The boy lay in bed, the soft blue light of his phone casting shadows across the ceiling. A fan hummed lazily overhead as he scrolled through another anime edit — this one a slick montage of Zuko and Katara's battle against Azula, layered over a haunting violin remix.
His eyes, cold yet amused, reflected the flickering screen. Despite the intensity of the battle, his smirk never faded. "Honestly," he muttered to himself, "is what the Fire Nation's doing really that wrong? They're uniting the world, forcing peace through strength. In a way... it's efficient."
He paused the video, staring at Azula's face — wild, brilliant, broken. "I get her," he whispered. "She's just too real for the world to handle. Like me."
To anyone who knew him — classmates, teachers, maybe even his parents — he was the funny one. The chill, easygoing boy who smiled too often and tried too little. But behind the carefully curated mask was a mind that stripped the world bare. No lie he told himself lasted more than a second. He measured everything: people, systems, even his own morality — coldly, ruthlessly.
He knew it made him a monster by society's standards. But he didn't care. He smiled to survive. He joked to manipulate. And when alone... he wondered what would happen if the real him was unleashed.
That night, it happened.
As he stepped outside to take out the trash — barefoot, in pajamas, still thinking about Azula's last breakdown — the world turned white.
A blaring horn.
A flash of headlights.
And then nothing.
He awoke in a sea of light.
It wasn't peaceful. It was judgmental. Oppressive. Like standing before a god who was very, very disappointed.
Before him stood a figure — blinding, formless, but undeniably furious.
"You hid your nature behind a smile. You used logic to justify everything — manipulation, cruelty, detachment."
The boy stood still, unafraid. "And what's wrong with that? Humanity runs on delusion. At least I was honest — underneath."
"You were given a life and chose to mock it," the voice thundered. "You acted as if the world was your toy."
"It is," he snapped back. "You made a broken world and expect me to play by its rules? No. I adapt. That's not evil. That's logical."
For a moment, silence.
Then laughter — dry, cruel, echoing.
"Then let's see how your logic fares in a world of spirits, bending, and war. Let's see if you can survive when you're reborn with nothing — no power, no name, no allies. Just your mind... and your smile."
The boy's eyes narrowed. "Where?"
"The world of the Avatar. Fifteen years before Aang returns. The world will burn soon — let's see what you do with that."
"Is that supposed to scare me?" he replied.
But the light was already consuming him.
His last thought before the darkness was simple.
This might actually be fun.