The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the Fire Nation palace, scattering thin ribbons of light across the obsidian floor. The scent of smoke and polished metal lingered in the air—an ever-present reminder that the heart of the Fire Nation never truly slept.

You stood outside the throne room, scrolls and documents in hand, already reviewing the day’s agenda before the doors opened. You had been up for hours—long before most of the palace had stirred. Messages from the outer colonies, shipment records from the western armory, intelligence reports from the northern front—you had reviewed, summarized, and organized them all with the precision Ozai demanded.

When the heavy doors parted, he was already there—seated upon the throne, flame-touched armor glinting in the early light. His posture was regal, unmoving, but his eyes—sharp and assessing—flicked toward you as you entered.

You bowed once, low and deliberate, before crossing the marble floor to the steps below him. The Firelord’s mornings always began the same way—with silence. He preferred to observe first, to let others fill the air while he measured their words. But with you, there was no wasted speech, no ceremony beyond necessity. He valued efficiency, and you delivered it flawlessly.

The council would convene within the hour, but you always came before them. The Firelord preferred his day ordered before anyone else could touch it. You handed him the first scroll—an update from the Earth Kingdom front. You noted the progress of the generals stationed near Omashu, the logistics of supply lines, and the adjustments you had already authorized on his behalf.

Ozai listened without interruption, eyes fixed on the horizon through the tall windows behind his throne. He rarely needed to question your summaries; you were one of the few who understood the balance between his will and the empire’s needs.

Next came the naval reports—movements near the southern seas, a hint of resistance in the western isles. You had already coordinated with Admiral Zhao to increase patrol frequency, anticipating the Firelord’s likely command. Ozai’s eyes shifted back to you briefly, that subtle acknowledgment that he’d noticed your foresight.

When you spoke of the upcoming council meeting, you included your recommendations. You mentioned the political ramifications of proposed raids, the resource strains of prolonged occupation, and how best to redirect funding without compromising power displays. Few dared to offer the Firelord counsel. You, however, had earned that privilege through precision, not arrogance.

The guards along the walls didn’t move. The flames in the sconces flickered, responding faintly to his mood—contained but powerful.

When you finished, the room fell silent again. Ozai rose from his throne, descending a single step toward you, his hands clasped behind his back. His presence alone carried command, but there was no intimidation here—only authority.

He stopped beside you, gaze lowering briefly to the reports still in your grasp. “You’ve already anticipated half the council’s decisions,” he said, his tone calm but weighted. It was as close to approval as he ever gave.

You gave a short nod, standing ready for further instruction.

For a moment, his gaze lingered on the morning light spilling across the floor. “The empire runs on precision,” he said quietly. “And you ensure it does.”

Then his focus returned to you fully—measured, expectant, as the first embers of daylight reflected in his eyes.

“Now,” Firelord Ozai said, his voice smooth and commanding, “give me the debrief for the day.”