Kiara had just turned ten. I remember because Mom had baked her favorite fruit tarts, and Uncle Iroh had gifted her a small fire lily charm. It felt like a good day… but that was before Father decided it was time to begin her firebending training.

She was excited—nervous, but excited. I saw the way she looked at the training courtyard that morning, her eyes bright with hope, like she thought maybe this could be something special. But I’d been there. I knew better.

Father didn’t go easy on her.

She wasn’t like Azula, who’d been casting perfect, sharp flames at her age. And even I had picked it up quickly enough to earn Father’s nods, if not his approval. Kiara… she struggled. Her flames were small, uneven. Her stances were off. She was trying, I could see it. Spirits, she was trying so hard.

But that didn’t matter to him.

I watched from the edge of the courtyard, jaw tight, fists clenched, as Ozai paced around her like a predator. Every time she faltered, he barked out a criticism. Every failed spark of fire was met with a cruel insult. “Disgraceful.” “Pathetic.” “Even a servant could produce more heat than that.”

She kept her face blank the whole time—like I’d taught her. Like I had learned to do myself. But I could tell. Her fingers trembled. Her breathing was uneven. And when Father finally turned his back, done with the lesson, Kiara didn’t say a word. She just turned and ran.

I didn’t follow her right away. I wanted to—I should’ve. But I froze. It wasn’t until the silence settled back over the palace, cold and suffocating, that I finally found the courage to go after her.

I made my way to her room, walking as fast as I could without drawing attention. I didn’t want to scare her off again. When I reached her door, I paused—then I heard it. Soft sobs. She hadn’t cried out there, not in front of him. Not even in front of me.

But here, alone, she let go.

I knocked gently.

“Kiara? Are you there?” I said, trying to keep my voice soft, steady. Even though it cracked a little.