Avatar: The Book Of The Phoenix

The Lost Princess

Several weeks later, Azula crouched in a shadowed forest glade deep in the Earth Kingdom, the night air biting at her exposed skin. The stars above flickered coldly through the gnarled canopy, casting jagged shadows that writhed like restless spirits.

Her small campfire popped and hissed, its meager flames a defiant spark against the darkness, offering fleeting warmth to her aimless wanderings. For two years, she had roamed alone, drifting from town to town since disbanding her cadre of firebenders—their defiance a wound that still burned.Inns and roadside clearings had become her refuge, each night a stark reminder of her fall from Fire Nation royalty.

"Fools," she muttered, her voice sharp and venomous, glaring into the fire's dance. She had given those girls purpose, a cause to wield their flames, only for them to repay her with betrayal.

Her dark hair, grown long and wild over the past year, spilled over her shoulders, unbound from the regal topknot of her past. She had traded her Fire Nation armor for a simple crimson tunic and cloak, practical and discreet, blending into the Earth Kingdom's shadows.

A shiver ran through her, the night's chill seeping through her cloak.

"At least the hallucinations have stopped," she thought grimly, a small mercy after the asylum's torment, where visions of her mother and past failures had haunted her.

Azula reached into her pocket, pulling out a royal Fire Nation seal—a heavy disc engraved with a coiled dragon, its edges worn but gleaming in the firelight. A gift from Ozai before her doomed Agni Kai against Zuko. It was her last tether to a Fire Nation that now felt like a distant dream. She turned it over, her golden eyes tracing its curves, memories of palace intrigues and her father's cold approval flickering like the flames.

"Hey there, lass," a rough, cheerful voice called from the bushes, slicing through the forest's hush.

Azula jolted, the seal slipping from her fingers and landing in the dirt with a dull thud. She sprang to her feet, blue flames sparking at her fingertips, her voice sharp as a whip.

"Who's there?" she demanded, eyes narrowing at the shadowed underbrush.

A man stepped into the firelight, his frame stocky, his weathered trader's cloak patched with earth-toned fabrics. He was older than Azula, perhaps in his thirties, with a scruffy beard and a lopsided grin that carried a merchant's easy charm.

His hands rose, empty, signaling no threat, though a glint in his hazel eyes suggested he was sharper than he let on. "Easy, easy! Just a humble trader, not lookin' for trouble," he said, his voice warm but tinged with a cautious edge. "Mind if I warm up by your fire? These woods are colder than a tundra snake's belly."

Azula's flames dimmed, though her posture remained taut. A stranger's company, especially a man's, wasn't exactly welcome, but weeks of solitude had made the forest's silence feel heavier than his presence.

"Fine," she said, settling back onto the ground, her tone icy. "But one wrong move, and you're cinders. I'm not as helpless as I look."

The trader chuckled, a hearty sound that echoed softly, and dropped his pack—a clinking bundle of goods—by the fire.

"Helpless? Lass, you've got a spark in those eyes that'd scare off a badgermole," he said, warming his hands, his grin teasing but respectful. He glanced at her, his gaze lingering just long enough to hint at interest without crossing into boldness.
"Name's Torren. What do they call you, wanderer?"

"Azara," she lied smoothly, her voice clipped, avoiding his gaze. She watched him like a hawk, noting the worn leather of his boots, the knife at his belt—practical, not threatening.