(a/n: contains vague disassociating, victim-blaming, and some racist language)

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The day that Sokka's father burned his hands was the day that the boy's entire worldview was forced to change, Though he would never realize how much until later.

Sokka didn't immediately struggle against the powerful grip on his wrists when it happened; no matter how distant the man seemed at times, he never once expected for his father to hurt him. All Sokka had for reference into Ozai's nature was the time he spent with him. He remembered being taught about painting and art. He remembered pride and directness.

He didn't prepare for this.

The burning felt like it was going on forever.

Sokka had no concept of how measure that time, how to separate the pain from the reality outside of it. The pressure on his wrists kept him alert and conscious, even if he wished he wasn't.

But eventually, it did come to an end.

When it became more than apparent that Sokka wasn't going to be able to save himself, Ozai yanked his hands out of the bowl of fire and got to his feet, storming out of the room without another word. The door slammed behind him in an echoing crash.

Sokka didn't follow. He laid on his side from where he'd fallen, prone, and tried not to move.

He absolutely did not look at the burns.

His hands were in agony, and the slightest twitch of his fingers only made it so much worse. He just had to not move, if only it were that easy. His mind was fading in and out of awareness, and his hands were the only sensation still keeping the young boy awake. Thankfully, the smell wasn't strong enough to break through the haze Sokka was left in. And all of his sense of self was devoted to keeping still and limp.

Sokka would never be able to tell how long he stayed there, if it were only minutes, or if an hour had passed before the royal doctor and his aide finally came through the door.

As the man tended to the boy's hands with a cooling gel–Sokka unintentionally jerking at the touches all the while–he spoke of how...unfortunate that things had turned out this way. How Prince Ozai had been waiting a long time for this day to come.

And Sokka, confused and hurt, began to silently and unconsciously convince himself that his father never would have hurt him like that if he had just bended the way he was supposed to. If the flames had moved and jumped the way they should, even a little. And with that, the dull ache of betrayal in his chest was soon overwhelmed and buried by a far stronger feeling of shame.

Sokka...detached for a time as the man dressed his wounds. He was conscious but unseeing through the haze of pain. He felt like he was floating, drifting while his body remained in place. It was as though for a time the entire world and everything in it had ceased to matter.

But the only thing that Sokka remembered and recognized was his own twisted epiphany. That somehow the blame rested with him and no one else. That was what convinced him to alter the story when the doctor brought him to his mother, hands freshly wrapped in bandages clear up to the wrist. He laid the fault squarely at his own feet, that he was reckless with the test and jealous of Katara's natural talent, and never mentioned his father's hands ever touching his wrists.

In the end, she believed him, but that didn't stop his mother's anger.

The promise of sharp words and violence was clear in her gaze. And the moment she brought him back to his room–after encircling him with a careful hug and gentle words–Kya stormed away in search of Ozai.

There was nothing more for Sokka to do but try his best to sleep, and hope that the painkiller kicked in soon to let him fall into unconsciousness.

But as Sokka crawled into bed (ever so carefully to avoid irritating his hands even further) and tried to sleep, he couldn't get comfortable. And his mind wouldn't stop racing. His heart thumping with a beat of adrenaline, like he was still in danger even then. The memories on loop in his mind became too much to bear, succumbing to sobs in the dark room.

But he wasn't the only one around to hear it. Because, thanks to their mother–holding strong to the concept of close, shared spaces among family–the children of the Second Prince had shared rooms for a year, with two separate beds situated against opposite walls of their single room. And Katara, only half-awake and wondering where her brother had been for so long, startled to alertness when she registered the sound of choked sobs coming from Sokka's bed. The girl slipped out of her sheets and crossed the gap to climb up his. She'd never seen her brother cry like this before, and it shook her in a way she couldn't yet articulate.

There was something wrong and scary about it.

Whenever Katara was sad or got a bruise playing in the garden, Mom would give her a big hug. To say that she would get better, or that she would always be there.

Maybe that would help Sokka too?

She leaned forward and wrapped her hands around him, leaning her head on his shoulder. And then she heard him whisper, "I couldn't do it, I couldn't…" and apologizing in barely heard mumbles to their dad. "Father… I'm sorry…" She didn't understand what happened to him or why, but she knew Sokka was hurting, and that's what really mattered to her.

Eyes watering, Katara clung to him until the exhaustion took over, and put them both to sleep.

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In the end, Sokka lived through his ordeal.

By the time Fire Lord Azulon remembered that the children even existed and demanded an update from his second son, and learned of the nonbender within his own line, word had arrived in the capital that the Crown Prince was lost to the sea. Within a mere day, word of the disaster had spread to all corners of the Fire Nation capital. Lady Ursa and Iroh gone much the same way. Luck had not been kind to the Fire Nation's family or their many plans for the future.

But that same luck was kinder to the children's safety.

Azulon was vicious and bitter enough for the loss to tear at his son's inefficiencies, but he no longer had an heir with which to contest Ozai. He had no real fight or logical argument to offer in response when said Prince refused to get rid of his flameless firstborn son (either "by exile or by fire," Azulon had said). And no leverage with which to demand something meant only to harm those who were left behind.

He preferred to mourn the loss of the son he valued than deal with the increasing disaster that the royal family had become.

The Fire Lord shut himself off in his suite in the palace and refused to see anyone, venting and seething in private far from Ozai or his family. And thus the timing was all right for the flameless to be spared.

The children on the other hand, did not really know their uncle very well except through the stories thrown around by the guards. They heard that among the generals who fought for their country, he was the best and brightest, and probably one of–if not the–most skilled firebenders of his generation. There was a sadness there for the family member they never really got to know, but it didn't linger for too long. Not when the memory was so short. The most the two of them had gotten from Iroh was the gifts he sent home from his time in the Earth Kingdom.

Kya had been annoyed when she saw them, but ultimately did not deny them to her children.

They didn't understand the implication behind these trophies or just how the Crown Prince had obtained them. What was the harm in just letting them have something to enjoy?

It was as much as she could try to alleviate their family's current state.

Katara didn't play with dolls but she did think the girl in green was pretty and elegant, and made a nice fit when placed on her wall. Maybe she could have a nicer one made for her at any time, but it just wasn't the same. Besides, what of her time that wasn't consumed by her training and education was spent with Sokka, and she knew he wouldn't care about the doll. She thought it a neat little thing, a look into a bit of the Earth Kingdom that she knew nothing about, so far away.

Sokka's appreciation for the Earth Kingdom knife on the other hand was less impressive. Once he had fantasized about weapons (of being the "warrior" that his mother called him sometimes in her nicknames), but his burns and the ongoing physical therapy needed to even somewhat recover from them put a dent in that. It was a disappointment that nagged at him for a long time.

It would be some time before he would be in the condition to use that knife the way it should be, let alone actually learning to fight for real. Thus, til then, the blade would remain to be little more than a fancy decoration for him. Deadly decoration, but decoration all the same. And like that it would stay, until some years from then, when Sokka left the capital.

As it was, his slow path to recovery delayed a lot of what he planned to do as a kid.

The first time Sokka saw the scars in full light, and really looked at them, he felt physically ill. He'd not been aware the first time the doctor actually went over the details with his mother, but he could still tell that it was bad. The palms suffered the worst damage, and the skin there was a raw, noticeably deep red, and prone to cracking with physical activity–something that was hard to avoid. From the tips of Sokka's fingers to just past the knuckles were vivid pink tissue, and fragile. All of the scars rendered his hands rough to the touch, slightly misshapen, and hard to move even with therapy. Thankfully, the damage around his wrists and backs of his hands wasn't severe enough to be permanently discolored, but it was a weak balm to an otherwise unbearable disaster. And yet, he kept the full extent of what he felt about them to himself.

And the first coherent thought that Sokka had in regards to the scars besides the pain that was involved was that they were hideously ugly. Untouchable. And he couldn't stand the thought of showing them around. The one exception to that rule was, of course, his own family. Changing his dressings became a regular occurrence, one that his mother and sister helped him with when the attendants were unavailable or too slow for any reason. It stung and hurt in the beginning, but the predictable schedule of the act eventually settled him.

The moment that the bandages came off for the last time (with his scars barely looking any better to him than before), Sokka started wearing gloves. The thin, fragile silk threads could catch on his gnarled skin, but it was okay. As long as people didn't look at them.

Nobody had to see.

And yet, somehow, he was most torn about what happened with his father, and that was long after the worst had passed.

When the dust had settled, and the nation was consumed and distracted by the loss of their Crown Prince, the knowledge of what happened to him was kept quiet. Outside of the royal family, only a small group of close royal advisers and a royal doctor knew that Sokka was really scarred because he lacked fire. (Though even they didn't know exactly how that had happened, not that Sokka was cluing them in.) And there was an unspoken rule in the Palace not to talk about it. The young boy distracted himself with his puzzles and his haphazard sketches. But, despite that, Sokka was thinking about how his father wasn't spending any time with him anymore. It was impossible not to think about it when his adventures in the art world started to stagnate soon after Ozai stopped teaching him. Even the boy's growing fascination for the engineer's advancements in industry couldn't hold his attention for very long. The distance that formed was so hard for him to bridge. Or even attempt to if he worked up the nerve to try.

His father had to be ashamed of him for failing, that was the only conclusion Sokka came to.

In fact, the length of time it took for his father to meet with him alone again was enough for that suspicion to solidify itself in the boy's mind.

When he was finally called to his father's room, late in the evening, Sokka's nerves were jumping from all of his pent-up anxiety. It had been a long time since they had met alone like that. It hadn't happened since the...incident. The boy didn't want to say that he was afraid–he wasn't supposed to be afraid of his father–and in his head he chalked it up to just plain old nervousness. Just for his own comfort, Sokka acquired a new pair of gloves for the occasion.

Ozai was standing at the far window when Sokka entered, turned away to gaze outside into the distance, and his arms loosely crossed together beneath his heavy robes. Without even thinking about it, the boy studied his posture, and found it to be calm yet stiffly formal. His father didn't seem angry, but distant.

Again.

The days before that seemed so far away now.

Sokka stood quietly, heart pounding, "Father? You called for me?"

Ozai didn't turn around to face him. Maybe he didn't want to, or maybe his gaze was fixed on something in the distance. "Sokka," He spoke and the boy abandoned his thoughts and straightened quickly to attention, "Quite recently, I had a conversation with my aide and your mother, and we've decided to make some plans for your future."

With mom? Sokka tensed, unable to guess what this would entail.

"I've been told by your tutor that you have...a knack for, shall we say, building new things. And finding solutions." Sokka perked up; he didn't realize that anyone had noticed what he was interested in, what his puzzles eventually led him to. "We've decided that, within a few months, you'll be apprenticed with the engineers in order to better hone those abilities for the sake of the Nation," His father glanced over his shoulder, then turned to face him head on, meeting his son's golden eyes with his own, expression severe. "Is this acceptable to you, Sokka?"

Acceptable? It was a far cry better than any of the possibilities that Sokka had entertained in his head. "I...yes, I won't let you down," The boy worked out.

He would have continued if his father hadn't held up his hand at that moment, gesturing for his attention. Ozai's voice was more serious than Sokka had ever heard it, "Outside of the family, and a select few aides, no one is aware of your...condition." The boy flushed, the excitement he'd built up draining out of him quickly. "And…" The man continued, "it must stay that way. Do you understand how important this is?"

Sokka nodded, despite his uncertainty.

He didn't want to look like a fool in an important moment.

His father continued onward regardless, "In times like these, the Fire Nation has to project its greater strength to the world. That has become twice as important following the ah...unfortunate passing of the Crown Prince," He went silent for a few moments. "For now, the aides will make certain that your identity is not compromised to the public, but in time, this will become your responsibility to uphold." Ozai turned away from him, point made, "That will be all, Sokka."

It was a dismissal, clear as any other. It was really more of a status update than a real discussion. But all Sokka could think was that it was the first time they'd really talked since then, and the boy couldn't help but try prodding at old wounds, "F-father...Dad...about last time… I just...just wanted to say I was sorry I couldn't do what you wanted, that I tried, and–"

"That will be all, Sokka," His father repeated in a clipped voice, cutting him off.

The boy bit his tongue and stepped away. As he backed out the door, Sokka finished his sentence in a murmur, barely audible, "I won't fail you again."

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Ever since she started firebending for real, Katara's life in the palace was always a busy one. If she wasn't learning about firebending from her teachers or her father, then she was with her tutor, or her mom and brother, or playing in the garden.

The quieter times were when she spent most of her time with Mom.

Lady Kya, as the servants called her, always had time for her kids, even with all the work that she apparently put on her own plate. It wasn't a normal day unless she was multi-tasking.

The servants all seemed to be on friendly terms with her and were always eager to help, so she didn't really need to work. Her mother however, had a work ethic that was rare in the Fire Nation. Something that probably came from her homeland, and eventually passed down to her children, what with Katara's firebending katas and her brother's ever-increasing interest in machines. Katara heard from Fei that her mom always needed something to do long before she and Sokka were born. And that at least, hadn't changed since her children were born.

It's something she's reminded of one night when Katara catches her mom on a rare occasion when she's alone in the evening. Usually her parents are in the same place late in day, but not this time. Her father was busy with one of his later running firebending sessions (one of the ones Katara wasn't allowed to go to; Ozai's katas were too intense for her at her age, Mom had said). And Sokka dragged Fei off to escort him to library for his studies.

"Mom?" Katara spoke up, pacing into the sitting room, to find her seated at a desk with a stack of paper at her side and writing something in front of her. Curious, she stepped around the table to her mother's side, trying to peer up at what she was working on, though it was a bit too high.

"Oh, Katara! I didn't see you there, sweetheart," Mom exclaimed, setting aside her writing utensil and peering down at her. "And how were your studies today?"

Immediately the young girl's eyes lit up in response, recounting the newest change she'd experienced. Her near daily transit to the Royal Academy was necessary for the schooling Katara went through, and Sokka was tutored elsewhere, yet they were so stiff and formal that she didn't expect to actually find a connection there. "They were just fine, I even made a couple friends today!" Maybe a bit premature to use the word 'friend,' but from her perspective, there could definitely be something there. "Two of them, around my age," She continued, unable to stop herself from filling her mother in on the news. The two girls she met and talked to that day were so different from each other that they were nearly complete opposites: Ty Lee and Mai, one from a sprawling family, and the latter from a considerably smaller noble family.

As she regaled her mother with the tale of striking up a connection with the girls, the woman's face eased into a smile. Katara would remember later the stress on Kya's face that had started to relax the moment she spoke to her about her day.

"Well, maybe someday soon we can invite them over," Mom spoke encouragingly, "I know everyone's been too busy around here lately. With your father's duties and...well...we could always use something to lighten the atmosphere every now and then."

"Thank you!" Katara was delighted. Finally, the chance to have someone around that wasn't her family or the staff. And Sokka was spending less and less time playing lately. But even as young as the girl was, she didn't miss the strange tone in her mother's voice when she mentioned it. Maybe it had something to do with the papers? "But...what are you working on?"

Her mother sighed, ruffling the papers in front of her. She hesitated.

"Well...Katara, did anyone tell you about what's happening in the Fire Nation? With the conflict?"

The girl paused, pursing her lips in thought, "The...uh...the war? About the fighting?"

"Not exactly," The woman managed with a strained smile. "There's a lot of people that are left back home, here in the Fire Nation that have been affected by the war. Many of them have lost family or friends, and even for the ones who haven't, they've lost their fortunes as well. The war with the Earth Kingdom has made a lot of needy people, even here in the capital." The smile (however weak it was in the first place) falls from Kya's face, "I've been talking to some people in the palace. Sending some letters to those I can't meet in person. Some of them would be able to lend a hand to help the unfortunates here. But...I'm not having much luck so far."

"Why not?" Katara asked, unable to fully believe that no one would help. It was a good cause.

Mom released a sigh and a faintly disappointed look. "Unluckily for me, the advisers here and a lot of the nobility don't have the highest opinion of me. Ever since I married your father, they thought I was just a–" She stopped herself, before continuing on in a slower tone of voice, "Usually, it's better not to confront them. But I do need to convince them to help."

The young girl didn't have a solution for her. Not really, except to encourage her to keep trying. Either way, she could tell that Mom's countenance was a discouraged one, that she didn't think her efforts were making a real difference. Instead, Katara climbed up the cushy chair into her mother's lap as said woman pushed the papers aside and relaxed to make room for her.

"The longer the war continues, the more people are affected. The Fire Nation is not an exception," Those are the words Lady Kya says then. And there is power in them.

Katara wished she could end the conflict somehow. To ease her mother's mind at least.

As soon as possible. If that could somehow solve the lines of tension in her mother's face.

But how was she supposed to do it?

Katara wouldn't find an answer to her dilemma that night, and ended up drifting off to sleep with a racing mind in her mother's lap. She didn't even realize that her very presence there had lightened the shadow in woman's heart, without the promise for action and change that had been waiting on the tip of her tongue before she faded into dreamland. Even after that day, the conversation still echoed in her thoughts without stopping.

The easiest way to push her to ease and get her blood pumping again was training.

That was the specialty of Katara's father.

It wasn't often that Ozai was the one teaching her hands-on–it was usually one of the career instructors employed by the nobility that taught her what she knew. But he did sometimes sit in on the the sessions and asked for details to her progress over dinner. And every time her father would get an earful of her enthusiasm for the craft. Katara loved training. Something about the satisfaction of the work putting her at ease.

Pushing herself to the limits and showing up the teachers (and their questionable expectations of her) was only one of the perks of the experience. She saw the way people's eyes would linger on her, studying her. They underestimated her firebending because she was a halfblood, Katara could tell.

Father didn't deny those suspicions. He only encouraged her to "prove them wrong."

Father was always pushing her to be the best she could be. The doubt that people around Katara leveled on her only served to make her more determined to be better.

And it didn't take long for that attitude extended to other things in her life as well.

Even to her family, in some respect. Or, rather, to one person in particular.

Responsibility was important to royalty, Katara learned as such from an early age. Her father told her that he knew that she was going to become powerful in due time, and she would have a responsibility to guide those who weren't. That she would be a great force in the world when she was older. Katara didn't fully understand at that age, but the seeds were planted.

And she did know that Sokka wasn't like her.

In fact, soon after Katara found out her brother couldn't call fire to his hands like she could, they got into their first real fight. It was just a small thing at the time, but it did end up leading to something much greater. Katara was only showing off her skills in the garden, and Sokka–in one of his foul moods–insulted her gift and said her flames were "far weaker than Dad's."

Even if the latter was technically true, that didn't stop the spitting fury the hot-headed girl responded to him, in words she didn't think through, "I'm still stronger than you'll ever be!"

She didn't get the chance to see the expression on his face. Sokka shoved her away from him, hard. And Katara's arms windmilled helplessly before falling into the pond behind her with a splash. Her brother had already ran off before she pushed the wet hair out of her eyes. Katara would find him later, sitting before the hearth in their room, one hand half-raised near the dancing fire as though warming himself. But she knew better. Sokka was just...trying again. He did it often enough that it was beginning to become a habit for him. Never led to any change though.

After a moment or two, he spoke up, slowly, "I'm sorry for pushing you."

Katara followed immediately afterwards, "I'm sorry I was mean."

But what the young girl did not tell her brother that day was that she had only apologized for the way she said those words, the harsh delivery of them, but not the meaning of what she said.

It was a mean truth, but it was the truth. Even if it wasn't what he wanted to hear.

Katara was stronger than him. And that also meant she had a responsibility to him.

Eventually, wanting to help in her own way, she started using a bit of her time in the evenings heating up the bowl of medicinal oil that Sokka used for his scars. Not a complicated task, the girl simply cupped the earthenware bowl with both hands and warmed the liquid within until it was as hot as good bath. And soon after, her brother would bathe his mottled skin in the amber-colored oil until he was numb and relaxed, both body and mind. Without treating himself with it every so often, his hands would tighten up like a vice, and his scars might crack if he pushed himself too far. Over time, he needed the treatment less often, but never stopped it entirely. Initially, that was just one of the jobs that were all done by the family doctor, but when her brother was feeling stronger (and started to grow uncomfortable with the man's impersonal care), Katara decided to pitch in every now and then to help when needed.

Which was often.

Ever since Sokka apprenticed under the capital's premier engineers and inventors by their father's decree, he used less and less of his spare time to play with her. He apparently had the potential. It went a long way too, when one of the basement rooms was eventually converted into a personal work space for Sokka. But she still felt frustrated with it.

More than once Katara had found him in his new "workshop" on some secret new project of his, working his fingers to bruising, and even redder than before. And when she dragged him out to deal with his new, practically self-inflicted injuries, Sokka's mood would steadily sour.

If he wasn't overdoing it, and Katara at least feigned an interest in what he was working on, Sokka was a great deal more talkative. Listening was the only way to decode her brother's projects. His notes and journals were written in a rough, shorthand scrawl that only Sokka seemed to be able to read, and the sketches garbled enough to need his translation. Since he also started complaining about other engineers and designers being spiteful of his talent and trying to "steal his ideas," how intentional this was was hard to guess. Not that Katara told him that out loud after the first time. Her brother was unusually sensitive about his artistic qualities.

And like before, Katara's latest trip into his 'domain,' yielded another new discovery.

"Katara, could you please take a few steps to the left, please," Sokka said distractedly, currently hunched over an assortment of metallic pieces and scribbled diagrams, gesturing at the shadow she was casting over his work. He was so focused that he didn't even turn around.

The girl huffed and stepped out of the path of the lamplight. Her eyes were drawn to the closest sketch on the table. "What are you working on this time?" She asked, picking up the parchment and turning it over in her hands as she tried to decipher it. It looked like some sort of star? Maybe a sun, with sunbeams(?) shining off of it. And...underneath a mountain range?

"What does it look like?" Sokka said, metal clinking in his hands as he pieced them together.

"Ummm…" Katara started, knowing that whatever she guessed probably wouldn't be right.

Her brother muttered something under his breath before speaking up before she could finish, "It's something I'm making for the navy. It's a bomb that that can be placed underwater to deter the Earth Kingdom ships. I thought we could use a more hands-off approach for the sea…" Sokka continued, talking about the weapon's specifics and what an advancement it would be for the navy, but Katara was already distracted the moment he mentioned making a bomb.

A bomb? That was what her brother was making now? Wasn't that dangerous for him?

Something about her unease must have showed on her face, because when Sokka turned around to face her he heaved a sigh and spoke up, "I'm not testing it down here, Katara." He sat up as the girl shook herself back to awareness. "The ingredients are all inert at the moment. If I want to test it again, I'll have a few carted down to the coast and set them off there. Relax." He started going on about the chemicals he was using to produce a big enough explosion, how so far the bombs hadn't been set off to his satisfaction, and so on. Katara wasn't fully listening, her eyes drifting over the yet to be connected pieces of the bombshell–large curved metal parts with rounded spikes poking out from the convex side–before casting her gaze elsewhere.

A set of pinned papers on the far side of his desk caught Katara's attention. Among them were various sketches of a boat–the same boat in all of them it looked like–with images of anchors(?) repeated all across the hull. It might be some new prototype of warship, but it was also pinned together with a stack of papers as though it were extra important.

Before he could stop her with a shout, Katara had already crossed the distance to pick them up, flipping through them with her fingers. The first thing she noticed was images of that same prototype ship circling a round object–the globe? Several pages of Sokka's scrawled journaling shorthand that she couldn't translate, but she did pick out several important words: "Northern," "colonies," and "Air Temples." What in the world was all of this? This wasn't some new invention or weapon of his or something like that. More like...travel plans.

"Give those back," Sokka said irritably, yanking the papers out of his sister's hands, turning his back to her and carefully fixing the pile on his desk.

"What in the world was that, Sokka?" Katara asked, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Maybe it was because he knew full well that Katara would go to their parents if he tried to keep secrets from her, or that he didn't want to try to shout her down, but Sokka's shoulders soon slumped in defeat and he turned back around. He gestured for Katara to take one of the spare stools scattered around and sit down at the desk with him. "Before I tell you about this, you have to promise not to tell Mom about it," He murmured seriously, leaning in conspiratorially.

"What? Why would I have to do that? What exactly are you plotting?"

"Katara, just give me this one thing! Please," Sokka quieted himself, looking down at his hands.

That wasn't fair at all. She wasn't always on his case. But, if he was convinced to spill this strange secret, she was willing to indulge him this time, "Alright fine, I promise not to tell."

Sokka breathed out, spreading the papers he was holding onto so closely on the desk. It wasn't until he started talking that she was enlightened. "There's an old family tradition in the royal family that was around since before we were born. Both our father and grandfather participated in this, back in the day." Katara felt her eyes widening; she'd heard of this before. Sokka acknowledged her recognition with a nod, "The Avatar. They both went looking for them in the past and didn't manage to find him back then. I need to try as well if I can…"

Katara was in shock. This was his big secret? "Sokka that's crazy! First of all, it's way too dangerous for you to just take a boat and circle the globe, searching for the Avatar. And even if that wasn't the case, Dad would never let you go. You're needed here in the capital, remember?"

"I knew you'd react this way," Sokka grumbled, a tired twinge appearing in his eyes. "Look, you may not believe me, but I did think this through. The prototype–not to mention the elite crew I'd get together–is what's there to keep me safe. Stop being so overprotective!"

What? She was exactly as protective as she needed to be. Especially for him. "I, I'm not over–" Katara started before she was quickly interrupted.

"Yes, you are! Ugh, just hear me out for once!" At his words, Katara had reeled back in offense, an objection on the tip of her tongue. How could he say that? Despite her frustration however, she did remain silent this time. "I have plenty of defense against the dangers out there, so that's not an issue, and on top of that, I wasn't planning on leaving until my thirteenth birthday…" Katara frowned; thirteen still felt too young for this, but chose not to comment. "Not that I was going to tell Dad that I was planning to look for the Avatar anyway…"

The girl's expression perked up in interest, "Wait, what was that last part?"

"You're...right that our father wouldn't let me go if he knew what I was planning to do. So...it's going to be a secret. You're going to be the only who knows that I'm searching for the Avatar. Mom and Dad are only going to know that I'm going on a expedition across the Fire Nation territory and our established colonies." Sokka nodded to himself with certainty, "That's the best way to do things. Even Dad would agree to a mission like that."

Sokka was arguing full-tilt; it was surprisingly important to him for his mission to be considered.

Katara still didn't like the idea.

She still thought it would be too dangerous for him to go abroad. What if he got captured and hurt by some Earth Kingdom brigands? Though she could probably convince him to increase the size of the crew… A real, proper royal guard should be the first thing on the list. And Katara didn't know if this "prototype" was really as effective as Sokka was hyping it up to be. She'd have to wait and see in the future when it was actually built.

The one thing she wasn't concerned about ironically, was the idea of Sokka actually crossing paths with the Avatar. As amazing as it would be to finally track him down, she didn't think Sokka actually had a clue of where to start. Katara didn't think he would even find the Avatar, let alone track and catch him, so it wasn't something to really worry about.

Katara sighed and relaxed her stance, tension draining out of her. "Well then, you still have a couple years till then, so you have plenty of time to get ready."

Sokka relaxed, giving her honest smile then, "Thank you, Katara. I really mean it."

For a moment the young girl felt a little guilty over her false acceptance, but her brother would see for himself sooner or later that this mission of his wasn't going anywhere. Sokka didn't cling to pointless causes like that. The moment it became clear he wouldn't succeed, he'd go home.

And if it took a whole quest for him to see the truth, then she just had to be prepared for it.

.

In the height of summer in the Fire Nation, the entire country had a celebration honoring the day in which the sun was at its strongest, the Summer Solstice.

Every year, this annual celebration was the largest one in the nation, and everyone had something prepared for it. Even the armies fighting abroad found their own ways to acknowledge it with halted naval operations. And still others received military leave to celebrate in the colonies as they could. But none of that compared to the homeland celebration in the capital city.

The streets would be packed with temporary stalls selling handmade trinkets to commemorate the nation or the Sun Spirit Agni, or set up to sell fresh cuisine to any passerby. Long strands held strings of paper lanterns, some handmade by various sellers for the festival, yet to achieve their full brilliance with the sun still drifting above the horizon. Much larger lanterns built from spun golden silk were positioned above the highest rooftops in the city, glowing brightly like miniature suns. When the sun fully set, they'd be the crown jewel of the decor. Foot traffic in the upper city slowed to a trickle as revelry spread to the lower quarter where various performers, dancers, and actors were putting up shows on side streets and erected stages.

And for those who who couldn't handle the excitement and energy of the event, the Fire Sages in the capital had organized a special meditation ceremony to give thanks to Agni. But by and large, most of the population had other things in mind.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a fiery glow across the sky, the beginning of the celebration's biggest shows began. As the light drained from the sky, fireworks rocketed into the sky, screaming bombs of every color exploding for the amusement of the gathered crowds.

For such a big celebration, not even the royal family could really avoid it.

Sure, it wasn't considered socially acceptable for royalty to mingle to closely with the public on the crowded lower quarter. At least it wasn't safe.

But that didn't mean they didn't attend at all.

On the heels of an opulent lunch, Kya and her children were given a lavish escort to the more high-end stalls and performers that the upper city was still host to. Fei stood alert at the children's' side as they poked and prodded at various collectibles while the sellers babbled on about them, excited for the opportunity to sell his wares to the royal children. The guard would look stoic and defensive if it weren't for the fond glances he gave the kids whenever they spoke up, pointing out trade items and antiques that they didn't usually see.

Katara eventually selected a perfect oval gemstone of red coral strung on a golden silk choker, glinting in the light and cool to the touch. Compared to many of the other jewels, hers was surprisingly simple in design. But no one could deny that the gem looked elegant on her.

Sokka, on the other hand, moved back and forth between the stalls, forcing the escort to tail him unswervingly all the while. He was always picking up objects and turning them over to look at them more closely; normally the sellers had an issue with people touching their wares without buying them, but no one was going to raise that objection to the prince. If anything, Sokka's pickiness and well-known inclination to window shopping only made the shopkeepers more eager to appeal to him to compete with each other. Every item that he ended up putting back only made them more determined, but the boy didn't even seem to notice.

The stall that finally captured his attention was the animal seller, talking loudly to compensate for the yowls and chirps of the caged creatures around him. Sokka was drawn to the brilliant red feathers of a dragon-hawk messenger bird. "He's a very rare breed," The shopkeeper boasted, showing off the bird's crimson plumage, "and highly intelligent as well. You can teach him anything from sending messages to even lacing up your shoes for you!"

As he looked over the animal, something seemed to spark in Sokka's golden eyes.

It seemed like they finally had a winner.

Only moments later, a surprisingly calm and well-behaved dragon-hawk was perched on the boy's shoulder as he walked, expression bright as can be. "You're a beautiful bird, are you? Yeah, you know it," Sokka cooed at him, brushing back the long fringe of feathers atop the bird's head. He hadn't looked so carefree and excited in quite a while.

After Kya gone through the trouble of talking to him making sure that he was prepared to take care of an animal (and Sokka rattled off a list of what a messenger bird would need and where to house them), she acquiesced. The boy had been more than ready with his argument. And from his behavior, the hawk himself seemed more than happy to change owners. Of course, the moment her brother's new pet yanked a piece of bread out Katara's hand as they toured the stalls, the girl already wasn't on good terms with him. "Why'd you have to get a hawk anyway?"

"Because Hawky is amazing, and I'm going to teach him to be the smartest hawk in the world," Sokka said, utterly self-satisfied. This purchase was not one he was going end up to regretting.

Katara cast a glance at her mother with a brow raised in curiosity. 'Hawky?' She mouthed.

Kya just shook her head with a fond smile. Let him have his fun.

After dropping off the bird at the royal aviary for the day, the family's escort brought them to the theater for the annual solstice celebration. The theater usually hosted several acts for the evening, and it became a sort of tradition for the royal family to attend them and then afterwards going straight outside to watch the rest of the fireworks until the finale concluded.

But the moment the three of them found their seats in the theater's reserve box, a problem immediately presented itself. "Where is Ozai?" Kya spoke up, her gaze drifting to the empty seat. Prince Ozai had no interest in festival stalls and street-side performers, but he did show to the theater, usually meeting the rest of them there as the finished up seeing the sights. But it was strange for the man to not already be there. He shouldn't have anything important left to do; workload for everyone, including the royal family, dropped a great deal for the event.

Her loyal guardsman gave the offending seat a concerned look, "I was informed that the Crown Prince took a detour to speak to the Fire Lord on his way here. But I didn't expect their meeting to continue on this for long." The look of disappointment that followed his words appeared almost instantly on the children's faces, and Fei hurried to backtrack, flustered. "But I'm sure it was just a minor delay!"

But Kya wasn't prepared to wait. "No, if he comes any later, the show will have already started. Ozai knows full well how important this is to the kids," She got to her feet, placing a gentle hand on Katara's shoulder when the girl tried to stand up to follow her. "The two of you can wait here with the escort. I'll go back to the palace and find your father before too much time has passed." The woman didn't waste any more time, gathering up her dress and marching out of the theater with Fei hot on her heels.

She needed this evening to go well, for the kids' sake.

Ever since the incident with Sokka' burns, there was a strain in her life that wasn't there before. Or, not to the extent that it was now. Ozai had kept his promise to her; he protected Sokka from the Fire Lord's wrath. But he had grown more distant. But if anything, that only made his children want his attention more than ever. Especially Sokka, who clearly wanted it the most, and got it the least (unlike before). Kya understood that a Prince had duties, but that was no excuse not be there. And though she got him to cave in a few times, it didn't feel like enough.

And as for Kya herself?

Well, she tried not to be too bothered by the blood on her hands, especially if it was for her son. But the woman had never taken a life, even indirectly. Tt was a secret she kept from everyone, and she had to shoulder it alone.

Only Ozai knew the truth.

Whatever he was up to now.

Most of the family' guards stayed behind just beyond the reserve seats to keep an eye on the kids. Kya only had a couple–including her most loyal–to take with her. "Are you sure you don't wish to call for a delay, Lady Kya?" Fei asked gesturing back at the theater. "I'm sure that the show runners would listen to you, and…"

Kya shook her head, "No, I don't want to inconvenience anyone. We're not the only ones who came to watch the plays today. It wouldn't be fair to them to sling around authority just for something like that," She sighed, and then forced a smile onto her face, willing the dark thoughts away from her mind. "Why don't you tell me something while we walk? Oh...what about your partner? I heard that he was promoted recently, isn't that right?" The man's eyes brightened up in response as Kya succeeded in changing the subject. At least he was truly happy.

At least for someone around her things were looking up.

.

The last-minute conferences were always the worst. Having to put off everything planned for the day, changing into formal attire, and marching into a dark-lit room, only to get insulted at least once for all his trouble.

Father was always like that. You weren't allowed to have plans that interfered with Fire Lord Azulon's thoughts. Even now, with his brother dead, the Fire Lord couldn't seem to give Ozai the respect he deserved, even when he literally had no one else to give it to. When it came down to it, Ozai's father was a bitter old man who knew that he'd lost, and was taking out his frustrations on everyone around him.

It was only a matter of time until the Prince inherited the throne, and Azulon was smart enough to know it. He was reduced, a weakening shadow of the terrifying Fire Lord he used to be. Ozai could see it clear as day. And the figure who once sent anxiety coursing throughout his bones no longer had that level of power over him. Ozai himself was no longer so weak.

If anything, Iroh's loss was what finally defeated Azulon, wearing down his aged bones.

So why even defanged, did his barbs still manage to hit home?

He should have been toothless, an ailing Fire Lord getting closer and closer to his permanent retirement with every passing day. And yet…

"If that's all you needed me for, I have a wife to get back to," The Prince bit out the moment the conference ended, alone now with the Fire Lord, and his impatience to leave more than showing in his voice. But in the cold, quiet room, it was all too easy to hear the slightest sound, even the drop of a pin. And so, Ozai's feet hesitated on the threshold as he caught the faint sound of his father's cold laughter. He looked over his shoulder, meeting the slight sneer of the Fire Lord. "What," All that passed his lips was a flat intonation.

"It's nothing much," Azulon said dully, "just hearing you honor that title is laughable, even after these years. More so knowing it was founded upon a lie. And even I can't stand enduring your ignorance for one more Solstice."

Ozai didn't need this now, not on this day. His nerves were taut, and even the tone that he learned to ignore after so long now caused his jaw to tighten. "A lie?"

Azulon let out another faint, raspy laugh, and yet his voice seemed to fill the room completely. The Fire Lord was on his last legs, white and withered, and yet men across the country still feared him. Feared his history. "Yes, a lie," The man repeated, taking his time. "I might even pity you, if I didn't already know how foolish you are, Ozai."

The Prince in question felt his hands curling into fists. Anger he'd kept down for so long bubbling back up.

"Do you know of what I'm referring to?" Azulon continued, calm. "Of course not. I can't even be surprised that you never figured out that your 'wife' never really cared about you at all."

"...You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" The Fire Lord spoke, disdain thick in his voice, "I have more experience with the Water Tribe. Honorless little deceivers, the lot of them. It's a defect laced into their blood." The man stood, tracing the wood grain pattern with his fingertips. The dull amber color of his eyes, long since faded with time, reflecting nothing at all. "And that woman you married is no different. Certainly, she only consented to tie the bond with you to save her own hide."

"Do not insult my wife in that manner," Ozai snapped, his temper finally giving way. He had long been coached in the past not to act so. Yelling at his father, for any reason, never ended well. But this time his patience had worn thin.

Not to mention that an attack on Kya, was also an attack on Ozai. And the man knew that well.

"I will insult a savage however I please," Azulon replied coldly. He lifted his chin imperiously. "I am witnessing the destruction of my forefathers' royal family unfolding before my eyes. First the Lady Ursa, then your disgraceful replacement, and my own beloved son… Disasters one and all." The Fire Lord stepped to one of the curtained windows, pushing aside one length of cloth just enough to allow in a sliver of light. "And here you are, defending your decision to create half-breeds. You truly are...a disappointment."

The crackle of ozone was the first warning. The rapidly rising heat was the second. With Azulon's age and position, there was no way he could possibly avoid it.

Ozai extended his hand, and let his lightning fly.

.

The sharp cracking noise broke the conversation in an instant.

Kya glanced up at the ceiling in confusion, "Was that...fireworks?" The explosions might have started by now, but she didn't remember them being quite so loud before.

"I don't think so. It's coming from one of the upper stories," Fei cocked his head curiously. "In fact, I think the conference hall is somewhere up where that came from. Maybe something happened up there…" The guardsman led the way, marching up the stairs with Kya close by on his heels.

Now that she was thinking about it, the woman did recognize the noise.

But she didn't get much time to think about it. Before she could even think about the clear day , a day without thunderstorms, the door was before them. Fei raised his hand to pull it open, and instantly Kya's nose was assaulted with a vile (and familiar) scent, instinctively bringing her hand to her face to try to suppress it. It was the smell of cooked flesh, and dark memories of soot on icy coasts told her in no uncertain terms that it was human meat.

Blinking away her watery vision, Kya looked into the conference room to find Prince Ozai standing–transfixed–and staring down at a burned figure wrapped with fine crimson clothes. Without even thinking about it, she found herself walking inside, wide-eyed and silent out of some perverse sense of curiosity. Kya couldn't explain the feeling in her chest, but she she had to walk into that room. Conversely, Fei didn't move from the door frame, gagging faintly beyond her range of awareness. And when Kya directed her sight down at the body, she realized she was looking upon the crumpled figure of Fire Lord Azulon. The scorched blackness that must've been the work of Ozai's lightning covered his chest, like a consuming sickness.

And somehow, miraculously, he still lived.

A harsh, choking noise came forcing its way out from the once-powerful Fire Lord's throat, one that Kya took a moment to realize was laughter. "A...fool to the end...Ozai." It was disturbing to realizing how much more emotion the man showed when he was teetering on the border between life and death. "You're...finished, both...of you."

Ozai didn't move, or even speak. Whatever emotion that possessed him to snap and attack in the first place was used up. He stared at his dying father with a look of confusion and dull shock. He didn't seem to realize what he'd just done.

"The royal family...ends...with me," Azulon's face curved into a rictus grin. Self-satisfied to the end. "The...Nation will know. You're...done. You and your...half-breed children."

He laughed again.

And in a moment, Kya saw white.

She didn't think, only felt. And the woman was no longer afraid of this broken Fire Lord who had tortured her homeland and murdered her people. This man who wanted her children gone because they were born wrong. Kya's hands were around his throat before she thought about it, squeezing the life out of him even as they shook from emotion. Tears gathered and spilled over in her eyes. "You will never hurt them," She cried out, "Never!"

The man who had once been so terrifying was weak and dying, and Kya was strong.

He broke, too easily, under her fingers.

Kya collapsed into sobs, tearing her hands back as the monster's life slipped away.

Ozai dragged her away from the body, shaken out of his trance by the woman's actions. He glanced between her, the cooling body, and Fei still standing in shook by the door. "Guardsman!" He snapped, calling the man to attention, "Lock the door, immediately! No one comes in, do you understand?" Fei cast his gaze in between all three forms, as though weighing his options (hesitating mostly on the figure of Lady Kya in tears), and then jumped to obey.

Kya was frantically wiping her hands on her dress, as though trying to wipe away Azulon's tainted presence.

"Kya," Ozai caught her attention with a large hand encircling her shoulder. "He's gone. We won't have to tolerate him any longer. No one will ever know." He caught her hands with his own. "After today, I will be Fire Lord, and no one will dare to say such things to us ever again."

Were she more alert, Kya might have seen the darkness in those words, but she was too emotionally exhausted to know. As it was, Ozai embraced her, a victorious feeling crawling up inside him.

No one would ever know.

...