I wasn't like other children.
While Zuko struggled with his temper, and Azula—tiny though she was—watched with calculating eyes, I had already surpassed what most benders would accomplish in decades. Fire responded to me instinctively. Blue fire curled from my fingertips without effort. I could summon flames, whip them into precise arcs, and even manipulate them to flow along surfaces without wasting heat.
Lightning bending, which others could barely attempt as adults, was already within my grasp. Small at first—a spark, a flicker—but soon I could form controlled arcs, directing them with pinpoint precision. I didn't practice for show. I practiced because I knew the world wouldn't wait for me to grow up.
At my age, I was already a weapon. And a mind.
I spent hours beyond the training courtyards, beyond the palace's warm halls, pouring over maps, scrolls, and reports. Fire Nation history, military campaigns, bending theory, the strengths and weaknesses of other nations—all catalogued in my memory.
War was coming. I could feel it. The Earth Kingdom's strength was growing. The Water Tribes were disciplined, and bending their tides was not something to underestimate. I had read every scrap of history I could find and watched Zuko and other students struggle in ways that highlighted the mistakes of our ancestors.
It wasn't enough to be strong. Power without strategy was nothing. That's why I was already learning politics, military organization, and war tactics at an age where most children were counting candles.
I understood supply lines, the importance of intelligence, troop deployment, and morale. I calculated advantages, predicted moves, and imagined the battlefield in my mind like a live chessboard. I trained Zuko when I could, though his progress remained painfully slow. I couldn't force him to learn, but I could show him what discipline meant.
And Azula… she was watching. Always watching. She hadn't even learned full firebending yet, but I could see her mind calculating, assessing, testing. She was cunning—more than she should have been at her age. I made a mental note: she would be dangerous. Not just in power, but in intellect.
The courtyard was my sanctuary, my testing ground. I traced arcs of fire across the air, looping, twisting, spiraling into complex shapes that danced like living dragons. Then, slowly, I drew lightning, careful to avoid sending arcs into the stone or myself. Sparks danced across my fingers and chest, small but controlled. Each bolt was precise, intentional—an extension of thought, not brute force.
The guards and instructors who dared watch from the shadows dared not speak. They had seen powerful benders before, but nothing like this. I was only ten.
I knew that already, from the whispers I caught in the halls. Some called me "the prodigy." Others whispered, "Gifted beyond reason." And some—careful, cautious, fearful—called me "the danger."
I let them think whatever they wanted. Labels were irrelevant. Preparation was everything.
I was preparing not just for lessons, or court, or bending exhibitions. I was preparing for war.
When I trained Zuko, I focused not only on his technique but on his mind. His impatience frustrated me, but it also gave me insight. He wanted quick results, immediate power—but I knew the path of a bender, even a mediocre one, required patience, control, and survival instinct. I tried to teach him discipline, and he tried to defy it.
"Again," I said firmly. "Control your fire. Let it flow from thought, not from frustration."
Zuko flinched, but obeyed. He always did. One day, I told myself, he would understand why.
And Azula, still small, peeked from behind pillars, her gaze sharp and calculating. Even she was learning. Observing. Taking notes. I couldn't let her underestimate me—or I would regret it later.
I paused, hands glowing faint blue as I let the fire and lightning die down. My body was tired, but my mind was sharper than ever.
This was only the beginning. The Fire Nation would need every ounce of power and intellect it had in the coming war—and I intended to be ready.
I wasn't just going to survive this world. I was going to shape it.
And nothing—or no one—would stand in my way.