The war was over at last. Ozai had fallen, Azula had been defeated, and for the first time in a hundred years, the Fire Nation palace stood quiet without fear hanging over it. The throne room still smelled faintly of smoke from the comet battle days before, its golden dragon pillars glowing dimly in the evening light.

Zuka sat alone upon the Fire Lord’s throne, one elbow resting against the armrest while her fingers pressed lightly against the scar over her eye. The crown felt heavier than she imagined it would. Not because of power — but because of everything it meant.

Her uncle had believed in her. Aang had trusted her. Even after everything she had done. Below the throne, servants and guards remained silent, almost unsure how to act around a Fire Lord who did not rule through fear.

Zuka stared ahead at the massive doors of the throne room, her expression distant.