Avatar: The Book Of The Phoenix

The Khan

The dungeons of Bin-er were a grim affair—dank, stone-walled cells that stank of earth and defeat, a far cry from the Earth Kingdom city's former glory. Azula leaned against the wall, her wrists bound in heavy iron chains, her golden eyes glinting with barely contained irritation. Two nights ago, she'd slipped into the city's tavern to gauge the Fire Nomads' strength. A few of their warriors, drunk on rice wine and bravado, had taken her sharp tongue as a challenge. The resulting scuffle left scorch marks on the tavern walls and a handful of singed Nomads, but their numbers had overwhelmed her. Now, here she was, cooling her heels in a cell.

The door creaked open, torchlight spilling across the floor. Two Nomad guards stood there, one a grizzled woman with a scar across her cheek, the other a lanky youth who looked more nervous than menacing. "The Khan wants you," the woman said gruffly, unlocking Azula's chains. "Don't try anything stupid."

Azula rose with the grace of a panther, brushing dust from her tunic. "Stupid? Me? You must have me confused with someone less... incendiary." She flashed a dangerous smile, and the youth flinched. The woman only snorted, gesturing for her to follow.

They led her through Bin-er's ravaged streets. The city, once a thriving hub, was now a husk under Nomad control, its markets replaced by tents and forges, its walls patrolled by firebenders whose flames lit the night like restless spirits.

The air carried the tang of smoke and molten metal, evidence of the Nomads' brutal conquest. Azula noted the efficiency of their occupation—fortified gates, disciplined patrols. These weren't mere raiders; they were an army with a purpose.

The guards escorted her to the former Governor's mansion, its green-tiled roofs and stone pillars now draped in Nomad banners bearing a coiled dragon. Inside, the grand hall had been transformed into a warlord's den: maps pinned to walls, racks of swords and spears gleaming, and a low table set with a steaming teapot and two cups. At the center stood Rokkun, the Khan.

He was impossible to miss—tall and muscular, his sleeveless crimson tunic revealing arms corded with strength, his long copper hair loose and glinting like molten metal in the torchlight. His amber eyes sparkled with mischief, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he leaned against the table, exuding a charisma that could charm a dragon or cow a king. He looked every bit the rogue conqueror, equal parts dangerous and magnetic.

"Well, well, well," Rokkun drawled, his voice smooth as silk and sharp as a blade. "If it isn't Princess Azula, gracing my humble mansion. Gotta say, you look good for someone who just torched half my men in a bar fight." He winked, gesturing to the table. "Tea?"

Azula arched an eyebrow, stepping forward as the guards retreated. "You've traded palace silks for... this?" She gestured at his tunic, her tone teasing but her eyes assessing every detail—the scars on his knuckles, the confidence in his stance. "I expected the great Khan Rokkun to at least have a throne."

Rokkun chuckled, a low, warm sound that filled the room. "Thrones are for stiffs like your brother. I prefer to keep things... flexible." He poured tea into two cups, the steam curling like a firebender's flourish, and slid one toward her. "Sit. Let's catch up. Been a minute since we were kids plotting world domination in the palace gardens."

Azula took the cup, her fingers brushing his for a moment, sparking a familiar heat. She sat across from him, sipping the tea—jasmine, bold and bitter, just how she liked it. "You were exiled, Rokkun. Banished by Zuko's jealousy. I thought you'd be sulking in some backwater, not playing warlord in a stolen city."

He leaned back, smirking, his amber eyes dancing with amusement. "Sulking's not my style, princess. The wilderness taught me a few tricks—how to lead, how to fight, how to take what's mine." He gestured around the hall, at the maps and weapons. "Bin-er's just the start. The Nomads? We're building something big. Something that'd make old Ozai proud."

Azula's lips twitched, a smile threatening to break through. "You always did have a flair for the dramatic. But what's a king without a queen?" Her tone was playful, but her gaze was sharp, probing for the boy she'd known—the one who'd matched her wit for wit, flame for flame, until Zuko's betrayal tore them apart.

Rokkun leaned forward, his grin widening, all charm and danger. "Oh, I'm lookin' at her. Question is, does the great Azula still dream of setting the world ablaze, or has Zuko's peace nonsense dulled your spark?" His voice was light, but the implication hung heavy—his ambitions stretched far beyond Bin-er, perhaps even to the Fire Nation capital.

She set her cup down, leaning in to match his intensity. "Zuko's peace is a cage. I don't do cages, Rokkun." Her fingers sparked with blue flame, just for a moment, a reminder of her power. "But I'm not here to join your little band of raiders just because you pour a decent cup of tea."

He laughed, a full, infectious sound that echoed off the stone walls. "That's my girl. Never easy, always worth it." He stood, circling the table to stand beside her, his presence warm and commanding. "Stick around, Azula. See what we're building. You might like the view from the top."

Before she could respond, a Nomad warrior burst in, bowing hastily. "Rokkun! Coalition scouts spotted east of the city—Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom banners."

Rokkun's grin didn't falter, but his eyes gleamed with something predatory. "Tell the captains to ready the defenses. We'll give them a warm welcome." The warrior nodded and vanished.
Azula rose, brushing past him with a smirk. "Sounds like your party's starting without me."

Rokkun caught her wrist, his touch firm but not forceful. "Join the dance, princess. Let's see if you still burn as bright as I remember."

She pulled free, but her smile matched his. "Keep up, Rokkun. I don't wait for anyone."

As they stepped out into the night, the city of Bin-er pulsed with the Nomads' fire, and Azula felt the old spark reignite—not just for conquest, but for the man who'd never stopped burning for her.