ATLA: Azlua

Aftermath part two

She could still see Mai's eyes—filled with anger, hurt, and something else, something desperate. And Ty Lee, standing there, torn between the two of them. Azula had always believed that loyalty was earned through fear and respect, that people only stayed by your side if they feared the consequences of leaving. It was how her father ruled, how he had taught her to rule. It was all she knew.

Azula's fingers stopped drumming, her hand curling into a fist. She had tried to control them—Mai, Ty Lee, everyone around her. She had kept them close, given them positions of power, but always with the understanding that they were hers. They were tools, allies, but never equals. And yet, somewhere along the way, she had begun to see them differently, even if she refused to admit it. She had allowed them to get close, to see parts of her that she had hidden from everyone else. And in doing so, she had exposed herself to this—to doubt, to vulnerability.

A part of her hated it. Hated that Mai's defiance had shaken her so deeply. Hated that she had hesitated when Mai had challenged her, that she hadn't simply burned her like she would have done to anyone else. Hated that she couldn't bring herself to say the words that Mai had wanted to hear—that she trusted her, that she cared.

Azula's eyes narrowed, her gaze shifting to the window. The sky outside was darkening, the horizon a deep shade of red. She could feel the emptiness inside her, the void that she had always filled with ambition, with power. It was there, gnawing at her, whispering that something was missing. She clenched her fists tighter, her nails digging into her palms.

"Friends... loyalty... it's all nonsense," she muttered under her breath, her voice lacking the conviction it once had. She was trying to convince herself, to push away the doubt that had taken root in her mind. But it wasn't working. The words felt hollow, like an echo of something she used to believe but no longer could.

Azula stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as she pushed it back. She couldn't afford to think like this. She was Fire Lord. She had a nation to rule, enemies to crush, a legacy to uphold. There was no room for weakness, no room for hesitation. And yet, as she paced the room, her thoughts kept drifting back to that moment—to Mai, standing before her, unafraid, demanding something that Azula wasn't sure she could give.

She paused, her gaze shifting to her reflection in the polished surface of a nearby cabinet. The face that stared back at her was calm, composed, every bit the ruler she was supposed to be. But behind the cold, golden eyes, she could see it—the doubt, the fear. The fear that maybe, just maybe, she was wrong. That maybe her father had been wrong. That power and fear weren't enough to hold people close. That maybe, if she didn't change, she would end up alone.

Azula turned away from the reflection, her expression hardening once more. She couldn't afford to think like that. Not now. Not ever. But as she returned to her desk, the doubt lingered, a shadow that refused to be dispelled.

She picked up one of the tactical documents, forcing her mind back to matters of state, to things she could control. But even as she read, her thoughts kept straying, the image of Mai's eyes, of Ty Lee's tears, never far from her mind.

Azula took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Maybe she couldn't trust them. Maybe she couldn't change. But for the first time, she found herself wondering if she should try.

--

The Next Day

Azula sat at her desk, papers spread out in front of her, though her eyes were distant. She was supposed to be reviewing military reports, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the confrontation on the blimp—to Mai's defiance, to Ty Lee's hurt expression, and to the uncomfortable feeling in her own chest that she couldn't quite shake. It was all so frustratingly messy. She was the Fire Lord; she wasn't supposed to be dealing with emotions like this.