Mother left without a goodbye.
One day she was there—quiet, watchful, her eyes always searching my face as if trying to memorize it—and the next, her chambers were empty. The palace said nothing. The servants whispered. Zuko cried himself to sleep.
I didn't.
I knew the plot.
And that knowledge sat in my chest like a blade.
Grandfather Azulon began to sicken not long after.
At first it was subtle. A cough that lingered too long. Fatigue that even royal physicians couldn't explain. Then his hands started to tremble, his voice weakening, his once-commanding presence fading into something fragile and human.
Poison.
Slow. Meticulous. Undetectable.
I watched it happen in real time, helpless not because I lacked power—but because moving too early would change everything in ways I couldn't yet control. The Fire Nation court was a nest of vipers, and the moment I revealed that I knew, I would become a target.
So I waited.
And I observed.
Grandfather grew thinner by the week. His fire dimmed. The man who had once commanded nations now struggled to lift a cup of tea. Ozai visited often—too often—standing at his bedside with a face carved from stone.
I memorized every interaction.
Every word.
Every silence.
When Azulon finally died, the palace did not mourn.
It held its breath.
The announcement came the following morning.
We were summoned to the throne room—Zuko, Azula, and I—standing beneath banners heavy with fire and gold. The air was thick with incense, meant to mask the scent of death still clinging to the palace walls.
Ozai stood before the throne.
Not knelt.
Stood.
His voice echoed across the chamber, calm and absolute. "My father's final wish was spoken clearly," he said. "He desired that I succeed him as Fire Lord."
A lie.
A beautiful one.
No one challenged it.
No one dared.
The council bowed. The nobles followed. Fire bent low before ambition, and the crown passed hands without a single drop of blood spilled in public.
Ozai ascended the throne.
Fire Lord Ozai.
And just like that, the world shifted.
Later that day, Ozai summoned me alone.
The throne room felt different now—less restrained, more predatory. The flames burned brighter. Hotter. As if responding to their new master's will.
"You will be Crown Prince," Ozai said, studying me with naked calculation. "Heir to the Fire Nation."
Zuko stood outside those doors, unchosen.
Azula was still too young.
And I…
I was powerful.
"I accept," I said evenly, bowing just enough to be respectful—but not submissive.
Ozai smiled.
It wasn't warm.
It was satisfied.
"You will not disappoint me," he said. Not a statement. A command.
I met his gaze, blue fire stirring faintly in my chest.
"No," I said. "I won't."
The title changed everything.
Servants bowed deeper. Instructors spoke more carefully. Generals began requesting my presence during briefings "purely for observation."
I observed.
And I learned.
Zuko noticed the distance immediately. He tried to hide it, but I could see the way his shoulders stiffened whenever someone addressed me first. The way his fists clenched when I was praised.
I pulled him aside one night, away from listening ears.
"This doesn't change anything between us," I said quietly.
He looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. "It does," he whispered. "It always does."
I didn't have an answer for that.
Azula, on the other hand, smiled.
She was still young, but she understood power instinctively. She watched me with curiosity now—not affection, not rivalry, but interest. Like a predator noticing another predator enter its territory.
Good, I thought. She knows I'm not weak.
That night, alone in my chambers, I stood before the open window and let blue fire bloom in my palm. It illuminated the city below—factories, forges, warships being built in preparation for a war that would define generations.
Crown Prince.
Future Fire Lord.
I felt no triumph.
Only resolve.
The Fire Nation was walking a path soaked in blood, and I now stood at its head. If I didn't steer it—if I didn't control it—then everything I remembered from the original story would come true.
Zuko broken.
Azula unhinged.
The world burning.
I closed my fist, extinguishing the flame.
If destiny insists on fire, I thought, then I will decide how it burns.