The Fire Nation palace was never truly quiet. Zuko stood in the courtyard with his arms folded, watching you from a few steps away while Iroh guided your training with that steady patience he always had, like nothing in the world could rush him. You were only seven, small and tense in the center of the stone courtyard, hands raised again and again as you tried to force fire that just wouldn’t come.

“Breathe first,” Iroh said gently, hands behind his back. “Fire follows breath, not frustration.”

“I am breathing,” you snapped immediately, voice already shaking.

Zuko’s eyes flicked toward you. “You’re not,” he said flatly, not unkind, just observant.

“I am!” you shot back louder, turning toward him. “I’m doing everything right! I’m doing the stance, I’m doing the breathing, I’m doing EVERYTHING—so why won’t it work?”

The brazier nearby flickered harder, reacting to your rising emotion. Iroh gave a small, almost sad sigh. “Because forcing it will never work.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” you yelled. “It works for Iroh! It works for everyone! Why not me?”

Zuko stepped forward slightly, his voice sharpening. “Stop shouting.”

But that just cracked something open in you. “Don’t tell me to stop!” you blurted, eyes stinging now. “I’m trying and it’s not fair! Iroh can do it and I can’t and I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong!”

“Iroh learned control,” Zuko said firmly. “You’re not controlling anything right now.”

“I am trying to control it!” you screamed back, hands trembling harder. “I’m trying so hard and nothing is happening!”

Iroh’s expression softened. “You’re thinking too much about what it should look like.”

“I don’t care what it looks like, I just want it to work!”

Zuko exhaled sharply through his nose. “Focus.”

That word hit something raw inside you. “I AM FOCUSED!” you shouted back, and the air around you suddenly shifted in a way that made Zuko’s entire body tense. He felt it before it happened, like pressure snapping tight.

“Zuko…” Iroh murmured, his tone changing slightly.

Your hands lifted again, but this time it wasn’t technique anymore. It was everything at once—frustration, shame, anger, hurt—all spilling out at the same time.

And then it happened.

Fire erupted from your palms. But it wasn’t red. It was blue.

Zuko froze instantly. “What—”

The blast struck the training post and cracked it clean through. Silence followed immediately, heavier than sound.

“I didn’t do that,” you whispered at the same time, staring at your hands like they belonged to someone else. “I didn’t mean to.”