Azulon had in front of him the product of his grandson's latest obsession: a pristine kitchen knife made of the same iron their ships and everything else was, but refined to such a degree that it could no longer be called the same thing.
It amazed him just how flexible this steel the sages had called it was. He bent the blade along its flat only for the metal to spring back into its original shape as if nothing happened. The metal held an edge better than their brittle iron and could even be used to channel Chi through. It was phenomenal, even almost magical.
That it took Raizu but a few months to get from an idea to a proof of concept was a downright miracle.
"And you are sure the process can be expanded?"
Sage Niuan nodded. "Yes, Fire Lord, it will take us some time to draw the plans and test the necessary facilities for this but it can be done. However, the sages would advise against using this new material to retrofit our entire navy because of how costly it is in terms of heat and labor to produce a proportional amount of the same iron that we are already using."
Niuan presented him with the scroll containing the rough calculation of the costs it would take—another innovation that his grandson had implemented, to put decisions of state and military affairs within context with the use of understandable calculations and visual representations—and Azulon couldn't help but curse at the coal needed to do so. It was possible to use the metal already present and further refine it, but the coal they needed to produce one warship would barely produce a quarter of the steel necessary for a scouting ship.
"Using it for our ships is not yet feasible, my Fire Lord, but we believe it would do us a great deal of good if we will use these for our soldiers' weapons and some of the smaller parts in the boiler engines. The pieces we would create would only be small and simple shapes that already skilled blacksmiths know how to create, and the shaping method should not be too different, but the increases to our engines' power and effectiveness of our foot soldiers will more than pay for itself."
Raizu might have just delivered the end of the war to him, all in exchange for a lesson on lightning—though Azulon wondered whether that exchange would later come back to haunt him.
"How much time will the facilities take to complete?"
"We still have the contracts we needed to create the prototype furnace, we shouldn't take more than eight months to create a larger version."
"The sooner we have it the better, you have my approval for this, Sage Niuan."
"By your will, Fire Lord."
The aging sage left the war room with a spring in his step, something that Azulon believed had long left those old fossils once they had squeezed themselves dry of inspiration. Old growth gives way to the new, he remembered reading in one of the old air bender tablets in his youth, and perhaps it was time as well that he give the throne to the next in line.
Azulon sat in his throne, feeling the fires in front of him have grown colder over the years. Had this news come to him ten years earlier perhaps he would have led the first charge himself, armed to the teeth and consequences be damned. He remembered the way his blood used to boil at the front lines, all for the greater glory of the Fire Nation, and wondered when he'd grown so patient and old.
The war effort was still ongoing, but he couldn't deny that the war's glorious purpose was losing its drive. Scorched earth was worthless. And ice wasn't even worth the coal to get there. It was sobering, to hear it from his grandson, but another matter entirely to properly see the cost the war had costed his people.
Rice and wheat harvests in the mainland were at a constant decline for thirty years already! Thirty years! All during his time and he was too blind to see the truth lurking in the shadows. That his people didn't starve was entirely thanks to the tributes taken from colonies. Earth Kingdom soil was fertile, but land overtaxed could only produce so much and for so long, and by then, should they take more of the Earth for themselves?
Raizu was not wrong for finding relief that he was technically so far away in the line of succession, the boy was strange and downright rebellious but he had not been wrong so far. He was much too sharp for his age, and that left only two possibilities: that he was someone's puppet, or that he was gifted by the spirits somehow.
The former, Azulon believed, was as far from the truth as possible. Insights and ways of thought that were downright other worldly and so removed from common knowledge could not have been birthed within his nation, and he highly doubted that any conspirators against the throne would so willingly share such powerful ideas.
Standardized time keeping; public time towers so all citizens within a village or municipality knew the common time; time records of when things were known or said; mass production methods where skilled artisans would only focus on one part versus creating complete products; overlapping work shifts for constant uninterrupted production; limited labor hours and rest days; visual reports rooted in numerical representation; extensive testing procedures and prototyping; such things might have arisen within the nation eventually, but it wouldn't have been anytime soon.
Maybe not even within the century.
His grandson, if he could even be called that, was a mystery at best and malevolent at worst. Perhaps his ideas would lead to the nation's ruin, or maybe they would lead to victory, but what it would never do was let him close his eyes to the truth that had always been there.
That the problems of the Fire Nation were no longer with the rest of the world, but within itself. And further conquest would only hasten his people's downfall. Azulon had been nursing a headache ever since that rascal felt the need to scour the nation's agricultural status. And that was after he felt the need to upend the current metal working schools of thought.
Speak of Koh and he'll come knocking on your door.
"Grampa, I need your permission for something," came a muffled voice.
And of course, he had something new. Really, how did the boy find the time to do everything he did? Was he still sleeping? Was he even eating?
"Fine, come in Raizu." Azulon pulled himself upright on his throne. He didn't notice he was slumped against his seat. That would have earned him an earful from his father.
"Hi grampa, so…"
That wasn't a good sign, Azulon decided.
The boy waved a hand above him, creating five distinct flames above him—in five different colors: green, blue, red, purple, and yellow.
"…about this?"
Had Azulon not been as… desensitized of this mischief made flesh's antics he would have screamed at the impossibility of what looked like a boy bending flames of different temperaments at the same time. Also, had this been before that, he would have had his own flesh and blood—if he could still be called that—imprisoned and flayed for bringing to light something that had been buried long ago: the one true threat to the war effort.
But of course, this was now and that was then.
"Normal people are not supposed to be able to create those flames together, Raizu."
The boy shrugged. "It wasn't easy, that's for sure."
That was an understatement. Joy, pride, rage, fear, and determination, such complex emotions distilled into one cohesive focus, that was simply inhuman. Perhaps the boy was done with his ruse?
"Is it okay if I teach Zula and Zuzu about these?"
Azulon raised an eyebrow. So he had already taught those two then, perhaps that would make things more interesting.
"As long as you promise that you will keep your siblings safe."
The boy was taken aback, scandalized even.
"Grampa, you know I always have the best interest of the family in my heart."
Azulon huffed, said the little imp who was driving him into an early grave.