Sokka stepped out of a small pond where he had washed himself and began burning his old clothes. He didn't want to leave any trace that could be tracked by someone like June... or someone worse.
According to his calculations, more than two weeks had passed in the physical world. Before parting ways, he had asked Naenia to recharge the clone's chi while they were still in the spirit world.
The best part was that the clone could remain active even after dying. It only required an energy recharge every two weeks. And, due to the connection it still maintained with him, there was still time before he needed to intervene again.
However, he decided to leave that place not without first altering the texture of some fabrics, giving them the appearance of human skin. He needed to cover his characteristic scars and modify his face. It wouldn't be wise for anyone to link him to being in two places at once.
He also covered his white hair streak with black ink and chose to leave it loose, without tying it.
From a distance, he observed the village that Jet, fortunately, had not destroyed after their confrontation. There, a Fire Nation ship was recruiting soldiers.
A slight smile appeared on his face. He could easily infiltrate by pretending to be a new recruit.
And so it was. They let him board without too many questions, impressed by his red clothes and supposed enthusiasm for the war.
Exploring the ship, he discovered that they were being sent to reinforce the defenses of Omashu. Apparently, there had been recent attacks by deserters operating on warships.
He only needed to hear that phrase to know whom they were referring to: the group he himself had convinced to go to the South Pole when he tried to assassinate Zhao at the barricade.
That had been more than four weeks ago. By that point, he hoped they had already arrived... or were dead.
An explosion snapped him out of his thoughts.
Upon going out to the deck, chaos enveloped him. Fire, screams, confusion. Two enormous ships were in front, attacking mercilessly.
More than twenty firebenders wearing Fire Nation uniforms — recolored blue and with the emblem replaced by that of the Water Tribe — were massacring the recruited soldiers. It was ironic... even funny, if you ignored the part where inexperienced youths were being mercilessly killed.
Before more lives were lost uselessly, he drew his new spear, the Skybreaker, and infused his chi into it. Its golden glow caught everyone's attention when it struck the ground. A bright wave swept across the deck and knocked down everyone present.
"Stop!" he shouted with a firm, deep voice.
"No! We must eliminate these soldiers before they commit more crimes. It's for Chief Sokka!"
The voice came from the same young man who had once surrendered to him. He frowned. Them killing in his name was something he would not tolerate.
"Sokka would never order to kill young recruits or women," he said, feigning indignation. "Don't twist his words to justify a massacre."
"What do you know about him?"
"He sent me to free these people, deceived by the Fire Lord. They promise supplies and training, but only use them as cannon fodder."
He lied without hesitation but said it with such conviction that it was enough to sow doubt.
He could see the attackers' faces shift from hatred to doubt, then to regret. The recruits, for their part, only watched with a mix of surprise and horror.
Suddenly, a flare exploded in the sky. Everyone fell silent, except two soldiers who smiled slyly.
It was easy to mistake it for a desperate distress signal... but it was not. From the blind spots of the horizon, several ships began to appear. A trap. An ambush carefully planned to capture the deserters.
They didn't know. And now, they were paralyzed with fear.
But no plan is perfect. Not when he was there.
"They're coming to capture you!" he shouted. "There's only time for one ship to escape!"
The deserters looked at him, confused.
"What are you waiting for? Get out! We'll figure out how to free ourselves later."
Upon hearing him, they looked at each other. Determination shone in their eyes. From the bow, about twenty soldiers began signaling the other ships.
Several jumped directly onto the nearest ship.
He quickly assessed the situation: at least ten recruits remained on deck, along with the two soldiers responsible for the ambush.
"Burn the traitors. Kill them before reinforcements arrive," he ordered without hesitation.
The deserters obeyed without thinking. It was as if they could read his mind. The two soldiers screamed, resisting as best they could, but they soon fell.
The loyalty of those men amazed him. It was blind, almost sickly. Without a doubt, they would be useful in the army he planned to form. But... there was no way all would come out alive. There was only one way out.
Whish.
The spear cut the air like a scythe. The heads of ten deserters rolled across the deck.
The others looked at him, paralyzed. The fire crackled in the silence left by death.
One of them reacted and attacked him with fury. A sea of flames burst from his fists. Others joined. In their eyes, now there was only betrayal.
But he no longer saw them as people. They were tools. A ticket to the enemy ships.
He moved swiftly, dodging their attacks. He jumped among them with precision, letting their own flames consume the nearby recruits. There must be no witnesses. No one to tell the story. If all burned, no one would question the surgical wounds caused by his spear.
They, blinded by rage, didn't realize how much collateral damage they caused.
When not a single recruit was left standing, he knew it was his turn.
A flash was the last thing the attackers saw before being pierced.
All fell.
Only he remained standing. No witnesses. No evidence.
But his condition was a problem. He was too clean. No wounds. If someone with a keen eye saw him, they'd suspect.
That's why he approached a still-burning corpse and let the embers lick part of his clothes until they were slightly burned.
Then, he manipulated the chi in the fabrics simulating his skin, dyeing them with dark tones as if he had recent bruises and blows.
Sokka let himself fall as he hit his nose, leaning his back against an iron pillar while altering his breathing rhythm, making it heavy and choppy.
The warships began to surround the vessel. They were enormous, intimidating. Metal ladders dropped from their sides, forming improvised bridges. Soldiers descended quickly, armed and alert.
They stopped when they saw the scene: bodies scattered everywhere. Some charred, others pierced. Among them, the deserters also lay lifeless. The silence was heavy. Even the most seasoned looked confused.
Sokka prepared to groan and raise a hand feigning weakness... when a golden flash caught his attention.
An arrogant, confident, and pride-filled voice cut the air like a blade.
"They managed to kill everyone before we arrived," said a female voice, arrogant and sharp. The calm tone only emphasized her contained anger.
Azula.
The Fire Princess walked forward with elegant but firm steps. Her imposing presence dominated the atmosphere, flanked by two of her royal guards. She observed every corner with sharp eyes. Charred corpses, lifeless bodies... and something else. The rebels hadn't died from fire. They had been killed with blades. Clean, precise cuts. Some even pierced with a spear.
She frowned.
"Curious," she murmured, crouching next to one of the bodies. "I myself ordered that this squad be composed only of firebenders. Not a single spear among them. And yet...?"
"A spy? One of ours disobeyed?" asked one of her escorts.
The princess clicked her tongue, clearly annoyed. Then she stood up and looked around, her golden eyes shining with cunning.
Then she saw him: a young man hunched beside a fallen beam, civilian clothes blackened by fire, face covered in blood, ash, and apparent wounds. He breathed with difficulty, trembling. He held a common spear with a ruby embedded, but he didn't seem capable of even lifting it.
Azula approached slowly, still watching him. He was young, perhaps one or two years older.
"You," she said, stopping in front of him. "How did you survive?"
Sokka pretended to cough and lowered his head.
"I... I fought them, there were too many... but I managed to kill them," he answered with a hoarse voice, as if he hadn't had water for hours.
Azula analyzed him silently. There was something in his posture, in his eyes... He wasn't one of her soldiers, but he achieved what they didn't.
"Take him to the infirmary on my ship," she ordered, turning halfway around. "I want him healthy so he can tell me everything that happened here."
While being lifted on a stretcher, Sokka squinted discreetly. His disguise had worked. He still didn't know how long he could maintain it... but for now, he was alive and allowed to keep his spear.
The inside of the ship was a mix of imperial luxury and military discipline. Red silk curtains framed reinforced metal doors, while the floor echoed with the synchronized footsteps of soldiers. The scents of incense and machine oil mingled in the dense, hot air.
Very different from Zhao's ship.
Sokka lay on the stretcher, his body carefully bandaged, superficial burns strategically applied to make his disguise more believable. His civilian clothes dyed red, his face altered through precise chi control over the fabrics simulating human skin. He had remade his identity like a sculptor with clay.
Azula couldn't know who he was.
Not yet.
But that didn't mean he could relax.
She was different. Not like the fanatic soldiers, nor the leaders blinded by power. Azula had something worse: instinct.
One poorly calculated move, one misplaced look, and it would all end.
Strangely, that kept him alert. Alive.
And though he'd never admit it... a little excited.
The door slammed open.
"Out," Azula ordered.
Her voice cut the air like a blade. The doctors disappeared as if they had been trained to fear her more than death.
She approached with soft, measured steps. Predator-like. He watched her from his reclining position, feigning weakness, irregular breathing. He saw her slowly circle him, evaluating every inch as if she already knew something was off.
"Name?" she finally asked, with a voice so neutral only a paranoid person would notice the implicit trap.
"Kuzon," Sokka replied calmly. He had rehearsed that name more times than he could count.
"From inside the nation?"
"My grandfather was. I was born in the colonies."
A part of him smiled inwardly. The story was technically true. Kuzon had been real. The trick was mixing truth and fiction until they became indistinguishable.
Azula didn't respond. She sat elegantly, crossing her legs. She was trying a different approach: that of the hunter befriending her prey.
"What were you doing on my ship? The one that, clearly, was a trap."
Sokka cleared his throat. "Platoon 88. They sent me as a spy to infiltrate among the Freedom Fighters. My unit was ambushed when I left."
Azula looked at him without blinking. He continued, measuring every word.
"Then I tracked them to a village. They were already gone. Only battle traces remained. No fire. So I stayed around, with no other option. Then your ship arrived, recruiting. I volunteered. I said I was a soldier. I just wanted to get to Omashu."
A flicker of doubt crossed her face. Tiny. But real.
"And the captain didn't tell you it was an operation?"
"Of course not. He looked at me as if I were lying, grunted something, and sent me to the deck."
Sokka slightly raised himself, letting part of the sheet slip and show his torso. It wasn't accidental. He knew what he was doing.
"Then the deserters arrived. You know the rest."
Silence settled. Azula watched him. He could feel it. She was looking for inconsistencies. Measuring his gestures. Perhaps even measuring his body. The idea didn't bother him much.
"What you did was... extraordinary," she finally said.
Sokka smiled. "You say that as if you doubted."
"Do you know what happens to liars?" she murmured, and a blue spark crackled at her fingertips.
Sokka just looked at the flame. "What a beautiful fire."
A pause. Silence. Almost imperceptible... but it was there. The slight blush. The surprise.
No one had told him that before. He knew.
Not as a compliment.
Not as something genuine.
"Has no one told you?" she asked, as if she knew him better than she should. "Your fire... has art. It's not just strength. It's precision. Beauty."
Azula blinked. For one instant, the interrogator role cracked.
Sokka noticed.
One point for him.
—Azula's POV—
Kuzon.
An old name. Out of fashion. Chosen on purpose, no doubt. Like everything about him.
Nothing about this young man was simple. Since I saw him on the deck, surrounded by corpses, his body burned but essentially intact, I knew.
He doesn't fit.
The wounds were real, yes. But clean. Clinical. The clothes torn in the right places. And yet... there was something.
His voice.
His posture.
The way he looks at me, neither surrendering nor rebelling.
Too controlled.
That's what gives him away. Not a mistake. Quite the opposite.
No one fakes so well... unless they have something to hide.
And yet, he doesn't lie. Not openly. He mixes truths, like the best liars.
The fire in my hand crackled once again.
I wanted to scare him. Intimidate him.
Instead, he praised me.
"Beautiful?"
"My fire?"
What the hell is this bastard playing at?
"Who trained you?" I asked, changing tactics.
He shrugged. "The army a bit and then—"
A lie. Or a dressed-up truth.
"You could be useful," I finally said, not committing. "But I still don't trust you."
"Which makes me trust you more," he replied with a smile.
Detestable.
Dangerous.
Interesting.
"You'll come with me from now on." Having someone like him by my side would be extremely advantageous.
"And if I say no?" he asked, putting on a black shirt that highlighted the definition of his muscles.
"Then I'll have no choice but to torture you for information."
"Oh, come on, princess. Torturing me would be useless. Someone could lie just to end the pain... or simply die, and you wouldn't know if what they said was true."
That mocking smile on his face annoyed me more than anyone ever had before. But his words...
Something in them caught my attention.
"Who told you I'm the Fire Nation princess?" I asked coldly and cautiously.
"Well..." he said naturally. "You walk as if the place were yours, you have royal guards behind you, and your clothing, especially that headpiece... Only someone of royalty wears it."
I observed him carefully.
There was no lie in his words. He was analytical, intelligent.
And that made him more dangerous.
—Neutral POV—
The medical room door slid open with a metallic hiss. Azula came out first, with her back straight and steps firm, without looking back. Kuzon followed with feigned calm, disguising a slight wobble in his legs.
Outside, a wide steel corridor ran through the heart of the ship. Fire Nation soldiers stopped and saluted respectfully upon seeing the princess, lowering their heads or bowing with reverence.
None dared say a word to the stranger closely following her, but all looked at him.
Kuzon smiled inwardly.
"Do you always walk this fast or is it because you're angry?" he murmured, low enough for only her to hear.
"If you think this is fast, you'd die jogging beside me," Azula replied without turning, but her words carried a barely disguised mocking tone. "Walk straight. You look like a sick old man."
"They hit me, remember? I have an excuse."
"Weak people find excuses. Strong people find results, and I doubt a few hits affect you."
Kuzon let out a low chuckle.
"How inspiring. You could put that on a T-shirt."
She didn't respond, but her shoulder seemed to relax just a bit.
They climbed a narrow staircase and reached the upper level. The hatch opened, revealing the ship's deck. An unrelenting sun shone from above, bathing the metal in an almost scorching heat. The sea stretched in all directions, an endless field of blue and gentle waves. The smoke from the boilers rose like a gray veil in the air.
Some soldiers trained in the shadow of the command tower. Others stood rigid, watching the horizon.
"Don't stray from me, Kuzon. You're not free yet," Azula warned without turning.
"Oh, I know. But if I wanted to escape, I'd tell you before doing it."
She stopped for a second and looked at him sideways. Not threatening, but curious.
"Do you always talk this much?"
"I always get asked that," he replied with amusement, "though now that things are more interesting with you."
Azula raised an eyebrow.
"Interest means nothing if you can't back it up with facts."
Kuzon smiled.
"So you're interested to see if I can?"
"Don't make me regret taking you out of that room."
They walked together on the deck, side by side. Soldiers silently made way for them. Kuzon looked up at the observation towers and men acting as living cannons, measuring distances, watching escape routes… or attack routes.
"This place is more of a floating prison than a ship," he said quietly, almost thoughtfully.
"That depends on whether you're a prisoner… or commander," Azula replied.
And in that phrase, there was an open door. An invitation. A challenge.
Kuzon understood perfectly.
They finally stopped in front of the railing at the bow. The wind was stronger there. She looked up at the horizon.
"We're headed to a base near the Earth Kingdom. There I'll decide what to do with you."
"And if I behave?" he asked, with a crooked smile.
Azula turned her head to look at him directly.
"Maybe I'll let you participate in capturing the Avatar."
"Then I better be not just useful… but indispensable."
And for the first time, she didn't answer. But in her eyes, a spark shone. Recognition. Possible interest.
The wind blew strongly, dragging the silence between them.
Sokka was completely pleased with this situation; it was undoubtedly better than his original idea.
With Azula here, he could play along with her and gather better information than before.
But with the good also came the bad, and Azula was one of the worst things that could happen. However, he firmly believed she wouldn't attack the Southern Water Tribe, since that was Zhao's plan.
And most importantly, he now knew where Azula was planning to go — the very place where Aang had been captured by Zhao and rescued by Zuko as the Blue Spirit.
Now, all he had to do was relax and act like a Fire Nation soldier who was intrigued by the dangerous Princess.
Several days later, the sound of metal clashing against metal echoed across the deck of the ship. The sun began to filter through the clouds, gilding the sweaty bodies of the soldiers training. And among them, one stood out: Kuzon.
He no longer pretended to be injured. His movements were precise, fluid, and lethal. He wielded a spear with mastery, dodging attacks from other spearmen and fearlessly facing several firebenders at once. He didn't rely solely on strength or speed, but on calculation. He read every movement, every breath of his opponents, as if he already knew what they were going to do before they did it.
Azula watched from the railing of the ship's second level. She hadn't announced her presence, but he seemed to know she was there. Their eyes met for a brief moment between blows, and the spark between them was instantaneous. A silent recognition. A tacit challenge.
Kuzon spun on his heel, disarmed one of the soldiers with an unorthodox feint, and in a single motion, placed the tip of his spear against another's throat, who collapsed to the ground, gasping.
"He's skilled," one of the royal guards beside Azula murmured.
"Too skilled," she replied, without taking her eyes off him. "Does it seem normal to you that someone with such recent injuries moves like that?"
Her question hung in the air, unanswered, as she began to walk.
"Are you going to keep watching me from above, or are you coming down to say something clever?" he asked without looking at her, tossing the spear into the air and catching it by the other end with maddening elegance.
Azula descended calmly, never losing that air of authority that clung to her like a second skin. She walked up to him, hands clasped behind her back, wearing that smile that was anything but friendly.
"I'm not sure if you're a prodigy… or just a lucky fraud."
"And what if I'm both?" he replied, wiping the spear with a cloth.
"You don't seem as hurt as you were pretending to be," she said calmly, ignoring his previous words.
"Oh, that? I guess I've recovered," he answered, sipping from a flask with ease.
"You're meticulous with what you say. You choose your words as if every syllable were planned," she noted, analyzing him.
Kuzon glanced at her and smiled.
"I'm a spy. Speaking like this comes naturally to me."
The silence between them grew tense for a moment.
"A spy?" Azula repeated with skepticism, though her raised eyebrow betrayed genuine interest.
"Of course," he added, without elaborating further. "As far as I know, the Fire Nation doesn't keep written records on spies. But you could check my family tree to confirm my identity—if you haven't already."
She looked at him for a few seconds longer, then slowly nodded. She didn't fully trust him, but it was true—there were no records of a spy named Kuzon. However, that name had been traced to a man born in the final years of Sozin's era.
According to the records, he married and had a son named Zeto, who also fathered a child. However, the child's name was missing from the registry, and his parents had died when he was ten years old.
Knowing he wouldn't say anything else relevant, she took him to a room on the ship—she wanted to try something different.
Azula and Kuzon sat across from each other in a small private room on the ship, with a Pai Sho board between them. The pieces were perfectly arranged, brand new. This clearly wasn't improvised.
"Have you ever played Pai Sho?" Azula asked, taking the opening tile between her fingers.
"I've watched matches… but never played myself," Kuzon replied, showing no nervousness.
Azula smiled with a slight smirk. "Then this will be quick."
She placed her tile with a sharp, clean click on the board.
"How quick?" he asked, picking up a piece at random and examining it closely. "Like your decisions in combat, or like your judgments about people?"
She glanced at him sideways.
"I'll assume that's your way of saying 'I want to lose with dignity.'"
Kuzon shrugged and placed his tile. It was poorly positioned. Azula noticed immediately.
"That move leaves your right flank completely exposed," she noted, taking her turn with precision. "Almost like you want me to win."
"Or like I want to see how you attack," Kuzon replied, calmly adjusting his next move.
Azula shot him a sharp look, evaluating him, but said nothing. By the next round, he had already corrected his mistake.
"You learn fast," she admitted, with a hint of surprise.
"Thanks," he replied with a crooked smile. "By the way, why were you so intent on capturing those deserters? Besides the obvious reason, I mean."
Azula stared at him for a moment, her sharp eyes analyzing his tone.
"I thought you already knew."
"My work was on land, not sea. I just know they deserted after Zhao's death," Kuzon said while casually moving another tile.
"No," Azula corrected, frowning. "They deserted because of the Southern Water Tribe's leader. Somehow, he convinced them, and those idiots started attacking our convoys."
Sokka paused for an instant. Azula noticed, but he masked the reaction by pretending to focus on the board.
"So the Southern Water Tribe has a competent leader. I thought there was nothing left of that place. And from what you're saying, he's not just strong—he's charismatic."
"It's not charisma," she snapped, with clear disdain. "It's manipulation. But yes… that dying tribe managed to produce someone truly dangerous."
"I see… and what do you plan to do with him?"
Azula moved a piece with surgical precision and captured one of his with a satisfied smile.
"Capture him and kill him, of course. According to a report from one of our sages, that young man is strong, fast, and intelligent. But no matter how impressive he is, he can't stand against my army."
"I thought your top priority was capturing the Avatar," Kuzon commented, not taking his eyes off the board.
"It is. The Avatar is the bait," Azula said, interlacing her fingers beneath her chin. "I'm confident that so-called leader will try to rescue him. That's when we'll take him down. And if the Avatar manages to escape, he won't have that mind beside him anymore."