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For what little time you’ve got, it’s better spent training. Ever since you started getting these headaches and these strange feelings, a deep seated anger has been brewing in you. You can’t really identify why, or towards what, which angers you even more.
You begin your training on the ship’s deck. At first, you proceed calmly, ensuring perfection in your form. Your blue flames flow out into the air with perfected fine shapes, like sword slashes. But as the training goes on, your anger rises. Your bluish flames mix with red streaks and become wilder. Form perfection gives way to more untamed, violent movements. Each forward kick launches a great streak of flame, your punches ignite your fists before they’re even thrown forward, your kicks, once sword slashes, now seem more like walls of fire similar to Zhao’s.
Your grunts borne from the effort are mixed in with a sort of angry growl. You don’t know what’s wrong with you, but it’s getting out of your system. Its flame is dying down and slowly but surely, you feel it recede into the depths of your mind.
“Princess-”
Your roundhouse kick is interrupted by that voice, not just by the voice, but by the head of the soldier who got too close to you to give you whatever news he wanted to give you. If you had moved only a little more, he’d be out of a neck.
You slowly retrieve your foot and put it back on the ground and the soldier’s fears die down. He bows slightly. “Princess, I’ve been trying to tell you for a little while now, but you must not have heard me.” His voice cracks a bit, unsure if he should be speaking to you like this. “The ship’s been fully inspected. You may go when you wish.”
“Thank you, peasant. Return to your duties, and make sure the ship is stocked and cleaned before my return.” You say as you walk down the bridge.
“Yes, Princess.” The soldier bows again.
A carriage awaits down below, courtesy of the palace. It would skip over most of the walk through the harbor town, where the capital’s humblest live. Mostly workers from the docks and factories, added to that are sailors, both from the military and civilians, who spend their time there while waiting for their ships to sail. All in all, scum. Ouch, the headache’s given you a slap on the back of the head. Anyway, it would take you directly to the capital’s upper district, where the most influential politicians and merchants live close to the royal palace, hidden away in the caldera of a long dormant volcano.
One of the men carrying the carriage approaches you with a deep bow. “Princess Azula, we would be honored to take you up to the great palace.”
