Chapter 26: Cornered
It was an absolute living hell to write this chapter, especially the scene everyone was waiting for. The chapter is also longer than usual because of that scene. I was thinking about splitting the chapter again because I want to keep all the chapters a little above 3k words. But we also need to get this Ba Sing Se arc out of the way otherwise the entire story will take place here, haha.
Enjoy.
The royal barge eased into the estate's private harbor with a low groan as it nudged against the dock. Small amounts of morning mist still clung to the water, swirling in ribbons around the smaller patrol boats that flanked them. The estate loomed just beyond — a grand stretch of Earth Kingdom stone and regal courtyards, silent under the grey sky.
Sokka exhaled quietly behind his mask. he felt a sliver of relief. The moment his boots hit the wooden dock, the weight of proximity began to lift — Azula was still in her palanquin, speaking to the Captain of the Royal Guard a few paces behind them.
He didn't look. He didn't need to.
He couldn't hear what she was saying, just the murmur of her voice and the calm certainty it carried. Sokka dared a glance back anyway, just for a second.
On the dock, a small group of soldiers approached, led by a sharp-faced young officer with a stiff gait and striking posture. His armor was polished to perfection, every clasp and plate meticulously arranged. He looked too young for his station. Sokka thought he must be someone who had either grown up with military privilege or fought tooth and nail to earn it. Probably the former.
Sokka's eyes lingered for a second too long. The officer didn't acknowledge them—he was heading straight toward the barge.
Just then, Azula's gaze lifted from her conversation and met Sokka's.
Only for a second.
He snapped his head forward again, pretending to adjust the armor on his shoulder.
Thank the spirits for Master Akee, who had done all the talking since they boarded. His excuse — that Sokka had a throat injury, something about "severe inhalation damage" — had been delivered smoothly enough to satisfy even the captain.
It was a terrible lie. But it worked.
Then—
"Ryoku," the Captain of the Royal Guard addressed Akee by his alias as he stepped forward. "You and your partner will accompany Commander Dao's unit. See to it he doesn't strain his voice. And once your task is done—take him to the infirmary."
Akee gave a crisp salute. "Yes, sir."
The captain looked to Sokka — or rather, his mask — then turned and walked off toward the palanquin. Behind him, Azula was still speaking, still lounging in that same detached way, as if none of this was ever worth her full attention.
As they followed the captain toward the estate's main path, Sokka couldn't help but scan the grounds. The place was sprawling. Stone courtyards stretched between perfectly manicured gardens and multilevel buildings — clearly repurposed for military and administrative use. But something was off.
Very few soldiers.
Too few.
He leaned toward Akee slightly. "Security's thin."
"I noticed," Akee murmured. "But these are the best of the best, remember?"
They passed the main building — likely the meeting hall where Azula and her generals would gather — then veered off toward the western storehouse. The officer led them through a side courtyard until they reached a wide arched entrance set into a thick stone wall. Waiting there was a stern-looking man with greying hair and a sharply pressed uniform. Rank shimmered on his shoulder plate. He saluted.
The captain stepped forward. "As you were, Commander," he said, and saluted. "Fire Lord's orders—these two are being attached to your unit."
The commander gave a nod. "Yes, sir."
When the captain left, the commander turned to face Akee and Sokka, his voice brusque but not unfriendly. "Right. As you can see, there aren't many soldiers stationed inside the estate. The Fire Lord prefers quality over quantity. So we're stretched thin. I assume you're both capable?"
Master Akee straightened. "Of course, Commander. We're here to serve."
"Excellent." The commander gestured to a nearby stack of wooden crates being handled by a few other soldiers. "Help these men get the supplies ready. They'll be moved to the underground passage later."
Sokka's jolted a bit.
Underground passage?
Here at Lake Laogai?
Of course, how could they have forgotten about that place, Sokka thought.
The commander turned and left before either of them could respond.
Sokka stepped closer to Akee quickly, keeping his voice low. "Uhm. This is bad."
"Relax," Akee said calmly, adjusting his grip on a nearby crate. "We'll play along until they let us go."
"No, not that," Sokka hissed. "I mean the underground passage. That's what's bad."
Akee studied him from beneath his helmet.
Sokka lowered his voice even further. "Oh, right. You wouldn't know. It's Dai Li stuff. Basically back in the day, Long Feng used an entire network of tunnels under Ba Sing Se to carry out secret operations, surveillance, abductions, brainwashing, you name it."
Akee's brow creased slightly. "How did the Fire Nation find them?"
"Azula," Sokka muttered, fitting all the pieces together. "She knows. That's why she choose Lake Laogai. She must be using them."
"For what?"
He hesitated, then shifted the crate in his arms and shoved it at Akee, who instinctively caught it on top of the one he was already holding.
"Hold this. I'll be back in a sec."
"What? Sokka—wait!"
But Sokka was already moving, slipping quietly down the narrow path along the side of the storehouse.
He needed to see where that passage led or maybe gather some plans.
Sokka moved quickly through the estate grounds, keeping a careful pace behind a trio of soldiers ahead of him. He'd slipped away from the storehouse moments earlier, feigning the need to relieve himself, and so far, no one had stopped him.
He traced their path with sharp eyes, memorizing every turn and courtyard. The grounds were strangely serene this time of morning. Birds chirped from trees that lined the wide walkways, and a gentle breeze stirred the red-and-gold banners draped from the eaves of the estate buildings. But beneath the calm, Sokka felt that familiar tension crawling under his skin — the kind that always came just before something went wrong.
Eventually, the soldiers veered away toward a different building, and Sokka found himself standing at a quiet stone path that led to a half-hidden archway built into the base of the estate's central structure. It was unguarded — at least for now. He stepped cautiously toward it, peering into the dark recess.
There it was. The entrance to the underground passage.
Even without stepping in, he recognized it. The green-glowing sconces embedded into the damp walls, the moss-covered stone, the oppressive air. It was the same network the Dai Li had once used to maneuver in secret beneath Ba Sing Se.
He felt the chill crawl down his back. The tunnels were quiet now, but they hadn't changed. He'd been in them once before — and once had been more than enough.
Just as he was about to step closer, keeping his movements casual so as not to draw attention, a sudden weight slammed into his shoulder.
Scrolls flew through the air and scattered like leaves.
Sokka stumbled back a step, blinking — then caught sight of a man in fine courier robes picking himself up off the ground, red in the face and already seething.
"Watch it, you clumsy dolt!" the man snapped, brushing dirt off his sleeves. "Do you have any idea—do you know who these are for?!"
Sokka froze. "Uh… no. Why? Were they important?"
The man gave a bitter laugh. "Important?! These were for the Fire Lord, you fool! Now look at what you've done! Do you know what she'll do to me?!"
Sokka raised his hands in apology, trying to defuse the outburst. "I'm really sorry, I didn't see you coming—"
"No, no, forget it," the courier interrupted, looking at the scrolls like they were a death sentence. "You know what? You can deliver them yourself!"
Sokka blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Yeah!" the man sneered, shoving a few scrolls into his hands. "You explain to her why they're late. You tell her why they're all dirty and crumpled! Maybe she'll be merciful with you."
Sokka's heart dropped. "Look, I can't—I'm needed back at the—"
"No excuses," the courier cut in, already brushing past him. "You touched them, now it's your problem. The Fire Lord's chambers are in the upper west wing."
He then gestured to two nearby guards." You two, see to it that this man delivers these scrolls to the Fire Lord."
Sokka stood there, scrolls clutched in his arms, watching the man storm off with purposeful strides as the two guards came towards him.
"Move." The one said, sternly.
His mouth went dry. Delivering something to Azula's room was the last thing he wanted.
He swallowed hard.
"Great," he muttered. "Just… perfect."
The lake was quiet now. The supply wagons sat in a tight formation just off the main trail, each one loaded to the brim with innocuous goods—sacks of grain, bundles of rope, crates marked for the capital. Only those in disguise knew what lay beneath: barrels of blast jelly, nestled and hidden like coiled serpents.
Zuko stood near the front wagon, arms crossed over his chest, still wearing his Fire Nation officer's uniform. His eyes flicked between the water and the narrow road leading up to the estate.
"They're late," he muttered.
Jeong Jeong didn't look up from where he sat cross-legged on a flat stone nearby, his own uniform unbuttoned at the collar. "Patience, Prince Zuko."
"It's been over an hour," Suki said, pacing a short distance away from the group. She wore a helmet like the rest of them, but her voice gave away the tension in her shoulders. "They should've been back by now."
"Maybe they ran into extra patrols," Hulo offered from his position by one of the wagons. He was half-hidden under the supply tarp, checking the strapping again for the fourth time.
"Or maybe scouting the entire estate will take longer than expected," Piandao added calmly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he leaned against a tree. "We knew this wasn't going to run like clockwork."
Suki wasn't listening anymore. She was staring hard across the lake, as if she could will the boat into view.
"It's not just that they're late," she said finally. "It's… something feels off."
Toph raised a brow. "You mean in your gut?"
Suki nodded.
"Well," Toph said, stretching her arms lazily, "for what it's worth, your gut's usually not wrong."
That only made Suki's frown deepen.
"We should go," she said. "If they've been compromised, they'll need help—"
"No," Jeong Jeong interrupted, finally opening his eyes. "We don't move yet."
Suki turned toward him, frustration flaring. "And if we wait too long?"
"There's no point." he said, his voice steady, "If something happened to them, then this whole area will be on lockdown and everything we've planned could fall apart."
The group fell quiet.
Suki exhaled slowly, grounding herself. She knew he was right.
She turned back to the lake.
"Just a little longer," she said under her breath. "Come on, Sokka… hurry up."
Sokka found himself wedged between a hammer and an anvil, as the saying went—and by the spirits, was that ever true right now.
There was no version of this going smoothly. None.
Each step he took down the lavish corridor toward her chambers felt heavier than the last, his mind cycling through every worst-case scenario it could conjure. He weaved past robed officials and armored guards.
How in the world was he supposed to pull this off?
He couldn't speak. That was the whole problem. One word, one syllable, and she'd recognize him. Instantly. The odds of bluffing his way through this, helmet or no helmet, were slimmer than a thread from the North Pole's frozen silkweavers. What if she asked him to report? What if she ordered him to remove the mask? What if she simply looked at him too long?
Sokka was a good improviser, but this... this was suicidal improvisation.
Also he, wasn't even going in of his own accord. He was being escorted. By two soldiers. Courtesy of the hot-headed courier he'd accidentally body-checked earlier outside the tunnel entrance. The man had been furious—ranting about how important the scrolls were, how Sokka had doomed them both, and in a twist of cruel irony, had demanded that he take them to the Fire Lord personally.
And when Sokka had tried—several times—to pawn off the delivery to someone else before reaching the manor, no one had taken the bait. The moment they heard the words "Fire Lord Azula," everyone found an excuse to vanish.
Now, at the massive golden doors to her private chambers, guarded by the Fire lord's elite, he made one last desperate attempt. He stopped, extending the scrolls out in front of him toward one of the guards with a hopeful tilt of his head.
The guard didn't budge. He merely looked at the scrolls, then calmly pointed to the doors.
Go in. Yourself.
Of course, Sokka thought, his heart sinking.
He let out a long breath beneath the skull-shaped mask, as if that would somehow lessen the weight of his pounding chest, and moved forward. The guards stepped aside without a word.
Inside, the chamber was vast and high-ceilinged—elegant in that distinct Earth Nation way, with green lacquered walls, polished floors, and intricate silver carvings of badgermoles. It was more of a suite than a room, split into antechambers and offices, the back wall composed almost entirely of tall glass panels overlooking the estate gardens and lake below. Soft morning light filtered through the misted glass, painting the space in hues of silver and pale amber.
And there she was.
Azula sat at her desk, brush in hand, penning something onto parchment with measured grace. She had the same robes on from the morning.
She glanced up.
Golden eyes met his.
She noticed the scrolls.
"Well," she said, "you're not the usual courier."
Sokka's lungs locked up.
Think. Now.
Sokka forced a slow nod, trying to keep his shoulders relaxed even as every nerve inside him screamed.
Her brows drew together faintly. She looked at him more closely now, her golden eyes narrowing. "Wait…You're the one from earlier… the quiet one. Breathing trouble, wasn't it? "
His nod came quicker this time.
"So… you can't speak at all?" she asked.
He lifted one hand to gesture vaguely at his throat, then his mouth, then gave a small shake of his head.
Azula watched him for a beat, and then sighed. "Not even a sound?"
Another nod.
"How unfortunate." she murmured, turning back to her desk. There was no suspicion in her voice—at least none that he could detect—but she wasn't exactly warm either. More intrigued than anything. She signed her name with a flourish, set the brush down, and stood from her desk.
"Fine," she said, brushing non-existent dust from her sleeve. "I suppose this means you can't give your report verbally."
Another nod.
"If that's the case," she said, looking straight at him. "you'll have to write it."
Spirits, no.
Sokka froze.
He was a decent liar. A great one, actually. But writing a false report from scratch—to her—That was another feat.
Would she recognize his handwriting? Would the excuses hold up?
Then she stepped closer, her pointed shoes nearly silent on the polished floor, and extended a blank scroll and brush toward him. Her proximity made the hair on the back of his neck rise.
"Don't tell me you can't write either," she said, almost flatly.
Sokka shook his head fast and accepted the scroll and brush, trying to look as subservient as possible.
Azula returned to the desk, unrolling the scrolls he'd brought and scanning them quickly. Then, without looking up, she said sharply, "Wait."
Sokka jumped slightly in his seat.
She lifted one of the scrolls, frowning. "Why is there dirt on these?"
There was a pause. Her brow arched. "Oh right. You can't speak. How convenient."
Turning back to his task, Sokka began scribbling, doing his best to make it look official and mundane, while working in the part where the original courier had tripped and handed the scrolls to him. He kept his strokes neat but generic, trying to make the handwriting unremarkable. Nothing memorable.
Azula moved to the opposite side of the desk, her back to him, her arms folded behind her as she stared absently out the glass at the courtyard below.
Draining all the tension in the room as he began writing the letter in peace.
No, that's not what happened. That's what he wanted to happen.
Instead, she circled to his side, slowly, the soft whisper of her silken robes brushing against the chair. Sokka stiffened as she approached, still gripping the brush like it might save him.
She stopped just behind him. Too close. Watching.
And suddenly, the act of writing—the thing he'd done a thousand times without thought—felt impossibly difficult.
He dipped the brush into the ink again, the bristles trembling slightly as he touched them to the paper. His strokes were slow. Careful. Every loop and line weighed down by the awareness of her eyes tracking each movement.
"Hmm," she murmured, voice low. "Interesting posture."
Sokka didn't respond. Couldn't. He focused on the scroll before him and kept writing: simple words, short sentences, the made-up report he hoped looked just boring enough. The longer he stayed here, the closer he was to ruin.
But then—
"It's strange," Azula said, casually, almost idly—but laced with something sharper beneath. "Why would they delegate a task like this… to someone like you?"
Nothing was delegated to him. He ran into that fool and that's what got him here in the first place.
Her words were intentional now—threaded with the kind of curiosity that made Sokka's skin prickle beneath the armor. His hand, clutching the brush, stilled just above the paper. There was a pause.
Behind him, she folded her arms, still watching. The silence grew heavier.
"After all," she mused, "A mute guard can't answer questions. Can't report disturbances. Can't scream for help if something goes wrong."
The ink spread too far on the next stroke.
Sokka's jaw tensed. He adjusted his grip on the brush, pretending he hadn't heard the shift in her tone.
But he had.
And he knew—so did she.
Her golden eyes raked over him, lingering on the way his fingers trembled just slightly against the parchment.
"How very convenient," she murmured.
Sokka sat frozen, the brush still gripped in his hand. Every warning bell in his brain went off at once.
This is it. This is where everything goes down the drain.
Their entire plan—everything they had set in motion—was seconds away from crumbling.
And just then, unbidden, a voice surfaced in the back of his head. Quiet. Cold.
Isn't this what you wanted all along? To save her?
He shoved the thought down. disgusted.
Then she struck.
Not with fire. Not with violence.
Her fingers came, curling around the edge of his helmet—not to tear it off, but to tilt it up just enough. Just enough to see the strip of skin beneath, the curve of his jaw she'd traced once in the dark.
Her breath hitched. Barely.
"…Of course," she whispered. "Its you."
Sokka couldn't move.
and for a moment, neither of them did. The only sound was the faint crackle of the hearth, the distant call of a hawk outside the window.
"I'd imagine this must be the last place you want to be." she said, Her thumb brushed against his chin before she withdrew it.
There was no mocking smile. Her voice was almost distant.
Sokka didn't answer. Couldn't say anything. He didn't trust what might come out.
This was it.
No more fear.
No more reactions.
She'd get nothing from him this time.
Not now, not ever.
She ignored his silence, as she moved around him so they were facing each other.
Then without thinking, she reached for his helmet again—this time, he caught her wrist.
Azula froze.
And for the first time since he'd known her, she looked uncertain.
Sokka could feel her pulse beneath his fingers—rabbit-quick, betraying her.
Neither moved.
Then, slowly, Azula twisted her wrist free. Not to pull away.
To lace her fingers through his.
The parchment crumpled between them, ink bleeding across forgotten words.
Sokka's gaze dropped to their hands.
Her fingers — pale, elegant, and far too familiar — now laced between his gloved ones. He stared, unmoving, mind trying and failing to process what was happening. The padded leather of his gloves dulled the sensation, but he could feel the warmth anyway. Too real. Too much.
Expecting to be burned or some form of aggression, she had surprised him.
And what the hell was she doing? This was not how things usually went between them. By now either he was bleeding out or she was pulsating with rage.
It felt like the start of one of those cursed dreams — the ones he woke up from sweating, heart racing, stomach churning with guilt and revulsion and something else he hated to name. The ones he never told anyone about.
And now here she was. Real. Close.
Her voice, quiet and oddly steady.
"Ridiculous, isn't it? This situation we find ourselves in."
Sokka followed her gaze as it dropped. They both looked down — at the strange, shared stillness between their hands.
This is insane.
"And we'd both rather be anywhere but here," she added, as if reading his thoughts.
Her fingers slipped away from his, trailing down the side of his arm — featherlight but deliberate — until they reached his shoulder. Then, slowly, they slid upward, finding the edge of his helmet. He stiffened, but this time he didn't stop her.
"But fate is anything if not cruel."
She lifted the helmet with ease, tilting it off his head — a soft clink of metal against the floor as she let it fall to the side.
Sokka stared straight ahead. He didn't flinch, didn't recoil. Didn't even blink. His heart was pounding, but his face remained unreadable.
Then he finally spoke. "Why did you come here?"
Behind him, Azula's voice curled like smoke. "Said the intruder to the lord of the house."
He turned his head slightly, enough to catch her figure in the periphery.
"What then?" he asked. "Are you just going to arrest me?"
She stepped away from him. "I don't know," she said simply. "Would that make things easier for you?"
That response hit like a slap of cold water. He'd expected her to be calculating, cruel, or coldly amused. But this… this strange honesty?
He didn't answer.
He shifted slightly, still seated, weighing his options. Should he stand now? Should he move for the door, try to escape while she was... whatever this was? His instincts screamed at him to act. But something about the quiet in the room — the way her voice had changed — warned him not to push.
Then she spoke again.
"You know, just after you left me… I fell ill. Became Feverish. I couldn't move a muscle for three days."
Sokka froze again.
For some reason, those two words hit him harder than anything else. Left me. Not escaped or ran. Left — like they had been something, like he had abandoned her.
He didn't know why it stung. It shouldn't have. And yet... the way she said it, careless and yet intentional. It made something uncomfortable twist inside him.
His hands curled into fists. After all she'd done, now she plays the victim?
"I didn't leave you. I escaped." He cleared.
Azula's voice stayed steady. "Tuka said I suffered from some spiritual ailment."
"I'll say," he muttered, unable to stop himself.
He expected the whip of a comeback. A flare of irritation. A crackling insult.
Instead, she just smiled faintly—wry and distant.
She let the insult hang in the air and moved past it, like it was beneath her notice. "It was quite the experience. And with my recovery came much clarity."
Sokka faced her now, cautious.
"…Clarity over what?" he asked.
Azula's expression shifted. Not softer. But distant.
"Everything," she said. "My purpose. My power. My place in the world. For the first time, I felt like I could breathe without the weight of expectation."
She began walking towards him again and Sokka's gut clenched.
"I don't know how but the conflict inside me had disappeared completely." She said. Sokka didn't like the way her eyes pinned him, or the way her voice had dropped, low and even. Measured.
"That is," she murmured, "until I realized it was you under that mask."
She stopped inches away from him now.
"You've been haunting me, you know. Like a ghost. Like a fever." Her fingers twitched at her sides. "disturbing my peace, wherever I go"
Sokka's breath caught.
"And suddenly I find my mind clouded again."
He took an instinctive step back — only to bump against the desk behind him. A jolt of panic flickered in his chest. He had nowhere else to go.
This was not at all, how he pictured things to go between them.
Not like this.
Not when he was trying to mend his relationships.
Azula leaned in. Slowly. Purposefully.
Her voice barely broke the silence. "I've been told I've changed," she said. "That my recovery... softened me. But I don't feel soft. I feel like a glass about to crack."
She was so close now, he could see the flicker of gold in her eyes
Then her fingers clawed between the plates of his armor, searching for vulnerable gaps.
"So just—"
A tremor ran through her.
"—let me..."
And for a heartbeat, Her lips brushed his.
Almost.
Before anything else could be done, a rumble shook the glass wall behind them.
Both their heads turned sharply toward the towering windows.
The sound was growing. Rising.
And then, with a deafening crash, a massive wave of water exploded through the glass, shattering it inwards. The cold hit them first—followed by the sheer force.
Sokka acted instinctively.
He reached out, grabbing her by the waist, yanking her close just as the wall of water slammed into his back. Azula let out a small gasp as he turned with her, shielding her body with his own. The impact hurled them both through the room, water flooding across the polished floor.
They hit the ground hard, rolling through the broken entryway, tumbling through soaked curtains and splintered debris. The remnants of the desk, scrolls, and ink trailed behind them in the torrent.
They came to a stop against the far wall, soaked, breathless, stunned.
Water still pooled and rippled around them.
Water still dripped from Sokka's uniform as he blinked rapidly, trying to gather his bearings. His pulse was still hammering from the chaos of the last few moments—her voice, the explosion, the crash. Across from him, Azula pushed herself upright, her green robes soaked and clinging to her skin, strands of her hair plastered to her face. She stared at him, chest heaving, eyes wide with something that looked like disbelief—not at the water, but at him.
He had pulled her close.
He had protected her.
But neither could speak.
"Sokka!" a voice called out, sharp and cutting through the air. "It's time to go!"
He snapped his head around.
There—framed in the gaping window, stood Master Akee. His arms were out, his stance wide, ready for a fight—but his focus was on Sokka.
And just behind them, from the other side of the room, came the sound of boots slamming against marble. The door burst open.
Royal Guards.
They stormed in, crimson armor gleaming under the fractured morning light, bending already building in their palms.
Sokka's eyes darted between Azula—who was rising fast, fury returning to her features—and the guards closing in from both sides.
No more time.
He bolted.
Dashing back into the soaked remains of the office, Sokka grabbed onto the ledge of the shattered window and vaulted through, Master Akee right behind him. The pair hit the outer deck hard, rolling once before taking off into the courtyard at full sprint.
"Don't stop!" Master Akee barked.
Behind them, a Fireball exploded across the courtyard tiles, the shockwave sending debris and smoke into the air.
Guards gave chase immediately—others sprang from the perimeter, converging fast.
Another barrage of flame came down, lighting up the sky with bursts of gold and orange. Sokka and Akee ducked behind a stone pillar, then pushed forward again, weaving through hedges and low garden walls. Their boots kicked up gravel as they rounded a corner, narrowly avoiding another attack that scorched the wall behind them.
"They're everywhere!" Sokka called out, breath ragged.
"I see that," Akee answered grimly.
They turned down a narrow walkway between two ornate buildings—but were immediately forced to halt as more guards appeared at the far end.
More heat at their backs—cut off again.
They were boxed in.
"Dead end!" Sokka hissed.
"No," Akee said quickly, grabbing his arm and pulling him back the way they came. "We make for the underground tunnel. You said it connects beneath the city?"
Sokka nodded, and without hesitation they pivoted, sprinting back the way they'd come. The sounds of pursuit rang out across the estate.
They flew down the garden steps, close to the storehouse. Through the mist of the morning, half-blinded by smoke and adrenaline, Sokka spotted it.
The underground entrance. Luckily for them it was still unguarded.
"Go!" he shouted.
And with no other path left open to them, the two ran inside.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
End notes:
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