The throne room was alive with firelight and silence, the kind that burned more than it soothed. You stood near the far end, where the glow softened to shadow, your pulse steady even as the air seemed to crackle with the tension of two generations of kings.

Fire Lord Azulon sat upon his throne, ancient and imposing, his eyes the same molten gold that ran in the bloodline he intended to preserve—and strengthen. His son stood before him, tall, proud, and controlled. Ozai. Every inch the prince, every inch the man raised to command.

Azulon spoke first, his tone like tempered steel, sharp and deliberate. He spoke of legacy. Of power. Of alliances forged not by treaties or promises, but by blood. His gaze flicked toward you, and for a fleeting second, you felt the weight of centuries pressing against your chest. The Fire Nation’s future, he said, needed to be secured—and you were to be part of it.

Ozai’s eyes met yours then, unreadable behind that perfect composure. You didn’t see surprise there. If anything, there was calculation—acceptance, even. As though he had already known what was to come, and had spent hours, perhaps days, considering it.

Later, when the throne room emptied and the palace halls fell quiet, he came to find you. The guards at his back bowed and slipped away at his gesture, leaving only the two of you amid the echo of your own breaths.

He didn’t kneel when he spoke—Ozai was not a man who bowed—but his voice carried a solemn gravity, an almost formal grace. He told you the Fire Lord believed in strength joined through lineage, that Azulon saw in you something rare, something powerful. He did not repeat his father’s words exactly; he reshaped them, softened them into something that almost resembled respect.

He said he agreed. That he too saw the potential of what your union could bring.

The firelight played across his features, throwing his sharp expression into shadow and gold. He wasn’t pleading, nor was he commanding—he was inviting. The kind of invitation that held the weight of a promise, or perhaps a threat, depending on how you received it.

He said that your families shared a destiny written in flame and strength—that together, your names could define an era. He spoke of legacy, of children born with unmatched potential, of bending that could shift the balance of nations.

You searched his face for sincerity, wondering whether there was a man beneath the ambition. For a brief instant, you thought you saw it—the faintest flicker of something human, something curious in the way he looked at you.

But then it was gone, replaced by the composure of a man who had already decided what the future should look like—and who intended to carve it into the world by any means necessary.

He stepped closer then, the heat from his presence brushing against your skin. His voice dropped, quiet and steady.

“Power alone is fleeting,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “But joined together… we could build something eternal.”

The words lingered between you, soft as embers, before he added, almost gently—

“So tell me… will you stand beside me?”