Work Text:
The Healers spoke in hushed tones. Their voices strained uncertainly as they hovered over Fire Lord Sozin’s fevered body. Fire Lady Aguya woke with a scream, and at first, the others assumed it was just another nightmare. But when she rushed into the infirmary, her silk nightgown trailing behind her, they realized something far darker plagued their Fire Lord.
The Healers had all hurried back to the Fire Lord's chamber, yet even the most experienced had never encountered or read anything that could explain this strange, unknown illness.
“We don’t know what’s wrong with him,” one of the older healers whispered, her voice trembling. "His fever burns hotter than any flame he’s ever bent. His pulse is erratic, and yet..." She trailed off, her helplessness filling the room.
Aguya knelt at her beloved's side, her hands steady despite the rising panic inside her. She brushed the damp hair from his forehead, feeling his intense heat against her skin. His breath came shallow, his limbs heavy, as if the weight of the world had settled into his bones. The fever clung to him, something more than just a physical ailment—a sickness of the spirit, as if unseen forces had torn at his very soul.
She could feel him, even beyond the haze of his mind: a faint tug, a whisper of awareness.
“Sozin?” Her voice was gentle but urgent, reaching through the fog, desperate to pull him back to her. She whispered his name again, and though he couldn’t respond, she knew—he could hear her somehow.
Her fingers brushed his fevered brow, grounding him as best she could, but the world around him slipped away. His body sank into a darkness far deeper than the physical realm.
And then, he was somewhere else.
Smoke coiled through the air, thick and suffocating, and the scent of charred cedar overwhelmed his senses. The heat of the flames cut through the oppressive silence like a blade. Shadows twisted in the firelight, writhing in the air as if alive.
He stood at the edge of a ravaged battlefield, yet the atmosphere felt wrong. It was heavy as if the weight of a thousand choices left unmade was pressed down on him. In the center of the fire, a figure knelt, bound and trembling—a boy, no older than his teens, golden eyes wide in agony.
But it wasn’t just the fire that burned him—it was the pain of betrayal. His own choices and his ambition had shattered this boy’s future.
The boy was trapped within a fire circle, but it was not an honor. It was a prison. A jagged, raw burn-scarred the boy’s cheek, a mark of the future Sozin had unwittingly forged with his own hands.
Sozin stepped closer, heart hammering, feeling the weight of every breath. The wind stirred, making the flames around the boy dance. A single red lotus petal floated toward the ground, carried on the updraft, trembling in the air before it burned to ash. The lotus—a symbol of spiritual rebirth—had withered here, consumed by the fire that had come to represent Sozin's ambition.
A whisper curled through the air, so faint he could barely hear it over the crackling flames.
“Is this the world you want?”
He turned, and there she was. Aguya, standing just beyond the fire, not entirely within reach. Her eyes, warm as emberlight, held something he could not bear to name.
Disappointment.
The fire roared higher, lashing out like snakes, curling around her, swallowing her whole. The lotus petals in the wind scattered and vanished into the blaze. She was slipping away from him, consumed by what he had set in motion.
And then, the vision twisted.
He stood again in the same place, but now the air smelled sweet—like fire lilies, not charred ash. The sky stretched above them, vast and clear. Once scarred by war, the Fire Nation was now thriving—a place of peace, balance, and life.
Laughter filled the streets, echoing through the city as children played, unburdened by fear. The boy stood among them—older now, crowned not by flame but by the sun. His face was unmarked by scars, his golden eyes steady and full of strength, not the pain of betrayal but the quiet confidence of one who had found peace.
For a fleeting moment, the weight in Sozin’s chest lifted. The heat of battle faded, replaced by warmth like sunlight after a long storm—a new world—a better future—stretched out before him.
And then, a touch. A hand, small and familiar, slipped into his own.
Aguya.
She was beside him, no longer distant, no longer fading. Her smile was soft, full of warmth, of something alive between them. It wasn’t the forced, tight-lipped expression of duty but something real—something full.
But just as he reached for that moment, a white dove appeared, its wings beating slowly through the air. The dove—symbolic of peace—moved toward the sun, but the light was harsh and blinding, leaving Sozin to stand in the shadows once more.
The fire flickered at his feet, curling up his legs and pulling him back. His vision began to wither, like the dying embers of a fire fading into the night.
The fever broke with a gasp.
Sozin’s eyes flew open, breath ragged and chest heaving. The dim glow of lantern light flickered against the shadows, but the world around him felt fractured as if he had been torn between two realms. The sickness still lingered in his chest, a weight that refused to release him.
Aguya was beside him, her presence grounding him despite the illness that refused to let go. Her cool hands brushed his brow, wiping away the sweat. “Sozin?” Her tender and soothing voice cut through the murkiness of fever and dream.
He wanted to tell her. He tried to speak of what he had seen—the choice that hung over him, the future at risk. But the words caught in his throat, tangled with the fear of what might happen if he said it aloud. If he spoke it, it would become real. And he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
So, he swallowed the sickness, forcing a small, tired smile. “I’m alright.”
Aguya studied him closely, searching for what he wouldn’t say. Her fingers lingered on his cheek, soft as a prayer, as if trying to understand the truth. He couldn’t speak. “Rest,” she murmured, her voice low and steady. “I’m here.”
Sozin closed his eyes, seeking sleep, but it would not come. Even when he was awake, the dream did not leave him. The illness still gnawed at his soul, pulling him in opposite directions.
And neither would the choice.