Avatar: The Book Of The Phoenix

The Feast

The governor's mansion had become a roaring beast of a heartbeat. Lutes wailed, meat sizzled, liquor sloshed over the rims of cups. Fire Nomads danced on tables, painted faces glowing in torchlight, voices raised in half-drunken victory songs.

Rokkun lounged sideways across the governor's throne like a big cat, one boot on the armrest, the other stretched out. Azula sat beside him, spine straight, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.

He flashed her that crooked, wolfish grin.

"Having fun yet, Princess?"

Azula lifted one perfect eyebrow. "Define fun."

Rokkun laughed, low and warm, the sound cutting straight through the noise. "Come on. My boys just painted a whole city red for you and your old man. Least you can do is crack a smile."

"Your boys painted it red because they like painting things red," she said dryly. "I'm just the excuse."

"Best excuse I've ever had." He leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. "Next one's gonna be legendary."

Across the hall, Zenah dodged a drunken grab from Oghuz, laughing as she slipped through the crowd toward them.

"Look at you two," she teased Zenah, planting a hand on Rokkun's shoulder. "Already acting like the royal couple."

Rokkun's grin widened. "Jealous, little sister?"

"Please. I've seen the way you look at her when she's not watching." Zenah winked at Azula.
"Careful, Princess. My brother's charm is ninety percent lies and ten percent teeth."

Azula's lips twitched—almost a smile. "I'm counting on the teeth."

Rokkun threw his head back and laughed, then suddenly vaulted onto the table, boots thudding.

Cups jumped. The hall quieted in an instant; every eye turned to him like iron filings to a magnet.

He spread his arms wide, voice ringing off the rafters.

"Listen up, you beautiful disasters!"

A cheer answered him.

"We took Bin-Er in a single night! We made the Earth Kingdom bleed! And you know what that means?"

Another roar.

"It means we're just getting started."

He dropped to a crouch, voice dropping to a dangerous, velvet growl that somehow every soul in the room still heard perfectly.

"Zuko's sitting pretty on a throne that isn't his. Time to remind the world who the real Fire Lord is."

He stood tall again, fist raised.

"Next stop: the heart of the Earth Kingdom. We burn what resists. We take what bends. And when the Avatar comes crying?" He flashed that feral grin. "We give him a front-row seat to the new age."

The room exploded—axes hammered on shields, feet stomped, voices howled approval.

Rokkun hopped down, landing cat-light beside Azula. He offered his hand, eyes dancing.

"Dance with me, Princess. Tonight we celebrate. Tomorrow we conquer."

Azula stared at the outstretched hand like it might bite her. The Nomads were already stomping in rhythm, lutes wailing, bodies spinning in wild circles. She could feel every eye on them.

She took it reluctantly.

Rokkun pulled her into the chaos with a spin that made her robe flare like blue fire. The crowd parted, cheering. He moved like he owned gravity itself: loose, dangerous, utterly unconcerned. One hand on her waist, the other clasping hers, he guided her through the throng as if they'd danced a thousand times.

Azula followed—reluctant, precise—every step perfect, every muscle coiled. She hated how easy it was.

"You're stiff," he murmured, breath warm against her ear as he spun her again. "Afraid I'll step on your toes?"

"I'm afraid you'll step on my dignity," she shot back, but her voice lacked its usual venom.

He laughed, low and delighted, pulling her closer. "Never. I like your dignity right where it is: sharp enough to cut."

They moved through the firelight. Nomads whooped and clapped. Someone shoved cups of something strong into their free hands. Azula drank without thinking.

"Where have you been, Rokkun?" she asked suddenly, the question slipping out before she could cage it. "Five years. No letters. No sightings. The world thought you were dead."

He spun her out, then snapped her back in, hand sliding to the small of her back. "Dead men don't conquer cities, Princess."

"Don't dodge."

His grin flashed. "I was busy."

"Doing what?"

"Learning." He dipped her low, eyes locked on hers. "The Earth Kingdom's big. Lots of dark corners. Old spirits with older grudges. Men who'd sell their mothers for power." He pulled her upright, voice dropping. "I bought. I sold. I listened. Turns out the world's full of people who never forgave the Fire Nation for losing."

Azula's pulse quickened—not from the dance. "And you gave them a new one to fear."

"I gave them a reason," he corrected, spinning her so her back pressed briefly against his chest. "Same as I'm giving you."

She twisted free, facing him again, breathing harder than she'd admit. "You think one city makes you a king?"

"No," he said, catching her waist, pulling her close enough that their flames almost touched. "But it makes people listen. And right now, Princess, the whole world's holding its breath to see what happens next."

The music swelled. The Nomads roared approval.
Azula met his gaze—gold on gold—and for one heartbeat, the mask slipped.

"You haven't changed," she said quietly.

Rokkun's smile softened, just enough to be dangerous. "You have no idea."

He spun her one last time, then let go—just far enough that she felt the absence like cold air.

The dance ended.

The hall exploded in cheers.

Azula stood in the circle of firelight, heart racing for reasons she refused to name.

Rokkun raised his cup to her, eyes never leaving hers.

"To tomorrow, Princess."

She lifted hers in return.

"To tomorrow."

And somewhere beneath the music and the flames, something ancient stirred.