Avatar: The Book Of The Phoenix

The Emerald Flame

The air within Rokkun's private chambers aboard the Iron Dragon felt heavy, thick with the scent of smoldering herbs and potent incense. Scrolls inscribed with ancient Fire Nation symbols lay unrolled on a low table, illuminated by the flickering flames of strategically placed braziers. At the center of the room, seated on a silken cushion, was an old man, his skin deeply creased, his eyes a milky white – Kaelen, Rokkun's personal Seer and a master of forgotten spiritual arts.
Rokkun stood opposite him, his posture rigid, his face a mask of grim determination. He had sought Kaelen for a singular purpose: to cross the veil, to touch the Spirit World and seek an advantage for the coming campaign.

"The preparations are complete, Your Majesty," Kaelen rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves rustling. "The ritual will open the path, but the Spirit World is not a place for the faint of heart. Be prepared for what it shows you. It often reflects the deepest parts of oneself."

Rokkun merely grunted, a silent acknowledgment. Kaelen began to chant, his voice rising and falling in a rhythmic drone that seemed to pull at the very fabric of reality. Smoke swirled, coalescing into translucent shapes that danced around them. The room grew colder, then hotter, as if the elements themselves were warring for dominance. Kaelen pressed a cold, shriveled hand to Rokkun's forehead.

Rokkun felt a strange lightness, a sensation of his spirit detaching from his physical form. The chamber shimmered, warped, and then dissolved into a swirling vortex of color and light.

He found himself standing on an ethereal plain, the sky an impossible swirl of indigo and violet, dotted with glowing constellations. The air hummed with an otherworldly energy. Before him, a vision began to coalesce – a gentle, loving face, framed by flowing black hair. His mother. She looked as she did in his earliest memories, youthful and kind.

"My son," she whispered, her voice like a distant melody. "Why do you carry such a burden?"

A wave of overwhelming emotion washed over Rokkun. He, the fearsome King, felt himself reduced to a small, vulnerable boy. "Mother," he breathed, his voice thick with uncharacteristic longing. "I... I miss you." The memory of losing her so young, of the gaping void she left, was a wound that had never truly healed.

She smiled sadly. "I know, my son. But I sense pain within you, a deep sorrow. Forgive your friend, Zuko. Let go of the anger."

"Never," Rokkun stated, his jaw tightening. "He betrayed our nation. He betrayed our family."

"But it wounds you, does it not?" she pressed, her gaze piercing. "This need for vengeance, this endless ambition... I sense your pain, Rokkun."

"There is no pain," he denied, though a tremor ran through his spirit. "There is only duty. I must achieve my father's dream. Ozai's dream. A united empire."

His mother's spectral form seemed to dim slightly, a note of sorrow in her voice. "Think of Azula, my son. Think of your children, Jyrik, Viszla, Sozin. Is this the legacy you wish for them? Redemption is still possible, Rokkun. There is still time."

She reached out a translucent hand, and Rokkun instinctively reached back, a desperate yearning to touch her. But her form flickered, dissolving into mist, fading away as quickly as she had appeared.

"Mother!" Rokkun called out, his voice raw, but she was gone.

A harsh, grating chuckle from behind startled him. "Still clinging to your mother's apron strings, boy?"

Rokkun spun around, his earlier grief instantly replaced by a surge of familiar rage. Standing before him, clad in the ceremonial armor Rokkun remembered from his brutal training, was the spectral form of his father, General Shoka. His eyes, even in this spiritual realm, held that familiar, cold disapproval.

The visions of his childhood, of endless drills and biting criticism, of every perceived weakness being mercilessly exploited, flooded Rokkun's mind.

"I... I am sorry, Father," Rokkun found himself saying, the words torn from him, an apology for the Agni Kai that had ended his father's life and secured Rokkun's claim to power. "For that day... I did what I had to do."

Shoka merely shrugged, a non-chalant gesture that sent a fresh wave of resentment through Rokkun. "Sorry? For what, boy? I was an old man, tired of the endless posturing. You did me a favor, striking me down. Proved you had the fire in you, after all. Barely." His gaze swept across the ethereal landscape with pride. "But look at you now, Emperor. You've done well. You've single-handedly forged the largest empire the world has ever seen. The Fire Nation shines brighter than ever before because of your will."

Then, Shoka's spectral gaze turned venomous, fixing on Rokkun. "But you're being held back, aren't you? By that selfish princess, Azula. She's too soft. Too sentimental." His voice dropped to a sneer. "And those... bastards you call sons. Weak. Unworthy of the Fire Nation's legacy."

The words struck Rokkun like a physical blow. "Do not speak of my wife that way! Do not speak of my sons!" he roared, fire erupting instinctively from his fists, even in this spiritual realm.

Shoka merely chuckled, a hollow, grating sound. "Still so sensitive, boy? Still clinging to weakness?"

Rokkun lunged, a desperate, fiery punch aimed at the taunting specter. But as his fist passed through the ethereal form, the vision began to distort, twisting and elongating until it dissolved into a vast, swirling darkness.

From this encroaching void, two crimson eyes, ancient and malevolent, slowly opened. A deep, resonant voice, like tectonic plates grinding together, filled the vast emptiness.

"A great warrior, indeed, Fire Lord Rokkun," the voice boomed, chilling him to his core. A colossal, shadowy form, serpentine and terrifying, began to reveal itself.

Vaatu. The very embodiment of darkness and chaos.

Rokkun, despite his terror, instinctively knew what to do. He knelt, bowing his head in profound reverence. "Great Spirit Vaatu," he said, his voice humbled. "I seek your favor. Bless me. Grant me the ability to crush my enemies, to bring ultimate dominion to the Fire Nation. Grant me the power to fulfill my destiny, and I will spread your will as far as my empire can reach."

Vaatu's crimson eyes pulsed. "Your ambition is vast, Fire Lord. Your will, unbending. Very well." A cold, vibrant surge of energy pulsed through the ethereal realm, flowing into Rokkun's spirit. He felt an immense power coil within him, different from any firebending he had ever known. It was pure, destructive, and chillingly potent.

"Rise, King Rokkun," Vaatu commanded. "The power to bend green fire is yours. A flame of pure annihilation, unlike any seen in your world. Your enemies shall be reduced to ash."

Rokkun felt the strange, cold fire ignite within his spiritual core. He stood, a new confidence radiating from him.

"But know this, Fire Lord," Vaatu's voice resonated, a low, ominous growl that vibrated through the very air. "My generosity always comes at a price. One day, when the time is right, I will call upon you to repay this debt."

With a final, lingering pulse of those crimson eyes, the vision of Vaatu began to recede, the swirling colors of the Spirit World reasserting themselves. Rokkun felt himself pulled back, drawn inexorably towards the waking world, the image of green flames burning fiercely in his mind.