The Lady of Cinders watches the firebender's temper flare, her head tilting slightly. The charm around her neck -- the charm filled with the ashes of a dead firelord -- glows warmly in recognition. She had never known the firelord when he was a boy, she had met King Dreus well into his adulthood, but she wonders if he was like this. She had heard he was rather a charming young man, until the madness had started to take him. Imagining Dreus as a boy is at odds with her last memories of him: boiling to death from inside on his own magic.

Until she had smothered him herself.

She gestures with one hand, scattering droplets of flame in every direction. All that had been dark and wet goes up in flames. It's an illusion, like all the rest of it. Damaging only in belief, not in reality. The heat imaginary, but terrible.

"You're a tempestuous boy."