The Earth Kingdom smelled like stone.
Not the clean scent of rain-soaked rock or the comforting mineral weight of mountains that had stood unchanged for centuries—but the sharp, metallic tang of earth that had been cut, shaped, and bent to purpose. Walls built not to endure, but to dominate. Cities carved like scars into the land rather than grown alongside it.
The throne hall reflected that truth perfectly.
Massive columns of jade-veined marble rose from the floor, each etched with reliefs of conquest and consolidation—armies marching, kings crowned, borders redrawn. The ceiling arched high overhead, supported by stone ribs thick enough to stop a dragon's fire. Every surface gleamed with polish meant to impress and intimidate in equal measure.
The Earth King sat upon his throne of layered crystal, marble, and jade, posture rigid, hands resting on the arms as if the stone itself were an extension of his body.
I stood at the center of the hall.
Alone.
No honor guard.
No attendants.
No need.
The dead waited outside the capital, buried beneath the stone at my command—unseen, but I still felt them stir, waiting. The shadows curled obediently beneath the palace foundations, threading through the bedrock like veins. The Earth King knew it. I could smell his fear beneath the incense and stone dust.
"You make a compelling argument," he said at last, voice deep and measured. "But conquest through fear is not alliance."
I tilted my head slightly.
"You misunderstand," I replied calmly. "I am not offering conquest."
His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I am offering survival."
A ripple of unease moved through the gathered advisors lining the walls. Earth Kingdom nobles, generals, scholars—men and women who believed themselves immovable because they had wrapped their identities around stone.
They always forgot one thing.
Stone breaks.
"You ask me," the Earth King continued, "to stand against the remaining nations. Against gods. Against relics."
"Yes."
"And you expect me to do this because you promise victory?"
"No." I met his gaze steadily. "Because I promise inevitability."
The word settled into the chamber like dust after a collapse.
Mortimer stirred at the edges of my mind, a pleased hum threading through my thoughts.
Good, he murmured. They understand power when it is spoken plainly.
I ignored him.
The Earth King leaned forward slightly. "You claim the Fire Nation has already fallen under your control. They did so willingly?"
"It has," I said. "By choice or necessity. The distinction no longer matters."
"And the Air Nation?"
A flash of irritation sparked—brief, sharp, unwelcome.
"Scattered," I answered. "Broken. Sheltered behind ideals that will not save them."
A lie.
Not entirely.
But enough.
"And the Water Kingdom?"
I smiled.
"I've been assured they are considering their position carefully."
That was when it happened.
The presence hit me like a blade drawn across the inside of my ribs.
I stiffened.
The hall vanished.
Stone. Incense. Voices. All of it blurred as something ancient and achingly familiar brushed against my awareness—not through Mortimer's shadow, not through the dead, not through any of the channels I controlled.
Through me.
Her.
My breath caught.
What was this link? A pull, a bond—no, not a bond, I told myself sharply. There is no such thing.
And yet—
There she was.
Not a thought. Not a memory.
A presence.
Alive. Bright. And infuriatingly close.
For the first time in days, something like genuine emotion broke through the cold control wrapping my thoughts.
A slow smile curved my mouth.
So.
You came to me.
I straightened, ignoring the Earth King's confused pause.
I could feel her now—moving through the Earth Kingdom's airspace, threading past wards and borders with a confidence that spoke of power newly claimed. She wasn't hiding.
She wasn't fleeing.
She was walking straight into their territory.
Straight toward me.
Why?
The question flickered briefly across my mind, unwanted and sharp.
And then another followed, quieter and far more dangerous.
Why can I feel her?
The smile faltered for half a heartbeat.
Mortimer stirred again, darker this time.
Do not fixate, he warned. Attachment is weakness.
"I am not attached," I snapped under my breath.
The Earth King's eyes narrowed. "You said something?"
I turned back to him, the mask sliding effortlessly into place.
"There is an intruder entering your nation," I said smoothly. "One of… significance."
His posture stiffened. "Who?"
"The Primal Dragon."
The reaction was immediate.
Voices rose. Guards shifted. Advisors leaned together in hurried whispers.
The Earth King stood. "You're certain?"
"I do not mistake her presence."
My fingers curled slightly at my side, lightning crackling faintly beneath my skin—red-black, threaded with shadow.
"She has crossed your border," I said calmly. "And she is not alone."
It wasn't a lie—only an assumption sharpened into certainty. No one sent a weapon like the Primal Dragon unguarded.
And even if she had come alone, the suggestion would do its work.
People made faster choices when they believed they were already behind.
The Earth King didn't hesitate.
"Send word to every garrison," he barked. "All patrols. All city wards. I want eyes on the sky and ground."
He turned sharply to the captain of his guard. "If you find her—"
"Take her alive," he finished, voice cold and absolute.
The words sent another ripple through the hall.
Alive.
Interesting choice.
Before I could comment, a voice cut in from the right.
"Father."
The speaker stepped forward from the shadows of the columned hall.
Princess Willow of the Earth Kingdom.
She was younger than most expected—no more than her early twenties—with dark hair pulled back in intricate braids that framed a sharp, intelligent face speckled with crystal flecks like scattered starlight against her chocolate skin. She stood her ground, chin lifted, hands clenched tight at her sides, defiance coiled and ready beneath her stillness.
"Would it not be wiser," she said carefully, "to hear both arguments before committing our forces?"
Silence fell.
The Earth King turned slowly.
The look he gave her was not angry.
It was disappointed.
"Wisdom," he said coolly, "is knowing when debate is a luxury."
Willow's jaw tightened and her green eyes narrowed. "And justice?"
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.
"Justice," he replied, "is written by those who survive."
She took a step forward. "If the Primal Dragon seeks alliance—"
"Enough," he snapped.
The word cracked like stone splitting.
"You will not undermine this council with naïve idealism."
Willow flinched, but she didn't bow.
The Earth King continued, voice hardening. "A weak leader hesitates. A weak leader invites destruction. The Earth Kingdom comes first—always."
His gaze swept the hall, daring anyone to contradict him.
Then he looked back at his daughter.
"You will accompany the soldiers," he ordered. "Your earth-shaping abilities will be useful, as always, in the ambush."
Her eyes widened. "You're sending me to—"
"To observe," he cut in. "And to obey."
He turned away from her. "The adults are speaking."
Something in her expression shuttered.
She didn't argue again.
She bowed stiffly and stepped back, hands trembling with restrained fury.
I watched the exchange with mild interest.
I had heard stories of the Earth King.
Pragmatic. Ruthless. Unyielding.
He would choose the path that promised the least immediate loss and the greatest long-term security.
And right now—
That path was me.
The Earth King turned back toward me. "You will have my support," he said. "Provided your victory remains assured."
"It will," I replied.
His gaze lingered on me. "You are… changed from the prince the stories spoke of."
"I grew," I said simply.
Mortimer laughed softly inside my skull.
Yes, he crooned. You did.
The Earth King inclined his head. "Then let us discuss strategy."
But my attention had already drifted.
She was closer now.
Not close enough to touch—but near enough that my pulse thrummed with awareness. I could almost taste the strange blend of power that clung to her presence: fire, water, something violet and wild that brushed against the shadow without yielding to it.
Intriguing.
Unacceptable.
I stepped back.
"I will handle the Primal Dragon personally," I said.
The Earth King frowned. "My forces—"
"Will slow her," I finished. "But she is mine."
A pause.
Then he nodded. "As you wish."
I turned and left the throne hall without another word.
Mortimer's voice followed me like smoke.
You feel her because she's opposite to you, he whispered. Because she was forged to oppose you.
"No," I said aloud, passing into the shadowed corridors. "Because she will soon belong to me. To destroy."
A lie.
Or perhaps—
A truth I wasn't ready to examine.
My feet carried me unbidden through the palace halls, down corridors etched into my memory upon arrival. Torchlight flickered across stone walls carved with sigils older than the current dynasty.
I stopped.
Her presence sank deeper within me, blocking every one of Mortimer's reaches.
"Forever and always," a voice said softly.
"Yes," I replied without thinking. "My little thief."
The words echoed back at me.
I froze.
What the fuck did I just say?
The corridor stood empty and silent.
My chest tightened inexplicably.
I shook my head sharply.
Residual memory. Nothing more.
Mortimer hummed in approval.
I turned and continued walking.
My visitor chambers awaited—my sword and clothing laid neatly where I'd left them. The faint scent of oil and smoke enveloped the room.
I stood at the window, staring out at the horizon, the setting sun layering the sky in hues of blue and purple.
My mind wandered to her captivating eyes.
I stopped the thought before it could finish.
Somewhere out there, she moved closer.
I would find her.
And this time—
She would be mine.