❛ 𝔩𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 '𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔰 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔟𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥. ❜
→ * . & ━━ two paths of
the fire nation meet once again as
the opposite sides of the same coin,
and neither of th...
Not the kind of fire of life, or dragons, or anything beautiful and serene, but that of the Fire Nation—which was built with rage and cruelty and torment, the only truly impure form of bending. It had engulfed her world, raging at the edges, and then cleared away to reveal the flames lining Firelord Ozai's throne room, high and leaping, almost obscuring the Firelord completely from view. These fires were violent. Over the rest of the room they cast a threatening, orange glow. It seemed to capture her breath right in her chest.
She was at a war meeting, though the voices of the councillors and commanders and generals around her seemed to speak words she couldn't understand. It was the first indicator that she was in a dream—Luli had only ever been to two or three council meetings, and even then, she'd known to keep her head bowed low and her mouth shut. Sitting here, now, Luli was thirteen, too. Dreams were funny, in that way.
The Firelord was discussing war plans, strategy, Luli at her father's right-hand side, sitting all important. She was wearing red clothes, like everybody else in the room—from the top of her braids hung elegant red ribbons, grazing the edges of her face. Yet, Luli didn't feel safe. She'd never truly felt safe in the Fire Nation. It had always been sit proper, don't speak unless spoken to, keep your body tensed—you never know when there might be a blow coming your way. Here, in the heat of the Firelord's throne's flames, where she was sweating beads and keeping her hands clenched tightly at her side out of fear of doing something wrong, she felt as if she was stepping on glass.
And she knew it was a dream, because so many little things were off. The war council's faces were a blur, something she couldn't quite picture. The tapestry on the walls were all wrong, and so was the fact that they were sitting at chairs rather than on cushions. She'd never worn ribbons to a war meeting. Nor could she make out a single word anyone was saying, though she thought their mouths might be moving. The shadows that Ozai's flames cast along the walls stared eerily at her, like the eyes of great dragons.
There was a spot opposite her that shouldn't have been: an empty seat, like a black void, an abyss—and it was like the moment Luli noticed it, realised, everything else faded away. The councillors and generals around her faded, Firelord Ozai's throne was empty, the fire still burning bright, and immediately Luli just knew. It hit her like a strike to the gut. Only her father remained. His shadow was cast long across the floor. Luli knew this scene well. A wave of nauseated panic rolled over her. She knew how it ended—like something branded, at the back of her mind. The missing spot at the meeting—
