Ozai awoke to his hands and legs bound tight with damp rope, his mouth gagged with a likewise wet cloth, and tied firm to a chair also with wet rope. He was in a pitch-black room filled with old, damp air. The smell of mold was heavy and suffocating, he was also naked or at least barely clothed. He would have found the crime cute if his captors weren't stupid enough to tie him with flammable means. Damp, yes, but still flammable. Him. A fire bender of royal blood for Agni's sake. He wanted to scream at the insult but he wouldn't dignify the pitiful attempt with his displeasure.
He could burn through these or just ignite his inner fire and force his way through. There were options to any fire bender worth his rice, it was what made his subjects so effective at war. Fire thrived in conflict.
Ozai breathed in and roused his inner fire—and found nothing.
That was not expected.
This had never happened to him before. His thoughts raced through the horizon and he weighed his options: first, he was dreaming; second, he was somehow pulled into a dark corner of the Spirit World; and third, he somehow couldn't bend and was tied up somewhere.
A fire bender tied up with rope was not a funny joke and was equal parts daring and stupid. It took hours of heat deprivation to undo a fire bender, and he would have had to have been out for so long for such to take root. Only a water bender had the means to have done all that, but the only water benders left were those holed up in the prisons or those holed up in the North.
He decided it was either the first or second options.
Ozai searched his memories for the last thing he remembered: which was falling asleep in his bed. He didn't eat anything strange or felt anything unusual before sleep took him, so it was more likely he was dreaming than in the Spirit World. In fact, when was the last time he'd heard of someone claim to have visited the Spirit World?
He decided he was dreaming, or having a nightmare given his apparent lack of control in his current predicament. Ozai understood the value and worth of patience. But he had always been the one deciding to be patient. Never had it been forced upon him until now.
And by his own mind, no less.
But if he was in a prison of his own making, then so too was it with his own will that he would escape.
Ozai never noticed when the black of sleep had taken him once again.
.
Ozai awoke from his horrible dream and checked his wrists.
He found no marks.
He further checked the rest of his body and face for anything and likewise found nothing. And then, with no small measure of fear, he roused his inner fire.
It was alive and well and roaring, just like it always was.
Ozai produced a small flame atop his finger and let the fire dance in circles. That dream he had, of pitch-black deafening silence and powerlessness, it unnerved him that his own mind could conjure such a disturbing image.
He decided to put that memory behind him and forget it at the soonest. The next Fire Lord wasn't something so weak as to fall prey to darkness. He was light incarnate. He was destined to bring the Fire's glory to the rest of the world with all those savages brought to heel.
His day of reckoning was coming, both he and his son continue to grow in power and influence within the court and with their own bending, and soon enough he would take his rightful place as heir. He just needed some way to help things along, an opportune moment for the unchosen to be cast aside.
Ozai finished his duties in the war council as soon as he was able.
He disagreed against the preposterous idea that opening new fronts was no longer viable. An overwhelming offense of scorched earth was a necessary measure, let the brushfire destroy the old and bring forth new growth. But he would not speak against his Lord in front of his men, there was no point in weakening the authority of an old man who'd lost his fire.
But there was much to lose in the institution he would inherit if he did so.
Ozai was a patient man. He could wait a few more hours to set the course of this ship back in the right direction.
And that's when he came across Ursa's little pet, doing his pitiful best at a kata even Azula had already mastered.
"Disappointing." Was all the cur deserved.
He turned his back on the mockery of fire bending and went his way to the war laboratory, perhaps minister Qin would have better news for him. His heir's new metal was going to be very useful with making the first war balloon. After all, it was only fitting that the conqueror of the air nomads would finally take the skies as they were always meant to do so, just as the sun rose and set upon it.
Once the day had ended, Ozai retired to his bed, always eager coming closer to the day he was finally crowned.
.
Ozai awoke, once again bound and incapable of moving. He made whatever noises he could make but his gag allowed him no quarter. Without his bending and with no further avenues open, he resigned himself to the mercy of his own twisted mind.
.
The following day, all was well again. He went through his day, fulfilling his duties, setting the Fire Nation on the right path. The cur was still trying to make him proud. He would let him try, but he would never deserve it.
.
Ozai awoke for the third night to the same helplessness. It had long lost its novelty after the second time. And all he could do was resign himself to his fate.
.
The following day, Ozai was finally feeling the burden of his nightly prison. His body was untouched, but his mind was slowing. Rest did not come easy. He took naps where and when he could but even that could not stave off the sleep he knew he needed.
.
Ozai awoke to the fourth night and screamed for as long as he was able.
.
The following day his guards woke him up before the crack of dawn believing he had been attacked once they heard him screaming. He was not able to voice his opinions, but he could write. And then, Ozai began to doubt how he could scream himself hoarse in such a short time.
.
Ozai awoke to the fifth night, he did nothing because he could do nothing.
.
The following day, the best Ozai could do for himself was walk out of his room and make an appearance. He would never let those below him see him so weak. But even he had his limits. He secluded himself a quiet corner and took what rest he could, for tonight, he would not let sleep take him.
.
Ozai awoke to the sixth night, bewildered, confused, indignant. He was not going to be denied by his own mind.
.
The following day, Ozai could not even stand from his bed. He could not lift his hands. His inner fire was but an ember where the day before it still burned bright despite his pitiful state. He called for a healer. And the Fire Lord saw his pitiful state.
.
"Son, what happened to you?" The old man brought a hand to his head, then the color drained from his face. "Get him warm. He's too cold."
Him? Cold? Fire benders did not get cold. This was something Ozai did not expect, nor was it something he understood. It was unnerving to suddenly be so afflicted when there were no signs of anything around him to even hint of what was happening.
And then, Ozai felt something he thought he'd forgotten long ago.
He was afraid.
.
Ozai awoke to the seventh night, to his father sitting next to him asleep in a chair, slumped over his bed surrounded by burning coals and incense.