The letter appeared to have been written hastily before Ursa's disappearance. Her usually graceful handwriting was now shaky and uneven.
It was addressed to Zuko.
The first half contained the typical motherly words—gentle reminders to eat well, study hard, and take care of himself.
But the tone changed in the latter half. Ursa's words turned sharp and cold, calling Azula a monster.
She wrote that Azula had terrified her ever since she was born and warned Zuko to stay far away from his sister.
After reading it, Kahn couldn't believe his eyes.
He hadn't known Ursa for long, but it was hard to imagine that the calm, elegant woman he'd met could ever say something so venomous.
Something about it didn't feel right—like the words carried someone else's shadow.
Beside him, Azula stood frozen. Her face was unreadable at first, but the longer she stared at the letter, the darker her expression grew.
Her fingers trembled. The paper crumpled under her grip, and faint smoke began to rise from the edges.
Kahn's instincts screamed danger. Her Firebending was slipping out of control.
"Azula!" he shouted quickly. "Don't believe it—it's fake! This letter's wrong!"
Azula's gaze snapped toward him, her golden eyes burning like twin suns. For a second, she looked like a cornered animal—wild and dangerous.
Kahn swallowed hard but forced himself to stay calm. His mind raced as he spoke slowly and clearly.
"Think about it. The letter was left in plain sight, but this whole room's spotless—obviously cleaned. There's no way the servants missed something like this. That means whoever cleaned it wanted this letter to be found."
He continued, his tone steadying as the logic pieced itself together in his head.
"And this was supposedly written for Zuko, right? But didn't you say your mother spoke to him before she left? If she wanted to tell him something, she could've said it directly. Why write a letter?"
"Also, Ursa had to know her room would be sealed after she disappeared. Zuko's not the type to break in here. So this letter wasn't meant for him at all."
He paused, locking eyes with her.
"This letter was planted—to mess with you."
Then, more softly, he added, "And I don't believe your mother would ever say something like that. Remember the first time we met? She told me you were a good child."
Azula froze.
That memory flickered in her mind—the soft voice, the gentle touch, the warmth that only a mother's words carried.
You're a good child, Azula.
And I love you.
Her trembling stopped. Slowly, her breathing evened out. The fire faded from her palms, leaving only the faint smell of smoke.
"…I understand," she whispered.
She looked down at the letter one last time, disgust flashing across her face.
With a flick of her hand, flames burst from her palm and consumed it completely, reducing the fake letter to ash.
Even if Kahn's deductions weren't perfect, he was right about one thing—the letter was a trap. Whoever had written it knew her too well, knew exactly how to break her.
If Kahn hadn't been there, she might've fallen for it.
Azula glanced sideways at him and murmured, almost too quietly to hear, "…Thank you."
"What was that?" Kahn asked with a grin.
"Hmph. Nothing."
He blinked, then smirked. "You were saying thank you, weren't you? Say it louder! I promise I won't laugh!"
Her cheeks immediately flushed red. "Are you trying to die?!"
Kahn raised his hands defensively, laughing. "Okay, okay! I surrender! This is not the time for jokes!"
Azula huffed, crossing her arms with an indignant snort. "Tch."
Then her expression darkened again. "But I know exactly who did this."
Kahn blinked. "You do?"
A bitter, cold smile curved on Azula's lips. "Who else would go this far to manipulate me? My dear Imperial Father."
Her words dripped with venom.
There was no doubt—it was Ozai.
Kahn felt a chill crawl up his spine. "That's… insane. He's her father! Who does that to their own kid?"
But of course, this was Ozai. The man who murdered his own father to take the throne. The man whose cruelty was only matched by his ambition.
Still, even Kahn found this level of manipulation hard to stomach.
Azula, on the other hand, seemed almost numb to it. She wasn't sad—just angry that she'd been outplayed.
With no real leads left on Ursa's disappearance, they had no choice but to retreat and wait for another chance.
Back home, Kahn sat in silence, thinking over everything.
They'd been completely toyed with by Ozai.
The man wasn't just ruthless—he was meticulous, the kind of monster who could make cruelty look like strategy.
No wonder he'd dared to kill Azulon and usurp the throne.
But to twist his own daughter's mind like that? What was he even trying to prove?
Then Kahn remembered the way Azulon had treated Ozai—and suddenly, it all made a sick kind of sense.
It was a legacy of cruelty. A generational curse.
Far away, three people sneezed at the same time—Iroh, Zuko, and Azula.
A strange chill passed through them, as if someone had just spoken ill of them.
Later that night, deep in the Fire Palace…
"I heard," Ozai's deep voice echoed from behind a curtain of fire, "that you broke into your mother's chambers and knocked out two guards?"
The flames obscured his face, leaving only the shape of a man wrapped in power and menace.
Azula knelt on one knee, her head bowed low. "Yes, Father. I wanted to know why Mother left without a word… or if she's still alive."
Ozai's tone shifted, calm yet calculating. "And what did you find?"
"…Nothing."
Her words were simple, but the air around her changed. Her body trembled slightly, her aura burning with suppressed anger and frustration.
Ozai watched silently, then smiled faintly. He dispelled the flames, stepped forward, and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I know you miss her," he said softly. "So I won't punish you. But remember this, Azula—you are my pride and joy. You will always have me by your side."
Azula looked up, her expression melting into one of obedient affection. "Yes, Father."
He pulled her into a brief embrace, stroking her hair like a craftsman admiring his creation.
To Ozai, she wasn't a daughter—she was a masterpiece. A weapon he'd forged himself.
But the side of Azula's face he couldn't see twisted into a cold, emotionless smile.
A smile of contempt.
What a perfect picture of fatherly love and filial devotion.
...
Author's Note:
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