Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Her cold hands met the burning warmth of Azula’s skin as their fingers intertwined. The softness clashed against the roughness of her own weathered skin, and a knot tightened in her throat. Azula, for her part, tried to pull her hand away as if the mere touch defiled her, but a growl was enough to make her lower her head just as the vows were swiftly sealed.

The ceremony had begun perhaps a quarter of an hour ago—maybe more, maybe less—but that didn’t matter. The only thing that held her attention was the woman kneeling before her, offering herself like a seal pup to a hunter.

A single word crossed her mind—helpless—and she shook her head, trying to oxygenate her already overwhelmed mind, which clouded her thoughts. She fought to regain her stoic expression, because that concept didn’t fit. It felt pagan on the tip of her tongue, unworthy of what Azula was.

Before her still danced the memory of fire: the lightning, the unleashed madness that once threatened to consume her heart with the same fury as its element. Before her stood the most searing and unsettling flame, a living echo of Ozai and Sozin, of the phoenix and the dragons, burning in the woman who now gazed up at her.

She had been lost for too long, searching for falsehood in her posture, a hidden mockery, but all she found was a woman who, like a neglected vase, had been damaged and merely had her broken pieces glued back together. Damaged.

She knew full well that the person before her wasn’t Azula, but the shadow of what the once-powerful princess of the Fire Nation had been—desecrator of Ba Sing Se’s walls, her father’s favorite—now reduced to a breeding machine promising talented heirs.

It wasn’t that she saw her that way, but she couldn’t deceive herself, for even she viewed herself the same.

She barely blinked before the elder muttered his final words, and the ceremony faded like smoke in the wind.

—

On her side, Azula could hardly process the situation consuming her from the depths of her being.

The echo of resentment churned in her chest and sank like a knot in her stomach.

Contained bile filled her mouth with bitterness as she listened to the elder recite the ceremonial rites.

To her, this wasn’t a ceremony; it was an executioner counting the seconds before her head rolled beneath the guillotine’s blade.

Just days ago, she had held the title of princess, and now she stood before her new prison, one far worse than the rehabilitation center.

Her mother’s bitter gaze, accompanying her even in that moment with shame and contempt, paled in comparison to that of her future wife, who seemed oblivious to discretion—especially at her own wedding—looking at Azula as if she were, in Azula’s words, trash.

She doesn’t want me, she repeated to herself, especially when her eyes rose from the floor and met those of her betrothed. Shades of the past, buried over the years, resurfaced. Little to nothing remained of the person she had once faced.

Now, an imposing figure loomed over her: an alpha bold enough to interrupt her coronation and now condemning her to her side. She knew Katara wasn’t like her brother; Zuko, so soft and merciful. She was also aware that, unlike herself—who had lost not only physical strength but also control over her own being—Katara had changed. Now she could bend not just her mind, but her body as well.
And so, for the first time, she felt fear.

What will become of me? she wondered, the knot in her throat tightening further.

And the collar fell around her neck.

—

The guests’ applause erupted without delay, ecstatic at what they witnessed: a fire omega with a water alpha, an unprecedented event, unseen by curious eyes.

The ceremony concluded without further ado. Some offered blessings, but others merely whispered about the grave mistake of bringing a firebender into their tribe.

A symbol of what the Fire Nation had been, now leaving a charred remnant of itself as a consolation prize. Azula saw it in every weathered face, scarred and burned, as if they all embodied what her nation had been: corrosive, poisonous. Every scornful glance, every spit that landed beside her, every murmur reflected the hatred. But she understood—they hated her as much as she hated them.

Yet it didn’t matter.

To Katara, it was something unprecedented yet insignificant. She understood her tribe, but she also tried to understand Azula. She pulled her closer with an arm over her shoulder, adjusting her cloak to cover them both. A gentle gesture, but one meant to protect Azula—not just from the cold that made her shiver, and not just from frustration, but from the stares, muffling the murmurs and shielding her from potential attacks.

In the distance, she saw her father and grandmother. They didn’t look at her like the others—some with anger, others with pride, muttering, “She’ll put that bitch in her place.” They looked at her with compassion and pity.

The moment their eyes met, she quickened her pace toward the hut she had prepared weeks earlier for Azula.

— Don’t expect luxuries. This is all there is for you — she said, pulling back the flap to reveal the modest space.

Azula shuddered slightly at the drastic temperature shift. Outside was cold, but inside was warm. Yet, for a moment, she felt cold again when Katara’s hand left her shoulder. With clumsy steps, in mere moments, they stood face-to-face. Katara, avoiding her gaze, adjusted the cloak’s buttons, and its full weight fell upon Azula.

It was strange. She used to wear cloaks on special occasions, and they felt like a second skin, but this time, as it settled on her shoulders, her knees nearly buckled. Have I become so weak? she reflected, lost in the movement of Katara’s fingers.

— Stay warm. The cold… it’s harsh on those, like you, who aren’t used to it— Katara said, turning on her heels and heading toward the entrance. She paused just steps from the wintry wind. —And try to stay alive.

Azula didn’t reply, and Katara didn’t wait for an answer.

—

Katara’s scent, though she was gone, permeated everything: a blast of icy mint, sharp as a glacier’s edge, piercing her with every breath, mingled with a distant echo of sea salt clinging to her like the restless ocean to the shore. A brazen scent demanding her attention, pulling her toward Katara even in her absence, tightening the knot in her throat further.

She tried to cover her nose, refusing to yield to that indirect assault. In an almost desperate move, she used the cloak, wrapping herself deeper in that essence clinging to the soft, warm fabric—still tepid from her own heat and what she’d shared with Katara.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, seeking calm. The scent was gentler through the fabric, but when she opened them, she saw her: her mother, watching from the corner, her eyes full of regret and, perhaps, pity.

She quickly tried to shed the cloak. Desperate, she began to hyperventilate. No… she can’t see me like this, she has no right, she told herself as, after several tugs, she freed herself. The buttons scattered a few feet from her.

She paced in circles around the cloak, now a blue puddle on the floor, trying to steady her breathing. Her shoe struck a button, making a dull sound. Startled, almost instinctively, she released a spark: faint, nearly invisible, its pale hue like the snow, tiny in its fragility.

“You’re pathetic,” she heard her father’s voice from afar.

The spark leaped, grazing the fabric. A dry crackle echoed in her ears like a distant memory. With tear-blurred eyes, Azula watched as flames licked the cloak. Her frantic hands lunged to smother them, the heat biting her skin. You’re a monster, like your father, her mother’s voice whispered, sharp as a blade in her mind.

Then the world twisted: the cloak melted into a dark puddle beneath her fingers, and the spark turned into a tiny turtle-duck, wriggling between her palms. Azula stared, frozen, at its cracked shell, shattered like broken porcelain, the burnt smell stinging her nose as the hatchling’s shrill cries rang out and the mother’s squawks drilled into her mind.

Then there was the viscous liquid staining her hands, and the mother pecking at her pant leg. With an almost regal slowness, she turned as she heard footsteps.

It was her mother and Zuko.

“Azula, what have you done!” she heard her say—not with anger, but with horror—clutching Zuko’s shoulders.

“You’re bad,” he said through tears, his trembling hands reaching as if to grasp something before clinging to his mother’s skirt. Always so easy to make him cry.

“I was playing,” Azula replied before even thinking, as if the whole scene were a rehearsed monologue.

“You’re…” A monster, she finished mentally, though her mother fell silent.

Her mother would never be cruel enough to say it aloud: that she hated her for being cruel, for trampling her flowers, for scorning her brother’s weakness, for burning his dolls, for killing this dying animal, for being like her father.

A creak made her glance over her mother’s shoulder. Her father, a few steps away, watched the scene like an audience member, his sharp gaze following her with—what, pride?—and a warm smile. Instinctively, she smiled back, to her mother’s horror.

But when she looked down, she saw it.
After a violent thrash, the turtle-duck’s limbs stretched out, its head whipping side to side in desperation. Are you looking for Mommy? After a few seconds of agony, the creature went limp in her hands. A sting filled her eyes. She couldn’t rub them; her hands were occupied.

She glanced at her mother, then at Zuko, and finally, tears flowed. She was crying, her tears falling onto the corpse.

Nausea surged. The acrid smell of congealed blood, the ashes of the shell, and her own scent—louder than usual but soft for her age—mixed with something else, something irritating that made the blend even more nauseating. Something like the icy mint seeping in, taming the fire.

When she looked up, Zuko and her mother’s displeased expressions were gone. Only the white-and-brown backdrop of the wood remained. Just hallucinations, she told herself, trying to forget the cries, her mother, Zuko, and that smile. But something didn’t fit. She could still feel the viscous liquid, the turtle-duck’s blood, her blood, the smell of something burning. But it wasn’t the cloak.

There was only a gaping hole beneath her hands, easy to see and hard to hide. Katara’s going to be mad, she reproached herself, scooting back on all fours. A sharp sting in her hands made her lift them cautiously. The skin on her fingertips was peeled, exposing raw, bleeding flesh; blisters adorned her palms, outlining a raised center.

Her hands didn’t hurt, and that was the worst part. The fire, her fire, had betrayed her without even granting her the solace of pain—whether as punishment or miracle.

Frustrated, she stood. She’d been there less than a day and was already a mess. She wiped the blood momentarily on her tunic and, with care not to ruin it further, lifted the cloak and placed it on the cot.

After finishing that task, she retreated to an isolated corner of the tent. Curling into a fetal position, she stayed there. The voices returned, and she felt relieved—at least something hadn’t abandoned her that day.

The cold floor dug into her palms, but the echo of mint lingered, mocking her in the silence.

Chapter Text

The cold of the South Pole was the first thing she felt when a breeze slipped through the canvas window, waking the former princess halfway.

Azula felt the blanket slide off her body as she sat up on the furs. Out of habit, she rubbed her eyes with her hands, but the result was not what she expected; she anticipated raw pain, but instead, the direct touch of her skin was replaced by a soft fabric now covering her hands.

It shouldn’t be like this.

Blurry memories rushed to her mind: the flames, the acrid, scorched smell, the voices that faded with a “I love you, Azula” from her mother before she fell into sleep. She remembered the cold of the bare floor, that was a fact, but she couldn’t understand how she ended up with full care, with blankets and healing included.

This couldn’t be an act of mercy. She knew that better than anyone.

Disbelieving, she tried to lift the fabric urgently, hoping to find the raw marks from the night before, something to prove it hadn’t been another delusion. But there was nothing. Her skin was miraculously healthy; the blisters and pink tone had been replaced by a layer of new, slightly paler skin.

“Katara?” she murmured softly, already knowing no one would hear her.

Leaning forward, Azula looked around in search of someone or the sound of something. She found only the crackling of the brazier, proof that someone had been there, and distant footsteps, typical of a large city like what the Southern Tribe had become.

She had to admit it: the shame of the previous day had kept her from appreciating the scenery in detail, but she had at least noticed the many ice and wood huts as Katara—or rather her wife—led her to her new “prison.”

Katara. Why, of all people in the world, did it have to be her? And also, where was she? She was supposed to be a constant, invasive presence. The night before, Azula had expected Katara to enter in the middle of the night and claim her; she didn’t think blood would bother her.

But apparently, her wife had more important matters to attend to. She didn’t judge her, but she didn’t sympathize with her either. Sure, she had once stood by her father’s side, but now nothing remained of that past. The floor she knelt on was solid ice, not fine wood. A place where she wasn’t supposed to ask questions or worry, only wait for Katara—something akin to what she used to do by her father's side.

That was what her nature dictated, what was expected of a good omega—ideals she herself had once considered appropriate… at least until she discovered they would apply to her as well. The very idea made her stomach twist.

She, the former princess of the Fire Nation, reduced to this. It was undeniably shameful; she could feel her father's eyes judging her from some distant cell she had never seen.

Patience—an area she did not regularly manage, but now the only thing she clung to.

In the silence and absence of her alpha, who still wasn't legitimately hers, she allowed herself to examine her bandage closely, tracing the edges and uneven folds with her fingers.

Katara had undoubtedly taken her time, almost as if she cared more than Azula herself did. It was strange. Yesterday she had looked down on her, as if she were nothing, taking advantage of her status as an alpha that had made her “mature faster,” even in height, shaming her further. How dare she?

But then… did Katara already consider her hers?

Katara was really taking her role seriously.

With no answers, she collapsed face-first onto the ground, releasing a muffled cry of pure frustration into the still-intact cloak beside her. Except for the edge, the fabric remained soft, and upon catching Katara’s scent, something tightened in her lower belly.

Who could help her, when everyone there knew who she was—or at least who she used to be? No one, because she didn’t even need them. She didn’t need anyone.

With the soft fabric still in her hands, she searched for something she didn’t even know, but her body cried out for it.

That’s what omegas did when they were sad, right? They clung to a garment of their alpha, especially during heat.

Absorbed in her thoughts, she closed her eyes for a moment.

Caws and other noises filtered in from outside, not disturbing that moment of stillness.

Everything was different here: the cold, the smells, the people. Even loneliness felt softer—but also bland, with no guards or servants looking at her with pity or mockery.

The rising sun, the only sign of a new day, was more a curse than a blessing. As if spitting at her that soon her alpha would come and do as she pleased to begin the day.

And yet, it also awakened a strange familiarity. Back in the asylum, at that hour, one of the acolytes sent by the Avatar helped her with meditation sessions. Although she had found them useless at first, over time they had helped her improve significantly—more than the sages and doctors Zuko sent regularly.

The hallucinations became rare, she learned to regulate her emotions through controlled breathing, and her cycle returned.

But now, she wasn’t thinking of meditating or anything of the sort. She only needed calm—to clear her mind from the recent idea of planning how to kill her wife.

Still clutching the cloak, she slid one hand down her side, ignoring the discomfort, until she reached the edge of her thin tunic. She noticed the slight tremble invading her body from the cold she refused to acknowledge. “It’s just ice,” she repeated to herself, but it truly burned her skin in a painful way.

With a clumsy attempt to slide her hand further, she stopped at the sound of movement from outside, accompanied by the return of the mint scent. Azula began to sweat. It wasn’t fear—it was something else.

Quickly, she sat back against the wall, closed her eyes, and pretended to be asleep.

Everything returned to darkness, but the creak of the hinges alerted her.

———

“Wake up,” said a voice, pulling Azula out of her feigned sleep. She rubbed her eyes carelessly, hissing at the sting in her palms, which she instinctively hid behind her back.

“Katara?” she asked hoarsely, as if she hadn’t used her voice in a long time.

Katara looked at her with disapproval and stepped closer, nearly kneeling to her level. “Why didn’t you sleep on the cot?” she asked, moving closer after placing a tray just inches beside her, now face to face with the omega.

Azula tried to back away to regain some control after that invasion of her personal space, but trembling, she felt overwhelmed by Katara’s presence. Her musky, sharp scent burned as she breathed it in.

“Do you prefer the floor? Or is even this not worthy of someone like you?” Katara added with a bitter laugh, leaning even closer, placing one hand on Azula’s knee.

Azula, seemingly defeated, lowered her head, avoiding the alpha’s gaze.

“Come on, you used to talk a lot,” said Katara as she carelessly pushed the tray closer to her side.

Azula lifted her gaze to inspect her “great morning banquet.” The tray, rough and plain, held a bowl of hot soup and a cup of tea—or at least that’s what she assumed. Its brown color sparked curiosity; it wasn’t the dull greenish tone of the tea her uncle used to prepare. For a second, she could almost hear his voice. She hesitated before lowering her gaze again, avoiding Katara’s eyes that scanned her as if searching for something only that fragile state could reveal.

Satisfied by the apparent defeat of the omega, Katara almost smiled.

But a dry laugh shattered the tension—or rather made it worse.

“This is your method, peasant? Heal me, intimidate me, and play the dominant alpha? What’s next? Mount me and use me just because you think I owe you something?” Azula snapped defiantly, lifting her gaze. She saw Katara’s blue eyes flash with anger and fury at her words. “I owe you absolutely nothing.”

Katara, not pleased, frowned. Her fists clenched tightly, as if she were holding back. Azula hesitated: was she restraining herself or about to hit her?

Both options thrilled and intrigued her.

If Katara struck her, she’d have a reason to respond and wipe that smug look off her face—that expression that loomed over her like she was her owner. Something she tried to ignore at first, but now she couldn’t deny it: the bitter taste of defeat made her dig her nails into her palms until they bled and stained her bandages out of sheer frustration.

But if she was holding back, perhaps she was planning something worse—to humiliate her further, to unleash her fury, burning like fire.

She saw it in her eyes: Katara looked at her as if she wanted to lunge at her, or do something worse. There was no hunger, no desire—just hatred. Just what Azula wanted.

“That’s it, Katara. End this,” she said, with no trace of previous fragility, as if her old self had resurfaced, a spark dancing in her pupils.

Katara stepped back—or tried to—before Azula grabbed her by the collar of her tunic and pulled her in with surprising ease, until their foreheads touched, breath against breath.

“Tell me why you agreed to this. ¿Out of pity, or because you wanted a piece of me too?” she asked, incredulous.

“Maybe both,” Katara replied. She hated her, that was a fact. But she knew that if she hadn’t made this decision, it would’ve only been a matter of time before Azula became a threat to her or to anyone in her path. That’s why she had spent the entire previous afternoon outside the tent, trying to prove Azula could be trusted. She couldn’t—but at least she had shown a flicker of sanity by not setting anything on fire.

Well… almost nothing.

A sharp, acrid scent invaded her nose as she entered—one she had only smelled a few times in her life but that had etched itself into her memory the first time: burnt meat.

She could almost hear her mother’s voice.

“So, you’re not the merciful alpha everyone thinks you are?” Azula’s fingers, once gripping tightly, were beginning to give way, her joints weakened. Every second she lost more strength, the fabric slipping from her hold, and Katara showed no sign of moving—almost like she was enjoying it. “You want the same thing they all do,” she hissed, her voice like burning venom. She bit her lip, suppressing a gasp, and with the last of her strength, she let go.

She tried to get up as she shoved her away, but her body—numb from cold or pain—refused to obey. She didn’t know what was holding her back, only that she couldn’t let herself be caught. Not by Katara. Not by the ice.

Not by herself.

But Katara pushed her—not hard enough to hurt her, just enough to corner her against the wall. Her hands, previously hanging at her sides, lifted until they were braced on either side of the omega’s head.

“Step back,” Azula ordered sharply.

But Katara didn’t move. She wouldn’t—not if Azula asked her. That would mean Azula still had control. And she couldn’t have control over anything.

“I won’t. You’re my omega, and I’m your alpha,” Katara murmured, almost mockingly. She hadn’t meant to say that—but the omega’s nearness was testing her self-control more than she expected.

Katara didn’t believe in roles or stereotypes. But in that moment, she knew she had no other way to handle Azula—a feral omega who, at the slightest provocation, could harm others or herself. Her hands were proof of that. Despite her fragile appearance, she was still the same person. Her scent still reeked of ash, and her pheromones stirred a strange heat under Katara’s skin.

None of that stopped her from continuing to test her.

Katara’s warm breath brushed Azula’s neck as she leaned in, hovering over her, surrounding her completely. Nature was a dilemma. A year ago, they had fought as equals. Now, Azula was faced with the possibility of losing—not just her dignity as she had in the past, but something more.

She stood before the inevitability of her own nature—one that chained her to what she could not control. Azula tilted her neck back, like an offering to the alpha, who gladly buried her face in the crook between her neck and shoulder, inhaling her scent with something close to hunger.

Her mouth went dry, and her own instincts—reacting to the presence of an unclaimed omega—were nearly revelatory. She had to restrain herself. But at the very least, Katara allowed herself to dominate this moment, pressing her body flush against Azula’s, slowly yielding to the closeness.

“You’d be miserable if you took it,” Azula spat when she felt the alpha’s heat begin to fade, though her spicy scent lingered behind.

“And you’d live in your own personal hell. I’m satisfied with that,” Katara replied, stepping away with a victorious smile. “By the way, don’t forget to eat. I don’t want you dying on me,” she added, referring to the tray that, miraculously, hadn’t tipped over.

With those words—and an unspoken promise on her lips—she left.

It was only a matter of time and patience before the omega took the place Katara believed she deserved.

Chapter Text

The whistle of the wind pierced through the canvas of the hut, the only sound breaking the silence of the afternoon at the South Pole.

Next to Azula, another tray rested on the frozen ground, its contents untouched: a soup already cold and the cup of tea she hadn’t touched.

She wasn't hungry. Which was strange. She'd long ago left her ambitions and pleasures behind, clinging only to her physiological needs, a raw echo of her body that kept her anchored to reality. For anyone, that would have been a curse, but for Azula, it was a relief. Without desires, there were no temptations that could break the fragile barrier that kept her mind balanced. Though now she couldn't even afford that luxury.

Beneath her mask of immobility, her heart pounded fiercely, as if it wanted to escape her throat. A silent, uncontrollable panic coursed through her body, keeping her alert, as if Katara were still there, with her dominant presence filling every corner of the hut. Just as the tide sweeps away everything, Katara swept over Azula in a way so unsettling that the omega would deny it at all costs.

Katara had gotten under her skin, into her mind, into her damned scent that she still felt impregnated in her own flesh. Azula would deny it until the end, but that alpha disarmed her in a way no enemy had ever managed. Well, until she arrived.

— Wanted to play with me, peasant? — she spat into the void, her raspy voice cutting through the silence. — Congratulations, you did it.

Her lips curled into a bitter smile, but her golden eyes, fixed on the icy wall, betrayed the whirlwind roaring inside her. Her restless fingers found the edge of her light tunic, a piece of soft, fluffy, yet sturdy fabric, with an intricate design that only a Fire Nation tailor could have created. For a moment, she closed her eyes and could imagine the markets of the capital, the aroma of spices, and the warmth of the sun on her skin. But that life no longer existed, it had been burned to ashes, like a distant memory, like everything she once was.

The Fire Nation. Deep down, she missed it, after all, it was her place of origin, where she had been educated under its archaic rules. She loved her nation as much as her father; everything she had done was in service to her nation, under her father’s iron grip. She honored it until the end, so much so that her own end was a consequence of her absolute devotion to her nation’s recognition.

Her honor, though superficially not as obsessive as her brother’s, was greater than Zuko could have ever aspired to, much greater, it was so intense it consumed her, it made something writhe in the depths of Azula’s soul, a sense so profound of duty and devotion to her nation, not to its people, but to what it represented… pure fire, discipline, surrender, domination, and destruction. And deep down, obedience.

A broad sense of obedience she clung to under the excuse of defeat.

That was why, as soon as the messenger arrived, she put up no resistance and let them take away the white robe, dressing in the emblematic red of her beloved nation once again. And so, she was handed over to the Southern Tribe, while her brother, possibly ashamed, hid behind his throne, praying she wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Or perhaps so that no one would hurt her, because despite everything, they still shared blood, or the simple nature of an older brother showing pity and protection toward his younger sister. It seemed cruel, but in a monarchy like the Fire Nation, it was the only option in the hands of the young Fire Lord to protect Azula.

Though for her, it wasn’t so; in her eyes, her brother only sought more power and to rid himself of the great burden she represented. Reducing her existence to serving a country that wasn’t hers, to humiliate her further. What else could such an atrocious exchange mean?

— Zuko… — she whispered, with resentment and something more, almost nostalgia.

She raised her gaze upon hearing the crunch of the snow, making a grimace of disgust. — She sent someone again — she thought aloud with annoyance; hours after Katara left, a nervous young beta knocked on the door, trembling and rubbing his heels together, and without even saying his name, handed her a tray, announcing it was her lunch from Katara, before quickly leaving. Just as he came. Something Azula secretly appreciated before returning to her corner of reflection, leaving the tray abandoned beside her, which at some point must have stopped steaming, but she didn’t care.

Expecting another invasion, she tensed all her muscles, avoiding any movement, even the slightest, so surely whoever it was would lose interest and simply leave to inform Katara that she was asleep or indisposed.

The footsteps grew closer, but Azula remained in her seated pose, staring into nothingness, like one awaiting the worst. But if only she had paid more attention, if she had bothered to listen more closely, she would have realized that those footsteps were more than uneven and accompanied by a high-pitched gurgle.

Something she completely ignored, since all she could think about was someone who wasn’t even present.

Katara hadn’t returned since the morning, and she couldn’t be calmer, but something within her soul, lodged in her lower abdomen, writhed with discomfort and impatience, almost painfully, at her absence.

She didn’t miss her, she repeated for the tenth time, like a mantra that held her to reason and kept her away from her omega nature, which unconsciously begged for the alpha’s presence and her rich, spicy scent that she refused to need.

Though she couldn’t always go against her own nature.

She knew it was wrong to think about it, but damn it, she couldn’t help, at random moments, curling up over the alpha’s discarded cloak, which, after rubbing against it, she folded and hid jealously in a dark corner, as if she feared it would disappear or be stolen, though she knew it was ridiculous, after all, no one but Katara would seek her out, neither to insult nor greet her, clearly.

There was nothing here, at least within those walls.

Even so, she couldn’t help feeling jealous of what happened outside, especially with Katara; What was she doing? Who was she with? What was she thinking? Such mundane things made her insides twist in particularly sensitive moments. What had Katara done to her? She didn’t know, she only knew she needed her, as much as the air she breathed.

But she was willing to suffocate and fall into agony if it meant preserving some dignity.

She was so lost in her thoughts, forgetting the noises that had completely startled her, until a loud:

Crack!

Snapped her out of her head, alerted by a noise so foreign to what she expected. As the canvas parted, she found herself facing a creature that had ingeniously slipped into the fortress; fur or perhaps tiny feathers, black and white, a tail, webbed feet, two pairs of short wings, whiskers, and eyes as dark as ripe olives.

A strange animal, no doubt; Azula didn’t even know the fauna of this place, and this creature appeared to bother her; instinctively, she ignored it, or at least tried to, but this creature was slippery, sliding on its belly all over the place, noisily sniffing everything around it, knocking over everything in its path, unimportant objects she didn’t even know what they were, except for a lunar emblem that fell from a shelf; fortunately, it didn’t rummage or steal anything. It was unsettling. The animal was nervous, no doubt, but apparently, she wasn’t the reason.

Azula, resigned to it possibly leaving, didn’t expect those black eyes to fix on her, and to her great surprise, she found the animal staring at her intently, tilting its head as if confused, until it came dangerously close and began sniffing her directly.

— Don’t do that — she said with disgust, while with her hand she tried to push the animal’s snout away.

But it was stubborn and began sniffing almost desperately; its wet nose was warm and soft to the touch, it seemed by its insistence that it wanted to absorb her scent, until it finally stopped.

— Go away — she murmured, thinking this creature would soon leave.

But it didn’t; the next thing she felt was a rough tongue passing over her skin, wetting the edges of the bandage still covering her hands. — Crazy creature — surprised, the omega stayed still, with her hand extended, limp, without reaction, simply not knowing what to do, attack or flee; her fire was more than pitiful, but she wasn’t a coward either. Thus, a dilemma kept her distracted amid the unpleasant, sticky moment. Perhaps she was like that for a few seconds or perhaps minutes, she didn’t know for sure.

Knock, knock

She heard soft taps on the door, and then the sound of the door woke her and alerted the animal, which, instead of running to hide or flee, apparently its best option was to snuggle against her, taking advantage of her open arms. Azula, unfazed, simply sighed, letting the intruder tremble at her side. She didn’t seek to comfort it, but she didn’t push it away either.

Did it fear the people here?

Before her eyes, a slightly hunched figure approached with slow steps; reflexively, she shielded her eyes from the blinding light that entered with the elderly woman, a woman with a kind face but also one that promised evident wisdom and toughness.

— It seems you have company, Princess Azula — she said with a kind voice, referring to the animal nestled in the omega’s lap.

Azula raised her gaze, locking eyes with the woman; her opaque blue eyes, unwavering, didn’t lower. She looks like Katara, was her first impression; she must be family, her mother? No, too old, and besides, from what she knew, the alpha was motherless.

— You’re Katara’s grandmother, right? — she asked; the elderly woman, almost smiling, came closer.

— That’s right, my name is Kanna — she replied, a smile forming between her lips, as she approached further without apparent fear, unlike the young man from a few hours ago. — And, well, then, now you’re married to my granddaughter.

— Horrible, isn’t it? — she said, though deep down something fluttered inside her at the implicit mention of the waterbender.

A dry laugh invaded the silence.

— Katara isn’t that bad. She’s a great alpha.

— Oh, sure, a great alpha… in case you haven’t noticed, I hate Katara as much as this place — she said, almost offended, by what she considered almost an insult. — Stupid peasants…— she whispered as low as she could; fortunately, the elderly woman was so old she didn’t even hear and pretended not to hear what was said and continued.

— You know, when I saw you this morning, you weren’t doing so well — she paused, as if thinking about how to continue. — It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Katara so worried.

— Katara, as always, comes to my rescue.

She said it sarcastically, but as she closed her eyes, she could imagine Katara’s face framed with concern.

— As soon as we told her, she left the council meeting and locked herself with you in these four walls — with a sigh, she leaned back slightly, making Azula feel small. — Though it’s hard to believe, even for me, Katara doesn’t want to hurt you, she wants something, but I’m not sure what it is she longs for.

If her intention was to give her hopes of humane treatment instead of being a mere breeding machine, she had failed.

— Katara longs for something, then.

I won’t give it to her…

------------------------------------

In a great hall, the light reflected off the walls; in the middle of the room, a large map traced with fine charcoal lines held the attention of all present.

The elders, mostly from the North, sat in semicircles, with impassive faces, listening attentively.

— And with these new routes, we will reduce the transport time of furs and dried fish to our partners in the coastal areas of the Earth Kingdom — Katara explained, pointing to a marked line on the map. — Our vessels will be able to avoid ice banks and take advantage of the Southern currents more effectively. This will allow us to trade faster and help continue strengthening our economic position.

When she finished, a murmur filled the hall; some, more serious than others, spoke among themselves. Until an elder from the North, named Kevak, raised his hand among the others.

— A risky maneuver, Master Katara — he said, narrowing his eyes; the noise in the hall quieted as soon as he began to speak. — But don’t those routes pass near the waters of the puffer fish? That place, besides being full of treacherous tides, is infested with pirates. — He paused to catch his breath but continued. — The traditional routes, though slower, have kept both the crew and the cargo safe. Why expose ourselves to such risks?

Katara pressed her lips together, maintaining her composure; in her rehearsals the day before, she had anticipated the possible resistance from the merchants and elders, who were known to resist such sudden changes, but she knew she had to stand firm.

— With all due respect, clinging to the traditional and habitual is holding us back, we must follow a liquid, constant, and changing change — she replied with a firm but diplomatic voice. — Are pirates a threat? Yes, but our vessels are faster and better equipped than a few years ago. Besides, I have corresponded with King Kuei from Ba Sing Se, and he has assured me that he has improved coastal conditions, with more patrols, and Avatar Aang dissolved many of these groups a year ago — She quickly noticed the dissatisfaction of many present, who, with stern faces, remained silent except for her own councilors and secretary, who calmly wrote a report. — What I’m getting at is that if we don’t modernize our trade, our economy will barely hold, and if revenues don’t increase, the modernization of our tribe and villages will be slower. And we will be stagnating compared to the other nations.

Once again, a silence that spoke more than a thousand words settled in, something she was used to. But it still made her rub her hands.

— It seems Katara doesn’t like the traditional — said a voice from the back of the hall. It was Koa, a young warrior known for his odious pride, who should have been on guard but was now leaning against a pillar with a mocking smile. — They say Fire Nation omegas are… fiery. How does that princess of yours warm your bed?

A collective gasp ran through the hall. Katara felt heat rise to her face but maintained her composure, her blue eyes glaring at the warrior.

— That’s none of your business, Koa — she replied, her voice firm despite the surprise.

She tried to return to the topic of the routes, but someone else decided to speak; the elder Hahn, with his white beard and stern gaze, raised a hand to interrupt her.

— Maybe it is — he said, his deep tone resonating in the hall. — You never explained why you decided to bring that crazy princess to our Tribe. A wedding we weren’t even invited to? Without the presence of the Fire Lord, without the Avatar, your whole family. What kind of union is that?

The murmurs turned into open voices. The elders and all present, who until now had kept their criticisms in whispers, felt emboldened by Hahn’s words.

— Since when did we become a refuge for Fire Nation exiles! — shouted a woman, her voice laden with resentment.

— What’s the use of having that omega here?— added another, a weathered-faced merchant. — No titles, no home, nothing to offer. She’s a burden!

— A threat! — interrupted a third voice. — What will you do, Master Katara, when that lunatic has a breakdown and decides to burn us all? The children will be terrified.

Katara clenched her fists, feeling the weight of the rumors she had tried to ignore. She knew that accepting Azula as her omega, an act that mixed strategy and pity, would unleash discontent. But she didn’t expect it to overflow so soon, nor with such harshness, something obvious that she had chosen to ignore at the time. Azula’s scent, impregnated in her skin since that morning, was a constant reminder of her decision, a mark that tied her to her as much as to the Tribe.

— Silence — said a deep voice, cutting through the chaos. Bato stood from his seat at the edge of the hall. Until now, he had remained silent, observing, but his presence commanded respect. — I understand your anger, your doubt, your fear. But Katara has her reasons, and I’m sure she has everything under control.

Koa let out a dry laugh — Control? With an omega who could set the palace ablaze in a tantrum? Come on, Bato, not even you believe that.

Bato took a step forward, his gaze fixed on the young warrior. — Have you forgotten your oath of loyalty, Koa? Because if you keep talking like that, you’ll be the one exiled here. — His voice was calm but laden with authority.

An uncomfortable silence settled in the hall.

Katara seized the moment, standing tall and facing those present with a determination forged throughout her life. — Azula is not a threat — she said, her voice resonating with a strength that silenced all murmurs. — I took her as my omega to ensure she never will be. My mark keeps her under control, and my commitment to her in no way affects the one I have with the Tribe. I’m not asking for your approval, nor do I need it.— She paused, letting her words carry more weight. — Now, if you’re done with the rumors, I suggest we return to the matter of the trade routes, which is what should really concern us.

After that, the meeting continued without major incidents beyond occasional murmurs and grumbles (something that was always common) until the end.

As soon as the hall emptied, Katara allowed herself to breathe freely. It was undoubtedly one of the worst meetings she had had so far, and she didn’t doubt it wouldn’t be the last. Her father had warned her of the possible reactions that Azula merely stepping on the firm, snow-covered ground of the South Pole would provoke.

But she imagined that discretion and privacy would be enough to keep a low profile, which was obviously an illusory and even embarrassing thought.

Her role in the tribe should no longer be questioned; she knew that well, she had to remain firm and imposing, but uncertainty and moments like these dismantled her in seconds.

— This can’t happen again.

She warned herself. No one should have the right to contradict her decisions; if she wanted Azula to be her omega, so it must be.

She was hers.

She had never even thought of something like that, but she had to be tougher and stricter with others’ intrusions.

She had to have absolute surrender and control within her tribe.

She missed traveling the world with her friends, yes, but she knew those days wouldn’t return.

Everyone already had their own path.

She couldn’t fall behind. She had to take her own course, and if fate had placed Azula in her path, it was because it had to be so.

-----------------------------------

— She must have gotten separated from her group — said the elderly woman, glancing at the animal before heading to the door. — Come on, we must return it to its own before they find out.

— Who? — Azula asked with uncertainty, imagining some predator or something worse.

— Who else, the children. They get excited very easily and sometimes end up bringing the whole herd to the plaza. Believe me, it’s a mess no one wants to clean up — she said, sighing, as if merely mentioning it already left her tired.

— Children are annoying everywhere. — Azula replied quickly.

She stood up, ignoring the creature that mimicked her action, following her with stiff steps, but as soon as she saw it cross the threshold, something stopped her before taking the next step.

The cold hit her face and between her legs; nibbling on a piece of fish, possibly stolen from Azula’s lunch, the penguin stopped with her.

— I can’t — she murmured, more to herself than to Kanna.

The elderly woman turned, tilting her head slightly, giving her a smile that Azula seemed dangerously sincere. — Too cold? I suppose it doesn’t snow often in the Fire Nation. I can get something for you to cover up with, if you want.

— It’s not the cold — Azula snapped. She didn’t even know what was holding her back, but if she wanted to preserve a bit of herself, she had to face this, because her reason for existing couldn’t be reduced to merely inhabiting that hut or even serving Katara. It was as if taking a step out of there meant facing something she couldn’t control. — Katara might get angry and become somewhat irritable.

Could she not do it? Or was she just making silly excuses? Katara had never mentioned it; she really hadn’t said much about what she could or couldn’t do, beyond her vague threats.

— Don’t talk nonsense, Katara wouldn’t forbid you from something like that — she said finally, her tone soft but firm. — It’s impossible for her to keep you here your whole life, a lot has happened in a short time, and it would do you good to walk a bit.

— Maybe. — Azula conceded, taking a tentative step outside the threshold.

-------------------------------

Walking with this woman was easier than she thought; what she initially thought would be a walk full of silly chatter like the ones she used to hear among the noble women of the Fire Nation, mostly older women, captains’ wives, who seemed to do nothing but wait for their husbands and gossip.

It wasn’t like that with Katara’s grandmother; the woman hadn’t spoken again since they left. Not a word or gesture, just following an invisible path that only she seemed to know, while Azula followed with her hands clasped behind her back, with firm steps and upright posture.

As they crossed the plaza, with lanterns off since it was daytime, local merchants tending their stalls and some children running, she noticed the gazes of others, some with disdain, others with contempt, and some smiling at her strangely.

A child even threw a snowball at her feet while trying to reach the penguin following slowly behind her, squawking occasionally. The child continued his game, mimicking the animal’s uneven gait, before being pulled by a girl, possibly his older sister; he protested and struggled, but after a whisper from his sister, his expression changed from anger to fear, as if he were seeing the worst monster he could have ever seen.

He ran off holding his sister’s hand. Azula couldn’t help but feel curious: What had she told him? Bad things, no doubt, after all, what other concept could they have of her?

— Many here are scared, but contrary to what you might think, it’s not just because of you, especially the children; most have heard stories of terrifying firebenders. — a melancholic laugh resonated for Azula.

— How foolish you all are, fearing something that can no longer harm you. —

Without even flinching at the insult, Kanna continued walking ahead of Azula. — That may be so, but some things don’t fade. The last time a firebender came, it was your brother Zuko, and let’s just say it wasn’t pleasant; most were very afraid.

— Afraid? Zuko is incapable of killing anything, so why would he kill such simple people? — After all, his only stupid goal was the Avatar.

— I wasn’t afraid for myself; I was afraid of what they might do to Katara.

— Why are you telling me this? — She knew very well what the Fire Nation did to the Southern waterbenders, and she didn’t want to hear the same old story, especially if it was about Katara. — The war is over, no one is trying to kill you anymore, you should be happy.

What was the point of lamenting something that had already happened and simply accepting their present, just as she had done, now tied to an alpha as simple as Katara? It was pitiful. But she had accepted it.

— It’s not that easy, the past never fades, no matter how much the situation has improved, the terror and uncertainty we once lived through will always be etched in our memory — she said almost somberly, as they left the community’s limits. — We don’t want you to hurt anyone.

Before her eyes, the penguin decided it was a good time to show off its acrobatic skills, startling Azula as it slid over the snow.

— That sounds more like a threat — unaccustomed to warnings that weren’t from her father, it seemed everyone here was trying to intimidate her, making her almost nervous. — If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you’ll ever see me lighting even a match — she explained, more to herself than to the elderly woman, hiding with a calm tone the shame she refused to show.

— That would be appropriate, Princess — a snort sounded behind her.

— Don’t call me that — she warned, watching as the animal nearly vanished from her field of vision.

— Sorry, it’s just that it’s hard to figure out how I should call you without getting the impression that you might shoot fire from your nostrils at any moment — that final joke was undoubtedly a good trigger for Azula to decide to overtake her, now following the trail of marks left by the penguin.

— Call me whatever you want, just don’t call me ‘princess’ again — she replied with almost a growl, quickening her pace arrogantly. — I’m not one anymore.

— Alright, just don’t go so fast, I’m not that quick anymore.

— I had already noticed it — she said, stopping to be caught up at certain intervals. Something that frustrated her but she did anyway.

---------------------------------------

The farther she went, the more sensitive her body became; she could feel her skin throbbing against her clothes, and not just because of the cold, but also because of symbolically moving away from Katara.

Unconsciously, she imagined the fresh scent hitting her nose, though in reality, it was the cold tundra air stinging her ears and fingers, like a tether to her reality, telling her that after returning that annoying creature to its herd, she would return to the hut and to Katara.

A shiver ran through her body when an especially cold gust hit her chest; her muscles tensed, and a sigh escaped from between her cracked lips. She slightly regretted going out; she simply hated the cold, especially when it gave that damp sensation the South Pole offered.

They continued walking in silence for a few more minutes, during which she was about to give up and turn back; she had nothing in that snowy desert, but at least inside the hut, she had something to cling to and be certain of.

The heated squawking and the sound of snow shifting was the first sign that they had reached their destination. They arrived at a small cliff, and just below, hundreds of pairs of eyes fixed on them. They all began to move, and hers stayed still.

And suddenly, a herd of penguins rose before her eyes; to her surprise, the squawking didn’t delay, and several quickly moved, sliding on their bellies toward where they were.

— They’re going to attack me — was the last thing she said before stepping back and tripping onto the cold ground, with both hands at her sides.

But the attack never came, because apparently, for those creatures, the only thing that mattered was their companion, who quickly grouped with them, not Azula, who continued dragging herself, trying to get away, stopping just a meter away.

Azula instinctively looked for Kanna, who remained at a significant distance. “Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you,” she assured her from afar, without even trying to approach, as if she found the situation amusing.

But for Azula, it was anything but funny.

She remembered how the turtle ducks would move away as soon as they saw her; they hated her, they loved Zuko, which is why she hated them too; everyone chose him, even such insignificant creatures.

How she hated those weak creatures and their cries, she recalled, while on the outside, she trembled and dragged herself across the cold ground.

— What are you doing? — she asked, as the now-familiar penguin returned to her side; she could identify it by its slightly stained wing. It wasn’t alone; it was accompanied by others of its kind, who in a matter of seconds ended up surrounding her, as if she were now their center of attention.

Nervously, she sought Kanna’s gaze, who remained motionless; her eyes reflected both concern and amusement, which Azula decided not to give importance to; she was already in a situation too complicated to care about insignificant things, like an old woman’s moment of madness.

None of the hundreds of enemies she had faced had awakened this feeling in her chest: vulnerability. The vulnerability that made her body, instead of finding a way to escape, pull her limbs together and close her eyes, until she seemed the weakest creature in the place. Tears rolled down her cheeks, from frustration, and her face took on a redder hue; no one had ever managed to make her feel this way, as these animals did. Helpless and weak.

The animals, oblivious to what they were causing, with innocent eyes and low squawks, brought their snouts closer to her, making her feel their noisy breaths and, among them all, her own, her rapid breathing and her hand clutching her chest, as if trying to protect something she didn’t even know, but which made her succumb to the panic of this invasion.

The curious animals crowded around her, and some even stood on her, some perhaps searching for food in her clothes, and others maybe just sniffing her instinctively, slipping their noses through the openings of her simple clothing, which, amid the commotion, clung to her sweaty body.

Azula was surprisingly trembling and sobbing as she had never done before.

Until a warm dampness suddenly snapped her out of the trance she was in, a persistent warmth between her neck and shoulder, an accidental breath, and a cold nose innocently brushing against her glands.

Suddenly, memories of the morning came to her mind, Katara breathing deeply in that same spot, claiming something that wasn’t hers; Azula felt it, it wasn’t just the alpha getting carried away, it was a direct claim, something indelible, something that made everyone see her with something more than hatred. And even the animals noticed it.

She belonged to Katara.