ATLA: Azlua

The Everyday Part 2

She pushed herself harder, her flames growing larger, hotter, as her motions became more aggressive. The air around her crackled with energy, the scent of ozone mingling with the faint aroma of ash. Sweat dripped down her temple, but she didn't stop, didn't let up. This was her time—her moment to hone her skills, to remind herself of the power she wielded.

Finally, as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon, Azula lowered her hands, the flames dissipating in an instant. She stood in the center of the courtyard, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. The morning's exertions left her invigorated, her body humming with energy.

With a small, satisfied smirk, Azula straightened her posture and turned to leave the courtyard.

--

Azula entered her office, the doors closing softly behind her as the morning sun began casting golden light through the tall windows. The room was a blend of power and efficiency, its walls lined with shelves filled with scrolls and ledgers. A massive desk of polished mahogany dominated the center of the room, meticulously organized with stacks of papers, a silver inkwell, and a quill set to one side.

She moved to the desk with purpose, her footsteps quiet on the plush red carpet. Settling into her high-backed chair, Azula let out a faint sigh, her fingers brushing against the first pile of documents. This was her least favorite part of ruling—not the act of decision-making, but the endless, monotonous stream of paperwork that came with it.

As much as she delegated to Mai and her generals, there were things only the Fire Lord could address. She glanced at the first scroll, its ribbon marked with the insignia of the Fire Nation's Southern Fleet.

Another supply request, she thought dryly, breaking the seal and scanning the contents.

It didn't take long to make her decision, and she reached for her signature stamp—a beautifully crafted piece of obsidian engraved with a stylized flame crest. She pressed it into the inkwell and stamped the document with a firm, practiced motion, her initials etched neatly in red beside the Fire Lord's seal.

Azula leaned back for a moment, her sharp gaze shifting to the piles of papers awaiting her attention. She thought briefly of Mai—her second-in-command, the one she trusted to filter out the inconsequential requests and tasks that didn't require her immediate attention. Mai had proven herself invaluable in this role, her cool logic and sharp instincts balancing Azula's more strategic and decisive approach.

Mai handles the smaller tasks efficiently, Azula mused, setting the fleet document aside and reaching for the next scroll. She saves me from wasting my time with petty grievances or trivial disputes. But at the end of the day, I'm the Fire Lord. There are things that only I can address.

She opened another document, this one a promotion request for a young officer in the central colonies. Azula read through the recommendation carefully, noting the officer's achievements and the endorsements from their superiors. Promotions like this required her personal touch—she refused to let her authority be diluted by passing off such responsibilities.

With a steady hand, she took up her quill and began writing. The strokes of the ink were smooth and deliberate, her handwriting elegant but firm. She wrote a formal congratulatory message, ensuring her words carried the weight of her station while acknowledging the officer's accomplishments.

It wasn't just promotions, either. Letters to nobles on the outer islands, orders for the redistribution of resources, and strategic directives to her generals all required her signature—or, in some cases, her personal words. Each document represented a piece of the vast machinery that kept the Fire Nation running, and while she could delegate much of the labor to her staff, the ultimate authority rested with her.