Avatar: The Book Of The Phoenix

Trouble

The forest awoke with the dawn, its chorus of chirping birds and rustling leaves a stark contrast to the dying embers of Azula's campfire. She stirred from her sleeping bag, stretching her stiff limbs, her breath visible in the crisp morning air.

The words of Torren, the trader she'd met the previous night, echoed in her mind—tales of the Fire Nomads' ferocity and General Shoka the Cruel, a spark of hope in her exile. Packing her meager belongings onto her ostrich horse, Azula set off, the road stretching endlessly before her. For two years, she had wandered the Earth Kingdom, a disgraced princess with no throne, no allies, no family. For the first time, she was truly alone, her destiny a shadowed exile with no clear end.

As she trotted along the dirt path, Azula's senses prickled, her golden eyes darting from tree to tree. The feeling of being watched clung to her like damp mist. Her reputation as an outlaw and master thief, honed since disbanding her firebender crew, made her a target. Bounty hunters across the Earth Kingdom hungered for the glory of capturing the fallen Fire Princess, and every rustle in the underbrush could be a threat.

Gripping her ostrich horse's reins, she pressed on, her jaw set, her blue flames ready beneath her skin.

By midday, Bin Er's gates loomed ahead, just as Torren had described—a city on the plains, but twisted into something darker. The walls were scarred, adorned with skeletal remains dangling from the ramparts, their bones bleached by the sun. Crimson banners bearing a snarling phoenix fluttered where Earth Kingdom flags once stood. Braziers blazed at the gates, their flames casting an eerie glow, and rough-hewn Fire Nomads—clad in scarred armor, their faces painted with ash—stood as sentinels, replacing the city's earthbender guards.

Azula pulled her cloak tighter, concealing the royal Fire Nation seal in her pocket, and passed through the gates unhindered, the Nomads' amber eyes tracking her with predatory curiosity.
The city was a husk of its former self. Ruined buildings lined the streets, their stones blackened by fire. Beggars and ragged children huddled in alleys, while Nomad vendors hawked exotic furs and carved blades at makeshift stalls, their voices harsh and guttural.

Azula's gaze swept the chaos, her heart quickening with a mix of intrigue and unease. These were the Fire Nomads Torren spoke of—wild, untamed, a far cry from the disciplined Fire Nation soldiers she once commanded.

Her ostrich horse snorted as she tethered it outside a weathered inn, its sign swaying in the breeze: Black Dragon Tavern, etched with a coiled dragon.

"Good enough," she muttered, pushing through the door. The air inside was thick with smoke and the stench of spilled sake.

Fire Nomads and assorted outlaws filled the room, their eyes locking onto her like wolves sizing up prey. Azula ignored their stares, her posture regal despite her plain cloak, and strode to the bar.
"Two teas. One sake," she demanded, slamming three gold coins onto the counter, her voice sharp as a blade.

The tavern keeper, a wiry man with a scarred cheek, nodded silently, pouring her drinks with practiced haste. Azula sipped her sake, her eyes scanning the room over the rim of her cup.

To her left, a knot of Nomads whispered and chuckled, their ash-streaked faces and crimson robes marking them as trouble. One—a skinny, lean youth with a long ponytail and dark paint smudged around his amber eyes—lurched toward her, reeking of komodo rhino and cheap liquor.

"Need a drink, missy?" he slurred, flashing a grin that revealed crooked, stained teeth. His tone was bold, but his swaying stance betrayed his drunkenness.

"I'm fine," Azula replied coolly, her voice laced with disdain, turning back to her tea.

He leaned closer, undeterred, his breath sour. "Aw, you look lonely. Bin Er's no place for a pretty thing like you to wander alone." His words dripped with a crude attempt at charm, his eyes glinting with menace.

Azula's lips curled into a sardonic smirk. "Do you have any idea who you're speaking to?" she said, her tone mocking, humoring his arrogance. "I can handle myself, fireboy. Go back to your pack and let me drink in peace." She gestured dismissively toward his snickering companions, chugging her tea with deliberate calm.

The Nomads at the table erupted in mocking laughter, their jeers stinging the youth's pride. His grin twisted into a scowl, and he grabbed her arm, his grip tight and threatening. "I don't take no for an answer, darling," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Come with me, and I'll show you a real—"

Azula's fist met his nose with a sickening crunch, sending him staggering back, blood trickling between his fingers. "Feisty one!" he spat, his laugh dark and unhinged, wiping his face. "Get her, boys!" His companions leapt up, their eyes blazing with drunken fury, circling her like hyena-wolves.

Azula's reflexes ignited. She kicked one Nomad in the gut, sending him crashing into a table, and unleashed a blue fireball that caught the skinny youth's chest, knocking him to the floor. The others retaliated with bursts of orange flame, but their sloppy, liquor-fueled bending was no match for her precision.

A burly Nomad charged from behind, roaring, but Azula spun, seizing a wooden barstool and smashing it across his skull with a crack. The tavern erupted in chaos, patrons scattering as furniture splintered.

The skinny Nomad staggered to his feet, his eyes wild, ready to lunge again—when the tavern doors slammed open.

"What's going on here?" a deep voice bellowed. Two Nomad guards, their armor etched with phoenix motifs, stormed in, drawn by the commotion.

Azula froze, her breath catching. Trouble.

"There she is!" the skinny Nomad shouted, pointing a bloodied finger. "That girl broke my nose!"

The guards seized Azula's arms, their grip like iron. "Let go of me!" she snarled, writhing against their hold. "Do you know who I am? I'm Lord Ozai's daughter, and I demand you release me!"

A hush fell over the tavern, the lowlifes and outlaws whispering among themselves. The skinny Nomad's eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, gripping her chin roughly, inspecting her face.

"Ozai's daughter, huh?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with suspicion. He paused, his gaze sharpening, a cruel smirk spreading. "Take her to the Khan. Let's see what he makes of this... princess."

The crowd erupted in mocking "oohs" and snickers, their laughter a grating chorus. The guards dragged Azula toward the door, her protests drowned by their heavy steps. Her heart pounded, Torren's tales of the Nomads' ferocity and Shoka's cruelty flashing in her mind. Meeting their Khan could mean opportunity—or disaster. As they pulled her into the streets, the phoenix banners loomed above, a warning of the fire awaiting he