AN: Honestly, the support for this story has amazed me in the, I don't know, thousand years it's taken me to update it. There is no way I could possibly apologize for this delay, but I can't make any promises about when I can update again. I'm days away from entering into my senior year of college, but I will try to get my ass in gear and write more often.

A bit of advice I received recently is that, if a writer wants to write but is too busy, she has to make time to write. You can't let busyness or tiredness or lack of motivation keep you from it. It's how I got through this chapter, paragraph by paragraph (and I blame bloody Ursa. Damn the creators for giving us next to no information about her that's relevant to this story). And it is this advice that I'm going to try to apply from this moment on.

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and kept up with this story so far. I will thank you properly later. I feel like you all deserve this chapter now.

Chapter 11: Chronicles

Katara's eyes flew across the page, taking in the first entry Ursa ever recorded in her diary. It was their beginning—Ursa's and Ozai's—and in a way, it was Katara's beginning as well. The beginning of understanding, and with that understanding, she hoped, would come Ozai's certain defeat and her freedom.

Well, then. I must admit I never expected to actually use Rylia's gift as she naturally intended it. How does one start off one of these things? An introduction, perhaps? I am Ursa, Fire Princess and wife to Fire Prince Ozai, and––perhaps what I find most notable––granddaughter of Avatar Roku. But everyone knows that. What can I possibly write down about myself that the rest of the Fire Nation doesn't already know?

How about that I'm terrified? My life has just changed so drastically lately. I never thought it could be like this. I'm happy, truly I am. But, if that's the case, why am I, one of the brightest minds out of the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, so afraid?

Ozai warned me about this. He warned me that if I accepted his hand––as if he and I had really had a choice in the matter––my mettle would be tested in the halls of the Fire Palace, by Fire Lord Azulon no less, as had never before been tested in my life. I didn't believe him then. I was certain that, no matter the trial, he could protect me from it. Besides, how much harder could life as a Fire Princess be in comparison to life as an aspiring governor's daughter?

I was so naïve. My husband truly has been patient with me and my "noble, lofty ideals," as he calls them. But, really, it was foolish to think that Ozai could go against his own father, the Fire Lord himself, simply on my behalf. Azulon's cruelty and harshness knows no bounds when it comes to his second-born, and I'm certain that if this entry was ever found by a Loyalist, I would be killed for such sedition. Such is the way of the Fire Nation.

But perhaps, I should start at the beginning, the real beginning. Maybe then, I can make sense of what is happening to Ozai––and to me.

I was six years old when I first met Ozai, him barely being a year older than myself. It is a tradition of the Royal Family to personally meet and congratulate all those proven worthy enough to attend the Royal Academies––for not only was the girls' school in attendance but also members of our brother school were present as well.

There were only seven of us being initiated in total––four boys and three girls, including myself and the girl who was to become one of my best friends, Rylia. The ceremony took place in the palace courtyard, of which the citizens in the Capital were granted public access to if they wished to witness the affair. And witness, they did. It was extremely uncommon for the Royal Family to allow any entrance past the palace walls, unless for some special proclamation or coronation, so naturally, the majority of the Capital took the opportunity to attend.

There we were standing, our class of seven, on top of the platform looking out at the hundreds in attendance, anxiously waiting for the Fire Lord and his family to arrive and begin the ceremony. We were dressed in our Academy uniforms, the boys wearing a mostly all-black ensemble of a sharp, fitted vest, dress pants, and boots that curled slightly at the toe, the girls sporting red dresses appropriate for our age, with a golden sash adorning the waist. Feeling completely out of my element in front of such a large audience—for life in the colonies then seemed strangely domestic and tame compared to the splendor of the Capital––I clasped my hands in front of me, trying to hide how much I was shaking from nerves.

Before long, however, the Royal Family presented themselves in all the glory and fanfare worthy of their station. After our customary Pledge of Allegiance to the Fire Lord, Fire Lord Azulon himself took center stage.

As frightening as he was charismatic, Azulon made the opening remarks seem both like a challenge and a threat to all of those in attendance. He commended all of us on our talents and dedication to succeed. He declared on how we represented some of the best the Fire Nation had to offer, how those present and abroad, Fire Nation or no, could and most importantly should learn from our example. We were the model of which the rest of the Nation should follow and find inspiration; an unspoken threat of shame and dishonor rippled through the air, should any of us fail to meet the expectations of the Fire Lord, should any of us, as it were, fall from grace. By the end of his speech, the thought of failure was so crippling to me, I felt like I would suffocate from the fear of it.

It was then Azulon withdrew from the crowd, coming instead to stand before us, granting each of us his own individual show of congratulations, and that was indeed all it was, a show. For the Fire Lord did not show any true sign of appreciation towards any of us gathered there; he did not bow or so much as nod his head in acceptance. It was we who bowed before him, we who owed him gratefulness for even giving us the privilege to stand before him. If the sheer power of his presence didn't scream to us that fact, his hard, unrelenting, golden stare quelled any challenge of resistance to question otherwise.

I stared straight ahead, the last in line, waiting and actually hoping that he would finally pass over me, dismissing my entire presence. Once he stopped in front of me, my gaze fixed on the fine golden stitches adorning the lining on his crimson robe, I realized that him ignoring me was too much to hope for. He was waiting for me to do something. Daringly––and indeed, stupidly––I risked a glance up to meet his eyes. They seared me on contact, and I could only hold their stare for but a moment before I jerked my head down, slumping into a curtsy that was much clumsier than my usual. I am certain that it was that moment that sealed my fate. Unbeknownst to me and even Ozai at the time, Azulon had already drawn up the marriage contracts in his head, the old crocodile.

Fire Lady Ilah followed in her husband's wake, offering us sweet words and a kind smile as if to make up for Azulon's aloofness. It was only when she was offering her own entreaties to me that I realized how empty her words were. For regal and beautiful though she was, I could clearly see the lines of subjugation resting plainly on her face, her hazel eyes withdrawn and listless. It should have been then that I acknowledged that being a member of the Royal Family didn't seem the charmed life I'd always dreamed it would be, but––fool that I was and am––a thousand different excuses ran through my mind of why Fire Lady Ilah would be looking so exhausted, so beaten down. What else was a child of the Fire Nation elite supposed to think when we had been taught since birth of our ruler's generosity and ambition, that success was his natural inclination, which surely must include a successful home life as well?

Throughout the years, however, it has become painfully clear to me that the Fire Lord and I have very different ideas of what it means to be successful.

Fire Prince Iroh followed his mother, and though he was reserved in his acknowledgements of us, he still presented to each of us his own set of welcoming quirks that set my stance more at ease. Though his countenance remained thoroughly solemn, his golden eyes contained his mirth that, in less official circumstances, I was sure he would express upon all of us.

"I hope to work alongside each of you in the future," he said to all of us, sending a cheeky wink to Rylia and I when his father wasn't paying attention. I barely stopped myself from laughing at him, but I couldn't resist the thin smile which settled on my lips at his audacity. Especially considering we all knew that Iroh, being twenty-seven at the time, had graduated from the Academy a long time ago and was now a general of the Fire Nation Army and a father. How could he ever find time to waste on students like us?

And then there was Fire Prince Ozai. Though he was only a year older than us, arrogance and intimidation radiated off of him in waves, much like his father had done. The boys, I could tell, were taken aback, maybe even a little provoked, at Ozai's hostility, and he completely overlooked the girls. I disliked him immediately, but that was something that was dangerous to express.

I'm actually embarrassed now to admit that, well… Being six and quite headstrong for someone of my position, I foolishly decided that then was the perfect time to ignore the danger lurking behind my emotions to the point that where, when Ozai was standing right in front of me, disdain curling his features, I glared straight up at him and stuck my tongue out.

Again, I was only six. But the look of pure shock on his face, followed quickly by a flush of anger made it worthwhile. What happened next, though, stamped the triumph from my heart as I risked a glance at the rest of the Royal family. At glimpsing the flash of golden eyes, my gaze shot back to the floor in fear.

Fire Lord Azulon had witnessed the entire exchange. What would he do? I thought frantically. Would I get expelled for mocking his family before I'd even truly attended the Academy? Would something even worse happen to me?

But the Fire Lord did nothing to me, at least not until later.

Little did Ozai or myself know, but that night, Fire Lord Azulon would discuss with his wife the benefits of wedding his second-born son with myself. Neither of us would be privy to this decision for another few years time, but that did not matter, as the decision no longer remained with either of us.

Our fates were sealed.

Eight years passed by, and I neither spoke to nor even saw Fire Prince Ozai or any of the Royal Family again. I remember that, from time to time, I would reflect upon the possibilities of how I had managed to avoid punishment for insulting Fire Lord Azulon's son, but these musings were fleeting. I was but a child then. It was a pleasant notion, the thought that one has escaped punishment when it does not follow swiftly behind the crime. You feel triumphant and a little devious, as if no one could ever touch you. On and off, this feeling came for eight glorious years, in between my rigorous studies and fostering relationships between my classmates, Rylia especially.

Rylia was a bold girl who came from one of the colonies in the Earth Kingdom as I did. By definition, those who lived in the colonies lived less stringent lives than those who lived in the Fire Nation, which is directly under the Fire Lord's rule. Even so, she was constantly amused by my more resigned behavior, proclaiming that the Capital was a perfect fit for my demureness and rigidity towards following the rules. Her polite way of calling me Teacher's Pet, no doubt. But I didn't mind, for Rylia added light to my life with her mild antics in school––too mild to be considered as downright disrespectful or disruptive, which would have been swiftly punished by our merciless instructors, if that is any indication as to our lives in the Fire Nation.

But, I liked Rylia for more important reasons than that. The most notable, unquestionably, was that she never ridiculed me about the fact that, despite having two worthy Firebenders as parents and being a descendent of Avatar Roku, I was not a Firebender myself.

It's always been a mystery to me, why I wasn't born a bender, an obvious source of embarrassment for my parents. Occasionally, of course, there are parents in every nation, non-benders, who give birth to a gifted child. It was unheard of, however, for two benders to produce someone, well, someone like me.

Most people assumed that I was a bender like my parents, so whenever the topic came up, I could tell that my parents were less than pleased to discuss it. They made very little effort to hide their own confusion and distaste, claiming that the fault had to lay with me and not on them. In case that fact was actually proved false, however, they chose not to tempt the matter. I was and forever remained their only child.

Seeing as how my worth could not be proved to them or to our esteemed country through bending, I was encouraged to engage in other pursuits. Astronomy. Mathematics. Engineering. Music. Literature. Fencing. Archery. Hand-to-hand combat, even. Anything and everything that could possibly leave a large enough mark to cover up the stain of my parent's shame, despite my young age.

My hard work and dedication impressed my home tutors so much that records of my prowess found their way to the hands of the Royal Family, who of course, were in control of who was accepted to their Academies and who was not. I became the first non-bender to be admitted at the Royal Fire Academy for Girls in nearly two decades, giving my parents the means to have a reason to gloat over their child again.

Good for them, I suppose. It was made perfectly clear to me that my admittance was conditional only if I continued to pursue most if not all of the studies that I had only begun to explore with my tutors back home. The only one I abandoned was archery. My aim was rather lousy, with very little room for improvement, so it was just as well. Eliminating any more than that, and I feared once again evoking my parents' disapproval.

The things children have to endure in regards to their parents... I wonder if it is the same for all the nations, or if this pressure we put on them is a curse only the Fire Nation forces upon them. I hope that, whatever children I have, that I remember to love them unconditionally, always, no matter who they are or what they are like. I believe I will, for I know all too well what it's like to feel unappreciated and emotionally abandoned by those who are supposed to care for you. Ozai understands this as well, being disregarded in favor of his older brother. I am sure, given the chance, that he will also wish to correct the wrongs Azulon and his idea of parenting have done to him and treat his children with fairness. Yes. I believe he will be a worthy father.

But I have digressed very far from my original point, and that was when I saw Ozai and his family again. I was fourteen, nearing my fifteenth age, actually, when I was summoned right in the middle of my fencing lesson by two members of the Royal Guard. I was to come immediately with them to the Palace to hold an audience with the Royal Family. General Iroh had even returned from his ongoing campaign in the Earth Kingdom to be present for the occasion.

I was mortified, for many reasons. For one, I was sweaty and unkempt from the physical strain of my lesson, wearing old training clothes that, while made from a soft type of fabric, were entirely unsuitable to wear when in the presence of the Fire Lord and his family! For another, oh Agni, this was the Royal Family! No one was called to the Palace for any reason under such personal conditions unless the situation were something deathly serious. The worst possibilities flashed in my head, the first of which being the memory of a stupid, silly little girl sticking her tongue out at the Fire Lord's youngest son. Was I finally going to be punished for my crime? Expelled from school? Maybe even...put to death? Either option was entirely possible, and that doesn't include the other horrors that flew across my mind. But what could I do except to present myself, as summoned?

I remember asking if I could at least change first, barely keeping my voice from shaking, never mind my body. It was to no avail. The guards didn't even respond but rather flanked me on either side and began marching me forward.

Unfortunately, this is where my memory fails me. I remember nothing about my journey to the palace. I believe my focus had moved resolutely inward by that point. Perhaps I was too numb to experience the world around me, or maybe my emotions––fear, trepidation, hysteria––had consumed me completely. Before I realized it, however, I was standing before the Royal Family. All of them. It wasn't until the booming voice of one of the guards—not the ones that had retrieved me; I believe I had been passed off from sentry to sentry the closer I got to the Throne Room––announced me before the Fire Lord that I remembered my manners and fell to a hasty bow.

To this day, I'm sure that my lack of reverence did not go unnoticed. I believe I have steadily been paying for it ever since. But I digress again.

I remained face-down on the floor, completely prostrated, until a voice that brooked absolutely no question ordered me to rise. Though every fiber within me begged me not to, I gave up my last layer of defense and rose to my feet. I chanced one final glance up at the elevated throne, read the utter lack of expression on the Fire Lord's face, and darted my gaze back down to the floor again. Perhaps the most terrifying thing at that moment was that I had no idea what Azulon's intentions were for me at all. Being the master strategist he was, he betrayed nothing. It became increasingly difficult to swallow around the lump in my throat, and I'm confident that the feverish sensation I was feeling had less to do with the giant fire surrounding the throne and more to do with my nerves.

"You have changed since the last time I've seen you." Azulon's voice was quiet, almost pondering, but I flinched all the same. "For the worst, I fear. I had hoped that our esteemed academy would have at least instilled in you manners worthy of a lady, but it seems that I've been... mistaken."

I didn't know what to do. There was a threat in that statement. After all, the Fire Lord was never wrong, much less mistaken, so that meant I had to do something to correct the situation. But...what?

"F-forgive me, my Lord. I was in the middle of a fencing lesson when you summoned me––" I froze for a moment, for that sounded awfully like an accusation. That it was his fault that I'd come before him, dressed as inappropriately as I was, and even though that was the truth, I couldn't actually say it and expect to keep my life. I recovered quickly. "––But I was just so excited to be here in your presence, and I did not think to change into something better. Please, forgive me my indiscretion. It will never happen again."

I clenched my hands before me and bowed my head further in supplication. Was that enough? Was that too assuming, to say "again" as if I would ever be allowed to return here? There was no real point in dwelling on these questions, for whatever had been done—whatever repair or damage—in my little speech, it was done. The silence that fell around me then was unforgiving.

But then––

"See that it does not."

His warning was explicit in his cold tone, but there was clemency in his words. I breathed out a sigh of relief and straightened my posture again. I continued, however, to meet no one's eyes. It was best not to tempt fate any further, and I resolved to speak only when it was required of me.

"Tell me, how does your father, Governor Creon, and his Lady Rica fair? It has been years since I've seen them."

Thrown off balance by both the idea that my parents had once met the Fire Lord and they'd neglected to tell me, and that I was here, making small talk with Azulon of all people, I rushed to reply.

"They are flourishing, my Lord. The last I heard, there was a small band of Earthbenders who attempted to cause unrest along Father's southern border, but he quailed the fighting quickly and arrested the peasants who were leading it. Since then, however, things have been quiet. The... The weather has been kind so far this season, so the peasants are content as long as the crops are thriving."

"Yes, it's amazing how the peasants' humors turn once food becomes abundant or scare, isn't it, my dear?"

My throat too dry to risk a response, I resolved to nodding agreement.

"Creon has handled his position rather well, given how unyielding the Earth Kingdom has been to our superior forces and the fact that he's had to endure it all without the assistance of an heir."

The words stung, even though I had long since understood what my role was in my father's agenda. He informed me of his station, not so I could inherit it, but so I could support whoever the man was whom I would marry. He'd be simply handed the honor, as easily as he would be handed me. It was a fool's dream I was having otherwise, thinking that things would be different with me since I was capable. Talent serves as more of a curse when you're forbidden to use it.

Azulon's voice continued, asking, "You write to your parents often?"

"Every day." Getting a response back was always surprising.

"You'll be pleased to know, then, that I am about to give you a much grander reason to write them, other than for your scintillating talks of your test scores and the weather."

My face burned at that, but I straightened up even more. This was finally it. He was finally going to reveal the reason why I'd been brought here. And, by his letter writing hint, why I'd be leaving here alive.

There was a sudden flash of light as the fire in front of me recoiled and then parted before the Fire Lord. Alarmed, my heart assuming an unbelievably faster rhythm than I'd thought possible, I couldn't help but watch as he descended the steps and moved to stand before me. Keeping my breathing even became a real struggle.

Irresistibly, yet forbiddingly, I held his golden gaze with my own. It was foolish to do so, but I felt that it would be more dangerous to look away. Predator and prey. There were no illusions to the contrary. If Fire Lady Ilah had to endure this gaze all the time, it was no wonder she had seemed so defeated when I first met her eight years ago. It took a special kind of will to withstand it.

A will, it seems, the Fire Lord had decided that I had.

"There it is," he murmured, so low I knew only I could hear him. "There's the spark I saw before." His face finally broke from his indifferent mask as a slow, cruel smile replaced it instead. I wanted to step back, but I was frozen. I knew my sudden fear was obvious, but even looking away seemed like an impossible task.

"It takes only the smallest spark to start a wildfire, you know," he continued, still in that same quiet, conspiratorial tone, as if he and I were trading secrets just like Rylia and I always do. Even the thought was a perversion. "You may not understand exactly what I mean, but you will learn. Oh yes, you will learn through your children, the children you will have with my son."

My thoughts ground to a halt even as I felt the blood pulse through my body. It was such an odd sensation, seeing every thing through slow motion even as such a powerful force moved throughout my body so rapidly. I clung to Azulon's next words as a drowning man tries to cling to a log. It was the last thing I wanted to attach myself to, but it was all I had to prevent getting swept away by sensation.

"Poor little Ursa. Getting teased and mocked all her life for not being a Firebender, for not knowing what real power is." A hand firmly grabbed my chin, and I felt his thumb sweep across my cheek, wiping away imaginary tears in one of the cruelest pseudo-comforting gestures I'd ever experienced. "Those people were wrong, though, my dear. The truth is, you are a vessel for power just waiting to be unleashed. What people often don't realize is that a person who is deprived of her bending legacy will actually produce bending offspring who are much more talented and powerful than normal. Combined with the legacy of the Fire Lords of old, you will produce prodigies. No, you will give the world gods." Azulon's eyes flashed, and I caught sight of the madness lurking inside. I must have tried to pull away, because his grip around my chin turned into a biting pain. "The Fire Nation and, indeed, the world will owe you their gratitude, Ursa."

He released me then, and I don't know how I remained upright. I couldn't process what was happening at all.

"Ozai!" The sudden sharpness of his voice jarred me, and before I knew it, the boy I'd met when I was six—the boy who was no longer really a boy but a young man—faced me, Azulon having placed my hand firmly in his son's.

"The two of you will be wed on the day Ursa becomes of age," the Fire Lord declared to the whole room, as if some massive audience was sprawled out before us. "This can be as easy or as painful as you both make it, for my decision in regards to the both of you is final. You attend sister schools. Take this time to become...acquainted with each other. The ceremony will be held here at the palace, and I will ensure that everything will be taken care of. Your family will be officially informed of my decision," he directed the last to me the same way a tutor would instruct simply mathematics to a young child, "but I'm sure they will want to hear the news from you first. I'm certain they shall be...overjoyed, don't you?" I didn't respond to his barb.

I didn't respond because I couldn't breathe.

I was going to be married. At age sixteen. I was going to be married at sixteen years of age.

I tried to draw some air into my lungs, but all I could feel was a choking sensation. Something tightened around my hand.

This was a possibility, I knew that. I knew that, as a child of a prestigious family, I would no doubt marry young. But this!

I was going to marry the son of the Fire Lord! Not some other governor's son or an aspiring captain in the military, but the son of royalty! One of Azulon's brood! A boy who'd shown his disdain for me at our very first meeting, a boy who I didn't care too much for, either. A boy whose father terrified me more than any other force in this world, a man who we were taught to worship as our ruler, our god!

There was movement before my eyes, but I couldn't make any distinction. It was like looking out of an unfocused telescope, all blurred edges and smears of color. I could feel my lungs drawing in and out—frantic and rough movements—but panic overtook me and swept me away. There was simply no air! None! Azulon had likened me to a spark that starts a fire; appropriate seeing as how my sudden inability to gather oxygen within me was putting me out. There was a rushing sound in my ears, then suddenly I was deafened, my mind swirling with sudden dizziness and nausea. The world tilted and then...

I lost myself for a time.

Ozai watched, his face impassive, as Yutakira's messenger hawk took flight into the setting sun. Last night, while the girl had been asleep, his hawk had appeared, informing Ozai of several different things that pertained to his plan.

The first was the hawk's appearance itself. It indicated that Yutakira was confident enough that he wasn't being scrutinized and therefore was not under suspicion for the girl's kidnap and Ozai's break-out, which had been a mild concern for them when the two were first corresponding. It came as no real surprise to Ozai. His brother had always been too trusting, a trait of which their father had never been able to cure Iroh. A taunting smirk crossed his lips before he reclaimed his emotionless mask. It looked like his father had actually done a favor for his second-born son after all.

The message attached to the hawk's leg was the second bit of good news he'd received. Yutakira's note was brief but concise. The Council had been convened, but they were incompetent as expected. Two hawks had been deployed to his son and the Avatar, but it would take them several days to return to the Capital to be debriefed on the situation. Especially if his son was where Ozai thought he was. The Avatar's other accomplices, however, would leave the Capital the next morning, and Ozai had no doubts about their drive to find him. In particular that blind Earthbender. Their departure, though, would also render the Capital severely unprotected...

It was time to move and to enact the next phase of their plan.

An odd glint stole into Ozai's molten gold eyes as he remembered the brief message he'd sent to Yutakira in response. The young man would know exactly what he meant.

Unleash the lightning. You know what to do. Rendezvous at Caius.

This night would spell the start of many things, all to the benefit for restoring his rightful power. His legacy.

Now, to collect the girl...

Katara was so drawn inside Ursa's world that she almost missed it. The soft tap of footsteps down the hall.

Ozai!

She panicked, slamming the journal closed and scrambling from the bed. She didn't have time to think about how surprisingly soft his footfalls were for a man with such a large stature, even something as simple as that owing to his deceptiveness. If he came in here and spotted her with this journal—if he recognized it as Ursa's—she'd pay soundly for it. She knew that. Even worse, he'd probably take it from her or destroy it, and then she'd lose the only weapon she had. But where to hide it!? What was she going to––

Wait! She was wearing her Waterbending clothes again, clothes that were so comforting and familiar to her. Clothes that she knew everything about.

Reaching for the sash that tightly tied together the hemline that swept around her shoulders and down her torso, she tore her fingers through it and loosened the binding. There was an inner pocket within her shirt, which rested against her left ribcage and would serve as a place where she could hide the journal. The fabric was pretty thick—it had to be in order to be normal wear in the blistering cold of the South Pole—so having the journal tucked inside her shirt wouldn't draw any attention from her captor.

She'd just retied her sash and straightened out her shirt when Ozai emerged into the room. Without knocking. Like he owned the place. Which he did, but, Agni, he's royal! Manners matter!

"What are you doing in here?" he demanded sharply. See, that kind of behavior didn't paint him as a sparkling representative of his culture and heritage.

In retrospect, Katara knew that she looked pretty suspicious standing in the middle of Ursa's former bedroom doing weird things to her shirt, but that didn't stop her returning snarky remark. "Just looking. Not a crime like breaking out of jail and kidnapping a poor, innocent girl, is it?"

"'Innocent' is stretching it a lot, I think," Ozai said, a vicious smirk crossing his lips, and Katara knew instantly that he meant it in a way beyond the lawful verdict of the term. She narrowed her eyes at him, but otherwise refused to rise to his bait. Katara had figured out by now that, beyond serving as a bargaining chip, her fiery temper was only a source of amusement for him, a way to abate boredom. Even if she was left to be miserable through the rest of this experience, she'd be damned before she became more of his court jester than she already was.

In truth, though, Katara relished her anger, and she relished Ozai's ability to make her furious so easily. Her anger was her last defense against her fear; as long as she had it, she could keep her panic at her situation at bay. Without it, she'd be... Well, she tried not to think about it.

"We're leaving."

She only stared blankly at him. His gaze turned razor sharp.

"Now. We're leaving now."

"Right now? This very second now?" She crowed inwardly at the sudden tick in Ozai's jaw, an uncontrollable sign of his annoyance. Instead of responding, he proceeded to leave the room.

"Wait!"

Katara's exclamation froze him for a moment, before he turned back to look at her, his eyebrow raised in such a way that it somehow still managed to express his utter unconcern.

"Let me get my stuff together right fast."

She then proceeded to make a show of straightening her hair and her clothes. When she was done, she lowered her hands to her side and leveled a daring stare at Ozai. "There. All ready to go."

As satisfied as her sarcasm made her, Katara didn't make it three steps past Ozai into the hallway before she dropped to the ground, her body in searing pain. A ragged scream escaped her lips, and once she started, she couldn't stop. It felt like her body was trying to rip itself apart from the inside out, as if her bones were trying to separate themselves from each other and even from her very flesh. As soon as it started, it was over.

She lay curled up into herself, her hands and knees barely propping her up as her forehead sank to relax on the floor. The pain had come and gone so suddenly, like the way your legs jerk suddenly as you try and fall asleep, that she wondered if it had even happened at all. Her body didn't even ache, though she was panting heavily and, yes, those were tears dripping down her face. She ignored them as she tried to catch her breath, but she couldn't ignore the shoes that suddenly passed her peripheral vision nor the slight vibrations she felt in the floor as Ozai calmly stepped around her and proceeded, without a word to her, back down the hall.

Oh, okay. So that's how it is. Swell.

Fleetingly, madly, she wondered if she had really deserved all that. Then she remembered that Ozai was a madman, and he didn't need any excuse to hurt her just so long as she lived through it. Somehow, though, she knew that her previous behavior, insolent though it was, wasn't enough to warrant an attack like that from the Baetyl. No, she was still paying for all the things she said and did to him when he had been trapped in that dank and humiliating jail cell, unable to defend himself except through words as he watched as what he perceived to be an arrogant, undeserving, pathetic peasant flaunt herself freely in his face. She'd be paying a long time for that. And, really, she had to commend Ozai. What he was doing was clever, in a sadly twisted way. If he'd hurt her the way she had no doubt he wanted to, she doubt she'd be fit for any traveling of any kind, and then he would stand to lose either his only tool of defense or his freedom. By keeping his attacks sudden and random, she would both remain fit enough for staying on the move and be forced to expect his attacks at any moment. She would wear herself down mentally, suffering from paranoia and fear, while he kept her physically exhausted. Neither case gave her good chances of figuring out how to escape his control, and both of them together ensured that she wouldn't even come close.

The really scary thing, she admitted to herself, was that it was starting to work.

You have to shake it off. You have to shake it off and get up! C'mon, suck it up!

She rose gingerly to her feet, afraid that if she moved too suddenly that that awful, bone-stretching pain would return. Katara shook herself, stunned already with how she was thinking. If she became too spooked by her own body, then this fight between them was already over. But how could she fight against something she couldn't even sense? Something she had no warning was coming?

What the Baetyl really did was trigger her mind to work against her. The mind controls the body, so it was only natural that her body was used against her as well. But her mind was hers. No one knew it better than she did, and the Baetyl was a foreign intruder invading it. Perhaps it left traces? A different chakra or a strange vibe? Right now, she couldn't recall any kind of difference from how she usually felt. If there was any kind of indication of the Baetyl entering her mind, it was slight, something she'd certainly miss if she was too focused on battling pain. The Baetyl was truly an elegant evil.

Pinpointing the difference, if there was one, would be what she'd focus on for now. Katara knew she couldn't defeat something she couldn't target.

It didn't take her long to roam the house and find Ozai again. She was actually surprised that he hadn't gotten impatient and used the Baetyl to drag her through the house. When she saw him, standing right out of the archway of the front entrance, gaze steady at the shoreline, she knew what he was waiting for. Nightfall. All the better to make a clandestine escape with, my dear.

Katara stood herself beside him, like an equal, trying to match his intense gaze forward while ignoring the pangs of loss she felt at seeing the ocean—her element—without being able to feel it at all.

Now you know how he's felt all this time.

As if that's some sort of excuse?

No, but it hurts, doesn't it?

Trying to get her mind off of her uncomfortable musings, she asked a question she'd been wondering since he'd announced their departure. "Where are we going, exactly?"

She was surprised when he answered.

"To meet with a friend." His voice was low and silky. Completely controlled. He could have been anywhere from being utterly ecstatic to dreading the reunion entirely for all he gave away to her.

"Huh, I didn't think you had any of those," Katara said blandly. She couldn't stop herself from fighting any way she could against him, the threat of pain being oncoming or not. If it was going to come, no matter what, she could at least try to earn it in her mind.

Instead of sudden pain, however, she heard a low scoffing sound escape him, and she could feel the smugness in his response.

"Then, how did you come to be so lucky as to be here with me?"

"Well, you know what they say. 'No good deed goes unpunished'."

He froze beside her then, smirk wiped entirely from his face and all traces of his former humor gone. Katara tensed, unsure of what to expect from this sudden change, but he only stepped off the front steps and began walking down to the beach. Feeling herself slowly uncoil, Katara followed him, unsure of what to make of him now. It was always unnerving for a woman to find a man who had more mood swings than she did.

And she couldn't help but notice that her question went totally unanswered. "A friend"? What kind of answer was that?

"You know what? It doesn't matter where we go. Really. I don't even care anymore. Because you can't hide forever. My friends—something I still don't believe you have, by the way—are going to find us, and when they do, they're gonna––"

Her hand shot to her throat as she felt it, almost like an invisible clamp squeezing her windpipes, preventing her from breathing, much less talking. Just as quickly, the sensation vanished and her breathing resumed as normal. Gritting her teeth in fury and disgust, she opened her mouth to yell some obscenity at him because she had had it, only to find that when she went to yell, no sound come out. She swallowed, tried again, and the same thing happened. She tried to clear her throat, only to be greeting by silence and not the normal, guttural sound that usually accompanied such an action.

Great. Well, that's just perfect! Ozai had made it so that she could make no sound whatsoever. She couldn't even growl at him to make herself feel better.

"You know what they say, peasant. 'Keep watch over your mouth, lest it bring you to grief'."

Katara had never felt as murderous in her entire life than she did in that one moment.

They reached the small boat still docked in the sand, bobbing slightly on the gentle waves the tide brought in. Katara marched past Ozai toward the boat, violently splashing up water in her wake, and proceeded to plop herself down on the side of the boat that was farthest away from him, crossing her arms and glaring balefully at him. Screw him! He could get this damn thing going in the water without her, and she would do nothing but sit here and watch!

Yutakira was a light sleeper. He had been trained long ago as a young boy to be. In fact, he sensed his hawk's presence before it had even flew through his room's open window to land dutifully on its perch on the nightstand beside its master's bed. The soldier watched the hawk land, a grin pulling slowly along his lips. Sitting up, he ran a hand through his long hair and peeked a glance out the window, trying to discern what time it was from the stars in the sky. By his reckoning, and he was sure he was correct, it was nearing three in the morning. He shook his head, amused. Ozai wasn't much of a time-waster. Pity. One day, he might regret not stopping to smell the moon lilies every now and again.

The note attached to the hawk's leg confirmed his earlier suspicions. Ozai meant business. Yutakira fed the hawk its usual then sent it on its way, his uses for it over. If this next plan was pulled off successfully, which it would be, it would be Ozai's turn to find a way to contact Yutakira, not the other way around.

Yutakira roamed his room to find a shirt, preferably a clean one, and his armor. Snatching a red tunic off the floor, he pulled it over his head and adjusted it around his torso, covering up the scars that canvased his body from training and war as well as an unusual tattoo he'd received some years earlier on his left shoulder blade. It was odd in the sense that it looked more like a brand than anything, and it was somewhat small and barely noticeable when compared to the number of scars that littered his back. The tattoo itself was of a sideways eye and nothing more. As simple as it was, it was Yutakira's proudest achievement, meaning more to him than any military rank or medal of honor.

He applied his armor quickly, choosing the type that would adequately protect his torso, legs, and arms while allowing for greater flexibility and mobility. As long as he didn't take a straight shot of anything, he should be fine. Gathering some last minute supplies, he stuffed them inside a small, black rucksack he then attached to his back. His treasured pocketknife slipped securely in his boot, the hazel-eyed Firebender left his room, leaving behind all that was useless to him.

There was a princess needing saving from a tower and a big, bad Dragon of the West. He smirked at the thought.

Nearly a quarter of an hour, later, Yutakira mockingly mourned the lack of security around the mental ward of the Prison Tower. Or maybe what he really mocked was the high level of trust there was around here. He'd had nothing but some friendly waves and silent nods in lieu of trouble from the other guards. Peace really did cost a nation its strength. Victory would prove to be their defeat, at this rate.

There was one guard patrolling the entire floor of the metal ward. One. The excuse being, of course, that the sight of too many armed soldiers would terrorize the already unbalanced "patients" and send them into a frenzy.

There was about to be a frenzy alright, that's for sure.

Yutakira made short work of the pacing guard, sneaking up behind the unsuspecting man and wrapping his arms around his head and neck in a sleeper hold. The man dropped like a stone. It it weren't for the fact that Yutakira decided to take precaution by snapping the guy's neck before he released him, he may have only woken up a few hours later with a slight head and backache.

Oh well. C'est la vie.

Filching the keys from the now dearly departed guard, he ventured farther down the hall, checking in every eye slot as he searched for the patient he needed. He found her, completely alone and isolated, with no neighbors on either side of her to whisper sweet threats to between the walls, on the opposite end of the hall.

"Hello there, beautiful."

Her head snapped up at his voice, and his smile only grew at the sight of her. Restrained by a graying, dirty straightjacket and pants and looking much thinner, former Fire Princess and almost-Fire Lord, Azula, had definitely seen better days. Her dark hair had grown since her failed coronation, left in the jagged cut she'd bestowed upon it back then. Most of it feel in tangles to her waist, her bangs being mushed atop of her head and around her face, giving her a wild look Yutakira only wished his own hair could accomplish. It wasn't the straightjacket or the hair that betrayed her madness to him, though; it was her eyes. Pupils dilated, they looked more black than their original gold, and there was a hint of something in them that sent a shiver of pleasure down Yutakira's spine. All malevolent intent and ferocity combined with shrewdness and an acute awareness of one's surroundings. God, it was like he was gazing into a looking glass after being away so long he'd forgotten what he looked like.

If he'd known this was what she really was, if he had had any idea of her, he would have freed her from this place ages ago, damn to hell all of Ozai's little ventures.

"And what the hell are you supposed to be?" His ears tingled at her biting voice, which still managed to sound low and smooth despite how rough it had grown with disuse. Ah, an ungrateful princess. He'd have to work on changing that.

"Your knight in shining armor, of course." He bowed sardonically, even though he knew she couldn't see him through her solid stone door, but it was important to keep in character. "But you don't really strike me as the rose and pearls kind of girl, so maybe I should just say that I'm the devil, come to fulfill his task and collect his due."

Azula laughed at him, no amusement to be found in her whatsoever. "You're pretty boastful for a pawn. I can see I'll have to correct that once I get out of here, that is, if you can even manage it. And even if you do, I owe you nothing."

"Now that's not any way to barter your freedom, is it?" Their gazes locked, searing, fighting for dominance, before Yutakira grinned again, all seriousness lost. "But no matter. Your freedom will reward me far more than it will you in the end, princess. I can assure you of that."

Wasting no more time, he unlocked the cell and stepped in. Azula's eyes widened slightly, disbelieving that he was actually going to carry out with his boast. He knelt down to her and turned her slightly around to access the lock in the back of her straightjacket. Azula's arms sagged forward, and Yutakira tugged the straightjacket from her, revealing her naked torso. Completely uncaring for her own nakedness, Azula stared hard at the stranger, missing nothing, not even the way he gazed unashamedly at her form before flicking his eyes back up to meet her stare.

"Who are you?"

He rose and gave her his name as he left the cell. Only gone a moment, he returned with a red tunic much like his own that he'd stripped from the dead guard. It would dwarf her, no doubt, but it was better than having her wear nothing. For their escape and for his own urges. He was a gentleman only when it suited him.

As she put it on, her questions began anew.

"Why are you doing this? Who sent you?"

"None other than Daddy Dearest. He misses his angel. Sends his regards." He caught the flash of surprise and reverence in her eyes. So, little miss prodigy had some unresolved Daddy Issues and hero worshiping. That could be useful. Besides, he could relate.

"And what did my father promise you out of this deal?"

"Am I expected to want anything besides a deep satisfaction at reuniting a long-lost family?" The question answered itself. "Fine. You got me, princess. The truth, and nothing but the truth so help me God, is that I want vengeance against a weak world that doesn't deserve to live. I want to help finish what your father started, and for that, he needs you. Oh, yes, he does. He told me so himself. Y'see, I lost a country when our illustrious nation fell to the Avatar and your traitor of a brother. They deserve to pay, don't they, angel? But even more than that, I want to see fire. I want to see an inferno flash across every land and cleanse the world. Purge it of the weak, the useless, the stupid, the corrupt!" All the time he'd been speaking, Yutakira's voice ranged from mocking to incensed to frustrated until it ended on the purely fanatical. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to regain himself, but though he continued to speak, that same radical look still dripped from his eyes once he opened them. His voice was back to its normal calm and mocking. "That's all I want. Really, that's all. And you and your father are going to do it. I'm just here to, uh, get the ball rolling."

Azula regarded him silently the whole time, not revealing how much his speech had truly affected her. This was it. This was exactly what her father had wanted when he took the title of the Phoenix King. Yutakira was here, willing to carry out her father's wishes, and he was going to allow for her to do the same. She could regain her honor in her father's eyes. She could finally become the prodigy, the ruler he expected her to be. A deranged smile curled her lips, a smile Yutakira managed to match perfectly.

"How many guards are left?"

"Around twenty. Two or three on each floor besides this one, three guards at the entrance, and one on each of the surrounding guard-towers outside. But I doubt they'll be a problem for you, princess."

She caught his hint. "Meet me at the docks. Mind the bodies." He answered in the affirmative, even though she'd practically given him the order he'd originally planned to give to her himself.

Azula darted out of the cell, out of sight so quickly that Yutakira almost missed her. He rose, staring at the blank, gray wall before him, the open door beckoning behind him. There was still one little thing he needed to do, a message he needed to deliver, and Yutakira so hated to disappoint.

For the second time in four days, an alarm gripped the palace into a panic. The entire security unit around the Prison Tower was dead. Some were burned alive, others appeared electrocuted, or were murdered with their own weapons on hand. On top of that, a friend of the guard who worked at the mental ward in the Prison Tower noticed when he failed to show up for breakfast the next morning, and he knew his friend to be such a man of routine that it was almost religious. They hadn't missed eating breakfast together in the two years they'd known each other. This same friend chose to skip breakfast to search for his friend, a grateful choice he ended up making after he found the carnage awaiting him that early morning. He should have turned back and sounded the alarm then, but the curiosity, morbid as it was, was too great. Was his friend in there? Would he be counted among the dead? Reaching the mental ward, he saw him, his friend's rigid body laying in the middle of the hallway. He dry heaved against the wall for several minutes, trying to get himself under control so he could alert General Iroh. The actual death wouldn't have been so horrific if it hadn't been for the fact that the man was more blood and gore than substance when he was found. The only reason his friend could identify him was because of a birthmark located on the man's inner arm.

On top of that, one of the Fire Nation's high-risk, high profile criminals and patients was missing, being none other than the psychotic daughter of the even more psychotic man that had escaped four days ago. A patient who had been secretly and silently removed from the mental institution located on the outskirts of the Fire Nation, overseas, to the Capital's Prison Tower, where she could be more closely watched and guarded. Especially considering the high probability that her father would attempt to free her. All this time, Iroh had been planning with the Council to lure Ozai to the overseas facility, so they could trap him, all the while not having to worry about Azula becoming a serious threat. Hard for her to be, if she wasn't actually there.

It was clear to Iroh now. Ozai's escape hadn't been a fluke or a result of poor vigilance. All this time, he had had an inside informer, and Iroh was determined to discovery who it was.

Once at the mental ward in the Prison Tower, Iroh stared, shocked and disgusted at the brutality inflicted on the dead man's body before he stepped around it. The ones outside and on the other floors had been bad enough, Azula's work through and through. This man's body on the other hand... Iroh was afraid of the mind that was capable of that kind of evil. Eerie, considering this mind was probably Ozai's new right hand. In addition, the dead man and the empty cell wasn't the only thing the man had found when he'd reported in. Iroh didn't want to believe his story, couldn't believe it until he saw it for himself. He thought they'd seen the last of them.

He didn't even have to enter the cell, but he did have to catch himself against the doorway for support as he staggered, his heart stopping for one frightening moment in his chest. Iroh hadn't felt this level of fear since he'd seen Lu Ten being killed by an Earthbender in Ba Sing Se, since he'd had to fear for Zuko's life against Ozai's cruelty on and off over the years. This situation, this whole plot had just become so much more critical than any of them had even dreamed.

There, against the back wall of the cell in a spray of blood was a carefully drawn yet huge rendition of a sideways eye staring straight through Iroh into his very soul. The old General shut his eyes tight against the unnerving penetration, but the feeling was still there. A feeling he thought long since buried.

He'd never thought in all his years he'd see the symbol of the Order of the All-Seeing Eye again. Where the Order of the White Lotus stood for peace and unity between the nations, the Order of the All-Seeing Eye represented total destruction, pain, and death. Complete ruin for the nations. And like their name implied, they had eyes everywhere, in every nation, save for the Airbenders now.

For there to be balance, after all, an equal and opposing force must be formed.

Ozai. What have you gotten yourself involved with? Do you even know, or has the thought of power blinded you again?

"General Iroh!"

Turning his head toward the direction of the voice, Iroh watched as a middle-aged soldier came running towards him down the hallway, giving as wide a berth to the dead man as he could.

"More good news, soldier?" Iroh couldn't find it in him to sound joking or even the least bit optimistic. The situation was far too grave.

"I'm afraid so, General. We pulled rank this morning as you ordered, and, well..." Iroh waited, suddenly very still.

"Other than the twenty-four casualties endured last night, we are still missing one man. We've searched his rooms and found signs of departure. On top of that, he failed to show up for inspection as you'd commanded, so we have no other explanation. It appears that Lieutenant Commander Yutakira has gone AWOL."

AN: Dun Dun Dun DUN DUN DUN DAAAAAAAAA! God, I can't believe I finally got to the actual mindfuckery I'd originally intended for this story. Hopefully, the fun we're about to have together will be the inspiration I need to keep going more often.

I hope you all enjoyed this one. I look forward to what you have to say... Especially since we've all seen this eye in the Avatar universe before.