And so the Avatar's party gained another member, the Warrior-Sage Suki. My niece would chase the mystery of her incarnation to the Southern Air Temple, high in the Patola Mountains. It was a place of great sorrow, once the heart of an entire people and a way of life that is now gone. For us, the living, must keep the memory of the Air Nomads alive. And the Avatar has laid out the Iron Law: Never forget. Never again.
They'd made landfall on the central island of the Patola Archipelago that morning, after a long and uneventful sailing trip. After beaching the sailboat, the four of them moved inland, making slow progress in the mountainous terrain. Just before dusk, with Sokka's belly starting to grumble audibly, Azula relented and they made camp for the night.
Suki dragged Sokka along with her to gather water and forage, leaving Azula and Katara alone to tend to meal preparations. Azula watched the two leave out of the corner of her eye as she split kindling with a machete. Each successive strike fell with more force.
"Easy there, Azula," Katara scolded.
"I know what I'm doing, I don't need to be mothered," Azula said, returning her focus to her work.
"Jeesh, what's gotten into you? You've been prickly all day."
"I'm always 'prickly', you should know that by now."
"No, this is different. I'm used to your normal level of prickly." Katara settled in hip-to-hip with Azula. "That should be plenty, let's take a break."
In her outstretched hand, Katara offered a wedge of pemmican. Mouth watering, Azula accepted it. The once strange foods of the South Pole were becoming familiar to Azula, and in particular she enjoyed the rich melange of sweet and savory flavors from pemmican. Giving a satisfied humm as she chewed, Azula relaxed an inch.
As Azula chewed, she thought over how to approach what was bothering her in a way that wouldn't start an immediate fight. It was a radical departure from her usual tendency to say exactly what was on her mind, no filter, and start a fight. "Doesn't it bother you…that they always leave you to babysit the Fire Nation psychopath?"
Okay that could have used a bit more thought before opening her mouth, but the damage was done. To Azula's relief, Katara took it in stride. "I actually enjoy your company. When you're not being too catty."
"Well you're a better woman than me. I've found that even with lèse-majesté most people merely tolerated me, and I never had much patience for people."
"Oh, you got on my nerves a lot at first. But the more you let slip about how you were raised, the less I could hold it against you."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Your life in the palace sounded more like a silk-shrouded barracks than a home," Katara said. She had no way of knowing it, but her casual words hit with devastating prevision.
Azula stared unfocused into the middle distance. It had never occurred to her that the way she'd been raised hadn't been normal. Surely all parents demanded the best from their heirs, even the lowliest serf depended on sons to carry on the name. But in her travels, she never encountered any parent who treated their children like tools, pitting them against each other for favor, like Azula and Zuko had been.
"Besides, if those two have enough private moments they might finally resolve their complicated feelings," Katara continued, pretending to not notice Azula's epiphany.
"Pfft," Azula said, "Suki made it very clear she had a very Kyoshi approach to sexuality, so unfortunately for your brother, sausage is definitely not on the menu."
Katara blanched. "Don't talk about my brother's 'sausage', please and thank you."
The small fire crackled to life with only a tiny bit of help from Azula's bending. "Well, all the same."
"I don't think either of them have had much time or opportunity to think about what kind of person they want to be with," Katara said, starting to prepare the rice for supper. "I was the only person even close in age to Sokka's age in our village. Everyone else is too young. And Suki's got a problem where everyone who isn't married in her village is probably her subordinate."
"I suppose."
"Besides, everyone only remembers Kyoshi's interest in women, and forget that she had male lovers too."
Azula blinked, "You can do that?"
Katara fought the reddening of her cheeks, "Well not me per se, but it's a thing. There's no reason why someone couldn't be with both men and women. Even at the same time."
Azula grinned like a tiger, "Oh, so I can't talk about your brother's sausage but you can talk about your per se."
Katara reddened further, "That's a turn of phrase, not a body part–oh, of course you know that, you're just teasing me!"
"You make it so easy when you talk about being with a man and a woman at the same time, Katara," Azula smiled.
"Sounds like you're quite entertained at the idea, Azula."
"Ah, touché."
When Sokka and Suki returned, the two were in good spirits, and well along the process of cooking. It was going to be quite the journey to the Southern Air Temple, and they would definitely be feeling it by this time tomorrow. But for tonight, at least, they ate heartily on rice, smoked fish and pickled cabbage. The nightcap, from some soju that Suki had smuggled along for their journey, knocked Azula right out once it was time to turn in.
The journey up the winding mountain trails dragged on for days. The air grew thinner and the nights grew colder, as the trail itself sucked up tighter to increasingly bare rock. Suki played the role of guide with great confidence, though she'd only made the trek herself once before.
There were times on the journey that they had to continue one tiny step at a time, clinging to toe holds in the rock, with ropes lashed between them, as Azula's rudimentary grasp of Earthbending put her in the "anchor" role.
It was a good thing Azula had insisted. High on a cliff-face, in the spray of the tallest waterfall she'd ever seen, Azula waited planted in the rock face, the others tied in sequence to her belt. Perhaps it was the water turning the rocky ledge mossy and slick, or perhaps the thin cut in the rock gave way. But either way, Sokka suddenly fell off the cliff-face with a shriek.
Suki was yanked off next, and then Katara. Azula dug her heels into the ledge, then the rope went taught, sending a ripple of pain up her spine. But she remained planted in the rock.
It took all her strength to haul them up far enough for Katara's fingers to finally reach the ledge. With Katara now bearing some of the weight, hauling the others up became more bearable. Once Sokka was finally up, the party collapsed into a panting heap on the outcropping.
Their smiles brought a tingling feeling in Azula's chest. Suki silently patted her on the back, a silent affirmation of the trust she now placed in the princess.
Other times they crossed narrow rope bridges over misty chasms, clinging tight together. There were no falls, thankfully. But leading one afternoon, Azula found herself transfixed midcrossing, Suki bumping roughly into her back. Azula watched in utter silence as the ghostly apparition of an old man in orange robes, a wreath of beads 'round his neck, beckoned her to take the left fork up ahead, not the right.
No one had seen him but Azula. Suki grumbled about what had gotten into Azula, but Azula could offer nothing but lies about being light-headed. The man, at once so strange and familiar, bore a thick, wooly mustache on his face and welcomed her.
"It's been a long time, old friend," the old man's ghost said, then vanished into thin air.
The nights were spent huddled close on small ledges or in tiny caves, with only enough fuel for the tiniest of fires. By the fifth day, when the blue spire of the temple emerged from the mist, the party was at each other's throats with annoyance. But sleep deprived and exhausted, they stumbled across the last rope bridge to the main summit. But the sun is already setting, and even Azula is in no mood to trudge the last kilometer and poke around in the dark.
They made camp, snacking on mountain peaches. While the tension bled out into the night air, Suki, Katara and Sokka laughed around the fire, but Azula remained silent, knees hugged to her chest. Graciously, they left her alone.
After Suki and Sokka depart to check out a natural spring that Suki remembered from the last trip up, Katara crawled over to Azula, offering the princess some tea.
Silently, she took the cup and slurped at the piping hot beverage. It tasted surprisingly weak and milky compared to the usual. It puzzled Azula until she remembered that water boiled at a much lower temperature at high elevations. Humming quietly, she continued to drink.
"You're unusually quiet."
"I've been hallucinating again," Azula whispered.
"Maybe they're not hallucinations."
"That's worse." Azula threw a bit of grass she'd been chewing on into the fire. "It means I've actually been talking to dead people. Well, they've been talking to me at any rate." Azula's fingers scraped into the dirt beside her, like she was desperately trying not to fall off the mountain. She watched her short nails dig into the dirt with a wistful sigh. They were shorter than since she'd been a little girl, and the last of the nail polish had flaked away.
It was strange that such a defining part of her appearance, her very sense of self, had just gradually faded away, and she didn't notice til it was gone. She'd stopped almost altogether with makeup, making do with the kohl that Katara had given her. How much…and how little she's changed.
"There's a strange power in the air here," Azula said, "Like I've been here before. So ancient and nostalgic, it's overwhelming."
"It's because you have been here, in another life."
"It's hard to believe I have the same soul as people like Kyoshi, Roku, or Aang."
"The funny thing about truth," Katara said with a giggle, "is that you don't need to believe in it for it to be so."
"You don't understand, Katara," Azula said, straining against herself. "If you're going to trust me, then you deserve to know. I've killed people."
Katara wasn't exactly shocked. Azula had already told her of the battle she'd fought in at the Mamai Kurgan, a place so far off it was closer to the North Pole than to their current location. People die in battles, it wasn't a hard inference to make. But still Katara listened.
"After the battle at the kurgan, I went back over the battlefield, looking for the men I'd faced. Just to know for sure. I found the lifeless bodies of five men I could recognize. I murdered seven more men to escape capture the next month. I didn't have to, but I burned them to ash, turned their armor into slag."
"Azula…" Katara said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "I know the guilt must be terrible, but it was them or you. You shouldn't worry–"
"You misunderstand. I don't feel a single twinge of remorse. The more time I spend with you, your brother, your people. Journeying to see a world I'd only seen from inside a palanquin or atop an ivory tower." The words were beginning to stick in her throat, like hot pine tar. "Katara, you're a good person. I am blessed to know you. But I'm not a good person, Katara. I don't know if I'm even capable of it. There's something wrong with me."
Katara didn't quite know what to say. She placed a reassuring hand on Azula's knee. She wouldn't run.
Azula looked up from the fire, and gave a nod. She did her best not to startle when Aang manifested next to Katara.
Aang said nothing. His translucent form sat cross-legged, fingers tented together in his lap. What his shrug meant, Azula could only guess.
"You're seeing them again, aren't you?" Katara said.
Azula nodded. "He's sitting beside you."
"Is it Aang?"
Aang finally chose to pipe up. "Hey, she knows about me! Cool. Tell her I said 'hi'."
Azula rolled her eyes. "Yes. Though I don't know why he's finally decided to show up again."
Katara turned to look right through Aang. Their faces were inches apart, and Azula was struck with the strange notion that Aang's destiny was going to lead him to this girl, even if it took him lifetimes to get there. But the world had gone off its track, the thread of prophecy cut. And now it fell into Azula's lap to tie this broken world back together.
Katara whispered, "I can almost feel something. Call me crazy, but it's like a gentle breeze, or a silent laughter."
Aang arched an eyebrow. After a moment, he floated over to sit at Katara's other side. Silently, Katara's eyes followed his movement. The hand clenching Azula's heart relaxed, and she found herself able to breathe again. She wasn't insane…not completely.
"Fascinating," Aang said, "Anyway, I can't stay long. Your spiritual connection isn't strong enough for me to really manifest except in brief moments. And sometimes it's better if you see things for yourself. The answers you're looking for; you'll find them in the temple."
He vanished as quickly as he'd appeared, leaving a sour feeling in Azula's heart. Not long after, Suki and Sokka returned with a freshly slain mountain jackalope, and a selection of wild herbs, tubers and mushrooms. After the days subsisting on pemmican and biscuits, it was a feast fit for royalty.
Sokka browned up the rabbit in sesame oil, offal and all, while Azula helped Suki prepare the rice and vegetables. Katara washed their clothing in a rock basin that Azula had sculpted from the earth. The air was still tonight, and none minded the chill of the night, even in their underclothes, when huddled around the cooking fire.
They'd enter the temple tomorrow clean and refreshed. It seemed the only appropriate thing to do in such a hallowed place.
Old ghosts haunted the morning mists. The temple spires pierced the low clouds like grass emerging from the spring snow thaw. And Azula, once a fearless warrior-prince, led the party up the path one baby step at a time.
A cacophony of voices filled the mists, like a thousand lifetimes bursting out in a single moment. Phantasms flitted in the corner of her eye; playing and laughing, working and training. Once the thriving heart of a nation that stretched across the archipelago, the temple remained as a silent mausoleum to a people purged from the earth.
Silent to everyone except Azula. Visions of the past came with the voices, a kaleidoscope of the long years of inhabitation in these mountains. Azula's great-grandfather had put this place to the fire and sword a hundred years ago. And now they lived only as ghosts in her head.
The path came to a low wall that ringed the mesa where the bulk of the temple stood. It stood no more than three feet tall, composed of blocks of white soapstone. It was not a battlement, its function was decorative, a symbolic marker of the temple grounds. The gatehouse had, as was custom for Fire Nation armies, been pulled down brick-by-brick anyway.
The fields beyond were overgrown with grasses and bushes peeking through the cobblestones. The empty hulks of stone buildings remained, their white facades blackened with ash. All the wooden elements–windows, sashes, rooves, floors, furniture–had been consumed by fire. The unburied remains of people were strewn across the campus, left to rot where they'd been slain. Now only sun-bleached bones and tattered robes remained.
Sokka fell to his knees behind her, a strangled cry escaping his throat. Suki turned away in horror. Katara stood silent, a low anger simmering in her belly. The hard mask of hate on her face reminded Azula of when Katara had a knife at her throat.
A vision of carnage flashed before Azula's eyes, and for a brief moment, she could have sworn she was there a hundred years before, watching the temple choke with smoke and fire. An army ravaging and despoiling, the living envying the dead. A moment later Azula was back in the present. Even the ghosts were silent now.
For a moment, Azula couldn't remember who she was. She looked at the horror with fresh, innocent eyes, remembering her time spent playing amidst the statues and houses as a young boy, withering under the scolding of her teachers. She remembered the names of the men and women who tended these workshops and mills. Then it was gone, and only Azula remained.
They took a long break to collect themselves, sitting on the edge of a stone fountain in the main courtyard, away from the worst of it. Katara managed to coax the water to flow again, and once the foul discharge was removed, freshwater from the mountain springs flowed again. It was a nice distraction; Azula used it to practice her own technique, mirroring Katara's motions. But she was clumsy, and the sweat began to bead on her face from the exertion. But it was better than thinking about it.
Suki broke the silence. "The last time I was here, Pathik, the old man who guided me, did not take me into the temple. He just told me I wasn't ready to see what lay beyond the entrance." Suki laughed uneasily, "I thought he was patronizing me. But he was right."
"They just left them there," Sokka whispered. "Somehow…they still surprise me."
Azula thought of the four men who'd invaded her bedchambers, and her blood ran cold. So much for honor. There were celebrations held every year for the great defeat of the armies of the Air Nomads. But there hadn't been Air Nomad armies for centuries. They knew better in the aristocracy, and yet they'd drank from the poison chalice of the Noble Lie all the same. She cursed herself for tolerating such hypocrisy from herself.
"Monsters," Katara spat. "Animals."
Azula pulled her golden crest from her pack. The flames glinted in the morning sun. Another memory of long past filtered in from the Immaterium. This diadem had belonged to her father, and her grandfather before him. She saw through the eyes of a young Air Nomad woman, barely older than Azula, as she gazed up at a young man in Imperial Firebender armor, the golden diadem gleaming in the flames. She begged, pleaded for mercy. The only 'mercy' that came was that Azulon slew the young woman before she could be ravaged. The cut came, and she fell, feeling the heat of her body leak out in a pool of red around her. As the light left her eyes, Azulon's own eyes looked down at her with all the tender feeling of a stone statue.
This was her birthright, the murder of the innocent. Conquest and genocide. The survivors herded into camps, their children sent to boarding schools, beaten until they forgot their mother tongue and their birth name. Throngs of people driven from their homes by the sweeping infernos. New colonies growing in the ashes of their homes. Monuments in the capital city to the 'Heroes of the Great Work' and the century long Dharma Yuddha, the 'Righteous War.' That was Sozin's great "Zenith of Civilization"; superior and needless, superhuman and repulsive.
The idolatry is worse than the carnage, Azula decided. The higher we climbed, the further we fell. "No, not animals," Azula said. "Far worse. Animals are true to their nature. We betrayed ours."
Azula stood, wearied down to her bones. She couldn't decide whether it felt like she'd been awake for a century…or asleep for it. She looked into the clear blue waters of the fountain. She held the golden diadem in her fingertips like a communion wafer, bowing to kiss it with closed eyes. Then she cast it into the depths of the well.
The splash aroused everyone's attention. Azula clasped her hands together, head bowed, and prayed quietly. "Please accept this token of my sorrow, Yama. Take these children into your care, and shepherd them safely through the Ashlands."
They joined her soon after, making their own offerings to the fountain and whatever Spirit watched over this temple. Once their prayers were finished, Azula took down her topknot, letting her hair blow in the wind. She wasn't going to do something so melodramatic as cutting her topknot like in the plays; that'd be something her overly sentimental brother would do. No, she'd just throw a priceless heirloom of the royal family, made of shining crown gold, into a well.
Hitherto, she'd imagined herself neutral in this grand conflict, only joining with Sokka and Katara as a means to fulfilling her private vendetta. What a fool I've been.
Azula never did anything by half-measures. No hiding behind her 'duty' as the Avatar. If she was to be a traitor to the Fire Nation, she would burn a memory so bright it would be remembered forever.
Azula walked away silently. When Katara followed after, Azula waved her away. "I need to be alone. Just for a moment." She cast a mournful smile over her shoulder, "I'll be alright."
When Azula was out of earshot, Suki said, "I get this must be hard for her, it's her people that did this, and she can't help where she was born, but I am not going to tiptoe around her about what the Fire Nation is like."
Sokka shook his head. "She wouldn't want you to. She already knows better than any of us what the Fire Nation is like. You've seen the scars across her arms, abdomen and legs right? All those faded burns and cuts."
Katara tried to make light of the conversation, "Oh, what are you doin' staring so close at her body, brother-dear?"
"Who do you think gave her those?" Sokka said gravely.
Katara was struck silent for a moment. "She always said…they were training scars," she squeaked out.
"An awful lot, especially for someone as talented as her, don't you think?"
The old scars were starting to itch again. It happened whenever Azula felt herself burdened by shame. It was technically true when Azula told people they were training scars. Some of them had even come from training accidents. Most, however, were not accidents.
Some had come from when Ozai or his trusted trainers harmed her as punishment for failure. But nearly half of the burns and cuts were self-inflicted. Once she'd manifested her blue fire, the methods of her training only intensified.
Ozai had declared that now that she'd achieved such mastery, she didn't need anyone else to teach her shame for failure. She would do it herself. Father watched at first, to make sure. Then he left her to attend to discipline in quiet, sure that she'd obey him. Ozai would taunt her first, disrobing to the waist and showing his own self-inflicted cuts and burns, inviting the young girl to count, and remember how he'd had fewer than she did even with the twenty-seven year headstart he had on her.
Only now, as Azula picked through the ruins for a suitably secluded spot to give herself the last mark of shame she'd ever give herself, did it occur to her that Father had just been lying to her. The old building she found had a vaulted stone roof, and the unblemished stone interior suggested it was intact enough to even keep rain out.
Azula sat seiza in the middle of the stone hall. She took off her vambraces first, laying them neatly before her. She took the machete off her belt, and lay it in its scabbard next to the vambraces. She removed the blue vest and undershirt next, folding them neatly before laying them atop her vambraces.
Goosebumps rose on her skin, and her hot breath condensed into wisps of white in the shaded chill. None of the scars across her arms and chest were very serious. The point was never to cut deep or char the skin. They were meant to be permanent reminders. The only other rule was to keep them below the collar and above the wrist and ankles. They were for Azula alone, not to cause whispers in court.
Azula took the machete from its scabbard, holding it like an offering on her palms. It was a good blade, she'd have to thank Suki again for it. The blued steel held a gleaming, razor sharp edge even with the rough work Azula had demanded of it.
Azula thought for a moment about the one time she'd ever disobeyed father's rules in this ritual. She'd just turned fourteen, and the court gossip of which young man her father would betroth her to was flying around the palace and the Royal Academy. The very thought had disgusted her. She'd imagined being turned into a rich man's wife, kept in a gilded cage, turning into an old hag after popping out enough sons to satisfy this man's ego, and nearly wretched everytime.
She'd gotten the bright idea to make sure no man would ever want her, and drew the gleaming edge of a silver dagger across her face, from her forehead down through her eyebrow and down her cheek. It bled profusely, running in red streams into her eyes, but she could only smile at the searing pain.
Zuko, of course, had ratted her out. Father had one of the conscripted Waterbender healers rushed up to the palace to treat her. In spite of her best effort, it only resulted in a pale white line on her face, and a tiny gap in her eyebrow that she usually colored in anyway. Once the wound was sealed, Ozai had sent everyone but her and Zuko away. Father beat her soundly, the only time he'd ever done it outside of the framework of training. Ozai had never punished her cruelty or deceit, only her failure to live up to his desires.
He praised Zuko for being a good, loyal son while he did it. That wounded her far worse than the violence. Zuko's praise came with her shame, tears streaming from her eyes. Zuko looked guilty when Father dismissed him, but he was still glowing from Ozai's praise.
Alone now, Father commended her pride and ruthlessness, then berated her for being a fool. Did she not know that in the world since Sozin, service to the state came before anything else? No woman warrior would ever be wasted in domesticity. Then came the display of hurt. "Do you think I'd do that to my own daughter? Lock away a phoenix in a gilded cage?"
Azula pleaded for forgiveness, lying prostrate at Ozai's feet. All was forgiven, this time! The memory of the elation she'd felt made her want to vomit. Ozai had told her she'd get a mousy, henpecked husband to provide her heirs when she'd had her fill of conquest. But still this didn't really satisfy her. Somewhere in Azula's heart, she always knew that whoever she did choose to spend her life with, they could only ever be a kindred spirit. But it was better than the alternative.
Azula thought about breaking his rules one last time for old-time's sake, then decided against it. It would only worry her friends. Friends…it had a nice ring to it. She took the machete in her right hand, then traced a shallow cut across her left breast, over her heart, ending just below her right breast.
She pressed a cloth against the wound until it finally stopped bleeding. While she waited, she offered a silent prayer, to whoever would listen, that while it didn't count for anything, she was sorry for the horrors visited on this holy place. Afterwards, she traced a fingertip of flame across the cut, cauterizing the wound. She cleaned the blade and redressed.
The wind came rushing in from behind, rustling fallen leaves through the hall. The voice on the wind said, "Over here…follow me."
It led her deeper into the temple, around a winding corridor. At the end, before an altar to Vayu, goddess of the wind, lay a scene of carnage. The desiccated bodies and armor of over a dozen Imperial Firebenders were strewn out in the corridor.
At the center of the maelstrom, the pale bones of a man lay in peaceful repose, his orange robes immaculately preserved. Around his neck, the same beads from the ghost at the bridge…then she remembered! A name came flooding back.
"Gyatso…" she whispered.
The voice from the wind came louder and clearer. "I am sorry you had to see me like this, my old friend."
Azula almost jumped to the ceiling from the surprise. Heart racing, she turned to see the ghostly apparition of Gyatso standing next to her. Gyatso wrapped his broad arms around her, and held her close. His touch felt almost real as two lifetimes worth of memories struck her like a hammer. She bawled like a baby in his arms.
The old monk waited for her to dry her eyes. "This is too much," Azula sniffled, "Everything here hurts, I can't keep losing myself like this."
"I know, I know," he said, his voice like the father she'd wished she had. "But I've known you across three lifetimes now, my friend. You will triumph over this as well."
"This is wrong though…everything feels wrong. There's something wrong with me."
"The traumatic nature of your reincarnation has left you more susceptible to the Spiritual than previous Avatars," Gyattso said, patting her back, "In time, you will master it. Aang will be waiting for you in the shrine to the Avatar Cycle. He'll explain everything to you there."
The apparition began to fade. Panic rising, Azula cried, "Will I ever see you again?"
"I'll always be there for you, my old friend." Gyatso smiled again, then vanished with the wind.
Maybe it was the stiffness of her movements. Or the look in Azula's eyes. But somehow, Katara seemed to know what she'd done. Blue eyes traced down Azula's new cut hidden behind her jacket. Katara's cheeks puffed with bitten-back anger, but she said nothing. Not yet.
There was one last question to be answered. How many candles had to be snuffed out for hers to burn so bright? Azula didn't tell her friends how she knew where to go, or what to expect. But they were sharp, and seemed to figure it out. Suki and Katara did so silently. Sokka thought out loud, earning an angry glare when he made a crack about Azula being scarier than the ghosts she must have been talking to.
The sanctuary at the heart of the Southern Air Temple was guarded by a massive bronze door, tall enough to fit a rhino-giraffe through. A spiral maze of brass horns hung from the center of the door. In spite of its massive size, Sokka pressed against it with all his might.
"Yeah, this thing ain't budging," he said.
"Gee, what was your first clue?" Katara said.
"The Sanctum is through here," Azula murmured. "This is a problem."
"Is there a way around it?" said Suki.
Azula shook her head. "Wouldn't be much of a Sanctum if it was."
"There must be some kind of unlocking mechanism," said Sokka as he dug around the frame for a keyhole or a pressure plate.
"It's right there, in the middle. Those horns; they channel air to the mechanism. Which means it needs Airbending to unlock." Azula gave a heavy sigh, "which I don't even know the first thing about."
Sokka slammed his fist against the wall, "So that's it, then? It's locked away forever then."
The wind whispered in Azula's ears. It told her to let go, to become one with eternity. And before she could even respond she felt the rush, like being struck by lightning. Her eyes glowed blue as the world melted away. The terrible awareness filled her, at once united with the whole universe yet standing outside it. Azula had never known fear like this! For the first time in her life, she'd recoiled when presented with power.
The dual substance of the Avatar–the yearning, so human, so superhuman, to escape the mundane and the divine. All of time and space, body and spirit, balanced with her at the fulcrum, the master of fate. The tool of fate. One thousand generations stretching deep into the tides of time. But something was wrong now, like a band playing out of tune. The thread had come unwoven, the great line of Avatars stretching back to the birth of the Mundane and Spirit worlds had reached Azula like a sentence reaches a full stop.
Then it all went rushing away, leaving Azula in a stunned, boneless heap on the temple floor. Her friends rushed to the panting, frightened wreck that was Azula…yes, that was her name. She'd almost forgotten it again. "What…what happened?" she croaked out.
The great door was open now. "Your eyes started glowing," Suki said, "then you rose up in the air, like you'd just summoned a typhoon."
Once the fear receded, Azula roughly shoved them away. She got up, brushing herself off. "I'd…I'd appreciate it if you'd overlook this," she squeaked. Her fingernails dug into her palms as she clenched her fist. The shame burned in her scars.
"Why, that was amazing!" Sokka said, not afraid in the slightest. "There's always tales about the power of the Avatar, but seeing the real thing…we might just stand a chance."
"I lost control. It won't happen again."
"It's not a big deal, Azula," Katara said, laying her hand on the princess's shoulder, "nobody got hurt, and you managed to open the door."
Azula looked into Katara's eyes, silently pleading to not have to explain herself. When the Waterbender's warm smile wouldn't relent, Azula finally whispered, "The last time…I had an episode like that, I burned four men into cinders. This was even more powerful and uncontrollable than that."
Katara shook her head. "I trust you."
Azula sighed, eyes downcast. "You shouldn't."
Katara's eyebrows narrowed. "You know what, fine then," she cried, shoving Azula away.
"Katara, I didn't mean it that way," Azula called after her.
"I know what you meant, and we're not talking about this right now."
Azula muttered under her breath, "Goddamnit."
Sokka put his arm around Azula's shoulders. "Yeah, you really screwed up there, dude. Just let her cool off."
"Dude? What is a dude?" Azula said, briefly forgetting the unwanted contact.
"It just means dude? Like bro, sis, friendo, pal; stuff like that. Which reminds me, dude; it's time we have The Talk."
Suki giggled. Sokka looked at Azula with a knowing glance. Oh for the love of… Azula seethed when she realized. "No, we are not having this conversation right now."
"All I'm saying is that I see how you look at my sister. And I see how she looks at you."
Azula threw off his arm and stomped away. "No, fuck you, we're not doing this."
"I'm just saying, I'm happy for her. And if you hurt her I will, one, cry, and two, leave you in a shallow grave. Which sucks because I'm starting to like you."
Azula continued to march away, flashing her middle finger over her shoulder.
"Ahaha, good talk."
Suki ruffled Sokka's wolftail. "I think she took that pretty well."
The interior of the sanctum was lit only by tiny portholes in the spire above. It was filled with a spiral of stone statues. From the tall man in the center, it spiraled outwards across the floor, then up the terraces cut into the walls of the spire, on and on to seeming infinity. Myriad faces of men and women, all unique.
Azula recognized the man at the center as Roku, the last Fire Nation Avatar before her. There could be no statues carved for the ones that came after. To his left side, the statue of the Earth Avatar Kyoshi stood a few inches taller than Roku, faded and chipped paint on her marble exterior. She knew all the names and faces that followed, though she should not have.
Katara was two paces ahead of Azula. Her eyes traced along all the rows of statues, face beaming with childlike wonder. "So many…" she said softly.
Azula hesitated, wondering if it was right to answer. She just muttered a soft "yeah," in response.
The ghostly form of Aang stepped out from behind the statue of Roku. Azula did her best to ignore his presence for the moment, wondering if it would be better to just talk to Aang alone. But then Katara froze. "Uh, are you seeing that?"
Azula blinked. "You can see him this time?"
The door to the sanctum swung shut, locking Sokka and Suki outside. On instinct, Azula and Katara assumed fighting stances.
"Relax, relax," Aang said, "I'm just having a bit of performance anxiety. Besides, I didn't think Katara would be able to see me. Your power as a conduit to the Spirit world is impressive, especially when coupled with the spiritual power of the Sanctum." His translucent form turned to Katara, "Sorry, my manners! I'm Aang, it's great to finally meet you properly."
Katara relaxed and gave a shy little wave. "Sorry…not everyday you talk to ghosts," she muttered as an apology.
"I was told you have answers for me," said Azula.
"Alright, straight to business then!" Aang floated atop the Roku statue, taking the lotus position. "Let's start with any questions you have."
The question had been burning in her throat for days now. "How many Avatars were there between Roku and I?"
Aang was briefly taken aback. "You're looking at him. Oh, I don't suppose there'd really be any way of knowing, would there?"
"Wait, that doesn't make sense," Katara interrupted, "It's supposed to go in order. Air follows Fire. Water follows Air. Earth follows Water. Fire follows Earth. And so on."
It gnawed at Azula even more. Aang was a young man when he led his insurrection twenty-some years ago. But a new Avatar is born almost immediately after an old one dies.
"You're right, Katara, it is supposed to go like that. That is the pinch we find ourselves in," Aang said with a shrug.
"You were a young man when you visited Kyoshi Island like twenty years ago," said Azula. "Did you just not incarnate when Roku died? Or was Roku kept alive for that long as a prisoner of the Fire Nation?"
"That is good thinking, but no, I did reincarnate immediately after Roku's death. I was born twelve years before the start of Sozin's New Order calendar. As for why I was a young man when I visited Kyoshi Island, I spent seventy years frozen in ice, preserved by the power of the Avatar State. You've already experienced its power twice, Azula."
"Wait, how'd you end up frozen in–" Katara started.
"-no, Katara, he's stalling," Azula interrupted, eyes narrowing. "You're not a sphinx, there's no reason to play with your riddles. There's something you don't want to tell me. Something you're ashamed of. You want me to figure it out myself so you don't have to explain."
"Well, you are sharp," Aang said, scratching the back of his bald head. It made Azula wonder if ghosts could itch, or it was an imitation of life done out of habit.
"It's about why I'm the Avatar, isn't it. Tell me."
Aang sighed. "You're right, Azula. I died in your grandfather Azulon's dungeon the night you were born. Or more properly, I took my own life."
Katara's eyes welled up. Azula took an involuntary step back.
"The truth is, who becomes the Avatar isn't really random. There's a thread of prophecy winding down from the beginning of time, each new era weaving its own addition. It's why the Avatar never incarnates into the children of kings or others with too much temporal power. The Avatar's power transcends the nations, and each chapter in that book never begins with a hero incapable of bearing the weight of responsibility of the mantle."
"Why are you telling me this…unless I was never supposed to be the Avatar?" Azula said, the heat of anger rising in her cheeks.
"You're right, of course. But the whole world had gone off script long before that. Who knows when it really began. But matters took a turn for the worse when your great-grandfather committed the greatest sacrilege possible."
"Are you saying that a mortal man can overthrow the cosmic order?" Azula said, "I really doubt that."
"The Material and Spiritual Planes have been separated for a thousand generations. In that time, the Avatar Spirit has maintained the balance of the cosmic order, the four nations, and the bridge between it all. When Sozin destroyed the Air Nomads and made war on the Avatar Cycle itself, a ghastly affront to all the Spirits, he pulled the axle out of the cart, sending the wheels careening down the road. Some unseen force spared me from death, because as a barely realized Avatar I was at my weakest."
"I don't know about you, but I was at my weakest when I'd been ripped screaming into the world by the court physician."
"There have been Avatars who've died in the cradle, so to speak. When that happens, the Avatar Spirit reincarnates into a new life without issue. But as an Avatar starts to mature, and begins to tap into the power of the Avatar, they are at their most vulnerable. The Avatar State will manifest to protect the life of the Avatar then. When they fully master the elements, they are able to master the Avatar State itself, and summon its power at will. Or not, as the case may be."
Aang fidgeted. "There's no point mincing words about this. If you die in the Avatar State, you are gone forever. There's no reincarnation, all thousand lifetimes will be unbound to karma, and as a bodhi they'll depart for realms unknown. Nirvana is what we call it in the Air Nomads."
"So fate spared you," Azula accused, "gave you another shot to set things right. And you failed."
Aang winced. "Well, that's about the size of it. I was faced with a choice between the life of someone I loved and my duty as the Avatar, and I tried to save both. And I lost both. This is what I looked like in life. This is what my 'heroics' got me."
The clean-cut, handsome young man transformed into a gaunt shell of a man, skin sallow from malnourishment, his ribs jutting painfully into his skin. His once cleanly groomed facial hair was a scraggly, patchy mess. His toothy smile was filled with gaps by missing and broken teeth. Dirty rags clung to his body.
Azula recoiled, a well of pity bubbling up. Katara cried out in sympathy.
Aang's voice was weathered beyond his years, hoarse and straining against a goiter in his throat. "Azulon tried everything to break me, from bribery to battery. As my physical strength waned under the torture, I turned more into the cultivation of my Spirit. And the tortures intensified. All to have my power, so he could finally win the war. After my continued refusal finally broke him, he resolved to murder me in the Avatar state so that the cycle would end forever."
Aang gave a tired laugh. "His first attempt nearly killed him. I did a number on his people and his dungeons, so much that they had to completely demolish the bunker and make a new one." Aang sighed, "But while I didn't know how many Imperial Firebenders it would have taken to kill me, I knew how many Azulon was willing to use."
Azula stepped closer. Sensing her intent, Aang hovered down to her. Looking into his eyes, into her own eyes, she started on the path to forgiving him. The path to forgiving herself. She placed her hand on his cheek. His ethereal form felt like the spring winds that smelled sweet, the ones that came before a storm. His youth returned to him at her touch, rippling out over the rest of his body.
He muttered a thank you before continuing. "The Spirits think we're a lost cause…us mortals. The clock's winding down, and we've all been condemned to freedom. But I schemed and plotted. I waited, made it seem like I was going to break, that I'd give in. I finally opened myself up to the Cosmic energy I'd denied myself through attachment. I took the sputtering, failing cosmic engine, and broke it entirely. And out of all the millions I could have chosen, I chose you. Because I knew the measure of you even before you were born."
Azula fell onto her ass. They'd always said she'd been born under a bad star. Everyone in that year was cursed, the astrologers said, but none more so than those born on the first full moon of the year. The sun, moon, and other planets have come out of alignment on that day. Even the seasons and the position of the sun in the sky had shifted. Azula had never cared much, the world kept spinning on in its new pattern, and once the deep religious terror inspired by the cosmic realignment had subsided, people returned to their dreadfully boring lives. But she wasn't just born under a bad star or ill omens, her birth was The Omen.
"I could say I'm sorry," Aang said, "but there's no point. Because after a thousand-and-one lifetimes, you will be the last. There are no chances left after you."
The fear rose inside Azula, like bile in her throat. "I don't understand…"
"It's like this. My Firebending master, a Fire Sage named Shyu, told me that a light that burns twice as bright burns half as long. And you'll burn so very brightly indeed, Azula, that you might even outshine the Sun."
Author's Notes: A reader asked me to translate/explain the meaning of the chapter titles. And since these first five chapters constitute a complete arc, I might as well. They're from the lyrics of the Rammstein song "Deutschland", specifically the final verse.
"Deutschland" is a song about disillusionment, specifically the band's relationship to their mother country, Germany, and its monstrous history. It's a song about heartbreak, framing the relationship between a country and its subjects as a sort of abusive relationship, the despair of wanting to love something but beginning to realize it will never love you.
The final verse is alliterative and rhyming couplets that are in deep contrast. It goes as follows, with translation in parentheses
Übermächtig (Superior)
Überflüssig (Superflous/needless)
Übermenschen (Superhuman)
Überdrüssig (to be sick of)
Wer hoch steigt, der wird tief fallen (the higher you rise, the further you fall)
Deutschland Deutschland über allen (Germany, Germany over everyone)