she has barely moved at all; only her hand slides down to her stomach. And he isn't even sure that it is anything more than a reflex. She isn't supporting her own weight, if the tree were to gather its roots and step to the side, she would flop right over and she wouldn't get back up. He thinks that the only thing that separates her from a corpse is the steady rise and fall of her chest.
He has an urge to take her into his arms and run his hands over her hair. He can't imagine that she would take it well. He shudders, as he comes to decide that she probably wouldn't react to it in any sort of way at all.
He knows what he has to do but he doesn't think that it will be enough anymore. He wanders back to the water's edge, sits down, and plants his feet in the crystalline water, feeling the sand and eroded pebbles between his toes. It smells like seaweed and banana tree. He too closes his eyes.
He shuts them and shuts the world out as best as he is able. The ebbing of the creek steals his regrets and, for the time, carries them downstream and away from him. The wind, as it whistles by his ears, blows his anxieties safely away. He savors the way it wisps like soft bison fur or threads of seaweed on his face. Basks in the way it rustles the small hairs on his arms, the strands that have grown on his head that he hasn't found the time to shave away. The rustle of the leaves drowns out the shouting voice of his anger.
He inhales deeply and exhales again. Inhales again, the world smells of life, of wildflowers and fresh fruit. It smells of hope, he thinks that hope has its own unique scent, though he isn't sure exactly what it is. Peace also has its own unique odor, never has he smelled it as strongly as he had in the days after Sozin's comet had come to pass.
But he smells hints of it now and he lets it carry him away into the Spirit World, he has questions to ask and answers to chase down. The babble of the water, palm fronds beating against palm fronds, and crabs scuttling over seastones carry his spirit off and away.
He might fret over Azula had the wind now gust his worries away.
At any rate, he can't imagine that she'd be taking off on her own..
.oOo.
Sleep comes easily to her. More easily than it has in months. Mayhaps it is because she so terribly yearns for it. Or because there really is nothing left for her to do. It takes her in arms that are much kinder and warmer than she has know before. It wraps her in gossamer blankets and carries her off. Off to a friendlier place.
A place where she still feels the faintest pulse, even if it is only the smallest fragment of an ember.
In her mind's eye, she watches it spark several times but it never quite ignites. In her mind's eye, her aura dances. It dances in bleak shades of grey and black and a dismal, forlorn shade of navy blue. A blue more akin to deep sunset than what her fire once was.
She watches her aura dim at the mention. It swirls and stirs until a face appears. It is her father and Sangyul at the same time; occupying the same space in the same moment in a way that can only be in a horrific nightmare.
"What are you now?" They ask. "Nothing at all." And then they step back. "You are mine." They insist. She thinks that she always was; considers that there was never truly an Azula to wipe away at all. That she was always some extension of her father. So maybe Sangyul hasn't done her any wrong at all. At least not in that regard. She casts a look back at the pile of ashes. They no longer smoke. She takes them in her hand, they have gone cold.
"You know what to do." Ozai says.
"Do as we did a few days ago." Sangyul coaxes.
It appears in her hand, she feels the weight of it's metal.
"Go on." They both say. "You've done it before."
And they are right, she has always bled for her father before. What difference would it make to bled for him again. If she bled for both of them. She raises the blade to the soft part of her neck and takes pause. Something in her, something foolish and naive, waits either of them-for her father mostly-to tell her to pick a different spot.
She looks up and her aura shifts, their face distorts for a moment before coming back into a more human alignment. Their eyes bare into her. She swallows, the knife gives a small nip. It is alarmingly not unpleasant. Suddenly it doesn't seem so hard to bleed for them again.
But she hears it, ever so faintly. So quietly, in fact, that she doesn't think she has heard it at all. But it comes again, a soft pop.
"Look at me, Azula." They say as she slightly turns her head. She looks back at them. They are furious now and she doesn't understand; she hasn't done anything this time.
That is it. She hasn't done anything. She presses the knife a bit harder to her neck. This time it stings.
The crackling draws her attention again, this time she lowers her knife to look.
"Azula." They growl slowly. Dangerously.
She takes a step towards the ruins of her fire. If it isn't aglow, then why does it crackle? She drops to her knees in front of it. And then she sees it. It is such a meager thing and it is only a pitiful orange but it flickers deep down in the fire pit.
The waves of her aura flare up, "pick the knife up, Azula." They demand of her, voices cool and slick as they weave in and out of one another. "Pick it up and do as you're told. Pick it up and…"
Another face appears in her aura. A white amid the black but she hates it all the same. She can't seem to close her eyes so she turns back to her fire pit.
"Look at me!" They roar over the fire. "Look at me. Now!"
She stands and steps into the fire. She'll let it burn her down to her bones before she turns around. She'll let it melt her eyes away before she spares them another look. And it does, oh Agni, it does.