As his sister demonstrated her exceptional firebending skills for their grandfather, he kept his face blank.

He stared into the flames surrounding the throne, and something occurred to him.

He couldn't remember his old name.

A weird thing to realize out of nowhere, but it still brought him up short.

It wasn't exactly shocking, just... Sobering.

It was another memory, in a long series of memories, that he had lost over the years.

Every day he had a harder time convincing himself that this was all fake.

That all of this was a construct.

An illusion.

Some sort of trick.

Fake.

Fake.

Fake.

All of it.

To this day he would still sometimes take a second to look around and deny everything in his head.

But now he did it out of habit, rather than out of belief.

Many of his old memories were gone, but that remained.

It was no longer a concrete statement that his life was a lie.

Merely a reminder that he used to believe it.

He still remembered some things.

He used to play video games, read web serials, binge series, partake in fandom, and he had been in the process of learning piano.

The broad strokes were there, but all the detail was gone.

Sorta like a half-baked biography.

Writing it down helped for a while.

But then he was scolded for wasting paper to write gibberish.

Then he tried hiding it, and he was scolded again.

It was hard to keep secrets in a palace.

Yes, yes.

Being royalty was so hard.

Quick, someone come and play a teeny tiny violin for him while he sobbed into his piles of money and privilege.

He rolled his eyes in response to the criticism no one had vocalized.

Arguing with himself.

One of the stubborn holdovers from his past life.

And he was fairly confident that it was a past life, instead of some delusion or evidence of his insanity.

There was enough precedent for it, although his circumstances were still abnormal.

Avatars reincarnated and shared memories with their past selves, or something like that, though he was most certainly not the Avatar.

If anyone ever asked, he would wave his hand vaguely and blame the spirit world, and they would nod like they knew what he was talking about.

Mutually assured stupidity, he called it.

Wouldn't that be a fun conversation?

He asked himself, in his mind, sarcastically.

No.

No, it would not.

His old life, his old memories.

His old name, even.

Much as it pained him to forget, most of it was just a lot of nonsense that wasnt that relevant or helpful.

He had no preordained purpose or special abilities that came with the memories.

They made him more complicated, and not in a fun way.

Annoying and confusing complexity, but not fun.

"Iroza."

He blinked.

Iroza.

That was the name he responded to now.

The only one he had left.

He looked over at his father, who seemed slightly more annoyed than usual.

A bit concerning.

He didnt typically Zone out so easily during visits to the throne room.

But then he had just gone through a rather emotional moment.

Kind of.

Yes, father?" he replied, his tone measured and polite.

The man's golden eyes narrowed at him.

Again, slightly more than usual.

Ah, so he had missed a command.

Oh well.

He wouldnt lose sleep over it.

"Show your grandfather the fruits of your labor," he said.

And the words were harsh despite their low volume and kindly tone.

His lips twitched upwards.

"Unless you do not feel as prepared as your sister?"

It was a loaded question, and he wouldn't take the bait.

He gave a respectful nod and rose to his feet. "By your wil, father."

Stepping forward into the center of attention, he bowed deeply to his grandfather.

He felt his father's gaze following him, and he ignored it.

Then he fell into a familiar stance and readied himselt for the firebending routine that had been drilled into him.

Like he was in some beauty pageant.

He wasn't nearly the prodigy his sister was, much as he tried.

His flames were much smaller, and his firebending energy was

lethargic.

Much like him.

But doing magic was pretty cool, something that wasn't possible in his past life, so he was dedicated to getting better and too stubborn to settle for less.

It wasn't enough to bridge the gap.

But it was enough for Iroza.

Not enough for his father, of course.

It would never be.

As the man liked to say; he was dedicated, but she was talented.

The man loved trying to hurt him.

Delighted in it.

Turning his children against each other was a treasured pastime of his.

That was why his sister had been called to demonstrate first, despite her superior skill.

Their demonstrations served two purposes.

To show off, and to remind Iroza that he was weaker.

No moment of glory for going first and garnering at least a bit of praise.

Best to snuff out any self-worth straight away.

He took a breath and pulled.

As his inner flame surged to answer his call, he suppressed a smile.

It was one of his best-kept secrets from his father; that Iroza wasn't driven by his competitive nature.

Firebending was just fucking awesome.

He loved the flow of energy coursing through his body.

He kicked through the air and loosed some of it from his foot, painting an arc of flame around him.

He was less concerned with the katas.

He went through them efficiently and deliberately, but without the fierce aggression of Azula.

Even he could tell that his movements were more wooden.

The kicks and punches, jumps and twirls, were all so much filler to him.

Something he had to do, because he had practiced.

Because it was expected of him.

What he truly craved was the rush.

Fire was the element of power and energy and he relished the feeling of embracing it, and letting it embrace him.

He took his time, without appearing to, and savored it.

For a moment there was only him and the blaze he surrounded himself with.

As he finished, landing into a crouch, he dipped his head towards the floor and smothered his emotions before he could grin or laugh.

Not bad, he decided.

Pretty okay, even.

Azula would criticize him once they were alone, and he would ignore the parts that weren't helpful.

But he was confident he had done fine.

It was important for him to internalize that.

His sister was like a shark.

If she smelled weakness, she wouldn't hesitate to go after it.

It was adorable when it wasn't so unnerving.

He ignored his grandfather's token praise, then humbly thanked him for it.

With another bow, he turned and walked back to his family.

His father nodded, not deigning to praise him with words, which was as much approval as he could expect from the man.

His mother smiled and, as usual, it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Azula tilted her head and smirked, and it was definitely more adorable than she intended.

Zuko....

Zuko scowled, and he too looked more adorable than he intended.

As he sat back down he shot a quick glance at Azula.

She had probably been whispering to Zuko after her excellent performance.

Not that he minded.

But it was slightly grating for her to distract from his not excellent, but still pretty okay performance.

After a few seconds, he decided he didn't care.

As his father and grandfather talked, he looked over at Zuko.

His older brother was still scowling and refusing to look at him, or Azula.

Especially Azula.

The boy clenched his fists and took a deep breath.

Iroza felt a strong sense of foreboding.

Leaping to his feet, Zuko stomped forward to go and prove that he could be a ninja too.

Or something.

He shuddered.

Ah, yes. Secondhand embarrassment.

Another holdover from his past life.

Wonderful.

Iroza didn't laugh when his brother fell on his ass.

He didn't frown when their father glared and said something offhand and cutting.

He didn't feel relieved when their mother rushed forward to embrace her oldest son with coos and soft words of encouragement.

He did roll his eyes at his brother's antics because he should honestly know better by now.

He just couldn't summon any sympathy.

He should be able to, and he used to have it in him, but he couldn't.

He should feel bad, but he didn't.

Azula leaned over and whispered, "What a crybaby." Humming noncommittally.

He agreed without really seeming to and knew that she could tell.

They were twins, after all.

Whenever they trained, his father had many things to say.

Nothing positive.

Not for him.

"Breathe deeper. Your fire must extend further, past this point. Aim for it."

"Your form is weak. There is no force, no follow-through."

"Have you been skipping your exercises? You should have more muscle by now. Perhaps your body is just weaker."

"Do not smile. Happiness does not fuel your flame. It is rage, and it is passion."

"You try to get around it, but you are not enraged. We shall remedy this."

"Hatred is weaker, but still a passable substitute. Yet it seems you cannot even summon that much. Disappointing."

"More."

"Move faster."

"Your stance is getting worse. Sloppier."

"Look at her flames. You can already see the tint of blue in them. I doubt you will ever come close to emulating that."

"You are twins, but it seems you are the youngest in more ways than one."

"Again."

"Your flame is pathetic."

"Do it again."

"I shall no longer be personally seeing to your instruction. Azula simply has a much higher potential for growth. You will continue to train with Zuko, in the basics."

As always, at the end he just nodded.

His face was blank, and his emotions were smothered.

He suppressed his passion, his rage, and his hatred.

It wasn't an easy decision for him to make.

He already couldn't summon the kind of power Azula could.

His inner flame wasn't the inferno that hers was.

Based on everything he was taught, suppressing his passion was detrimental to his bending potential.

And he could feel it.

But he also couldn't give in to his father.

Wouldn't give in.

He refused.

And maybe that was why the man hated him.

Because he never gave him the pleasure of bending to his will, or rising to his taunts.

Iroza would never be his father's son, not like Azula or Zuko.

Much as he wished it was different, his siblings were his father's servants.

His tools, to be used and possessed and driven by their desire to please him.

Ozai looked down at his youngest child, his brother's namesake, and knew that the boy felt nothing for him.

Nothing at all.

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This story doesn't belong to me. Credits to the respective author.