Disclaimer: I don't own Zhao or Jeong-Jeong. I don't think I'd want to own Zhao. *shudder*

A/N: This was actually a request from a user on ASN, and it sparked my imagination. It was also more fun than I expected to write an evil character for once.

Breathe

He held the leaf before him in his callused fingers, pinching it delicately by the stem. He turned it gently, watching its flared green tip rotate slowly between his thumb and forefinger. So small. So green and living. So delicate and yet almost perfectly formed.

The fire flared his left hand, the one that did not hold the leaf. He had gotten so controlled that he make could make each individual flame dance on the tips of his fingers. Tiny little flickers of heat and light. So beautiful. More beautiful than the leaf. More beautiful than anything he'd ever seen.

Carefully, carefully, he touched the smallest wisp of flame from his index finger to the pointed, flared leaf tip. First a dainty curl of smoke. Then a glow of embers, a slow, creeping red-black. The fire ate the leaf from its tip to its stem, and he stopped it just before it bit his fingers. The green, living leaf collapsed in a puny puff of ashes onto his fingertips, where he rubbed it into an insignificant gray smear.

Alive. Now dead.

Such was the power of fire.

"Zhao!"

His hand curled into a fist. He hated that voice. He didn't need to listen to it. He didn't know why he ever had.

"What in Agni's name are you doing?"

"Practicing," the young man replied, smooth as the flight of a dragon-fly. He wiped off the ash by pretending to scratch the stubble on the sides of his face. "Isn't that what you want me to do? Master Jeong-Jeong?" he added, somewhat insolently.

"I sent you out here for breathing exercises. You should be squatting and breathing. I never said anything about using fire."

Jeong-Jeong had piercing eyes, and something about the way they glared out at him now from beneath graying brows told Zhao that his master had not missed his performance with the leaf. Well, who cared? Jeong-Jeong was no longer strong enough to stop him.

"I'm well past the squatting and breathing stage," sneered Zhao. "It was absolutely ridiculous. Firebending isn't about squatting and breathing, old man."

He was stepping well outside the bounds of etiquette and respect now, and he knew it. But he had been pushing Jeong-Jeong further and further lately, testing him, seeing if the black-haired, thick-browed firebender had a breaking point.

"Breath is an essential skill for firebending. It gives us control and focus. Without these things, our fire becomes unmanageable; a wildfire raging without end to the destruction it may cause. Never forget that fire is dangerous."

Yes, fire is dangerous. But danger is power. Fire is power. Fire; the one element that could turn something from life to death in the space of seconds. The one thing that consumed its enemies and left no trace. The fear that was at the primal heart of every living thing, even humans. Fire.

Control. Control only limited what you could do. Had the old fool never seen a wildfire? It was magnificent. It was fire unleashed, unfettered. Fire consuming to its full potential. A solid wall of light and heat and power, roaring its triumph over the puny, perishable earth. Who had a right to stifle that beauty?

"Besides," Jeong-Jeong interrupted his pleasurable musing. "Squatting and breathing makes you look like a fool. That's good. It keeps you humble. The downfall that most often affects firebenders is pride. They get arrogant, overconfident. That's why I keep making you do it."

Rage burned in Zhao. So his lessons were all designed to make him look stupid? What sort of training method was that?

The old man was afraid of him. It was the only conclusion he'd been able to draw. That was why he kept him doing useless exercises and criticizing his lack of control. He was afraid of what might happen if Zhao unleashed his strength at full-force.

His lip must have curled involuntarily with contempt, because suddenly Jeong-Jeong's eyes flashed dangerously with fury. "And no more of those tricks with leaves and flowers, Zhao!" he snapped, his voice crackling with anger. "You will be no student of mine if you carry out such impulses!"

Zhao resisted the urge to smirk. Good. He'd unsettled the old man enough for him to have an outburst, to come right out and say what was really bothering him. And what an empty threat, disowning him as a student. To tell the truth, Zhao already knew all he needed to know.

"No control," whispered Jeong-Jeong, almost to himself. His voice had gone dangerously soft, but there was an edge of regret and disgust in it. "No control at all."

"What was that, old man?" Zhao asked. He'd heard what he'd been hoping for buried in the firebender's voice. A touch of fear.

"You have no control, Zhao," repeated Jeong-Jeong, deadly calm. "And without that, you are doomed as a firebender. No matter how much you practice or fight or destroy, you will have doomed yourself from the start."

Zhao laughed outright, mocking. "Doomed, am I? Doomed because I decided to test my powers on a single leaf instead of breathe?"

Jeong-Jeong shook his head slowly, pulling his rough cloak up around his neck a little further, as if protecting himself from some unseen menace. Then his looked up and pierced Zhao with those striking eyes.

"Today it was a leaf, Zhao," he said, his voice flat and cold and with a terrifying ring of prophecy to it. "Someday, it will be whole forests. It will be towns. It will be people, Zhao."

And the firebending master turned on his heel and retreated into his tent to meditate before the candles, leaving his student in the clearing alone, a satisfied smirk on his face.

If that was his destiny, then so be it.