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The Fire Nation was not known for its rain, but for some reason, it was pouring down at that moment. There was something poetic about it, seeing the rhythmic fall of raindrops onto the coffin about to be burned, as if the water was extinguishing the last flame for the final time.
Even though that flame had been out for years.
Zuko stared at the coffin, unable to define what he felt. It was a scene he had longed for at many points in his life. An image that had even helped brighten his days on many occasions. But now, standing before that dark wooden casket, he didn’t feel the satisfaction he had anticipated. Nor did he feel sadness. Just a void, as if that loss, which once seemed so significant, now meant nothing at all.
The rain grew stronger.
The Fire Lord was completely drenched, but he made no effort to evaporate the water; feeling it brought him a strange comfort, and he wanted to savor it for just a little longer.
Zuko slightly turned his head, averting his gaze from the coffin, and focused on the figure standing to his right. Each of them shared a different history with the person lying inside, but none of those stories were good.
The rain continued to intensify.
“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” murmured Zuko, still not looking back at the coffin. “As if the world were trying to extinguish a flame that’s been out for a long time.”
“Maybe it just wants to make sure it doesn’t reignite.”
Azula kept her eyes fixed on the coffin, but unlike Zuko, it wasn’t just the rain wetting her face. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, mingling with the rain. Azula didn’t evaporate the rainwater either; she used it to feel clean, as though each burn or scar was being washed away by the water’s touch, even if that was impossible.
She knew she shouldn’t cry. No one should shed tears for that man. Yet, the tears didn’t stop. Tears that had often come from fear, rage, or even pain. But this time, it was different; this time, she didn’t know what they meant.
Azula turned her gaze away from the coffin to find the scar on her brother's face, the irrefutable proof of his words. “I guess we should thank Agni for that.”
A heavy silence fell between the two. Only the rain filled the air until Zuko spoke in a dry voice. "He's gone."
The rain didn’t let up.
“Yes,” Azula whispered.
Both turned their gaze back to the coffin in silence. Zuko, consciously or unconsciously, extended his hand toward his sister, and she held it firmly. They needed each other; they always had, even though life and the person now lying in that coffin had tried to tear them apart.
When both began to tremble, the drops of water stopped falling on them, even though the rain continued. A warm hand took Azula’s, and another did the same with Zuko’s free hand.
“You need to dry off so you don’t catch a cold. He doesn’t deserve to see you sick.”
Katara’s voice was calm, yet the firmness in her words made it clear that it wasn’t merely advice. It was a reminder that even in death, that man did not deserve the pleasure of seeing them vulnerable.
The siblings evaporated the droplets that still clung to their skin with heatbending, in an almost synchronized gesture.
The rain kept falling, but it no longer touched the coffin. The drops that had covered it rose into the air, gently moving until the surface was dry and clean.
“Do you want to say something?” Mai asked gently to both of them.
“No,” Zuko replied without hesitation.
“That’s what he would’ve wanted,” Azula added with a hint of disdain. “So no.”
They both stepped forward toward the casket, releasing their hands for the final task they needed to perform. In silence, they raised their arms.
Each generated a flame in one hand and brought it close to the coffin. Both fires ignited along the wood, but one side began to burn with orange flames, while the other with blue. Yet, for once, the flames did not compete.
The rain started to ease, becoming little more than a whisper over the soaked ground.
Zuko and Azula watched as their father’s coffin burned. The wood crackled, consumed by the flames they had conjured.
When only ashes remained, Zuko hugged his sister. Azula, trembling, took refuge in his arms. The unnecessary tears had already been shed, but the emptiness they felt still cried out for protection.
In that smoke-filled chamber, saturated with the scent of burnt flesh and charred wood, there were only four people. The only ones needed. The Fire Nation hadn’t given Ozai a funeral, a fact that they knew would make the former Fire Lord writhe in his grave.
The rain stopped completely the moment the siblings parted. Without looking back, they walked toward the arms of those who cared for and protected them.
Katara and Mai guided their respective partners out of the place. It was enough.
With firm yet gentle hands, Katara passed the damp cloth over Azula's face, wiping away all traces of smeared makeup. The fabric absorbed not only the blurred colors but also the pent-up emotions that had started to spill along with the tears. Azula closed her eyes, feeling each touch like a balm, each careful gesture bringing her a sense of calm.
Once Azula's face was clean, Katara helped her into her pajamas with the same tenderness. In that moment, the scars—visible or not—and the painful memories didn’t matter; there was only the warmth of being together, the relief of feeling loved and accepted.
Katara lay down beside her without hesitation, extending her arms to pull Azula close. Azula melted into the embrace with a desperate intensity, clinging to the waterbender's arms to draw her even closer, as if fearing that this refuge might vanish at any moment. Katara was her anchor, and she needed that presence just as much as Katara needed to be needed by Azula.
Time passed in a strange way: fleeting and eternal at once. The flow of the minutes was lost on Azula’s mind.
"I'm angry," Azula murmured, breaking the silence. The words came out with difficulty, as though something deep inside was being torn away. Katara responded with a kiss to the top of her head.
"Why does it hurt?" Azula's voice cracked. "Why am I crying? Why…?"
"Because, even though he hurt you so much, even though he broke you in ways no one should be broken, losing someone who once meant everything to you is never easy," Katara replied.
Azula began to tremble, and Katara felt the shaking through the contact of their bodies. She didn’t need to see her face to know that the tears had started flowing again. The crying was silent, contained, but the intensity with which Azula clung to Katara spoke volumes.
"But it was all a lie," Azula continued, her voice barely a whisper. "He never loved me."
Katara held her response carefully, as if each word were a crystal that could shatter. “Maybe he didn’t, but you did love him. Despite everything, despite the pain, despite him never giving you what you needed. And that’s what hurts.”
Azula wanted to say something more, but she couldn’t find the words. The knot in her throat was too tight, and her voice, too fragile. Katara hugged her tighter, wrapping her in a protective embrace. She let Azula completely fall apart, holding her as the tears fell, creating the safe space that Azula had longed for. Katara wouldn’t let her pieces scatter; she would keep them together, patiently rebuilding what life had shattered.
When Azula finally calmed down and lifted her face from the refuge of Katara's chest, she looked into her eyes. The blue of the waterbender's gaze conveyed an unbreakable promise, an ocean where she could lose herself without fear.
“Thank you,” Azula whispered.
Katara’s first impulse was to tell her that she didn’t need to thank her, but she understood what it meant for Azula to say those words. So instead of denying them, she kissed her forehead and gently held her chin, lifting it so their eyes could meet again. “I love you,” Katara said, her voice trembling slightly. “Every part of you. There isn’t a single day when I don’t feel lucky to have you in my life.”
Azula hid her face in Katara’s neck once more, and the tears resumed, but this time it felt different, as if the tears carried away something beyond the pain: maybe release, maybe forgiveness. Katara didn’t need Azula to respond; she already did in the way she clung to her, in the desperate need with which her body sought that refuge. So she simply held her tighter, giving all the comfort she could.
Hours passed, and Azula’s breathing began to change, becoming slower, deeper. Katara smiled faintly, and with one last kiss on Azula’s head, she closed her eyes. As she allowed herself to drift into sleep, she knew that when the sun rose, it would shine more brightly over the Fire Nation, with no trace of that rain.