This is shorter than the previous chapter by only 3000-ish words. Yes, the first chapter was 12000. Absurd!

This chapter is all about Azula. Enjoy.

Third Update:Timeline adjusted to fit canon's continuity better, thanks to reviewers. Spelling errors and grammatical errors that escaped me are fixed.

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CHAPTER TWO: CLASSICAL



All of a sudden, there was a loud series of coughs.

Stifling a yawn, Shuang looked over to his companion. The man was nearly doubled over in his coughing fit, his hands over his mouth. It sounded pretty bad, like the hoarse bark of a seal.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "Where were you last night, anyway?"

Dan Yi hadn't come back to the barracks after they had left their post, the night previous. When he could catch a break from clearing his lungs, he looked over and choked out, "Yeah." He spiraled down into another fit, and when he recovered, he explained, "Princess Azula is learning to firebend."

Shuang made no effort to hide his cringe.

"And how does that reflect your health?"

Dan Yi straightened up, leaning against the red pillars. Turning towards his fellow guard, he slipped his fingers under the edge of his mask and pulled it up and over his face.

Shuang, having shared a room in the barracks with Dan Yi since they were teenagers, knew what his friend was supposed to look like. Gone was the carefully manicured beard on his chin, leaving nothing but stubble. His lips were dried and cracked, creased red wherever the skin had broken. There was a strange yellow-grey mucus in his mouth, and it occasionally bubbled on his lips, the telltale sign of an infection.

"What happened?" Shuang asked, concerned. He lifted his own mask to see better and crossed the hall to inspect closer. From closer up, he could see that Dan Yi's mouth had minor burns across the front.

"I ran across her when my shift ended last night," he explained. His voice was dry. "She apparently grew tired of training with her teacher, I don't know why. She threw a fit when he wanted her to continue working with nonliving targets, so... she demanded I spar with her."

Shuang let out a disgusted noise, and lowered his voice considerably.

"If she wasn't going to grow up to be beauty, I'd wish for her to die in her sleep. Good thing Prince Lu Ten is heir... I would fear for the safety of the entire nation if she were entrusted with power. Prince Lu Ten will be a good ruler, someday, like his father will be."

It wasn't that the Fire Nation was terribly run under Fire Lord Azulon. In fact, it was better than rulers they had kept in the past. When the war had begun, the trade with the Earth country had been growing weak anyway, and the Fire nation, possessing a hot, dry climate with a very short growing season, was suffering from extreme shortages of food. With the invasion of parts of the Earth nation, the Fire nation simply secured itself a place to grow enough food to support it.

However, simply possessing the land didn't solve it. Crops frequently failed to make it to the Fire nation's starving people, thanks to the Water tribe's boats and the lack of knowledge about farming on the Earth kingdom's land. Food was in short supply amongst the peasants and commoners, and it signified a dangerous world when joining the military was the fastest way to ensure your family food. It sometimes costed a family member's life to feed the family for five years.

"I cannot wait for the day General Iroh takes the throne. Fire Lord Azulon may be powerful and wise, but this is the third year my family has barely survived the dry season, even with the Earth lands." Dan Li let out an odd, raspy breath, and he said, "If only her beauty excused her viciousness. She cannot control the flames yet, and thrust them straight into my face. Luckily, my armour protected all else."

"How did she aim so well?" Shuang frowned. "Surely, in her early training, she should hardly be able to create flame, let alone manipulate it?"

"She didn't create," Dan Li sighed, "she ordered me to show her fire-breathing, and when I did, she gave me quite the blow-back. Shot the flames backwards into my mouth."

Shuang shook his head and frowned. "And then?"

A strange look passed over Dan Li's rugged face, dark and displeased. He said, softly, "She laughed. She simply laughed, and demanded I show her again."

"Did you?" Shuang asked.

"No," Dan Li replied, his broken voice laced with sorrow, "how could I? She shouted and threw a fit, but I refused. She summoned the Captain of our division... I was docked pay for two weeks. My wife, the children... they need that money..."

He couldn't continue. From down the hall came the girl herself –– Princess Azula in her play-clothing, walking down the hall like she owned the place. At the age of only nine, she was plenty mature. Dan Li's children were in their early teens, and they still exhibited more childishness than the Fire Princess did. Azula walked with the dignity of a grown woman, she carried the haughtiness of someone beyond her few years. Her friends, similar in age, did not carry this same dignity. The smallest of the three was chattering away happily, and the tallest seemed merely bored.

When Azula approached, Shuang crossed the hall again to stand at his post, and both pulled down their masks and straightened. Azula paused between the pillars, looking between them.

"Where you out of your posts?" she asked, slyly, a wicked little smile blossoming on her face. She put her hands on her hips.

"Oooh, I saw them, they were. The skinny one was standing on the wrong side of the hall, I saw it!" the smallest said, brightly, and Azula looked her way with narrowed eyes, calculated and cruel.

"Oh, shut up, Ty Lee, we all saw them. We'll just tell their captain when we see him! Maybe they'll be dishonourably discharged for disobeying," she said, as if it were nothing. Shuang dry-swallowed, and he could tell Dan Li was doing the same. Even so, the girls continued on without another word, leaving them with that lingering thought.

Princess Azula was a witch.

"Daddy was saying, the other day, how Earthbenders put up an amazing fight," Azula went on, "He says they fight with every last disgusting inch of their being! But they aren't so bad. They only survive because of the great wall of the city, not because they're strong. Our firebenders don't even break a sweat!"

"How is your Uncle?" the dark one asked, bored. Her eyes were half-closed, and her feet shuffled against the ground.

"His personal army has been going deep into the thick of battle," she replied, excitedly, "it's really dangerous there, Daddy says."

"What if he dies?!" the smallest asked, concern slipping into her voice. Azula scoffed.

"Then it's better for me! If he and Lu-Lu died in battle, all I'd have to do is worry about Zuko, and then I'd be Crown Princess!" Azula said, with building excitement.

It didn't take long for them to reach the doors down the hall. The trio passed out of sight and earshot, and Azula threw the two guards a smug look, and they waited a few moments before they dared speak again. Even then, they didn't relax.

"I hope she is married off to some old general," Shuang said, stiffly, "Her interest in the monarchy disturbs me."

Dan Li only nodded.



Father confided in her.

Her mother was soft, delicate, perfect for Zuko and his disgusting need for someone to run crying to. Azula didn't need that. Azula didn't cry. She didn't wallow in insecurity, like precious, pathetic Zu-Zu.

But her mother had teeth, too.

"It's time for a talk," she said, and Azula was disgusted when her mother took her arm, as if she were a child to be punished. She was nine, now –– she was her father's prodigy, her father's secret keeper, her father's little princess. Better than Zuko, better than any general or grown man he had.

She was a master.

The shock at being dragged so forcibly by her sympathetic, gentle mother vanished from her and she adopted her favourite expression.

"What do you want to talk about, Mother?" she simpered, giving a coy smile and allowing her mother to pull her off. Princess Ursa kept on going, marching them across the palace. It felt like forever, and then she pushed open a large, ornate door.

Azula had never been in her father's room, and while it didn't shock her, even she could admit it was unusually ornate, every column and every post wrought with fine gold and metalwork. The bed was large, and there was a chest at the foot of it, and other than that, there were no other pieces of furniture, just a wide open space with a high vaulted ceiling. Despite it being night time, her father was not present in the room, and she knew why.

"Azula," her mother said, firmly, "what have you been up to?"

"Nothing, Mother," Azula smiled, brightly, maybe even affectionate in some dangerous way. "Zuko just had a bad dream."

"I can tell when you're lying, Azula," Princess Ursa replied, swiftly. There was something about her tone that didn't match her face, her eyes welling with tears and her mouth drawn into a hard but worried line. "What is going on?"

Azula erupted in giggles, vicious and loud, each round with more fervor than the previous. Her tiny body shook with each one, violently, and she only calmed because her breath was seizing in her lungs from all the effort, but she knew her mother understood perfectly. She knew her mother knew what was going on. She knew her mother was terrified, and utterly destroyed, and she didn't care.

Azula knew that all her mother had was her motherhood, and her motherly love, and there was nothing more. Even when she knelt down and held Azula by the forearms until she stopped laughing, the gesture was done with love. She did it gently, as if Azula were breakable, despite the firmness of her hold.

"Azula, what did Fire Lord Azulon say to your father?" Princess Ursa shook her, too gently, and Azula followed the movement with much exaggeration, her head falling back and then forwards, like a doll, stifling the last of her giggles.

"Not much," she said, playfully, "just some stuff about first-borns."

Her mother seemed to understand; she seemed to carry this revelation with little surprise but with much fear, an apprehension. She said, urgently, "What did he say, Azula? Tell me everything you know."

"I still say my father would make a better Fire Lord than Uncle Dumb-Dumb," she replied, casually, leaning against her mother's hands heavily, like a burden. Ursa held her tightly, her pale hands curled around Azula's forearms, as if she were growing fearful of her own child.

Good, Azula thought.

"Azula, Azula," Ursa said, urgently, the demand in her voice resurfacing and then vanishing again, "If your grandfather knew you were speaking like this, he would disown you for disrespect! What did your father say to Azulon? Quickly!"

There was a clang outside the door and Princess Ursa looked up. Azula saw the look on her mother's face so clearly, the sweat beading on her forehead, the sad and worried eyes, and the mouth drawn with such maternal concern! It thrilled her, it amused her, that her mother would worry so much about precious, precious Zuko, enough to shake Azula between her hands, firmly again, and Azula could only laugh.

"Just some things," she said, coyly.

"What things, Azula, please, this isn't the time for games!" Ursa urged. She released Azula and stood up straight, looking down at her daughter, and she said again, "Azula, tell me what your father said."

"Before or after they met?" Azula smiled.

"Everything, Azula, why are you doing this to me? Don't you understand how important this is? Your father came to me and told me Lord Azulon had made an important decision… he did not say what, but I know your father too well to calmly sit by. I know you eavesdrop on them, please don't make up lies. Tell me!"

"Just some things about first-borns," Azula said, flippantly, and she relished the look of fear on her mother's face, watching her intently, and her smile blossomed larger and larger. Ursa's pupils contracted. Azula kept on smiling.

"But what did they say, Azula?"

"Oh, Mother, stop repeating yourself," Azula admonished, and then she asked, slyly, "Why are you so upset, Mother? Honestly! It's just another death in the family. Pity, huh?"

Ursa looked horrified, and she took a step back. The look on her face was conflicting, yet again, twisting and turning between fear of her daughter and fear for what she quite clearly suspected: Zuko. Precious, pathetic Zuko.

"Are you alright?" Azula asked, again. She couldn't hold back a laugh, and it escaped her lips, to Ursa's continued horror.

Ursa couldn't face her daughter anymore, it seemed. She turned away, her red robes twisting behind her as she did so, and she made a motion like to leave for the door, but instead she stayed where she was. Azula couldn't see, and she made no motion to follow, but when her mother brought her hands up to her face, she knew what a pitiful moment her mother was going through.

It awed her, enthralled her, that she had that sort of power over even her mother, who was so regal and defined, so strong and respectable. Azula delighted in her mother's weakness, in her own power, in the fact that she had everything in her control.

So she spoke to her mother's exposed back, ready to stab the woman at her lowest moment.

"If chance will have him Fire Lord, why, chance can crown him," Azula said, with a brilliantly wicked look – her eyes narrowed, her red lips curved into a horrid smile. "Daddy will do anything to be crowned, even if it means taking Zuko out of his path. And Grandfather seems to agree."

In any other time, one would have assumed that a father would never have to remove his own son to inherit. In the many lines of succession, rule passed to the eldest, the first, whoever was willing to take the power and use it. It was their divine right, as the first-born, and Azula felt her father's path with commiseration, to be the second-born but better of the two.

If her father could kill his son to prove his strength, then it opened the throne up to not only him, but her as well.

Ursa looked at Azula over her shoulder, face drawn up in resolute anger and passion, the tear streaks fading from her flawless cheeks. Her eyes sharpened, still filled with tears, and she said, clearly, "What have I ever done to wrong you, Azula?"

"Nothing, Mother," Azula said, sweetly, but her own face spoke of challenge and cunning. She was in the right position to go for the kill, and she said, bluntly, "I just love Father most."

Ursa made a motion with her hand, like she was raising it to strike Azula. While any other child would have shrunk back in fear and horror at such a gesture, Azula did not. Azula stood fast, challenging still, and Ursa didn't strike her, instead dropping her hand. She stared, as if bewitched.

"May I go to bed now, Mother?" Azula asked, casually, and her mother didn't reply.

Ursa swept by her in a storm of crimson silks and satins, towards the chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. She pushed it open, with surprising strength, and Azula watched her root around for a moment before pulling out some clothes.

"Mother?" Azula said, curiously. Her smile remained.

"Go to bed, then, Azula," Princess Ursa replied, swiftly and curtly. "That's an order."

"Yes, Mother," Azula replied, and she gave a swift bow, almost sarcastic in nature. She left with that smile, that smirk, that look of sheer overpowering euphoria.

Azula crossed the great halls of the palace with a sense of smugness, feeling victorious in its own right. She figured that, by the end of the week, she would be Crown Princess – she would wear the crest in her hair and bear the title with pride, that she would be an heir worthy of the Fire Nation. She would wear the robes her mother wore so elegantly, but she would be no princess confined to the palace. She would do her nation proud like Zuko or Ursa never could, and she saw her mother for the last time that night, knowing full well that one day, she would see Zuko for one last time, too.

Heart or tongue couldn't name or conceive her drive to succeed.



The sun was rising too fast for Zuko's liking.

As it went up, brightening the world, his mood darkened. Every speck of light glimmering off of the golden-red waters brought blackness to his heart and dryness to his mouth. He was terribly worried and sore, and he felt sorry he was alive.

He watched yet another black ship sail off into the horizon line, finally disappearing altogether in the direction of the Earth kingdom. He silently wished he were with them, going off to an uncertain but undeniable future, instead of trapped here to wait. They were going to die, and they were going to die oblivious to the political world.

"You're going down," his sister sang behind him, and he gasped and shifted away to the side when he felt her breath on the back of his neck. She scared him, no matter how much younger she was. She startled him.

"Leave me alone, Azula," he replied, sharply, glancing at her over his shoulder, and she danced .

She was smiling, so that he could see her teeth lined up between her red lips. Her eyeteeth looked like fangs, from his angle, and her look was one that suggested she was ready to devour him, like a wolfote on a lamb. It sent a familiar crawl down his spine, still.

He looked away from her, and set his eyes on the water again, leaning up against the balcony rail.

"Thinking about how Father's going to kill you?" Azula said, sweetly. The syrupy, too-good-to-be-true quality to her voice was one Zuko knew well, one he had felt on his ears too often to forget.

But it was Zuko's turn to scoff.

"I'm having an Agni Kai with the General, not Father," he replied. "And he's not going to kill me."

But Azula knew better than to fall for any confidence, he knew. She had spent years driving that confidence to the ground, and then digging holes for whatever was still alive to fall into. Azula had an affinity for cowards, and she made people cowards so she could amuse herself. And he was one hundred percent sure that, had Azula been in the mission room when they planned to sacrifice the forty-first division, she would have laughed herself unconscious in glee.

She laughed then, and Zuko leaned over the balcony and ignored her, intently staring out at sea. She went on giggling even as he tried to ignore her. Her laugh was unrestricted, high and completely cruel.

"Oh, Zuzu," she laughed.

"Stop it," he growled, and he turned to look at her, bracing his arms against the railing. His fingers curled tightly, and his shoulders tensed. He said, "I'm not fighting Father."

Azula was his father's favourite. Azula was the one his father truly cared for, if not loved. She was the one he personally extended an effort in, in her training, in her life. The Fire Lord hadn't invested a moment in Zuko's training since he was nine years old, when Azula was six, when she showed more promise than him. Their father had dropped him the instant he had shown a single fragment of remorse, or a single fragment of inferiority. Azula had surpassed him at such a delicate age.

He'd hated her from that moment on. Her confidence, which had always been superior to his, had bloomed on the instant their father had named her a prodigy. That was when the wicked looks manifested in his every-day life.

Zuko, the first-born, Zuko, the second-best.

Zuko felt as if they were constantly trying to get rid of him, and it enraged him.

"I'm the first-born, Azula!" he said, as firmly as he could. His voice gained confidence and muster as he continued, like a rolling ball gaining speed down a hill. He continued on, angrily, "No matter how much Father loves you, no matter how much he praises you, no matter how anyone likes you best, I am the first-born. I am going to inherit the throne. I am going to inherit the country. And you are going to be nothing but a wife to continue the royal line!"

This did not only grate her nerve. It ground it, so that it broke the surface and penetrated deep and hard. Azula's dream had been her leadership, her rule, and reality was a twisted thing, no matter what. He knew of it, it was engraved in his mind in an iron pen, she had made it clear since they were children.

"You think you can't be gotten rid of?" she replied, softly, and he faltered, if only for a second. "You think you can't be wiped from the royal line, smeared across the floor and forgotten?"

Zuko hadn't considered that, and with the look on her face, he feared it, suddenly. It grabbed him like a cold sickness and choked him.

She could kill him.

"I'm first in line!" he snarled, viciously, "No one would dare smear me across any floor!"

If looks could kill, he would indeed be smeared. Her golden eyes narrowed, flickered with something far more intense than rage, and she said, again, calm and silkily, "You think you can't be killed, Zuko?"

He dry-swallowed, the knot in his throat growing ever tighter, and he opened his mouth to heave another retort, but she threw what he couldn't protest right in his face: "Father removed Uncle," Azula said, "and you know it."

Zuko had had enough. He let out a primal shout of anger, and he rushed her. He just didn't care anymore: he lunged, and she didn't see it coming.

He didn't even feel the sting of his knuckles as they made contact with the sharp ridge of Azula's jaw, and he didn't even consider the shock it must have been. He didn't think about how it could have been her first serious physical blow, the result of her very first fist-fight. That didn't matter to him. He didn't even wait for her to get up before delivering a shove backwards, and Azula hit the ground.

He stood over, breathing hard, and a bit afraid. He had contested her before, but he had never confronted her before. Never had he reacted so rashly.

Azula climbed to her feet, clutching her cheek, her eyes hardened but glazed with unwanted tears anyway. She brushed herself off, and balled her hands into fists momentarily, as if she was tempted to just punch him right back, but instead she adopted the fighting stance and pointed the flat of her hand at him.

"Hit me like a peasant would? Is your firebending that bad?" Azula said, dangerously. There was a slight sting of pain to her voice that made Zuko feel bad, for a split second, but she shouldered it off well. She continued, voice rife with threat, "I'll show you how to firebend in a fight, brother."

He moved to take the right pose, but she had outpaced him already: she shot forward, one arm circling in the air and leaving a pinwheel of fire behind it, one that streaked towards his chest. He flung himself backwards, clumsily, and he made a flat arc of fire in front of him, to block hers. It worked, but she slid under his flailing arm and came up behind him.

Zuko began to move to stop her, looking over his shoulder to check where she was, but again he was outpaced. Azula was smaller, lithe, and undeniably better. He felt a foot pressed to the inside of his knee, and he buckled. Her other foot came against his other knee an instant later, and then there was a brusque shove to the small of his back.

He was on his knees before he knew it, with her hand wrapped around the base of his topknot and her other palm warm against the back of his neck. She giggled, and he let out an angry breath. The skin on the back of his neck tingled with sensitivity under the heat, but she didn't burn him.

"Daddy's going to love the show today," she said, quietly, and he could feel the malicious smile on her face. He could feel her viciousness, and it stabbed his pounding heart mercilessly.

She let go, roughly, and he breathed hard, willing himself to straighten up. He didn't, for a moment, and he listened to her walk away, her boots staccato on the tiled floor.

Zuko rose, quietly, and he just glowered at her.

"First-born, second-best, Zuko's walking into death!" she sang at him, and she sauntered inside.

First-born, second-best, Zuzu's gotten quite obsessed.

First-born, second-best, stupid brother is depressed,

First-born, second-best, he's walked into a dragon's nest.

First-born, second-best, Zuko's getting very stressed!



"Father?"

He looked up, carefully, his amber eyes drawing away from his papers slowly. Azula smiled, and folded her hands in front of her, politely. She waited for her father to acknowledge him, and when he finally did, her smile widened.

"Yes?"

"I wish to ask you a question," she said, respectfully.

"And what is that question, daughter?"

Azula could hardly keep the curiosity from overtaking her composure. She wanted to lean up against his desk, laugh, and generally admire her father, but she had been raised by his firm hand, and knew better.

Her entire life had been his guiding hand.

"I want to know," she explained, "why you scorch your victim's face when you win."

Her eyes were dancing in joy, the firelight glowing against her young face. The malice clung to her lips, it clung to the very way she stood and waited in anticipation. Azula wished to know and it drove her.

Her father sat back in his seat, and he said, calmly, "Such as your brother?"

Azula paused, and then nodded once, the picture of feigned innocence. She delighted in her brother's newest problem. She had seen him laying on the floor, screaming, crying and screaming more, like a mere animal dying. Azula had wanted to laugh and laugh when her father forbade any action on a medic's part, stating that intervention would lessen the scar. When her father had left, as if nothing had happened, leaving Zuko shrieking in pain, screaming for his precious dead mother, Azula had done nothing to contain such a wicked smile. How it enthralled her, to see her father use such power without remorse! At that moment, she aspired to follow in his footsteps more than ever.

"Yes, father," she said, finally. The smugness escaped, she smirked, and the corners of her father's mouth twitched up into a similar smirk.

"I think it is an appropriate time for you to learn," he said, slowly. Every word was deliberately brought out, stressed to the fullest. "Given Zuko's shame, it stands to reason the Crown Princess should know how to run this great nation."

Azula would hardly contain her glee, her euphoria, what was practically a rapture in her father's presence. She was the Crown Princess, she had been since the night before.

Her father glanced to the side, eyes half-closed in some semblance of relaxation. The scribe there, attentive as always, said, "Yes, Lord Ozai?"

"I wish to be summoned next time a group of infidels are brought to the bastion. Princess Azula may be summoned, too. I shall mark them myself," he said.

Her curiosity blossomed.

"When will they be coming?"

"We welcome the Earth nation resistance to the citadel on an hourly basis," Lord Ozai drawled. "Now run along."



Her father had a remarkable way of walking, with long firm strides, as if every footstep would shake the resolve of enemy nations. His every moment was full of pride and nobility, and despite the weight of his armour, he moved as it he had none on. Azula admired him with everything a student should allow her teacher, with everything a daughter could give to her father, no duty undone, no will left unfulfilled.

Lord Ozai was an incredible man.

"Now, Princess Azula," he said. His eyes were trained on the row of quivering Earth nationers, each forced to their knees and held by the nape of the neck. "You shall witness how a man makes other nations docile with fear."

It thrilled her to see them shake with terror, to see the prisoners' eyes swell with tears. Many were beaten enough, but few were burned. They had been attacked by a group of Fire soldiers armed with their ridged glaives, she knew, merely by recognizing the hack-job sawing effect on the shoulder of one man. He could die any minute.

"Earth nation," her father drawled. He continued, imperative, "Do not trouble yourself with this Resistance I have heard so much about.

"Wiser men have turned and fled, and found themselves trapped. Fools, however, continue to come in and believe that the words of peasants and beggars from the Earth would sway me, or that I would take pity on the crumbling remains of what was once a formidable enemy. But no, Fire nation does not have pity or remorse for those that stand in our way.

"I was told by a previous infidel that the mountains didn't burn. This, I know to be true. No man or god could possibly change that. However, he seemed to have forgotten that the Earth nation is not made of mountains. The Earth nation is a pile of tiny, insignificant rocks, and it can be scattered. It can be scorched. It can be stripped so barren that none would ever dare hope to rekindle life in it."

He paused, and Azula looked up at her father with admiration. The men seemed to be shrinking back, against the hands of their holders, and one had fallen dead. Azula had watched their faces grow from fear to pure horror, the way their eyes filled, the way the tears streamed. One broke out in sobs, and Lord Ozai turned his eyes away with disgust.

"That is why you shall never be victorious. That is why this Resistance is a thing wasted, when your time would be better spent fleeing and praying for an immediate death. It is your pathetic children, and your contemptible women, who will be slaughtered and burnt to the ground next, without their men there to console them in death."

He stopped pacing, halting in front of the youngest. The boy couldn't have been a day over fourteen, and the cut on his eyebrow oozed slowly, the blood mingling with the tears from below.

"Kill all but this one," he commanded, and Azula drew herself up taller, her eyebrows lifting. Her eyes darted between her father and the prisoners, excited, and the wide grin on her face changed to a look of unadulterated anticipation at what was happening.

Just like her father, she didn't even flinch when the armed guards executed their prisoners, swiftly and efficiently. Not a single drop of blood landed on the floor, and the bodies were hauled off while the remaining boy sniffled and cried, utterly scarred and afraid.

"Can you run fast, boy?" Lord Ozai said. From his tone, one might have assumed he was politely asking for a cup of tea, and this did nothing to console the poor boy, who cast himself at the Lord's feet, prostrate, with his face against the floor. Azula squirmed on the spot, seeing him beg and snivel, and she resisted the dangerous urge to laugh. He was so funny, so pathetic, with his hands clutching towards the hem of Ozai's robe, but not quite reaching. His sheer submissiveness thrilled her to the bones.

"Take p-pity on us," the boy choked out, and Lord Ozai let out a relaxed breath.

"Fire army is going to bring six long-range combat units within firing range of the town of Jii Niàn Tou and wipe it clean of Earthbenders," Ozai said, "Will you run fast, boy?"

The boy stopped shivering and crying for a moment, and there was silence. Slowly, inch by inch, he lifted his head, to raise his eyes to the ceiling, and onto Lord Ozai's steeled, calm face.

"You," he choked out, "would... would let me warn them?"

"If you can run fast enough," Ozai said. "On your feet, scum."

Scrambling as if the fires of hell itself were clawing at his legs, the boy found his feet, and he stood in Ozai's shadow, breathing hard. His bloody, tear-streaked face blossomed with a terrified hope, though Azula figured he must have known it was fruitless. But she, too, wondered, and she looked to her father with wonder.

She knew it couldn't have been pity. Azula recognized pity when she saw it, she never forgot the sickly sweet looks her mother would have given Zuko if he so much as said boo about his nasty, sneaky sister. She understood what sort of flaw and weakness it took to display such a lowly emotion, and her father would never display such foolish things.

"But allow me to give you a parting gift," Lord Ozai said, slowly, in his pleasantly twisted rumble, "If you'll restrain him, I will give him something to remind him and his people of what the Fire nation thinks of resistance and mutiny."

The boy's fleeting glimpse of hope seemed to disappear, under the shadow of this foreboding implication. Lord Ozai unfolded his hands from behind his back.

"Those we release have the choice of running to save themselves, or running to die with their kin. And in case they do not have the honour of men and choose to save themselves..."

Lord Ozai lifted one hand to hang in front of the boy's face, palm flat, his long, elegant fingers together. Slowly, he dropped his ring and pinky fingers to tuck against his palm, and everyone felt the heat in the room rise dramatically.

"... we leave them a parting mark, to remind them of their cowardice and inferiority. To remind them of their dishonour."

Azula couldn't contain her excitement, her smile, her sheer pleasure at her father's words, and at the boy's obvious and painful discomfort. The boy sobbed again, and Azula clenched her hands in anticipation. She wanted this. She reveled in his suffering, at the heat enveloping the room, and at the fireball quickly igniting in her father's palm.

The fireball grew to be the size of an apple, and the fire curled in a continuous sphere, like a rolling ball, spinning madly and bending into itself. It was an inferno of constant heat, not pulsing but growing steadily hotter, until Azula felt ever her own forehead beat with sweat. It was the same as with Zuko, a week previous.

The boy shrieked and screamed, feet straining to push him away, but the guards on either side of him overpowered his feeble strength. He could not move as Lord Ozai brought the fireball forward, pushing it straight into the boy's jaw, just as one would push a blade into the skin. The ball diffused, slightly, but engulfed the skin of the boy's chin nonetheless, and the boy's screams would ring in Azula's ears for days.

It was a beautiful, pleasure-arousing noise, and she couldn't stifle a laugh.

The boy's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed in the guards' arms when the fire dissipated. His weight hung, uselessly, until one jerked him conscious. His jaw was blackened and had the texture of leather, and Azula recognized it as a third-degree burn, the same as Zuko's.

There was no pity for traitors, even if Zuko was a prince. Their father was impeccable in his ruthlessness, and Azula wished to be the same ruler he was someday.

"Bring him to the gate and throw him out," Lord Ozai said.

The boy was falling into shock. He couldn't carry his own weight, and his breath came in short stabs, his eyes fluttering crazily. He couldn't have been a day over fourteen, the same age as Azula.

The guards did so, bowing out of the royalty's presence, and Azula let out one last excited breath before turning to her father. She couldn't contain the next question.

"Will you teach me to do it, father?"

Lord Ozai looked down at her with his cold eyes, his mouth still drawn into that firm, unyielding line. There was no trace of love or fondness in his look to his daughter, but anyone who knew his face would understand the limitless pride in his expression, then.

"Temper your reactions, temper the flame."

She knew he meant "yes".



The stains on the desk would not come clean. Her eyes stung with tears as she scrubbed, ruthlessly driving the scouring pad across the wood, until the was ruining its polish. But still, the black ink would not come out without scarring the surface.

The wicked girl had purposely dumped the ink all over the table, when Moemi had objected to leaving a "gift" in Zuko's room. Her common senses told her the gift was a dangerous one, but she had only objected because she knew she wasn't allowed in Prince Zuko's quarters. If she had been caught, she would have been fired, and she wasn't one for taking risks.

Now, though, Moemi figured she might have been better off leaving the gift, rather than working her fingers to the bone on this ink and being subjected to Princess Azula's threats.

All the while, Azula just lay back on her bed, watching Moemi work and giggling on occasion. The maid would look up, periodically, towards the demanding princess, and give her angry, tear-strewn looks. Azula would only smirk and chide her, waving one finger.

"I'll tell Father you dumped it everywhere after you yelled at me," she would taunt, her golden eyes alight with charm and her lips curving into a smile. Moemi figured Azula was too young, at age eleven, to be staining her lips red as wine, but there was nothing that anyone could do to stop her.

The girl had a fiery temper.

"Please, Princess," Moemi could only say. If she said anything about how she would lose her job, and how she had struggled to get away from her family and have a job that paid enough to support her. Azula would only exploit her fears if she knew how desperately Moemi needed to keep this job, or else return to the brothels or her terrible family.

"I don't care," Azula replied, and Moemi heard her shift against her pillows. "After all... I've had lots of maids before and you're too wimpy to survive here for long, whether I tell them or not how nasty you've been to me."

Moemi recalled how her sister had been as arrogant as Azula, once upon a time. Mei-Xie was a selfish, greedy thing until their mother had beaten and scolded it out of her, and Moemi would have thought that, in a nation so strict and disciplinary, a noble like Azula would have been brought to her senses long ago.

"Wicked child," Moemi said, under her breath, facing the wall. There was another shuffle of pillows and Azula let out a very predatory breath.

"What did you say?" she demanded.

Moemi turned to look at her, putting down the scouring pad and ignoring her blackened fingers. Azula was standing on her bed, her eyebrows furrowed and her smile gone. Moemi just stared.

"What did you say?" Azula repeated, calmly.

"I said you were a wond–"

Azula cut her off with a sharp, dangerous, "No you didn't."

Moemi wouldn't speak. Azula, barely chest-level compared to the maid, was intimidating and cunning, even as an eleven year old. There was something frightening about a child with that sort of power over adults, power over eighteen year old women, power over her.

"No," Moemi said.

Azula was approaching like a cat would, with long, graceful steps, but the look in her eyes was positively leonine. She stopped mere feet in front of Moemi, looking straight up at her and into her eyes. Moemi froze, awkwardly, paralyzed with fear.

Would she be fired, or dishonoured? Would she be thrown back onto the streets, after working so hard to get here in the first place, all for the sake of an ungrateful child who caused more trouble than she needed to?

Azula seemed to analyze her with a clinical efficiency. Moemi edged back, and she said, "Princess?"

Princess Azula shot forward, suddenly, and Moemi's brain hardly registered the hot lick of fire coming towards her until it was too late. It plunged into her stomach, and Azula ripped the scream from her maid's mouth with little mercy. Moemi slammed back against the wall and sank against it, her arms flying across her stomach to smother the smouldering fabric. The tears welled in her eyes overflowed and streamed down her face.

Azula only giggled, and stepped forward, taking her maid's chin in her face. The smirk appeared on those wine-red lips, full and young.

"I just want to see if I can do it, like Father taught me," she said, as if it explained her actions, as if it excused them. Azula lifted one hand as Moemi tried to get away, and Azula shifted to pressure the scorched young woman into the corner, between the wall and the desk. Moemi's hand shot out and landed against the desk, in a funny sort of spasm, and she struck the rest of the bottle of ink.

It spilled over Azula's front, and Moemi watched the already remorseless girl's face constrict into one of anger.

"Why, you little..."

Azula didn't even finish. She drove her hand forward, with the ball of flames surging on her palm. As her father had shown her before, she drove it into the maid's face. Moemi shrieked, and Azula concentrated.

Moemi slumped, and Azula let the heat fade.

For a moment, she stood over the body, unsure if it was alive or dead. She wasn't afraid to check, and she pushed the maid's head back, so that her jaw lolled and she let out a shuddering breath. But for the moment, she had a more pressing issue to look at: the fact that the burn was nowhere near as severe as it should have been.

Azula dropped the girl's head, and stared at the burn with a puzzled look. She stayed this way even when the guards came, and she brushed them off callously.

She was beginning to grow aware of her power, and how it could be used. But that would never be good enough until she could match the scars her father so perfectly left.



"Isn't she beautiful?"

Kyon paused, midway through the motion of loading a live chickduck into her bucket, and she held the docile thing between her hands as she looked up to her older sister. Shin was looking up at a poster, an elegantly painted scroll tacked to the community board. The edges were curled, and Shin ran her fingers along them carefully, smoothing them out. They bounced back into their curls, and she fixed the tacks to hold them straight.

"She is," Kyon replied, with a bright smile, as soon as she recognized the girl on the poster. "I wish I was as beautiful as Princess Azula!"

Shin looked up at the poster with a smile, admiring and so sincere, even if it was just a painted version of the Crown Princess of the Fire nation. The brushstrokes were fine, tracing out perfect details, from the painstakingly gold-wrought crests and jewels adorning her silk robes, to the magnificent arch of her eyebrows. Her eyes were painted on in a satiny gold, shining and life-like.

Kyon put the chickduck in the bucket and it scrabbled against the tin sides for a moment, and then settled. She picked it up and brought it closer to her sister and the beloved poster. Shin was struggling with the difficult characters written on the side, even if they were written in informal text most peasants could read. The title was illegible to either sister, for it was written in the fancy style of nobles.

"She's making an appearance," Shin said, "at the... at the..."

"At the palace gardens. The public gardens," Kyon supplied, scanning the characters, and she skipped one or two she didn't know from school. Perhaps another day, she could read them, her language always had been stronger than Shin's. Kyon came across a character she knew very, very well, and hopped up and down in excitement, startling the poor bird in her bucket into flapping about again. She exclaimed, "She's going to be made a Master! Oh wow! We have to see it!"

"But it's tomorrow," Shin said, with disappointment. "I have to wait in line for rations... it's my turn."

Kyon bit her lip and looked at her sister, embarrassed suddenly. She couldn't go on her own, and there was no way the eldest sister in their family, Hea, would. But would their older brother, Seung, take her turn?

"We can ask Seung," Kyon suggested, hopefully, though she didn't carry much optimism for it happening.

Shin looked at the poster one last time, sadly, and she sighed.

"No," she said, "he'll want to see her. He's been in love with her for years."

This was true, Kyon realized. Seung had been infatuated with the Princess since she had been made Crown Princess two years earlier, shortly after Prince Zuko's banishment, and he had been interested in her since before that. There was a poster of her he had carefully taken from the community board in their home, one from her birthday celebration notice, and it was kept in a drawer where he could reach it easily. She, Shin and Hea had watched him unfurl it many times, and stare at it wistfully, sighing to himself.

Ah, the lovesick were a sad variety to watch, but they didn't have time to worry about that when there was a food shortage and rations to retrieve.



"Such good fortune, Zhi! She is such a beautiful, wonderful young woman!"

The teashop owner looked up from his kettles with a smile, having recognized the voice of one of his favourite customers. The woman was entering with another of his favourite customers, both with brilliant smiles lining their faces. They approached their usual table and sat down, and he immediate bustled over.

"Meihui, Zhi," he said, brightly, and the two old women greeted him happily. He said, "I'll put on a pot of the usual for you."

"Not today, Jianjun," Meihui said, and she laughed as she said it, the beautifully old lines of her face creasing deeply when she did so. In her eighties, she was still just as vibrant as she had been when he had opened his teashop sixty years earlier, though her skin was old and her features baggy. Meihui said, "Today we would like tea for celebration."

"But of course," Jianjun replied, "May I inquire the occasion?"

"Princess Azula is being sent to retrieve General Iroh and capture Zuko," Zhi replied, delicately. She was much more calm than Meihui, but she was very happy nonetheless. "Zuko, I am not so sure about, as we could do without such cowardice in our courts, but we can always rejoice at the return of the General."

Very few people still referred to Iroh as a general, as he had quit the position some years ago, after his son's death and his cancellation of the siege of Ba Sing Se. But Meihui and Zhi had enjoyed tea with him for decades before his shame, and they treated him with enormous respect nonetheless. As nobles in the Fire nation court, it was a funny position, but both elderly women were careful with their words.

"I'm sure you can," Jianjun said, brightly. "I'm sure the Princess will be overwhelmingly successful. She always has been. But I'll get that pot on."

He departed, quickly, slipping behind the counter and humming as he began to brew. The women fell into conversation praising the Fire Lord's decision and Iroh, and discussing Zuko's banishment, sounding almost pleased about it. But the conversation turned, inevitably, to Princess Azula's perfection.

"I have never seen such a sweet girl," Meihui was saying, "When she was a child, I remember the fits that would wake the whole palace, but as she has grown, she has found peace in herself and calmed… never has the Fire nation seen such a diplomatic and intelligent Crown Princess, not since Princess Ursa. But Ursa was such a doormat. Princess Azula is a strong young woman."

"Yes," Zhi smiled, "and such grace! Never have I seen firebending so precise and elegant, not since Lord Ozai himself. And to produce lightning! She is simply a remarkable girl, she will make a good leader."

"Of course," Meihui replied. "There could not be a better heir for Lord Ozai. Thank heavens he cast aside that wretched boy, or else we would all mourning. Such a disrespectful, untalented boy could never make a fit leader. What would he do if he were leader? Meekly ask Ba Sing Se and the Earth kingdom to co-operate?"

She scoffed, and Zhi shook her head and clucked her tongue at the very idea.

"Most likely," Zhi said.

"And no good would come of it," Meihui said, sharply, but then her expression softened back into that smile. She said, suddenly brighter, "Ah yes! I recall now what I wanted to say to Jianjun."

She turned his way in her seat, and he looked up from his kettles once more.

"Pardon?" he replied.

"Why were you not at the celebration for her being entitled a master firebender?" she asked, and Jianjun gave an apologetic bow of his head.

"My wife was ill. I could not leave her side, but I heard that Princess Azula was clothed beautifully," he said, knowing exactly where to fish for praise. He removed the tea from the stove and poured it into two mugs, without spilling a drop, and placed them in front of the women. Both thanked him, and then Meihui reacted exactly as he figured she would.

"Thank you for such a fine compliment," she replied, for she had specially made the Princess' ceremonial gown. Generally, a servant would have made it under the direction of a noble, but on rare occasion, and courtier such as Meihui would dedicate her time and skills to crafting such a thing. It was a rare but beautiful opportunity, even if it required work. "You have not seen it?"

"No, lady," Jianjun replied, honestly. "With so many ill, I have been unable to leave my teashop. I can only listen to the news brought to my ears by my fine customers."

"Princess Azula will mend this country, and make it ever more prosperous," Zhi commented offhand, and Meihui nodded. Zhi continued, "No one will fall ill in Azula's Fire nation."

There was a general consensus of agreement, among the three, and Meihui turned the conversation back to the ceremonial gown.

"But you should have seen her! She looked simply stunning, in the traditional colours. The black silks and gold threads were brought from the best weavers in the entire nation, the shoes were hand-made from the finest materials, with heels made of solid black jade, and you know how expensive and rare a commodity that is," Meihui said, proudly, "It wore my fingers to the bones for that gown, and the Princess looked simply radiant in it. It brought out her beautiful eyes more than anything, and she did not singe even a single thread of it, she is so skilled with her bending."

Jianjun let out an impressed breath, and he said, "I regret not seeing such a thing! And such dedication, on your part, dear Meihui!"

"I could do no less for a young woman so fine, especially one so beloved and incredible as she is," Meihui replied. "And what else could I do, for the one who is rising despite her wretched brother's failures, and overshadowing his failures with her accomplishments? She brought down the last battalion of the Earth kingdom, on the north-eastern coast, within six hours, when the generals there before her could not do it in six days."

"We've all heard her victory fanfares," Jianjun commented, with a smile. "I have high hopes for our nation now that she is leading so many battles. I only hope our soldiers can be ruthless and efficient with her there to lead them. But surely if anyone could find General Iroh and the banished Zuko, she will be the fastest."

"Of course!" Meihui said, with a laugh. "There is nothing our Princess cannot do!"



The map was beautiful, set into the floor with amber waters and garnet lands, all tiled and elegantly set. It covered the entire room, expansive and wide, and Azula could walk across the world with ease. Every land was red, Earth and Water and Air and all the uncharted lands, all bathed blood red to match their bright and prosperous future. The Fire nation would overrule and conquer, feed its people, and foster an entirely new life. A better one.

Azula strode across it with confidence, crossing the ocean in six steps and ploughing over the flat mountain chain and the great Lake Laogai to stand on the city of Ba Sing Se. She brought the toe of one boot down on its inner city, and she twisted her foot there, casually, as she looked over her shoulder to her father.

He watched her with a stern look, his strides across the universe much slower and even elegantly lazy, and he paused in the middle to watch his daughter. Azula smiled, wickedly.

"Father," Azula said, "one day, I will do what my pathetic Uncle could never do –– I'll capture Ba Sing Se, and I will do it in your name, for you."

"When can I expect the city's allegiance?" Lord Ozai replied, simply, and Azula only repeated that brilliant smile. She kneeled over the city, folding her hands on her knee, and she stared up at him beautifully.

"By the end of next winter," she declared.

"Just a year?" the Fire Lord replied, "Iroh could not in six hundred days, with all the finest armies. My daughter, empty promises are rewarded with pain. You will be held to your words."

Azula wasn't shaken, and she merely replied, softly, "But of course. Father, do you know where you are standing?"

He glanced at his feet, imperiously, and then cast his eyes around the room. A slight smirk appeared on his face, the corners of his mouth twisting up curiously. He said, smugly, "Where am I, daughter?"

She paused for a moment and surveyed him, and she bowed her head for a moment before lifting it and rising to her feet.

"Why, you're the center of the universe, Father, and your wish is my command."

