I woke up screaming.
Not from fear.
From information.
My lungs burned as air rushed into them, far too sharp, far too real. My body was smaller—wrong—light, fragile, unfamiliar. I collapsed forward, tiny hands digging into silk bedding as my heart thundered wildly in my chest.
Five years old.
I knew that instinctively.
The memories didn't belong to me—but they did. Royal tutors. Agni Kai theory. Fire Nation etiquette. A mother's distant gaze. A father's crushing expectations.
Azula.
I was Azula.
But something else was there too.
Something older.
Something darker.
My body convulsed as heat surged through my veins—not firebending. This was different. Heavier. Sharper. My vision blurred crimson, and then—
Click.
The world slowed.
Every shadow sharpened. Every line, every movement became painfully clear. I could see the dust in the air, the pulse in my wrists, the subtle tremor of breath in the servants frozen at the doorway.
Reflected in the polished metal across the room—
Red eyes.
Black tomoe.
The Sharingan had awakened.
My body screamed as it adapted—muscles tightening, senses expanding, chakra systems knitting themselves into chi pathways that had never existed before. Fire Nation physiology bent under Uchiha blood, reshaping itself without resistance.
I didn't fight it.
I welcomed it.
I sat up slowly, examining my reflection.
Azula had always been beautiful—but now it was refined. Sharper cheekbones. Clearer skin. Eyes that didn't just command attention—they dominated it. Even at five years old, there was something deeply wrong about the way I held myself.
Not childish.
Not innocent.
Aware.
The servants trembled.
Good.
As the last fragments of Itachi's memories settled and Sidious's presence coiled silently in the back of my mind, my personality… aligned.
Not changed.
Clarified.
I understood myself now.
I lacked empathy—not because I was broken, but because empathy was inefficient. People were predictable. Emotions were levers. Fear was the most reliable currency in existence.
Perfection wasn't a goal.
It was a requirement.
I felt no rage. No hysteria. Just calm, measured assessment.
Who could be useful.
Who would break first.
Who needed to be removed.
Pain fascinated me—not emotionally, but academically. The way people unraveled under pressure. The moment control slipped from their grasp. I watched reactions, catalogued responses, memorized thresholds.
It wasn't cruelty.
It was research.
Manipulation came naturally. A softened voice here. A pause there. I could already feel how easily people bent when spoken to correctly. Beliefs weren't fixed—they were suggestions waiting for the right delivery.
Given time, I could make enemies kneel willingly.
Friends betray themselves.
Kings destroy their own foundations.
And the most dangerous part?
I would never rush.
I was patient.
I was precise.
I was hungry.
Somewhere deep within me, blue fire stirred.
Lightning waited.
And the world of Avatar had no idea what had just been born into it.
I would not conquer it loudly.I would shape it quietly—until it was too late to resist.