The cell was quiet. Not the comfortable quiet of a cosy garden with warm tea, or the tense quiet of a war council before a battle. It was the quiet of solitude and unimportance. Ozai sat on the cold stone floor, with nothing but old rags on his body. Another day was coming to an end, adding to the ever-growing number of missed sightings of the sun for the former Firelord.
Zuko had not come since he solved the mystery of his mother, Ursa. Azula never would. She had taken the chance to escape, but Ozai hadn't heard from her or news of her challenging Zuko for the position of Firelord, so he could only guess what had happened to her. Ursa had moved on herself, even daring to return to the capital and visit him in prison. Iroh had come once, but that was it, and no one else bothered about him.
For the first weeks, perhaps months, Ozai told himself this was to be expected. They were weak, sentimental, and stupidly loyal to an ideal of balance that was never real. Zuko depended on the Avatar as his life depended on it, grovelling before him to do the right thing. He was the only one who ever understood what the world needed.
He repeated this to himself. He repeated it until the words felt hollow and, eventually, meant nothing.
Days passed, and the weeks followed. No one visited. Not his son, to ask for advice on being Firelord. Not his daughter, to free him or claim her position as Firelord. Not a single loyalist, who saw him as the rightful ruler.
Ozai waited at first. With arms crossed, head raised, his form as straight as possible. He was an emperor in temporary confinement, he told himself. He expected the door to swing open, for someone to bow and whisper that the world needed him again.
But the door never opened. The silence was never broken.
.
Months followed the weeks and even years. Time wore down the heat of Ozai's burning rage and anger, leaving behind an empty cage of failures more unbearable than the defeat he suffered at the hands of a child. The chains binding him were more of a routine than necessary. After all, he was weak, truly and utterly weak. Not only that, but he was unimportant and worthless.
Eventually, Ozai stopped waiting. What was the point? No one would come, but the one who brought him his food and water, once a day.
With nothing left but himself, his anger and rage burnt out, Ozai's mind began to wander.
Initially, he resisted. His memories were an enemy. They were lies, surely. But the anger he felt at remembering his defeat and failure over and over again grew less and less. His memories became painful. A mirror showing a face he refused to see as his own. He shut them out and refused to think about it again.
But there was only so much to think about in the bland environment of his cell, and so, his mind, which was denied distraction and stimulation, circled back to Ozai's darkest pits. He remembered Azulon's harsh and ruthless training, the sting of his father's gaze burning hotter than any flame. The way he looked at his elder brother, Iroh, and the way he expected him to perform better. But Ozai refused to be left behind and did everything he could to mould himself into the perfect firebender, the most deadly warrior and to be just as ruthless as their father.
He remembered Iroh's laughter, which was always too loud, too warm for their upbringing, echoing through the palace halls during their youth. Everything worked out, and learning and training came so naturally to him. Ozai was once revolted by his elder brother's lightheartedness and easygoing nature. He couldn't possibly become like their father that way. Now, after everything, alone and forgotten, he wondered if it had been wisdom on Iroh's part. Nothing Ozai ever did worked, and Iroh could even leave his duty, his post as general, as Crown Prince, without their father being disappointed.
.
Ozai remembered Ursa's eyes when she looked at their newborn son, full of tenderness and love, which he mistook for weakness. He hadn't been smothered, and his son shouldn't either. All he cared about was results and talent in firebending. He ignored his wife, her desires and loneliness. She was a means to an end, to produce powerful offspring for him and secure his position as firelord.
How worthless Zuko had been. Not only did he show no talent, but it was so bad that Azulon demanded he kill the boy. Ozai would have done so without a second thought. But it was Ursa who had begged for their son's life. Her talent in poison was her one redeemable quality—that and her producing Azula. So he killed his father and took the position of firelord, as he had always dreamt of.
He remembered the night he banished Zuko after their Agni Kai, how the boy's voice cracked when he begged, how the flame Ozai released was meant to scar his face. The moment he saw Zuko's tears, he felt only anger at the boy's openly displayed weakness. He had called it discipline. Now... he questioned if it had been cruelty.
Ozai's mind wandered, and he remembered Azula. His second child, her brilliance in firebending, her sharp mind, the way she mastered blue fire, while barely tall enough to reach his chest. He had encouraged her ruthlessness, rewarded her arrogance, and fuelled the flames of her desperation. She was to be his weapon, which he manipulated and controlled. He remembered the way she would tremble when he praised her, a moment so inconsequential he'd forgotten it entirely - until now.
Why did Ozai see these things? What was he trying to prove? To whom? As much as he wanted to deny it at first, doubt started to creep into his mind slowly.
.
.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
The man who once commanded the fire nation and claimed himself as the Phoenix Lord now sat alone in a cold and moist cell. Meditation wasn't something he did because he enjoyed it, but because he had nothing else to do. When the mind received no stimulation and could not escape outward, it turned on itself, and Ozai had nowhere left to run. The initial meditation session was followed by his silence and refusal to do it again. But he had nothing left, and his mental fortitude was basically nonexistent at that point.
He began to pick apart his life. Not the victories, those he had recited for years. Not the defeat at the hands of a 12-year-old child, which was easy to blame on the Avatar state. No, it was the small things he hadn't bothered to think about that broke him further.
The way Azula had seemingly lost herself to madness, devoid of affection. Who knows where she was now. The way Zuko hid his pain and chased his seemingly 'lost' pride, by attempting to capture the Avatar. The way he changed and grew independent, following Iroh's example and teachings. The way Ursa despised him and her fate and showed Zuko the most attention, shielding him with love, while Azula tried to get closer to Ozai.
He remembered moments which took place long ago. When the children were still young. Zuko proudly showed him a clumsy fire stance that produced no fire, and Azula did the same, but managed to create flames that were impressive for a girl so young. Azula secretly practised lightning-bending long before she was ready, to get a word of acknowledgement out of me.
Ozai had thought himself a powerful man, the strongest firebender in the world, the one who would burn the world down and rebuild it as he saw fit: The Phoenix King. His own reality and memories hit him hard, and he slowly began to see that he was not a builder, but a mere destroyer.
At first, he denied it. Then he grew enraged and threw a fit. Not that it mattered, of course. Then he bargained with the past, insisting he had no choice. And finally, he wept. Ozai went through all stages of grief, and he did it alone.
A Firelord had been broken by his own memories.
Inhale. Exhale.
Meditation wasn't something he did because he enjoyed it, but because he had nothing else to do.
.
The final stage of grief did not come quickly. Acceptance took its time and was hard for Ozai to achieve. But after years, he eventually got there.
He stopped trying to shirk the blame for Azula's instability. He stopped condemning Zuko for seeking a better path and no longer saw him as a failure, because he didn't step into his footsteps. Ozai stopped blaming Ursa for leaving and was sad that he had put her through what he did.
Eventually, Ozai even stopped blaming Iroh for being everything he wasn't. He came to understand that he was, in a way, the very image his children were. Just like them, he had been desperate for his father's attention, which he didn't get, and had to take him down to keep from going insane. So in a way, his children were better than he was.
"I was wrong."
No one heard the words. They were just for him and no one else. And as the acceptance settled, Ozai experienced something he had never had. His failures and mistakes pained him, but as time passed and the years ticked by, he felt something unfamiliar. Lightness. A lightness he never experienced.
What he once thought important no longer mattered. He had managed to let go.
A small spark ignited in his chest. Not one of bending. He had been relieved of that privilege—just warmth. The first warmth he had felt in all the years he had been in prison, and it had been over a decade by that point.
With the acceptance and the lightness came curiosity. Ozai was now free, but he still meditated. He meditated on the concept of heat, not as a weapon to wield and conquer, but to understand it. That warmth he experienced had reminded him of it. And since he had nothing else to do... why not?
He meditated on the sunlight that no longer fell on his body, the warmth of his breath, and the faint heat radiating from his skin.
Over months, even years, he began to perceive things differently, and without realising it, Ozai grew closer to a fundamental truth. The truth about heat and fire. The way it moved, how flames breathed like living things. Ozai no longer bent the fire, but he started to understand it.
.
One night, although Ozai wasn't aware whether it was truly night or perhaps day, Ozai felt a pulse deep in his core. The time he spent meditating each session grew in length until he didn't stop to eat or sleep anymore.
The pulse he felt was like a heartbeat. But this heartbeat wasn't his. It felt warm, warmth that wasn't from the sun, since it was dark in his cell. Inside his very core, a small flame had been born. A flame that had never been there before.
It grew over time and burned.
"Haaaaaah..."
Ozai gasped as the heat of this flame surged through every part of him. He clutched his chest as the waves of heat coursed through his old muscles, bones, blood and even his spirit. His soul was lit. The flame burned all aspects of Ozai and removed the impurities, injuries and impurities, turning them to ash and recreating him.
Ozai clenched his teeth in pain. His veins felt like lava coursed through them. His breath came out as steam. The air around him shimmered as the temperature rose.
And in that moment, he understood.
This was a recreation of his very existence.
...
Eventually, the pain receded, leaving a cooling, comfortable warmth behind. One that Ozai felt would never again leave him.
When he exhaled, a single ember hovered in the air before him. It was neither small nor big. Not unstable, but fully controlled. It was... perfect.
Ozai had reached an epiphany unlike any other. The decades of meditation had allowed Ozai to understand the Essence of Flames. The very concept of it, which wasn't limited to the world he found himself in, but which encompassed the entirety of the Omniverse.
The Essence of Flames.
Passion grew within Ozai's heart. A deep, overwhelming passion for heat, for flames and what else waited for him, now that he had reached this stage. He instinctively understood what he was now capable of, simply by achieving the Essence of Flames.
He was now immune to extreme temperatures above what he would consider comfortably warm. He would no longer suffer from heat-related dehydration or heatstroke. Flames would never burn him.
He now possessed the ability to manipulate existing heat and flames in increasingly esoteric ways, as well as generate them himself. This even included byproducts of fire, such as ash and smoke, as well as similar forms of energy.
He could absorb heat to heal, energise or otherwise nourish himself. With practice, he will be able to 'Ignite' or burn things that have no physical form. For instance, igniting a seed's growth to have it grow faster, or igniting a person's potential.
All it would take was his dedication and passion to uncover all the secrets of flames.
.
Decades had passed already, and after unlocking the Essence of Flames, Ozai had spent all his time in deep meditation to achieve one thing.
The ember hovering before Ozai pulsed once, then twice and then flared brighter. The darkness inside his cell no longer dared to show itself.
Ozai inhaled and focused on what he wanted.
He exhaled and opened his eyes. Suddenly, his body began to burn, slowly dissolving into flame. The flames stretched outwards, split into sparks, and then vanished into nothingness. Ozai's prison cell was empty after decades.
A long distance away from the Fire Capital, in a secret location on a mountain, Ozai reformed. When Ozai opened his eyes, he gazed into an old flame, thousands of years old. He had arrived in the Sun City and currently sat before the Eternal Flame.
"Who are you?! State your name and purpose!" a voice shouted.
Ozai looked around and realised that he wasn't alone. The Sun Warriors surrounded him in a wide circle, holding flames above their hands. Their faces were wary but unafraid of a confrontation with a single man. The manner in which Ozai appeared through flames might seem new and foreign to them, but since it was fire that caused it, they didn't outright attack.
The Sun Warrior Chief, the head of the Sun Warrior tribe for over twenty years, stepped forward.
"Who are you? And how did you arrive here?" he asked.
The Chief's main goals were to protect the Sun Warrior tribe, maintain its secrecy, and preserve his people's traditions. The Chief was aware of how valuable the dragons were to the world, and he wanted to keep them safe. So seeing Ozai appear out of nowhere was something he needed to understand.
"My name is Ozai. I was once the Firelord, until the Avatar defeated me during our fight. I have spent the last 35 years imprisoned for my actions. I have meditated on my life, goals, and mistakes, and eventually reached enlightenment into the Essence of Flames. It is this understanding that has allowed me to appear here before this ancient flame. I mean no ill will towards you or anyone."
"You come uninvited, Ozai. The masters have sensed your arrival. They seem to know you carry something… unnatural."
Before Ozai could answer, powerful roars shook the city. Two majestic dragons, Ran and Shaw, appeared and descended. They were large, true dragons. The last remaining two. And they had arrived feeling Ozai's presence.
Aang and Zuko had once danced before them and received their instruction on firebending. Ozai wasn't aware that there were dragons left. He didn't know what they wanted, but he could understand why they had arrived here. He was, after all, one of those who had hunted the dragons. He was the son of Azulon and grandson of Sozin. This couldn't be good for him.
The dragons inhaled deeply. And instead of forming a circle of flame around him… they fired directly at him.
Twin torrents of colourful fire crashed into Ozai, engulfing him. The Sun Warriors shouted in alarm and dashed away as fast as they could, getting to safety. The fire was not punishment for Ozai's past actions or the actions of his forefathers. It was judgment and a test.
Contrary to what the Sun Warriors expected, Ozai did not scream or die, for that matter. In the inferno, the dragons breathed beautiful, multicoloured flames at Ozai, revealing the true and harmonious way of firebending. Oazi understood instinctively, as his spirit opened and he regained what he had once lost through the Avatar. The Essence within him resonated with the dragons' power, not resisting it, since he was immune to flames, but harmonising with it and using it to make Ozai grow.
And then, unprecedentedly, the fire, which the two dragons were bending, suddenly started to grow out of their control. Ozai stood up from his meditative position, for the first time in years and began moving his hands. All of this happened instinctively for him as he got into a stance and, inspired by the dragons themselves just now, bent the flames and took control.
The multicoloured flames grew in intensity and changed their shape, as a monstrously large ball of fire appeared above their heads. The ball then split into thousands of smaller balls of fire, each with a different colour. The dragons no longer bent fire and observed as this human took control of their flames, making all the small balls of fire dance in the sky around them.
Finally, the flames came together in the air and formed the shape of another dragon, similar to Ran and Shaw, standing protectively above Ozai. Then, with a single wave of his hand, Ozai released the flames and returned everything to normal.
No one made a sound. Everyone among the Sun Warriors had their jaws open wide and stared at Ozai and the spectacle he had just shown. But they weren't the only ones. The most impressive and mind-boggling thing was the dragons' reaction. Recognising the superiority of Ozai in all things concerning fire and firebending, the dragons bowed.
"What... are you?"
Instead of answering the Chief of the Sun Warriors, Ozai smiled and simply vanished in the flames.