I was an ordinary girl living in the twenty-first century.
…No. That was a lie.
I looked ordinary. That was all society ever cared about. But I was never normal—not even as a child. That tends to happen when you're born into an orphanage instead of a family.
I learned early that life was fragile. Breakable. Temporary.
I remember the first time I truly understood death. I couldn't have been older than seven. A bird had flown into one of the orphanage windows, its small body twitching weakly on the ground. The other children cried. One of the caretakers rushed over.
I didn't.
I watched.
I watched the light fade from its tiny eyes. I watched its chest stutter… slow… and finally stop.
And I felt something warm bloom in my chest.
Satisfaction.
That was the moment I realized I was different.
I didn't hate people. I didn't feel anger the way others did. What I felt was curiosity—an endless, gnawing fascination with life and death. With the moment something stopped being. I wanted to see it again. To understand it. To control it.
If anyone had noticed, maybe I could've been helped.
But no one ever looks too closely at orphaned girls who behave well.
So I grew up.
I learned how to smile when appropriate. How to cry on cue. How to blend into society without ever truly being part of it. Inside, the curiosity only grew sharper. Darker. More refined.
By the time I was nineteen, I knew one thing for certain:
The world was unbearably boring.
And then a bus solved that problem.
I remember the screech of tires. The flash of headlights. The sudden, overwhelming pressure—
—and then nothing.
No pain. No fear.
Just silence.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in hell.
I wasn't in heaven either.
I was floating in a vast white void, endless and empty, as if reality itself had been erased. No ground. No sky. Just nothing.
And standing before me was a man.
Or something pretending to be one.
He looked human enough—tall, calm, smiling like someone mildly entertained. His eyes, however, were wrong. Too old. Too knowing. Like he had watched civilizations rise and collapse for fun.
"Ah," he said cheerfully. "You're awake."
I didn't scream. I didn't panic.
I tilted my head instead.
"So," I said, voice steady. "Am I dead?"
"Yes," the being replied. "Very much so."
"…And you're God?"
"One of them," he shrugged. "Titles are dull."
That explained the void. And the absurd calm I felt.
"Why am I here?" I asked.
He laughed. Actually laughed. "Because I'm bored."
That was it.
No grand destiny. No cosmic justice.
Just boredom.
"I spun a wheel," he continued, snapping his fingers.
A massive, glowing spinning wheel appeared between us, covered in countless names, symbols, and worlds. It radiated power—raw, untamed, dangerous.
"Every human soul on your planet was eligible," he said casually. "You won. Congratulations."
"How lucky for me," I murmured.
"Oh, it gets better." His grin widened. "This wheel decides your abilities. It can give you the power of gods… or useless side characters. It might remove limitations. Or stack abilities until reality cries."
I felt excitement for the first time in my life.
"Spin it."
The wheel began to turn.
Faster.
Faster.
Names blurred together—
—and then it stopped.
Itachi Uchiha.
Something exploded inside my mind.
Pain.
Knowledge.
Loss.
Love twisted into guilt.
I saw red eyes. Blood-soaked nights. A clan falling by my own hands. The Mangekyō Sharingan burned into my vision as memories not my own crashed through me.
Before I could recover—
The wheel spun again.
Darth Sidious.
I screamed.
Decades—lifetimes—of manipulation, dark knowledge, Sith rituals, political domination, and pure, calculated evil poured into me. The dark side of the Force coiled around my soul like a living thing, whispering, promising.
Unlimited power.
And then—
One final spin.
Azula.
Cold fire ignited in my veins.
Perfectionism. Ruthlessness. Royal pride. Lightning at my fingertips. A mind sharpened into a weapon.
When it ended, I collapsed in the void, shaking.
I wasn't human anymore.
I was something else.
The god watched with delight. "Oh, this is going to be fun."
"Where," I whispered, forcing myself to stand, "am I being sent?"
He snapped his fingers one last time.
"The world of Avatar."
Fire. Chi. Spirits. War.
A world that would break beautifully.
As reality began to fold around me, one thought echoed clearly in my mind:
This time… I won't be bored.