Ozai made his way through the palace with a purpose.

It had been years since he'd last been here, and as a dutiful son it was only prudent to greet his father first—unless his brother was already Crowned in his absence. He knew he could go back to the palace anytime, statements on banishments needed clear and specific wording to be enforced. That was true ever since the beginning of the Crown's rule, that the terms surrounding his appointment weren't meant Iroh still had a use for him.

Ozai, however, always preferred shaping his own destiny to one that was laid out for him. He had carved a hole for himself in a court that saw him only as leverage and was doing a good job of it, loathe as he was to admit, even from beneath the shadow of his betters. He was always just that measure short of his father's ire, nothing but a spare at best and an obstacle at worst, but it gave him the freedom to lurk beneath the whitened ash, a still there ember ready to blaze back into glory.

Then everything changed when the great spirit took him.

Ozai opened the humble doors to the one place a smarter man would have avoided like the plague—and met the subtle, smiling gaze of a waiting beast, standing in the middle of the indiscreet room.

Fear was just an illusion, he reminded himself.

"Hello, son."

"Hello, father."

The beast lowered its head, the air fraught with the unbridled anticipation of sudden action. It was in the way he kept his hands open, how his weight was never truly on either foot, shifting, slithering, as if he were so bothered to keep up the pretense of his mortality. It was in the way his breath was so even and almost silent, like a show of thin, barely there smoke that caught the barest glimpse of moonlight.

Yet still his inner fire burned so bright.

Ozai could lose himself in the vastness of that miniature sun demanding itself be felt. He felt the sway of it against his being, beckoning him to bask in its warmth—a promise filled with cold and half-dead lies. He felt the gravitas of the being in front of him and accepted his smallness in the face of a storm that allowed his life on a whim; let it wash over and through him, and faced the beast with the dignity it almost saw snuffed.

Ozai accepted the inevitability of his death.

"It has been some time," he said, the evenness of his voice surprising him. "Have you and your siblings been well?"

The weight of the air shifted that smallest bit lighter.

"We have, father. Azula appreciates the dagger you sent her and insists on using it on anything and everything she can. Thankfully, Zuko always makes sure it's clean. I don't really agree that a ceremonial blade counts as a dinner knife, but I'm not about to argue that within her reach. Which is further now. Since she's taller than me. For now."

A short moment passed.

They met each other's eyes, the pregnant pause returning.

Then Ozai realized it was waiting.

"And Zuko?" he asked.

It was as if the air released its grasp of him. Intention, Lao Ge said, was as important as action when it came to matters with spirits—or the spiritual. Bending was the closest thing to a blessing from a spirit, an art perfected over eons and generations, distilling the vague wisps of inspiration through sheer determination and will into a practical manifestation of truth and power just slightly short of a mortal's full grasp.

That the old man said that as if he weren't said all Ozai needed, or wanted to know.

"He's taken to the training with master Piandao really well. He moped and pouted so much about Azula receiving a weapon that uncle bought him a pair of Dao he once saw in a shop, the training included."

Ursa's cu— favorite child, his first born even if he wasn't as excellent as his daughter or whatever this was in front of him, had been poisoned by his brother to turn against him. Or at the very least swayed to his brother's favor. Speaking of…

"And your mother?"

And then the air took on a prickling, numbing haze, as if the beast was preparing a bolt of lightning just in front of him without moving. A feat he wouldn't put past the thing that fancied itself a prodigy.

"She's been really busy lately with the cultural enrichment projects grandfather has her working on. It might sound frivolous, and some of them indeed are, but its important for the Fire Nation to grow further."

Honeyed words spewed from him so smoothly, yet Ozai knew the truth of Ursa's deeds. He hadn't completely lost the faith of those in court, some still shared what secrets they had but this was no secret. The shame of the prince's wife was the news of the century and further undermined his legitimacy, a fact his own father allowed to happen—his consent to how Ozai was nothing, and had always been nothing to his eyes.

But a certain night so many years ago came to mind, how the old man stayed by him so late, even falling asleep without dignity or comfort only to see him through the next morning. Of a fate imposed on him by the same thing that stood before him.

And now he would have his due.

"I see," he said. "And why did you let me live?"

It was not the words of a father to a son.

The beast regarded him with feigned surprise belying amusement, and loosed a breath that softened the harsh blazing edges of the too large flame into a resolute glow. Ozai found himself wondering about what death was like, and whether it would hurt.

He decided it didn''t matter.

"I see you finally figured it out," it said, not meeting his eyes. "Though I suppose you won't accept the excuse it was an accident?"

"There is more honor in an Agni Kai than dying a beardog's death." Tempting fate was not the habit of a wise man. Lao Ge had instilled that in him, but there were things that needed saying, even in the face of insurmountable odds.

"That's fair."

It released its grasp of his life, the air in the room losing the wound tight, near snapping energy that held everything still.

"And I do owe you an apology," it said, and bowed its head without ceremony. "I didn't intend to take it that far, but I hope you understand why I don't want to apologize for doing everything else?"

Ozai respected that. "It's well within your right as someone who stands above me."

The thing turned its back on him and walked to the lone desk in the middle of the room, pulling out a seat and sat down. It gestured for him to do the same to one of two chairs in front of its desk.

He knew it didn't matter whether he was standing up or sat down, if the beast wanted him dead then he would cease to be there and then. There was a certain comfort in an inescapable fate, and he supposed it was better he knew when than wondered where and how soon or later.

"That wasn't the point, and I concede it was wrong of me to do that."

Ozai was taken aback. "I didn't come here for an apology."

"I figured as much, but if you don't learn from what I did then all I was was being mean, yes?"

That was putting it lightly, but who was he to question the will of the spirits. "Then what were you trying to show me?"

"To be fair, I was hoping you'd connect your getting sick to you being nasty to Zuko."

"You… just wanted me to apologize to my son?"

"It was better than us having to attend your untimely funeral."

Ozai didn't really care as much, not anymore at least. Life, he'd realized, was too fragile to truly hold onto anything—which was what drew the old man's attention in the first place.

"Is that it?"

The creature sighed and rested its chin against its hands, the temperature in the room receding despite the high noon sun.

"Look, just, try to be nicer to Zuko and Azula, alright? And talk more to grandfather and uncle." It massaged the bridge of its nose. "Please."

"By your will, great spirit."

It slapped itself.

Then someone chose that moment and knocked on the door.

The beast raised its brow at him. "Do you mind?"

Ozai shook his head.

"Come in," it called out.

The door opened to a small girl dressed in red and green—a half-breed colonial, whose presence commanded his attention all the same. She had that same tranquil silence of danger that Lao Ge exuded, but lesser yet at the same time louder.

The girl came closer and bowed before them, like a great crashing mountain swallowing up the sea, then rose facing him, her jade glass eyes meeting his.

"Many greetings to you prince Ozai," the blind girl said, "if you won't mind, I just need your son for a moment."

He met the beast's questioning look.

It shrugged.

"Go ahead."

"Hey Crazy, I got my family's stamp, now help me fill out this document." The hidden mountain shoved a flimsy piece of paper, pretending to be a person like the slithering cold beast who sat across him.

Ozai wondered how there were two of them now.