ATLA: Azlua

The first rays of morning sunlight streamed through the heavy curtains in Mai's quarters, their golden glow softened by the ornate red fabric. Her eyes fluttered open, gray irises catching the faint glint of daylight as it settled across her room's minimal furnishings. She didn't move at first, savoring the rare stillness. The Fire Palace was never truly quiet; outside her door, footsteps echoed faintly along the stone corridors, and the distant hum of palace life crept in, muffled but persistent.

Mai exhaled, turning her head slightly to glance at the small desk in the corner of the room. Piles of reports and scrolls were stacked haphazardly atop it, each document a reminder of her new responsibilities. Since returning from her mission weeks ago, her life had been consumed by endless assignments from Azula. Days spent with Lieutenant Generals Feng and Zhen, nights combing through military records and supply chain analyses. Azula had spoken the words so casually—"You'll be my right hand, Mai"—but their weight bore down on her shoulders every waking moment.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold stone floor with a faint tap. Stretching briefly, she stood and crossed the room, tugging the curtains aside. The palace grounds sprawled out before her, alive with activity despite the early hour. Servants hurried along cobblestone paths, carrying trays laden with food or freshly laundered linens. Soldiers drilled in the courtyards, their synchronized movements sharp and disciplined. Beyond the gates, the faint hum of merchants setting up their morning stalls filtered in through the breeze.

Mai leaned against the window frame, her arms folded loosely across her chest. To anyone else, the view might have seemed idyllic—an empire in perfect harmony. But Mai knew better. Behind the polished exterior, tension simmered just beneath the surface. Azula's grip on the throne was secure, but the scars left by the war hadn't fully healed. Rebellions had been quelled, yet discontent lingered like embers waiting to reignite.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as her gaze drifted toward the mountains on the horizon. Somewhere out there, Zuko sat confined in his gilded cage. His exile to Molten Island had been both punishment and mercy—a fate Azula had crafted with her usual precision. The manor was isolated enough to prevent escape, yet comfortable enough to remind Zuko that his imprisonment was a choice, not a necessity.

A soft knock at the door drew her attention. "Come in," she called, her voice even.

The door creaked open to reveal a young servant, her posture stiff with deference. She carried a small parchment, which she extended toward Mai with trembling hands. "Your schedule for the day, Lady Mai."

Mai took it without a word, her eyes scanning the neatly written list. Meetings with Feng and Zhen dominated the morning, followed by an afternoon review of supply routes to the southern colonies. There was no mention of Zuko or Molten Island, though Mai hadn't expected there to be.

"Thank you," she said curtly, dismissing the servant with a wave of her hand. As the girl retreated, Mai set the parchment down on her desk and began to dress. Her movements were precise, her mind already compartmentalizing the tasks ahead. Yet beneath her outward composure, a faint sense of unease lingered—a shadow she couldn't quite shake.

--

The streets outside the palace buzzed with energy as Mai stepped into the crisp morning air. The scent of freshly cut grass mingled with the faint tang of sea spray drifting in from the harbor. Her footsteps echoed softly on the cobblestones as she made her way through the bustling crowds. Vendors called out to passersby, their voices rising above the clatter of carts and the occasional bark of a soldier issuing commands.

Mai's destination loomed in her mind: Zuko's secluded manor. The journey there was familiar, the winding path carved through the volcanic terrain of Molten Island. Each step brought her closer to the isolated estate, a place that felt as much like a prison as it did a refuge.