The tournament began in the morning and ended by lunchtime. Only those without significant responsibilities could eat in peace that day. They had no reason to rush around seeking information about the green fire, the mysterious aristocratic family closest to the royal family, or the background of their newly revealed representative.
"Good day, Minister Qin, alas," the palace librarian dramatically spread his hands, "those records were already taken by General Ming." He pointed to the departing general, anticipating their struggle for the needed information.
Many young families lacked records or mentions of such a family in their libraries—if they even had libraries. Thus, any place with books suddenly became popular, and some people took advantage of this.
One such incident occurred at the city library.
"Ah, my head is full of holes! I just can't remember where that book is," the elderly librarian lamented, shaking his head. His staff looked at him skeptically. "But I think I recall something," he added, causing the nervous admiral standing nearby to hold his breath. "The trouble is, my thoughts are muddled because the building needs renovation—it's so old. And we can't afford new books," the librarian explained. The admiral immediately understood.
"How can we not support a place that holds the history of our glorious people?" the admiral said glumly, gesturing to a subordinate and calculating how much the cunning librarian would demand.
Everyone scrambled to uncover even a shred of information. They needed to understand how to interact with the new person in the Palace, whose appearance was no longer questioned. Azulon's demeanor was too striking, and older families had shared some details about the offspring of the family in question.
Families who remembered the clan dug through their historical records. They needed to determine if they had clashed with the "greens" or done anything harmful to them. Some panicked, already plotting how to discreetly eliminate the unwanted person, while others sighed in relief, grateful to have been allies of the family.
*
People quickly learned where I lived, and everyone wanted answers. But I needed silence—time to sit and prepare for my conversation with the Fire Lord. Thankfully, the guys I promised to tell everything later kept the crowd away.
I was lucky that some bodies from "my" family were never found, and all the servants, some also missing, were presumed dead. This forms the basis of my story: my grandfather, then a child, was saved and sent to the mainland with some servants.
Many records couldn't be taken, but the most important ones were saved. My now-grown grandfather, not a firebender, acted wisely and decided to keep a low profile. Later, my father wanted to uncover what happened to our family, so he went to the Fire Nation capital to investigate. But he dug too openly, and they tried to capture him alive. Knowing torture breaks even the strong, he poisoned himself to leave no trace of his family. My mother couldn't bear the loss of her beloved and followed him.
So, I'm the only one left—the one who mastered the green fire, turning our unique trait into my greatest strength. I hope to serve our people as proudly as my ancestors did! The key is to always show patriotism.
"I think I haven't forgotten anything," I muttered before leaving.
I had to sneak through the streets to reach the Palace, acting like an assassin and showcasing my skills to my watchers. Who in their right mind would leave such a valuable asset unprotected? Azulon may be old, but he's no fool.
As I approached the small square in front of the Palace, a guard stepped forward.
"You're expected. I'll escort you," he bowed, though technically I should bow first. But factors like my unusual fire, tournament victory, and potential relation to the royal family elevated my status.
The Palace was still bustling. People passed by, scanning me—my clothes, gait, even my hairstyle and facial features. A fat man even sneaked a peek at my backside... I was already losing interest in this mess.
"This way," he opened the door, and I confidently entered the throne room.
As I walked through the short corridor, stepping into the firelight, I heard the door close. Instantly, I created a fire wall to block a medium-sized fireball. Azulon's fire hit like jelly, slightly bending the wall and deflecting the smaller flame.
"My king," I calmly knelt, pressing my fist to the ground. Though I thought to myself how "warm" the Fire Lord's welcome was.
"Indeed, it's the same fire," a strong voice said casually. "Come closer," he commanded.
I silently approached the wall of fire surrounding Azulon, waiting for his next words.
"You resemble them," he observed. Only then, enhancing my vision, I saw paintings of various ages around the throne—depicting members of my "family"! I had worked on everything but forgotten about appearances—great job, Van! Thankfully, when altering my looks, I'd modeled myself after a true Fire Nation aristocrat.
"Tell me everything you know," he said after studying me for a long time.
I began my story, occasionally furrowing my brow in feigned helplessness or clenching my fists. By the end, I physically felt like I'd won an Oscar for "Best Actor in a Deception of the King."
Azulon's gaze softened slightly. I'd woven too many seemingly minor details into my story—details only our family could know.
"Tell me about the Palace atmosphere," the Fire Lord requested. "I won't believe you didn't try to learn as much as possible."
"Airo is essentially out of politics," I began cautiously, watching his reaction. "Prince Ozai is slowly expanding his faction, hindered by seemingly chaotic small groups." At his raised eyebrow, I clarified, "They complement each other too conveniently, as if someone's pulling the strings."
It's too soon to speak openly about the Fire Sages. Who am I compared to them? I don't yet have the trust my ancestors once had. I'm still an outsider. But speculation isn't forbidden.
"It seems the Fire Sages' faction forgets it's a spiritual authority and meddles too much in secular politics," I continued, until he stopped me with a gesture. I thought I was doomed, that the king was already in their hands, but...
"Your ancestors were skilled poets. I hope you've inherited their talent," he suddenly said. "Let's compose some poetry," he added—the old man seemed to have lost it.
"There are no strangers among us!
We're all brothers to each other
Under the blooming cherry trees."
I was about to invent something when I recalled an unremarkable book Yo had read, written by one of my ancestors. The pieces fell into place, and I searched my memory. With each second, the temperature in the hall seemed to rise, and Azulon's mood darkened.
"Above the stream's wave,
A dragonfly catches, catches
Its own shadow."
Finally, I continued his poem. Long ago, a Fire Lord and my ancestor created a secret language that not only survived but improved over time. In this language, Azulon said, "I'm surrounded by enemies, and my time is limited. I worry for my people." Something like that.
Azulon seemed to shed a heavy burden. I assured him he could trust me—I was a friend, not an enemy.
"Now the moon has risen,
And every small bush
Is invited to the celebration."
"Ears are everywhere. Let's continue in the secret language," I quickly translated for myself. Closing my eyes for a second, I heightened my hearing and sense of smell. "Where did you learn such stealth?!" I barely located the man stretched in a narrow, human-unfriendly pipe. His breathing was inaudible, but his scent gave him away. From now on, I'd always use the senses granted by the source of fire, the one illuminating the "fire" of people's lives.
Anyone knowledgeable about poetry would clutch their heart at our conversation—it was too mixed up and poorly composed.
Azulon began complaining: "Airo's a whiny youth. He should've had more sons. Ozai's a power-hungry brat already measuring himself for the world's crown." He said much more, but it was clear he loved his sons and blamed himself for their upbringing.
"Tomorrow morning at the dock, they'll be waiting for you. They know your face and will approach you. They'll take you to an island for special training," he concluded our long conversation. "The sooner you finish, the better," he added—they'd pushed him to rely on a stranger like me.
I left the Palace in darkness. The empty streets allowed me to rehearse Azulon's poems in my head.
He'd send me to train with his trusted people, who'd teach everything a true aristocrat, spy, general, or admiral needed. They'd mold me into a national security advisor. It wouldn't be immediate, but Azulon's hints were clear. They'd observe and promote me if I succeeded. But plans rarely survive reality...
The next day, I arrived on an island belonging to one of the ancient families, nearly as old as "mine." The first three days were purely theoretical, explaining Fire Nation warfare tactics. On the fourth day, a dragon hawk delivered a letter announcing Fire Lord Azulon's death...
"Nothing changes, boy. Keep training," the family head said, handing me a scroll.
It contained Azulon's final decrees, written the day before his "death." He'd felt his end was near. Some families were declared "untouchable" for five years, meaning they could only be removed for serious incidents. Many were promoted—people Azulon trusted completely. I wasn't overlooked; I was now the firebending teacher for Azula and Zuko...
The plans were different, but this would do, I suppose. At the end was a small poem, incomprehensible to others.
"I entrust you with my most precious treasure, my young friend—our future, our children. I hope you'll raise Azula and Zuko into rulers our ancestors would be proud of. Prove your strength, show your intellect, and my people will follow you."
The man waged war, killed innocents, and did many terrible things, but it still felt somber.
Typically, the last words of the deceased aren't ignored, at least while their memory is fresh. So, for two or three years, I wouldn't fear serious attacks from Ozai or the Fire Sages—though there'd be plenty of covert ones. Our faction lacks a leader, so I'd have to step up quickly.
*
**Temple of the Fire Sages. The day after Van's meeting with Fire Lord Azulon.**
Gray-haired elders in ceremonial Fire Nation robes sat at the table. Their eyes were closed, and their steady breathing suggested sleep. Suddenly, one opened his eyes—inhuman, devoid of warmth.
"I fear the new boy will ruin all our plans. If he's even half as capable as his ancestors, he'll uncover everything. Last time, we walked the finest line," he said grimly. "The Avatar is still imprisoned; the time isn't right. I propose removing Azulon. Their poetry seemed suspicious—I can't understand it, but they're hiding something. Ozai has no connection to them," he continued. "Who agrees?"
"Agreed."
"Yes."
Ozai never imagined his plan would be executed by others, but it worked in his favor.