Power that relied on fear eventually devoured itself.
Long Feng had ruled Ba Sing Se by tightening his grip every time he felt uncertainty. That was why the city rotted beneath him—why truth became treason and silence became law.
I would not repeat that mistake.
Control did not require suffocation.
It required direction.
Recruitment came first.
The Dai Li expanded quietly—not through conscription, but selection. I observed the city's margins: talented earthbenders buried under bureaucracy, disciplined fighters wasted on guard duty, minds sharp enough to learn but never given the chance.
They were brought in discreetly.
Tested.
Not for loyalty—but for capacity.
Those who relied on brute force failed quickly. Those who adapted, learned, and thought survived. I made it clear from the beginning: fear was not the currency here.
Competence was.
Training changed everything.
I dismantled the Dai Li's old doctrine and rebuilt it from the ground up. Earthbending was no longer taught as rigid forms, but as principles—pressure, leverage, terrain dominance. Martial arts were integrated fully: throws, joint locks, redirection, weapon disarms.
No wasted motion.
No wasted energy.
Then came specialization.
Metal responded to some of them.
Not many—but enough.
Those with the talent were separated and trained relentlessly. Metal hand techniques followed—precision shaping rather than brute manipulation. Gauntlets formed and dissolved in seconds, used for capture, defense, and restraint rather than execution.
Lava was rarer.
Dangerous.
Only a handful could even sense the threshold between stone and flow. For them, lava bending was taught with extreme discipline—containment first, expression second. No wild displays. No collateral damage.
Elite units formed naturally.
Not armies.
Instruments.
I did not police thought.
People spoke of the war openly. Of the Fire Nation. Of fear. Of anger. That was healthy. A city that could not speak eventually screamed.
But certain lines remained inviolate.
Organized destabilization.
Foreign manipulation.
Internal sabotage.
Those were handled quietly and efficiently.
Ba Sing Se learned quickly that life was improving.
Trade stabilized.
Crime declined.
Infrastructure repaired itself seemingly overnight.
No proclamations were made.
No statues raised.
The city simply… worked.
Economic control followed.
Not monopolies—leverage.
Shipping guilds.
Metal refineries.
Construction syndicates.
Medical suppliers.
Key nodes, quietly acquired through intermediaries. Business owners became partners rather than puppets. Profits increased. Stability followed.
Influence flowed upward without resistance.
By the time anyone noticed, the system was already complete.
I stood once more atop the inner wall, watching the city breathe beneath me.
Ba Sing Se no longer felt like a corpse propped upright.
It felt alive.
Disciplined.
Ready.
And when the Avatar returned—when Aang finally stepped back into a world he barely recognized—he would not face a tyrant hiding behind walls.
He would face a city that had already chosen order over chaos.
Not through fear.
But through competence.