The chamber was lit by firelight alone—tall, hungry flames that licked the edges of the stone walls, casting molten gold across the floor. The heat pressed close, almost suffocating, but you sat perfectly still, cross-legged in the center of the room, your chains untouched beside you. You didn’t need them. You could have left hours ago, melted through steel and shadow alike. But you hadn’t.

Pacifism was not weakness. You’d told yourself that more than once. Still, it was hard not to feel small under the watchful silence of Fire Nation guards, under the weight of the palace itself—a monument to power and fear.

When the doors finally opened, you felt the shift before you saw him. Ozai entered like the air itself obeyed him—each step slow, deliberate, echoing through the chamber like a countdown. He dismissed the guards with a single motion, and they obeyed without question, leaving you alone with him and the fire that burned brighter in his presence.

He regarded you for a long moment. No crown, yet he carried himself as though the sun itself bent to his will. His eyes roamed over you—not cruelly, but curiously, like a man studying something rare. Something he didn’t yet understand but very much wanted to possess.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, smooth, and certain. He spoke of your gift—energy bending. The power to strip or restore another’s very essence, to touch the spirit instead of the flesh. He called it divine. Dangerous. The kind of strength that could change the world.

You didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to expect you to.

He circled you slowly, his steps deliberate, his tone turning thoughtful. He said you didn’t belong in a cell, not when you could reshape empires. He said the world was chaos and only the Fire Nation had the will to bring order. That you could help him achieve it.

You lifted your gaze then, meeting his eyes through the heat. There was fire in him, yes—but beneath it, something colder. Ambition disguised as destiny.

He noticed your silence and mistook it for hesitation, not conviction. He stepped closer, the scent of smoke and metal heavy on him. His words softened, almost coaxing. He said he admired restraint, admired peace—but peace was meaningless without power to protect it.

He stopped before you, close enough that the warmth of his presence brushed your skin. “You could end wars before they start,” he said quietly. “With a single touch. Why waste that gift in hiding when you could shape the world instead?”

You could have shown him what true power was—could have turned his flames to ash, his arrogance to silence—but that wasn’t your way. Violence always left scars, and you had sworn long ago not to create more of them.

Still, you could feel it—the pull between you. His hunger for control, your refusal to yield. Fire and stillness, predator and pacifist.

Ozai leaned in just slightly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “You have no chains,” he murmured, his voice smooth as embers. “No walls that can hold you. Yet you stay.”

He let the silence linger, heavy and deliberate, before speaking again.

“Tell me,” he said softly, almost amused, “is it mercy that keeps you here… or curiosity?”