It was cold.

That was his first thought, before he'd even opened his eyes.

For a moment he lay there, daring to hope he was back in the South Pole, that his grandmother would come in to wake him up and offer him stewed sea prunes for breakfast.

Hoping everything that had happened was just a dream. Or more truthfully, a nightmare.

His eyes opened. His hope died.

Grey steel walls greeted him, thick and unyielding. Even Toph would have a challenge making a dent in them.

His swallowed, cutting off that line of thought before it got anywhere. It wasn't hard, he was more than used to loss. He'd learned how to cope a long time ago.

He rose up slightly, the thin blanket sliding away with the movement. He let it drop to the floor, it was of no use to him now.

Glancing around the metal box, he briefly wondered what time it was. He had no way of telling. Perhaps if he'd been born a waterbender he might know.

Well, he hadn't been.

He wasn't bitter, but a small bubble of jealousy appeared like a tiny pang in his heart. He quashed that too. There was no point in envy. He knew the price the waterbenders had paid for their ability.

His feet dangled off the side of the bed limply as he stared into the abyss. How long had he been cooped up here, in this featureless coffin? The days had blurred into nothingness.

In the beginning, men had come to him. He'd resisted their efforts to question him, no matter what threats and abuse they'd hurled at him. Fortunately none of them had ever made good on the promises. He didn't bother wondering why.

Instead they'd left him here in isolation. Food (if you could call bland, tasteless gruel food. It barely counted as sustenance in his eyes) and water were pushed through a small flap twice a day.

At first he'd been full of vim and vigour, desperate to break free and rejoin his friends. None of his plans had worked - the guards had been too wary, too numerous.

And then he'd remembered. A memory had resurfaced in his brain, a moment in time he'd tried to destroy forever.

She had been there when he'd woken up for the first time. Her golden eyes had stared unwavering as she'd regaled their fates to him, a glimmer of victory within them.

He hadn't believed her, despite the uncharacteristic lack of cruelty to her tone. Azula was an accomplished liar - not even Toph could verify her words.

And so he'd schemed. And when that had failed, he'd waited. If he couldn't go to his friends, they would come to him.

Every day that had passed sapped his spirit. They needed him, he was their leader, their guide. Without him they would be lost.

And yet, a little voice whispered in his mind, who was it that orchestrated their defeat? Who was it that planned the invasion? Who was it that had lead the onslaught?

Who was it that had cost them their lives?

He hadn't slept well after that, visions of their faces dancing in his head. Their accusations, broken and burnt bodies blaming him for their destruction.

In the end, they were just more people he'd failed to protect.

Alone in the dark, Sokka hung his head in shame and wept.

Satisfaction crept through her whole body, filling her with warmth. She was content.

The roasted flesh of the turtleduck tasted divine on her tongue, but the slow-burning feel of vengeance was sweeter still. Her mother had loved the animals dearly, Azula recalled. More than her own daughter.

What would she think of her now? A genius, a conqueror, an unparalleled paragon. And not even an adult yet.

Ursa would never even know. The thought made her smile.

Having eaten her fill, Azula pushed the plate back with a pleased sigh. Rising from her chair, the firebender made her way over to her desk. Neat stacks of paper lay in orderly rows on the surface.

Carelessly picking a sheet from the top, she gave the contents a cursory glance. It was a report from Mai on Zuko's behaviour. Apparently he was acting moody or something.

This was not out of the ordinary and therefore unimportant. Her schedule told her she was due for a meeting with her advisers soon, followed by a visit from one of the generals in a colony outpost.

And then her eyes caught sight of another document, this one slightly unaligned with the others and yellowed with age.

Azula frowned as she stared at it. All records were to be kept up to date. Clearly someone had been shirking their duties, and would have to suffer the consequences.

Curiousity welled up inside her, and she plucked the piece of paper up. It was a certificate of imprisonment.

Oh yes, she remembered. The lone survivor of the last ditch attempt to topple the Fire Nation. He'd been the mastermind behind their plan, according the the report.

Perhaps if she'd not been aware of it in advance, he might have succeeded. It was clever, bold and cunning, even by her standards.

Sadly for him, an ambush doesn't work on those who expect it. The Fire Nation Air Fleet had smashed their ranks asunder, annihilating their machines and reducing their soldiers to ash. None had been able to withstand their raw destructiveness.

Not even the Avatar.

Azula had watched the last airbender in his final moments. Admired the look of shock on his face as Ozai's lightning ripped through him.

He may have survived her own attempt on his life, but this time there was no miracle cure to save him.

And in the flaming wreckage of their advance, the bodies of the fallen had littered the grounds like leaves in winter. Any who still clung on to life were extinguished without mercy.

Except for him. Azula had ensured that personally, to the confusion of many. She had admired his spirit.

And sought to break it.

Her guards had interrogated him for any further information about the invasion - a futile task, even if there had been more to their attack, the boy wouldn't have given it up. She'd ordered him to be left alone until she decided what to do with him.

And then so many tasks and duties had cropped up. The preparation for the arrival of Sozin's Comet, the destruction of the Poles to deny the birth of a new Avatar. Her coronation.

He'd simply slipped her mind, left to rot in his cell. Azula looked at her schedule once more. What did she need to meet with her advisers for? She was Fire Lord. She needed no advice.

Perhaps she'd pay this prisoner a visit.

He lay limply on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The tears on his cheeks had long since dried, and he'd not bothered to wipe them away.

He wished he'd died too, perishing in the flames with his loved ones. Why did everyone else suffer while he continued on? Was he destined to be alone forever?

In his mind he cursed the Spirits a thousand times over for damning him to this torment. And then begged them for a reprieve, a brief moment of solace. To be freed from his anguish. Or at the very least, his cell.

He wanted to see trees, smell flowers, feel the crunch of snow beneath his feet. To bask in the sun's rays and swim in a river. He wanted to eat until he was bloated like an arctic hippo, unable to stand. He wanted to run and run and never stop, until his legs gave out.

The thoughts burned in his chest, a biting ache that could never be abated. Would he die here, in this desolate room with no one to mourn his passing? The only remnant of a world unconsumed by fire.

So deep in his grief was he that the sound of the door sliding open failed to register in his brain. And then light filled the room, as though a miniature sun had burst into life.

He scrambled back in his bed, shielding his eyes with a hand. Fear and confusion coursed through him - was this the end?

"Bow before your Fire Lord, prisoner," a voice proclaimed.

He squinted, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. Two figures came into view. One was dressed in a guard's uniform, and the other was a woman.

"Thank you, Warden. I can take it from here," the woman spoke. Her voice was familiar somehow.

The guard bowed low, exiting without a word. The woman did not watch him go, instead contemplating the room. It didn't take long.

Her gaze was electric, holding him captive. Like a squirrelmouse before a viper bat, he couldn't look away. The weight of her judgement was heavy in the air.

Finally her red lips curved into a smile.

"I see you've grown a beard. Did the guards neglect to offer you adequate facilities, or was that a stylistic choice?" She asked.

He blinked, uncertainty rising. Who was this woman? The guard had called her Fire Lord, but the Fire Lord had been a man. Hadn't he? The memories were fuzzy now.

He opened his mouth, but no sound issued forth. Years of disuse had damaged his vocal cords.

The woman nodded, unsurprised by his muteness. Swiftly reaching into her cloak, she retrieved a small bottle and offered it to him.

He looked at it warily. Gifts were few and far between in this land.

"It's moon peach juice. I haven't poisoned it either. If I felt like killing you, I'd do it myself," the woman explained.

He took it from her hesitatingly, pulling the lid off and giving it a small sip. The taste was sweeter than anything he could remember, his brain almost overloading at this forgotten sensation.

"Thirsty, I see," the woman remarked as he gulped it down.

He finished it in moments, tapping the bottom to receive every last drop. He proffered the empty bottle back to the woman, and she stowed it back inside. For a moment the two regarded each other.

"W-who…" He coughed. "Who are you?"

She drew herself up to her full height, a sly smirk beginning to appear.

"You don't recognise me? How sad. Very well. I am Fire Lord Azula, future Phoenix Queen."

Azula. The name echoed in his head. Brief flashes of memories emerged, the shades of days long past.

She had met them in a city as they bartered for lives. Then she'd chased them all over the world. She'd seriously injured someone, they'd nearly died. And she'd been there that day-

He shut his eyes, attempting to block the thoughts out.

"It's coming back to you, isn't it? You've been here a very long time, Sokka."

Sokka. That was his name, wasn't it? It had been so long since he'd heard it.

"What do you want?" He forced out.

Azula laughed, loud and cold.

"Want? There is nothing I want from you. There's nothing you can give me," she declared.

"Then why are you here?" His tone was venomous.

The Fire Lord gazed at him imperiously, before she sniffed disinterestedly.

"I simply noted I was under utilising a potential asset. Even now there are those who resist our glorious reign. Someone with your talents could be invaluable in rooting them out," she told him.

Sokka stared, his jaw hanging slack in utter disbelief.

"Are you insane? I would never help you!" He growled.

Azula only smiled, shaking her head.

"Your days of being locked in here with nothing are at an end, Sokka. But what happens to you afterwards is up to you."

The woman walked out the door before glancing back.

"You can live in the new world or die clinging onto your old one. I suggest you consider it very carefully."

The door closed, leaving Sokka in darkness once more.

He had a lot to think about.