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Chapter Text

Zuko saves the life of a little Earth Kingdom girl.

He doesn’t mean to. It just sort of... happens.

It’s the cold and soggy morning after Zuko has freed the Avatar, and the river he’s following is wide and swollen with ice melt. The morning sun dyes the rapids white and gold, and Zuko’s hoping it’ll lead him back to the harbor where the Wani and its crew are docked, or at least somewhere close to it. 

Zuko has no reference for exactly how far inland he’s been taken. It’s funny how waking up in the middle of the woods after being maybe-kidnapped by your child enemy tends to be disorienting, but the map he has in his head puts him somewhere to the west of the Stronghold, in territory that is a loose patchwork of Earth and Fire that so far no one has wasted bodies trying to dominate.

He figures the best thing he can do is follow the swoop of the river to the sea, and hope that no one is missing him too badly. 

The crew he’s not too worried about. They mostly keep to their business and leave him to his. 

Uncle though…

Knowing Uncle, he’s probably already figured out where Zuko’s gone and what he’s been up to - they were together when they got the missive about the Avatar’s capture - and is now nervously fretting about the ship waiting for either his nephew’s triumphant return or for Zhao to show up and drop off his arrow-ridden corpse. 

When he gets back he’s getting the lecture of a lifetime, but he’s weirdly looking forward to it (there will probably be yelling, his family is a lot of things but quiet is not one of them) because at least when Uncle does it, he knows it comes from a place of worry. 

Of genuine… care. 

(Zuko doesn’t think love because that word has never meant anything to him that doesn't also equal pain. ) 

Zuko travels briskly, but the soreness in his limbs from last night’s “activities” makes him slower than he’d like. His eyes throb with exhaustion, so he crouches by the river’s edge to drink and splash his face with cold water, which helps a little. 

Zuko walks for another hour or so, during which time he weighs the pros and cons of finding some tree or cave in which to quietly pass the fuck out, when he catches the acrid smell of woodsmoke on the breeze. He walks a little further, and he realizes that the river has led him to the outskirts of an Earth Kingdom village, a tiny one, maybe a dozen or so houses all clustered together and hidden among the trees. 

It’s still early, but people are already awake and milling about. Adults wander from house to house exchanging goods and chatting with neighbors. Zuko’s too far away to hear words, but their expressions are warm. A few children holding pails and baskets yawn their way through early-morning chores, and pig-chickens honk and bray around their feet. Agni’s light burns through the mist, giving everything a soft glow. 

It looks… peaceful. 

It makes Zuko’s stomach turn.

(Words from a lifetime ago rise up quicker than Zuko can squash them - maybe you can find a nice Earth Kingdom family to adopt you. 

 He stands there in the shadows, heart beating like a war drum, and watches these strangers, these peasants, go about their day like the world is fine and everything is normal, and he aches and aches with the phantom feeling of loss .) 

Zuko forces himself to look away. This village will probably be burnt to ashes before long, the tide of the war has turned vicious like that. All the tiny homes will have vanished, all the people either dead or driven away. His father isn’t interested in anything other than complete submission from the Earth.

Bitterness blooms on the back of Zuko’s tongue and he swallows it down with the ease of long practice. He has to be a prince now. He can be human later. 

A twig snaps somewhere to Zuko’s left and his hands fly to his swords, bracing for an attack. When none comes, he ducks behind the nearest tree, swinging himself up onto a low-hanging branch, and peers around the trunk seeking the source of the sound. 

A little girl carrying a basket full of forest greens strolls right underneath his hiding spot, oblivious to his presence. She’s dressed warmly in soft Earth Kingdom colors, and hums a simple tune to herself as her breath turns to mist in the air. 

Zuko lets some of the tension leave him, feeling weirdly embarrassed. Azula would be on the floor cackling if she could see him now. The great Prince Zuko, frightened of a child. 

He waits for her to step onto the wooden bridge that connects Zuko’s side of the river to the village before he hops soundlessly down from his perch to continue his journey. 

He needs to pick up the pace. The Yuyan are definitely tracking him, and he doesn’t even want to think about what Zhao will do to him if he’s captured. It’ll hurt, he’s bone-weary and dead on his feet, but the sooner he gets back to the ship, the better. Plus the sooner he rests, the sooner he can banish the searing images of smiling villagers and humming girls from his thoughts and get back to focusing on the mission. 

His mission. 

The Avatar. 

Zuko puts his back to the village, but before he can take even a single step, a high-pitched scream splits the air, making him freeze. He turns. 

The little girl is standing in the middle of the bridge, and now that he’s looking Zuko sees it’s less of a bridge and more of a log jam repurposed for transportation. The river bites and tears at the wood, Zuko can see places where chunks are missing and the logs are barely holding together. 

The scene unfolds before him like a nightmare. The ancient bridge makes a noise like a death knell and Zuko can only watch as the foundations crack and split  - 

As wood splinters and shatters - 

And suddenly the bridge is collapsing, plunging the girl and her basket down down down into the waiting maw of the river - 

- and Zuko’s feet are moving before his head even knows what’s happening. 

Zuko drops his swords, not even looking to see where they land, and sprints to the river bank with all his speed and then dives . The river is much, much deeper than it looks and cold as ice. Zuko’s head breaks the surface and he swims with all his strength to the spot where he saw the girl go under. 

She hasn’t come up for air. Zuko feels fear like a vice around his heart. He takes a breath, feels the flames lick at his lungs, giving him a burst of power, then dips below the rapids and opens his eyes to see . 

It’s chaos. Debris from the bridge tears at his clothes, the water stings his eyes, but he forces them to stay open. He searches frantically, long seconds passing where all he can see are broken logs and bubbles . He almost gives up hope when - there, in the dim light, a pale hand reaches out, a small body thrashes and kicks as the weight of the water drags her down. 

Zuko’s lungs are screaming, but they were trained for this, to hold his breath and mold it to his will. He dives once more, reaching half-blind into the murky water, until his hand finally brushes against another. Zuko grabs onto the child’s wrist and pulls, kicking out with his legs to try and drag them both to the surface. 

But the weight of both his clothes and the girl’s are too much, his legs are too tired. He feels himself weakening as the cold saps all the energy from his body and his inner fire flickers and whines at the lack of breath. 

For a brief, terrifying moment, Zuko is sure that he’s about to die, that his body will float, unremarkable, at the bottom of a random Earth Kingdom river until his bones are dust. He will forever be the banished prince. The unwanted son. The failure, who couldn’t even save a little girl. 

And worst of all, Uncle will mourn him in that quiet way of his, eyes rusted red and locked on the horizon, always searching for another foolish child who never came home.

Zuko drifts.

And then he remembers -- 

Never give up without a fight. 

Fire roars to life in Zuko’s chest, and he focuses all his chi into the soles of his feet, unable to make a flame but producing searing heat . Water turns to steam in an instant, and he and his cargo go blasting to the surface with a mighty whoosh. 

Two heads gasp for breath the second they’re free of the undertoe’s grasp, and Zuko steadies his flame by taking careful breaths of crisp, biting air in order to keep them afloat. 

The little girl coughs up a lake’s worth of water and clutches him desperately, and it’s a fight to keep the currents from ripping her away from him again. She’s freezing, Zuko can feel her teeth chattering against his collarbone, but she’s alive. She’s alive. He lets more warmth seep into his limbs from his core, and feels her curl into him, chasing the heat. 

A woman is shouting from the shore, and Zuko maneuvers them so he can paddle with one arm and hold the girl tight with the other. The rapids are fierce and his aching limbs cry out in agony, but Zuko is strong, and with a little more help from his bending they’re able to cut through the water with little resistance, slowly but surely making their way back to the riverbank.

A crowd of villagers has gathered, drawn by the commotion. 

As soon as they’re close the woman - the girl’s mother? - is rushing into the shallows to sweep the girl out of Zuko’s grasp and up into her arms. The girl is crying and the woman is crying, and around them thirty or so frozen Earth peasant faces stare at Zuko with a mixture of awe and fear . 

It’s then that he realizes that he’s still wearing the mask of the Blue Spirit, freshly dented from the tip of a Yuyan arrow. It’s honestly not the easiest thing to breathe in, and definitely not his first choice for diving head-first into the raging waters of an ice cold river to save a drowning child. 

But needs must. And he’s not about to give himself away to a bunch of commoners when he’s half-drowned and shivering. He keeps the mask on. 

There’s steam rising off of him. He can see it in the air, rings of vapor coiling around his arms and legs as his bending tries to get him warm again. Zuko slowly pulls himself from the river, taking a brief moment to check himself for injuries and broken bones, then leaps to his feet and makes to dash back to the safety of the trees, not waiting for the first terrified cry of oh shit, firebender. He makes it two steps before a hand darts out and grabs the sleeve of his gi. 

Zuko manages to stop himself from breaking the wrist that belongs to the hand but only just, and whips around to see who would dare to touch him and is surprised to find the girl’s mother. 

“Wait.” She sobs, falling to her knees while keeping her daughter in the fierce cradle of her arms. “Wait. Please. You saved Duri - you saved my daughter. How can I ever repay you?” 

Let me leave. Zuko thinks. Everybody is staring at him, staring at his mask. He hates it, being the center of attention like this. It makes his scar tingle and itch even though he knows it's hidden. 

He pulls his sleeve away and turns to face the woman fully. He doesn’t know what to say, is he supposed to say something? Something like “it’s no big deal, I do death defying stunts every day and twice on Sunday, your kid isn’t special.” 

The woman sees his hesitation and she repeats, in a louder voice like he didn’t hear her the first time: “ Please . How can I repay you?” 

(Something prickles at the back of Zuko’s senses, like words shouted from far away but barely heard. There is more meaning to those words than he knows how to interpret, and he shivers, but not from the cold.)

Agni, this is torture. 

These people are the enemy. Who cares if he saved one of their children, it was a moment of weakness, a mistake brought about by exhaustion and sentiment and other unforgivable things.  Every instinct in him screams at him to run, but the woman is still waiting for an answer. Her gaze pins him like nothing else ever has, and he scrambles for a reply, something that will set him free. 

His eye catches on a basket of blue something-berries, then on a blue teacup in the window of the nearest house - and the request comes into his mind with the quickness of lightning and sticks there, a burnt-in afterimage. 

“Blue.” Zuko says into the heavy silence. “Bring me something blue.” The villagers flinch at his voice. Zuko doesn’t blame them, his words scrape out of him like a blade from a sheath, deep and dangerous even to his own ear and a half. 

The woman recovers the fastest, says “As you wish,” with the reverence of a vassal to a lord, and then bows , what in Agni’s many hells, and then the village is a rush of movement as people dart back towards their homes, presumably to look for something blue to satisfy Zuko’s weird and random request. 

Internally, Zuko cheers, and fully intends to use the distraction to make his escape, when he’s stopped again by a tug on his pants. 

He looks down and the girl he saved is staring up at him with enormous green eyes, a look of chubby cheeked seriousness on her tiny face that Zuko can’t help but find adorable. 

“Is this okay?” She asks, and holds out her hand for Zuko’s inspection. A blue stone on a leather cord sits nestled in her palm. Zuko blinks, then takes it with careful fingers and holds it up to the light. It’s nothing special - just a simple fragment of blue quartz, the same type and size that can be found abundantly in every harbor market and Earth Kingdom port Zuko’s ever been to. 

But somehow, this little stone shines, more beautiful and more precious than the most skillfully hewn court sapphire. 

Zuko folds it into his grip and kneels down. 

“This is a very special thing you have.” He says softly. Even though she can’t see it, he smiles because it feels like he should. Children deserve smiles. 

The girl nods. “It’s my treasure!” 

“Treasure, huh? It’s very pretty.”

“My Daddy gave it to me before he had to go be a soldier.” 

Zuko closes his eyes and breathes, accepting this for all that it is. 

“I see.” He says softly. “It must mean a lot to you, then. Are you sure you want to give it to me?” 

“Yeah.” She says seriously. “You saved me, and it’s blue like you wanted!”

She’s got you there, he thinks. 

“Then I promise I’ll take good care of it.” Zuko takes the pendant and slips it over his mask so it rests against his collar. The stone is warm. It feels like having a second heartbeat thrumming in time with his own.

(Zuko doesn’t know it yet, but this is the moment when everything shifts - when forces more ancient than bending itself begin take hold, seeping into the essence of the little Fireling in the Blue Mask.)

 The girl’s face opens into a smile like the sun and she throws her arms around Zuko’s neck and holds onto him like he’ll disappear if she doesn’t - and Zuko is frozen.

He can’t remember the last time someone hugged him. 

Mom used to hug him all the time, before.... 

Well. 

Before . 

But that was a long time ago.

Carefully, as gently as if he were handling the most breakable glass ornament, Zuko folds his arms around Duri and holds her back.   

“You’re so warm.” Duri rubs her cheek against Zuko’s shoulder and he tries not to wince. 

“Thank you.”

“Hey, mister, are you a Spirit?” 

Zuko hums. He feels… playful. He reaches out to tug on Duri’s braid, a little matted from her dip in the river, and it makes her giggle. The world has narrowed to just him and this bright little creature. 

“Do I look like a Spirit?” 

“Yes!” 

“ Duri!” A shout interrupts them. An old man comes hobbling over, a fearful pinch around his mouth. He drops to his knees and rests his head against the dirt. “Forgive her, Spirit, she’s just a child, she doesn’t know what she’s doing!” 

Behind his mask, Zuko blinks.

Spirit? 

“Grandpa, look!” Duri pulls back and smiles at the old man. She points to her pendant around Zuko’s neck. “He took my offering!” 

The old man’s face pales as his gaze lands on the pendant. 

“Oma and Shu have mercy,” he breathes. 

Zuko feels like he’s missing something.  

The old man throws himself down with renewed vigor. “Please, Spirit!” He cries. “Do not take her from us! I know not what vows she has made to you, or what payment you have accepted, but please, I beg of you, she’s my granddaughter, my only granddaughter, do not take her away!” 

Zuko frowns. “Wait, I’m not --” 

“We have other offerings!” The old man cuts him off. “We have livestock - and, and barrels of sweetwine - take as many as you like! Anything but Duri!” 

Zuko’s starting to freak out a little now. “I wasn’t going to - I don’t need --” 

“Father, please.” Duri’s mother is back, along with some other villagers, holding a swath of bright blue cloth in her arms. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Our guest hardly seems like the child-thieving type.” She lays a hand on the old man’s back and slowly helps him to his feet. She turns to Zuko and smiles. “Are you, Master Spirit?”  

Zuko slowly shakes his head. Thinks - Spirit? What Spirit? Who are you calling a Spirit?  

The woman’s eyes twinkle. “I thought not.” She says. “I’ve prepared an offering of blue, just like you requested, but it looks like my daughter beat me to it.” She nods to the stone around Zuko’s neck. 

“Mama!” Duri runs over and grabs onto her mother’s skirt. “He likes it!” She says “He likes my offering!” 

“Duri,” the woman chides softly. “You’re being rude, love. Master Spirit has done a very kind thing for you. We need to thank him properly, don’t you think? And then let him be on his way.” 

She takes her daughter and shows her how to kneel, how to position her hands and how to bow so that her head touches the earth. Then she does the same, addressing Zuko with something disturbingly like reverence in her tone.  

“Blessed Spirit, we thank you for the gift of this child’s life. We are forever in your debt.” The whole village is kneeling now, even the tiniest toddlers flopped down on their stomachs doing their best approximation of a bow. “Please, won’t you give us a name to call you? We would like to properly express our gratitude.” 

Oh.

Well shit. 

Now, Zuko isn’t the most pious person in the world. He’s always hated Fire Temple school and the Sages that made him say his prayers and memorize scripture till he was blue in the face, but even he knows that you don’t fuck around with the Other World. The Spirits are ancient and powerful, and to take the Name of one is a terrible sin. 

Respect the Spirits, and they will respect you. It was one of the first lessons Uncle ever taught him.

And now, somehow, he was fucking it up without even trying. 

Zuko tries not to panic, fails, then tries to think of something to say to the woman and the villagers because of course he can’t say “I’m not a Spirit, I’m just Zuko, Prince of the Fire Nation and your enemy in every possible way” - and he can’t given them an actual Name because that was just asking to get cursed.

And yet. 

The kneeling villagers look up at him with eyes that cut. They see him at the crossroads of what a Spirit can be - an enemy or a friend, a guardian or a demon. They are waiting to see what he will choose to be in that moment. 

They’re afraid. 

A strange energy fills the air, and the skin on Zuko’s arms erupts in gooseflesh. Zuko doesn’t know where he gets the courage to finally speak, but speak he does, and his words come out with a strength and pride he hasn’t felt since he sailed away from Caldera three years ago. 

“I have no Name.” Zuko says. “Call me what you like. The debt is paid, the girl’s life is now yours.”

He speaks like a Spirit would speak. With power and purpose and not a hint of doubt. And it works. A tangible relief seeps into the atmosphere and Zuko knows he’s done the right thing. 

This time, when he turns to leave, no one tries to stop him, no one calls out after him or grabs his clothes. Duri climbs to her feet and Zuko presses a coal-warm hand to her head as he passes. He hears her sniffle, and he meets her tearful gaze with the warmest look he can muster without a face. 

“Do you have to go?” Duri whispers.

“Yes.” 

“Will you come back?” 

Zuko hesitates. He looks over the gathered villagers, looks back to Duri and her earnest face. 

“Maybe someday.” 

“...Okay.” 

“Don’t be sad. We’ll see each other again.” 

“You promise?” 

Zuko leans down and touches the lips of his mask to the crown of Duri’s head, the same way Lu Ten used to do for him when he was small and scared after a nightmare. 

(He feels her hair on his lips, soft like turtleduck down, like the mask isn’t even there at all, like there is no line between where his skin ends and the mask begins - ) 

“On my honor.” 

He looks at her, looks at the villagers, takes in their simple homes and their simple lives, the quiet beauty of it all, and thinks I don’t want them to die. I don’t want them to burn. It’s a treasonous thought, and it knocks the breath from him. But he can’t take it back. He won’t.

When he passes under the gateway that marks the entrance to the village, Zuko stops. He splays his fingers across the wood and calls fire to his palm, pressing a burning handprint into the pillar while thinking safe safe keep them safe . 

When he’s done, the blackened image of his touch is left, and it feels right . He hopes it is enough, that whatever energy he has poured into this task will keep this bright village in the woods from harm when he cannot. 

He whispers, loud as thunder, quiet as prayer - 

“Spirits bless you and keep you, Biyu village.” 

And then he’s gone.

Iroh is not a man who panics.

In court, panic is a sign of weakness. On the battlefield, panic is what gets you killed.

It is for these reasons and many others that Iroh stays calm when Zuko does not join him for morning meditation on the deck of the Wani. 

He is calm when he knocks on Zuko’s door and discovers his nephew’s empty bed. 

He is calm when he notices that a certain pair of “decorative” dao blades are missing from their place on the wall. 

He is calm when he tells the cook to wrap Zuko’s breakfast up for later, that his nephew is “just sleeping in, don’t worry, a man needs his rest.”  

He is very much NOT calm when Zuko comes stumbling up onto the deck at midday in his plainclothes (portholes, he must have used the portholes, he’s too skinny if he’s able to use the portholes without getting stuck), limping and looking like he’d spent the night wrestling with a platypus bear.

Iroh will not be proud of this later, but he takes one look at Zuko and can’t stop himself from yelling: “What in the name of Agni and all His Fire have you done to yourself!?” 

And his nephew flinches, like he always does when someone raises their voice, instinctual like he can’t help it. Iroh strides forward and grabs Zuko’s arm, dragging him back down to his own quarters so they can have this conversation away from prying eyes. 

(Not that he doesn’t trust the crew with his life, he does. But there are very few people that he trusts with Zuko , himself included.) 

Iroh makes Zuko sit on the bed. He hasn’t said anything yet, simply followed Iroh down with barely a tug of resistance, which is more worrying than both the massive bruise on his temple and the obvious way he’s favoring his ribs combined. His eyes are wide and unfocused where they rest on the floor. 

“Zuko?” Iroh says softly. He reaches out and lays a gentle hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Nephew?” 

Zuko’s head snaps up and he stares at Iroh like he’s just noticed he’s there. 

“Uncle?” He sounds so young.  

“ Zuko .” And oh, Iroh wants to do something foolish like give the boy a hug. He doesn’t, and secretly hates himself for it, but he knows that gestures of kindness are beyond his nephew now, and will only hurt where once they were meant to soothe. 

The child he used to hold in his arms when he was small was burned to death by his father’s own hand, and Iroh grieves for him every day. “You are hurt. You should let the ship’s doctor take a look at you.”

“...I’m just tired.”

“Zuko.” 

“I’m fine, Uncle, I don’t need a doctor.”

“You are not fine!” The shout surprises both of them. Zuko pulls away from him and looks like he’s trying very hard not to cry. Iroh kicks himself and tries again. 

“Oh my nephew,” He says, softly, like he’s soothing an animal. “What has happened?” What have you done?  

“...I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Iroh sighs. He doesn’t know what else he expected. 

“That is your right.” He relents. “However, I can see that you are injured. I suggest you take the day off. Catch up your rest, nephew, I’m sure you need it.” 

He’s expecting shouting, more resistance, for the fuse to blow and the angry protests to come spilling out like blood between them. But they never do. Instead, Prince Zuko sits quietly on Iroh’s bed and nods his head yes.

Iroh needs tea, s trong tea, to deal with… whatever this is. 

He rises to leave, maybe a bit of space will help his nephew clear his head, to come back to himself. Iroh admits that this is unfamiliar territory for him. He’s used to a Zuko who knows exactly what he needs, who fights and shouts and rages at the world and tries so hard to be like the father he loves but who never loved him. 

(Is it something to do with the Avatar? Probably. That’s what everything seems to be about nowadays. Agni, Iroh loves his nephew, but he has always been a very single-minded child.)

Iroh has his hand upon the iron latch of the door when Zuko calls to him: “Are you angry?” 

Iroh stops dead. 

What in Agni’s many Hells? 

He turns to Zuko, and he’s sure his face is full of the shock and worry he isn’t quite able to hide, and he startles at the sheer vulnerability on his nephew’s face. “Of course not.” Iroh says honestly. “I am simply concerned for you, but that is not a new feeling, trust me.” He tries to joke and gets a whisper-light snort for his trouble. 

“And,” Iroh continues. “I trust that you will come to me when you are ready to say what needs to be said. I do not begrudge you your secrets nephew, I only hope that you know that I am here for you, whatever you need.” 

Zuko doesn’t smile, but his face softens in a way it rarely does. Iroh takes this for the miracle that it is and doesn’t push his luck. 

“I’ll go make us a nice pot of ginseng, shall I?” Iroh says with a smile. “And have someone bring you breakfast. I can hear your stomach rumbling from here.” Zuko nods and goes back to staring at nothing.

Iroh does not panic. 

Even though he very much wants to. 

(break)

(The path back to the Wani is cloudy in Zuko’s memory. He feels… detached. Sort of see-through and sleepy. He sees himself from the outside, watches as he goes to retrieve his dao, and then treks the untold miles downriver until he comes upon the port where his ship is waiting. 

There’s something off about that, but he doesn’t know what. 

He knows this is the right port - they docked here last night, he remembers the little bao shop Uncle was so excited about, and the angry merchant brothers who tried to sell them ‘genuine Fire Nation surplus’ - but how did he get here so fast? Zuko thought he still had hours and hours left to travel, thought he wouldn’t make it back home until nightfall at least. 

And yet he’s here, standing on deck in his comfy clothes - when did he change? Where is his mask? his swords? He feels naked without them - and then Uncle is holding his arm and sitting him down and making him eat, asking him questions that he doesn’t want to answer - can’t answer

And thinking really hurts his brain right now, so he lets his thoughts and worries spiral into the ether and doesn’t go looking for them. Just lets himself feel dizzy and intangible and chalks it all up to being really fucking tired.

He doesn’t see the shadows that follow his every move, the sharp teeth and excited smiles that flash at him from the space-in-between.

He doesn’t notice as the Other World begins to move .)  

Chuanli began the morning thinking that he had lost his granddaughter to the river. 

After losing his sons to the war, he’d thought the gods had had their fill of tormenting him, but evidently he was wrong. He would remember Duri’s terrified scream until the day he died, the way his heart stopped with grief and horror. 

He didn’t see the bridge collapse or watch her fall, but he knew that she had, the same way he knew the sand from the shale, the bedrock from the soil. The Earth had never lied to him, and it cried out with panic. 

“DURI!” His daughter-in-law screamed. Two men grabbed her arms, stopping her from throwing herself into the river after her child. She thrashed like a wild thing. “Someone, my daughter, PLEASE --!” 

The morning stillness shattered and people came running, but there was barely time for a proper panic to build amongst those on the shore, let alone a rescue, before the river was parting and two heads appeared at the surface. 

One was Duri, Spirits be praised, and just the sight of her made Chaunli’s knees go weak with relief, but the other was… Well, Chuanli wasn’t quite sure. 

It became clear as the pair approached the shore, gliding with an unnatural ease that set Chuanli’s teeth on edge, like the water wasn’t even a factor, that the one who had saved his grandchild was not human. 

The Spirit, for what else could it be, this being that had wrestled back the rage of the river and taken a meal from its jaws, was dressed in black from head to foot, and wore on its face the visage of a snarling blue devil. 

It’s entire form was… glowing, the air around it shimmering and shifting like the light couldn’t decide where to settle on its body. The Earth sang. 

The Spirit released Duri back to the arms of her mother, and because she had been taught well, his daughter-in-law asked what it wanted as payment for its act of kindness. The Spirits always demanded payment. 

It asked for something… blue. 

Strange, but no one was about to question the desires of Duri’s savior, and so they all set about procuring an offering. Chaunli had even gone to fetch his favorite teacup, the one his wife had teased him for buying on a sunny day at the market some 50 years ago, and when he returned, his granddaughter was in the arms of the Spirit. 

Fear gripped him, and for a moment he was sure his precious Duri was about to be Taken, as that was what happened when the Spirits took a liking to people and things. Chuanli dropped to his knees and pleaded with the Spirit, begging it to take something else, anything else .  

But then the Spirit pulled back, and oh, around its neck hung the blue quartz pendant Du-Yi had given his daughter the day before he was called to the front. 

And Chaunli understood. 

  That morning, all of Biyu knelt before the Spirit in gratitude, and his daughter-in-law asked for it’s blessed name, for how could you pay proper tribute to a Spirit without it’s name on your tongue?  

When the Spirit spoke, it did so with a voice that sent the air vibrating with knowing, and it said that the debt was paid. It gave no Name, but the glint of the sun off its mask cast an unmistakable shadow of blue, and in his heart Chaunli knew what words to speak, to whom to send his prayer.  

When the Spirit left, it looked down on little Duri with kindness and warmth, and left a blessing in her hair. And then, demanding neither payment nor rites, left yet another blessing at the gateway to the village. 

Chaunli could hardly believe it. 

Since he was a child, he had always been taught the fickleness of the Spirits, how they acted according to their whims with little care for the lives of humans. They were cruel, even if they didn’t mean to be. It was in their nature. 

There was none of that in this Spirit. And when it finally departed, the village felt a bit… cold. Like they had been standing in a sunbeam and moved to a place of shadow. Duri cried, hiding her face in her mother’s skirt, who shushed her gently and told her that Spirits always kept their promises, that one day, the Blue Spirit would return. 

Chuanli wasn’t sure if the thing he was feeling was sorrow or joy. 

A day later, the Fire Nation came and broke down his door. They told him they were looking for a fugitive - a man in a blue mask who carried duel swords and who freed the Avatar in the dead of night from a stronghold famed for its impregnability. 

Chuanli knew exactly who they were looking for. 

When they questioned him, shooting sparks at his feet and knocking over all the furniture in his home, he held his tongue, as did every man woman and child in Biyu, because they were grateful, and loyal, and they knew better than to squander a blessing, such a rare thing is this time of unending war. They didn’t cooperate, and this infuriated the soldiers, but especially one soldier in particular. 

He was a tall man with a scowl for a mouth and long sideburns down the sides of his face. He gathered the villagers in the square and shouted at them, demanding they tell him what they knew. 

When no one came forward, the soldier grabbed a boy from the crowd and held a flame to his face, threatening to burn him if no one stepped forward to give him the information he desired. There was a collective holding of breath, the boy’s eyes were large and terrified, and Chuanli was sure he was about to witness yet another tragedy -- 

And then the soldier’s flame went dark. A shadow fell over the entire village, and the soldier’s eyes, so fierce and full of rage only a moment ago, turned glassy and unfocused. He let the boy slip from his hold back into the crowd and just stood there, silent as a doll. 

A long moment passed, and then the soldier turned to his men and ordered them to retreat. 

“He’s not here.” He said, voice oddly flat. “Move out.”

Another soldier startled at the sudden change in his superior’s mood. 

“But sir,” he protested. “We still haven’t done a thorough --” 

“I said move out!” 

And there was no arguing with the man after that. The Fire soldiers filed out of the village with a mixture of bafflement and a little fear. They, too, felt the shadow fall, protective in one way and menacing in another. 

That day, a small shrine was built in the Earth Kingdom village of Biyu. The image of a Spirit, carved with careful hands and painted white and blue, rested within the shrine, and the villagers placed before it offerings of bluequat berries and porcelain and quartz -- every item its own shade of blue. 

And every day after that, a little girl tended to the shrine and sent its master her prayers, and life went on.

Biyu and its people were the first to know and worship the Blue Spirit, but they were not the last.  

(In the middle of the sea, a prince tastes berries on his tongue and doesn’t know why. Wherever he goes, the air is perfumed with incense, sweet and heavy and unlike anything he has ever smelled. He feels… safe. Feels strong and fierce and loved.

It’s a new feeling.

He wears the little stone around his neck under his armour and never ever takes it off.)

Chapter Text

In his dreams, Zuko is a bird, and he flies on blue wings over a vast wasteland. 

Looking down, the ground is scorched and black. He looks for a tree, a shrub, anything to land on, but finds there are none. 

He knows, somehow, that nothing grows here or will ever grow again, and Zuko’s breast fills with exquisite sorrow. He keens at the loss. 

Fire. 

Fire did this. 

It razed the Earth and dried up the Water and filled the Air with poison, and now that there is nothing left to burn, the Fire has died as well. Zuko is alone in a ruined world, and it feels like his fault. 

The sun is hot on his back, the warmth like soothing fingers through his feathers. Zuko knows their touch, he has known it his whole life. Agni is here. Agni is with him. The Great Spirit flies by his side above this tragedy, and Zuko wants to call out to Him, to join Him in the Sky Above the Sky. 

But he can’t. His wings are too small, his heart too heavy. Zuko’s spirit is still tethered to the ground, to this land destroyed by Fire, and the voices of its ghosts rise up to meet him - 

(do you think we could’ve been friends?) 

(- love you. Everything I have ever done -) 

( - respect, and suffering will be your teacher) 

(exile, my nephew is more honorable -) 

(hey, mister, are you a Spirit?)

They’re loud, so loud, and Zuko can’t think, can’t cry out except to say I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so so sorry - 

And then Agni is there, with a soft touch and a voice like summer that seeps into his very soul and makes him feel giddy and light. 

Peace, Little Flame, He says. Soon you will understand, soon you will Know .   

And Zuko thinks - Know what ? What am I supposed to know ? 

But Agni has already left him and his wings are growing tired. They cramp and crumble and his feathers start to fall off one by one, little blue pieces fluttering behind him on the sour wind. 

It hurts to keep flying, it hurts so much but Zuko doesn’t want to fall, he doesn’t want to die - 

His wings vanish. 

He cries out  - 

He falls.

Zuko jolts into consciousness, heart pounding. 

His limbs are a tangle of red sheets and sweaty skin, and his breath punches out of him fast and shallow. He’s still in Uncle’s room, the remains of the porridge he was forced to eat on the bedside table along with some long-cold tea in Uncle’s favorite cup.  

He can’t tell if it’s day or night, Uncle’s room has no windows, and his sun-sense is screwed to hell after having slept for Agni knows how long. 

He’s also alone, which means he’s free to scrub a hand over his eyes, and if a tear or two slips out then, well, that’s between him and Agni and exactly no one else. 

Zuko takes a breath. 

He holds it the way Uncle showed him how to do when he was in pain and dying and half his vision was lost to him forever, and then lets it out as slowly as he can manage. 

(In two three, out two three, that’s it Zuko just like that you’re doing so well -)

It works, and his whole body sags into the mattress. 

Zuko lies there in the semi-darkness and tries to chase the fading tail of his dream, tries to remember what he was told, what he was shown, but it slips through his memory like water and all he’s left with is a crippling sadness and deep-seated sense of wrong.  

He’s so tired, in a bone-deep way he’s never been before, and it would be so easy to close his eyes and relax into the gentle rocking of the ship, to let his exhaustion win and fall back into blissful sleep - 

But he can’t. The sailor in Zuko forbids it. He has responsibilities. Duties to his ship and his crew. And the mission. Always the mission. So, Zuko reluctantly untangles himself  from the familiar tea and smoke smell of Uncle’s blankets and hauls his sorry carcass out of bed.

He leaves Uncle’s room and makes his way to his own quarters down the hall, bare feet stinging against the cold metal floor. He’s still wearing his comfy clothes, and briefly entertains the idea of just leaving them on, but they’re damp and rumpled and reek of sweat - and despite the handful of semi-traitorous, highly un-royal things he’s done in the past two days, Zuko, son of Ozai, son of Ursa, is still a prince. 

So he dresses in fresh black underclothes, choosing one of his less involved sets of armor to go over the top, and pulls on soft leather boots - his favorite pair with the little gold dragons on the heel. 

He washes his face in the basin by his bed, the water a day old but still fresh enough to do the job, and ties his hair up into a respectable phoenix plume. Once he’s clean and dressed and ready for battle, Zuko takes a second to sit on the edge of his bed and take stock of himself as a whole. 

He feels… different. In a way that is fundamental yet unfamiliar. 

He can’t explain it other than he feels… fuller. Like he’s grown three inches overnight and is looking at the world from a higher point of view. There is an electric buzz that dances over his skin, and the air smells strange, kind of like the Fire Temple but also not. 

( A little blue stone rests against the bare skin of his collar, warm and thrumming and more precious than gold. It didn’t even occur to him to take it off. He runs his thumb over the surface and he sees a little girl’s smile, feels her gratitude and love.)

If things were normal, Zuko would just say he was sick and be done with it - people who fall (jump) into rivers get sick all the time. 

But things are not normal. Zuko’s worried things won’t ever be normal again. 

So, Zuko does what he always does when he feels like his whole life is falling apart - he picks himself up and goes to work. 

Zuko climbs the stairs to the deck and has to shield his eyes against the sudden change from dark to light.

He blinks, and takes in the sea and the waves, the crewman bustling about coiling rope and moving crates and just doing sailor things. The acrid oil-and-brine smell of the Wani works its magic and Zuko feels himself settle. 

He’s home. 

He spots Uncle Iroh standing near the bow with Lieutenant Jee, their heads bowed in conversation. Zuko makes sure his steps are loud against the deck as he strides over to them, and Uncle hears him and looks up, his face immediately softening when their eyes meet. 

“Ah! You’re awake!” Uncle meets him halfway and cups his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. He’s hiding it well, but Zuko sees the worried crease at the corners of his mouth, the dark tinge under his eyes. “How are you feeling, Prince Zuko?” 

Fucking weird , he doesn’t say. His head hurts, Shadows flicker in the corners of his vision and there are things being whispered in his ear that might as well be shouts for how much they beat against Zuko’s brain.

“Rested.” Zuko says, and it’s only a half-lie.  

“I am glad to hear it,” Uncle says with a smile. “You slept through yesterday afternoon and into the night. The crew was worried.” I was worried. “It’s reassuring to know you’re feeling better.” 

“Better” is not the word he’d use. 

“Lieutenant.” Zuko addresses Jee who stands at rest over Uncle’s shoulder. “What is the status of my ship?” 

“We’ve refuelled and resupplied per your orders, sir.” Jee says, with only half his usual undercurrent of ‘I can’t believe this child outranks me.’ Zuko must really look like shit. “We’re ready to move out on your command.” 

“Good. Tell the crew to make ready for departure. We set sail in an hour.”

“Aye, sir.” Jee bows, and goes to carry out his orders. 

“Are you sure you wish to depart so soon, Prince Zuko?” Uncle asks, frowning. “It wouldn’t hurt to wait another day or two. There is no shame in taking time to rest.”

“I’m sure.” Zuko says. “The quicker we’re out to sea, the better.” 

The quicker he gets away from this stretch of Earth the better. 

“At least have something to eat first.” Uncle reasons. “You can’t go from dead asleep to terrorizing the crew without something in your stomach. Why don’t you accompany me down the galley and we can have the cook whip something up for you?” 

“ No .” Zuko says firmly. “I need to tend to my ship. I can eat later.” Truthfully, he just wants to be outside. The sky is blue and the air is fresh and Zuko missed it so much while he was asleep. 

“Counter-offer,” Uncle says. “Crewman Shin!” He calls a nearby officer. 

Crewman Shin stands from where he’s hammering in a loose bolt in the railing and salutes. “Yes sir?” 

“Would you be opposed to fetching two lunches from the galley for my nephew and I? So we can enjoy a nice meal in the sun?”

“Not at all, General.” Crewman Shin says with a bow. 

“Also, a blanket from my room. Oh, and my tea set - the jade one with the little frogs on it.”  

“Of course, General.” 

“There.” Uncle says to Zuko. “I’ve brought the food to you. Will you promise to eat it, or do you insist on starving to death?” 

Zuko grits his teeth and spits out a reluctant “fine”, then storms away before Uncle can speak, eager to ready his ship for getting the fuck out out of here. 

He spends the next half hour walking the deck and getting report from the crewman on the state of various repairs, and then spends another plotting their future course with the helmsman up above.

 He feels Uncle’s eyes on him the entire time, watching, quietly fretting, but Zuko ignores him, too busy letting himself fall into the security of routine. 

Zuko is back on deck when Shin returns balancing two trays, one with the tea set, the other with two bowls of curry and some bread, a familiar red blanket draped over his arm. Uncle takes the trays and asks Shin to spread out the blanket, which he does.

Uncle sits down on the blanket with an oof, then looks up at Zuko and pats the spot next to him in clear invitation. Zuko rolls his eyes but sits, maintaining perfect seiza even when Uncle doesn’t. Uncle grins and holds out a steaming plate piled high with rice and sauce and bread, and Zuko accepts it with all the bored dignity he can muster.  

(Zuko can endure this if it makes Uncle happy. He’s made him worry. He hates when he does that.)

The curry is good. It’s fresh-made and savory and it fills Zuko’s nose with spice. It’s only when the first bite hits him that he realizes how hungry he is, and he has to stop himself from shoveling the whole thing into his mouth like a heathen. 

Beside him, Uncle makes a deeply contented noise. 

“It’s been so long since we’ve had a picnic, nephew.” He says. “We should do this more often!” 

“This isn’t a picnic.” Zuko grumbles. He takes another bite. 

“We have our lunch.” Uncle counters. “We have a blanket. We’re outside on a beautiful day. What else would you call it?” 

“An interruption.” Zuko grumbles, but Uncle just laughs and pats his shoulder. They sit together and eat and Zuko hungrily absorbs the sunlight into his skin. Despite everything it feels… nice. Zuko’s not used to things being nice. 

Then Uncle has to go and ruin it. 

“So, what’s our plan for going after the Avatar?” 

Zuko chokes on a spoonful of curry and it sends him into a coughing fit. Uncle pats his back.

“What?” He rasps once he has his voice back. 

“Perhaps I forgot to mention.” Uncle hums, stroking his beard. “It seems the Avatar has escaped his imprisonment in Pohuai Stronghold. They say he was aided by a single intruder. A masked swordsman they’re calling ‘the Blue Spirit.’ It’s all quite exciting.” 

“...I see.” Zuko says slowly. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. He’ll know if you panic. “How... unfortunate.” 

“Oh yes. This truly is a sad day for the Fire Nation.” Uncle says ‘sad day’ the way other people say ‘they were out of pig-chicken eggs.’ “Of course Admiral Zhao must be disappointed. I hope the Fire Lord isn’t too hard on him, I’m sure he tried his best.” 

Zuko hides a snort behind a cough, but can’t hide the self-satisfied smirk that follows. He hopes Uncle sees it as just his usual level of Zhao-adjacent disdain rather than an admission of guilt.

“So are we?” Uncle prompts. 

“Are we what?” 

“Going after the Avatar?” 

“Of course we are!” Zuko snaps. As if there was any other option. 

“Peace, nephew, it was just a question. I just thought you might want to take some time off, seeing as you decided to go missing for two days.” 

“I didn’t go missing.” Zuko says. “I was just… on a walk.” 

“A walk.” 

“Yes.” 

“For two days ?” 

“...It was a long walk.” 

“I see. Funny thing about long walks, they tend to be eventful. Did anything… eventful happen on your long walk?” 

Yes, Zuko thinks. 

And fuck, in that moment he wants nothing more than to tell Uncle the truth. He’s a balloon of secrets full to bursting, and something in him hurts in a way he can’t describe. Uncle would know what to do, he always does, and Zuko’s so close to blurting it all out, to letting the whole sorry tale unfold between them, damn the consequences. 

 But.

Zuko really doesn’t want to explain the convoluted reasoning behind his attack on Pohuai, and he really really doesn’t want to explain the whole debacle with Duri and Biyu (was that what the village was called? He doesn’t remember, but the name tastes right on his tongue) or to try and put into words the singularly uncomfortable experience of being called ‘Spirit.’ 

So he says “No.” and leaves it at that.  

The silence builds. Uncle’s kind eyes bore into his cheek and Zuko swallows his guilt. 

“...I see.” Uncle sighs after a long minute. “Forgive me, nephew, I didn't mean to pry.” 

“...It’s fine.” Zuko mutters. He’s disappointed. He thinks. I’ve disappointed him. 

Uncle puts a hand on his shoulder and it is warm. “Nephew.” He says, gently forcing Zuko to meet his gaze. “I don’t acknowledge this as often as I should, but you are already a fine young man. You’re sixteen now, old enough to make your own decisions, to follow your own path. But know that you do not always have to walk it alone. I will be there to support you, whatever it is you choose to do.”

Zuko’s chest feels tight. His eyes sting. 

“I know, Uncle.” 

Above them, a solitary sea-raven circles and keens, and Zuko finds something heart-achingly familiar in the shape of its lonely shadow against the sky.  

(Blue wings. Words in his ear that he can’t remember but knows are important.) 

“Ah, your plate is empty, let me fill it for you.” Uncle plucks Zuko’s half-full plate from his hands and spoons some of his own curry onto it. There’s more there now than Zuko could ever hope to finish. “Good food is good for the soul, nephew. I often find my troubles are made lighter by a nice hearty meal.”

Zuko snorts. “Not everything can be fixed with food, Uncle.” 

Uncle laughs. 

“Nonsense. Have some more bread.”

Iroh is not ashamed to admit that he’s trying to feed his nephew. 

The poor child is so skinny, all muscle and rage and no body fat to speak of. Children should be plump and happy. Iroh can’t remember the last time Zuko was either of those things. 

His nephew is strangely quiet beside him. Not the same terrifying level of silence as yesterday, thank Agni, but still. Zuko holds himself like he’s trying not to run, knuckles white and face pale with eyes that glint bronze instead of gold. His hand keeps drifting up to his throat, fingers brushing over his collar in a strange habit that Iroh has never seen before. 

He’s stressed. And Iroh is very stressed, so he pours himself a cup of tea, the crew knows how he likes it, and then one for his nephew.  

Zuko doesn’t take it, but the wafting smell of jasmine must offer some comfort because something loosens in his shoulders, some of the tense energy dissipating.

Iroh takes responsibility for some of that tenseness. He should have known better than to push. Zuko can stonewall better than an Earth Kingdom soldier, and has the stubbornness to match. 

All Iroh can hope for now is that Zuko will come to him if things start to go south (which they tend to do, Spirits bless him but his nephew is as unlucky as they come), and that there will still be enough time to salvage the situation. 

In the meantime, Zuko needs something to keep himself distracted. If he’s distracted, he can’t get into mischief. 

And Iroh has the perfect thing for it. 

“Well, nephew,” Iroh begins. “This has been a lovely picnic -” 

“Not a picnic.” Zuko mutters. 

“ - And I know you have a ship to launch, and I have a cup of tea to finish. But if it’s not too much trouble I have a favor to ask.” 

Zuko frowns in suspicion. “...What is it?”  

“Lately, it feels as if I’ve become rusty on some of the basic bending katas. It’s not surprising, I have let myself go a tiny bit. If you can spare the time, would you mind practicing with me? I don’t want to lose my touch.” 

“Uncle,” Zuko deadpans. “I saw you use the Breath of the Dragon to scare off a pelican-gull last week.” 

“It took my cookie!” Iroh defends. 

Zuko groans, but Iroh sees the smile it hides and he knows he’s won. 

“Fine.” Zuko stands. “Later, though. When I’m not busy.” 

Iroh resists the very un-princely urge to fist pump. 

“Thank you, nephew, you are doing this old man a great kindness.” 

Zuko rolls his eyes and says something like “not even that old”, and Iroh takes his victory with staggering relief and looks forward to putting his boy through his paces.

The Wani pulls into port late that afternoon when the sky is just starting to smear from blue into orange. Zuko’s stretched it as far as he could, but even he admits that he’s exhausted every possible task he could be doing (he even tried to help with laundry, laundry , the crewman on duty had looked ready to faint) and resigns himself to baby-bending with Uncle. 

He changes into short sleeves and meets Uncle on deck. The old Dragon looks unfairly pleased. 

“Just the basics, Prince Zuko.” Uncle says like he’s trying to reassure him. “I’m not as spry as I used to be.” 

Zuko snorts, and settles himself into the first kata with his hands raised. Uncle grins and does the same. Fire ignites between them, and they begin. 

For the first time in a long time, Zuko truly finds clarity in his firebending. 

He and Uncle run through the basic katas for hours and hours, losing themselves in form and movement and stance. The air sizzles with heat, fuelled by the late-afternoon sun that shines unobscured in the sky, and Zuko is mortified to realize that he’s enjoying himself. 

That he’s having… fun. 

There is no urgency to this task. No life-or-death battle, no palace Master stood over him with a stick and a scowl. It’s just Zuko and Uncle, bending together because they can.  

It feels a little like how things were. When Uncle was home from the war and he, Zuko, and Lu Ten would go to the old garden behind the palace barracks and throw fire at each other, spending whole afternoons making up games and goofing around for no other reason than it made them all smile. 

(Father always disapproved of those times, because of course he did. Don’t waste your time on useless things. He’d say. Haven’t you shamed this family enough?) 

At some point, Uncle stops to lean against the rail and rub his back, and Zuko is left to continue the dance alone. 

Zuko aches for his swords. He wants to see them arc with flame, wants to extend his senses over the steel. He’s a swordsman as much as he’s a bender, and he never feels as whole as he does when his Fire and his Blade are one. 

Zuko works through his fundamentals kata by kata until he’s drenched with sweat and twilight throws its sparkles across the water. This is Zuko’s favorite time of day, which he’s always thought was strange. Firebenders rise with the sun, but Zuko loves the space between Agni’s set and the Moon’s rise, when the sky belongs to both of them and time seems to stop. 

Uncle offers him a towel and he takes it gratefully, wiping himself down. 

“Well done, nephew.” Uncle smiles. “I can safely say that you have mastered your basics. Your form is impeccable.” 

Zuko turns to look at the water so Uncle can’t see the redness in his cheeks.  

“I have a good teacher.” He murmurs. 

“Hm? Did you say something?” 

“Nothing.” 

Zuko feels refreshed by his workout in a way that he wasn’t by sleep, loose-limbed and warm, some of the strange energy that’s been swirling around inside him since this morning having burned away. He stretches and feels his back pop. 

“It’s getting dark.” Uncle says. “As enjoyable as this has been, nephew,” he yawns, “I'm tired .” He sniffs his arm. “And smelly. I’m going to have a bath and turn in for the night. What about you?” 

(For a moment something blue flutters in the corner of his eye, then disappears as quickly as it came.) 

“I think I’ll turn in, too.” He says. “It’s been... a long day.” 

“Good man.” Uncle says, turning to head below. Zuko follows. “I wonder what’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

Over the next week, the Wani winds her way down the coast, making port every few days to resupply and gather what information can be gleaned from sketchy traders and even sketchier port officials. It’s business as usual, for all intents and purposes. Like Puohai and the madness that followed never happened, the memory of it half-remembered like morning mist across the water. And Zuko would let it all evaporate like mist if he could. 

But lately he’s noticed something… strange. 

There’s a voice in his head. Or… voices? Maybe? Sometimes it feels like just the one, but then he’ll turn his head just so, or catch the light out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly he feels like he’s surrounded by a blanket of sound. Men, women, children, their words a thunderous whisper in his ear - and familiar , so familiar, yet foreign all the same. Once or twice he finds himself so lost in the tide of their song that he forgets where is he is, only to snap to attention when someone asks him a question, or smacks his face into a wall, or, in one memorable instance, is stopped from toppling ass-over-teakettle down the steps to the galley by Uncle’s firm and worried hand on his elbow. 

The crew keep sending him these half-concerned looks . Zuko’s skin crawls with the weight of them. 

So, he does his best to ignore it, to block out the voices with training and tracking and meditation. He even chokes down one of his Uncle’s nasty calming teas, which he promptly spits out over the side railing, to his Uncle’s dismay. Nothing helps. 

He works and he trains and he itches and itches until suddenly he can’t stand to itch a single second more. The need to get out burns through him like a forest fire, and so when the Wani docks at a sizable colony port ringed by a sprawling forest, Zuko makes his plans. 

He doesn’t escape the ship until night has truly fallen. 

There is no moon in the sky tonight. Zuko is just one thread in the tapestry of darkness that cloaks the land. 

He silently slips from the deck of the Wani to the pier below, and from there, takes to the rooftops, leaping gracefully from house to house until he reaches the edge of the forest. 

A mile or so from the harbor town he finds a clearing among the trees that he decides is far enough away from people that he won’t be distrubed. Zuko slides his dao out of their sheath in one smooth motion and does a few practice swings, then just like with his bending, starts in on the basic forms and goes from there. 

The metal sings. 

He slashes and parries, crossing blades with invisible enemies and pretending to cut them down.

He may not be a master swordsmen, but the dao are his in a way the flames never were. He chose the steel, picked them out from among hundreds of weapons in Master Piandao’s armory. It’s only been a week, but he missed his swords fiercely, and having them in his hands again is pure bliss. The buzzing in his brain quiets, and Zuko truly starts to feel like himself again. 

Zuko hadn’t really had time to savor them the last time they were needed. He’d been too busy trying not to be impaled. 

He’d also been wearing a very different face. Different enough to warrant a new name. 

The Blue Spirit. 

Ha. 

He even has a wanted poster. 

He wonders if someone called him that on purpose because they’d seen the play the mask was from, or if it was just coincidence. Either way, Zuko kind of likes the title. It makes him sound fierce and mysterious. 

He remembers it so clearly - the night he saved the Avatar. He remembers finding the stupid monk bound in chains (and what a sin, something in him cries, to keep the Air in a cage) and slicing through them with his dao. 

He remembers the seamless way they fought together, like they’d rehearsed it or something. Blade and Bridge, working toward a common goal. 

Most of all, though, Zuko remembers the fit of the mask over his face, the chaotic high of becoming another person, another being, one that he chose to be instead of something that was forced upon him.

If he pictures it in his mind, he can almost feel the brush of painted wood on his cheeks, the squeeze of ribbons tying themselves in a tight bow around his head. He imagines the mask taking shape over his features, the white grin of the mouth stretching over his lips, the curve of the eyes covering up his scar. 

His whole face tingles. There are bubbles on his skin. 

And then, suddenly, the mask is there . Materializing perfectly placed onto his face with a pop and a flash of blue.

Time grinds to a halt. 

Zuko reaches up and taps the wood with two fingers. It doesn’t bite, doesn’t burst into flames. In fact, it hardly feels like anything at all. The breeze still tickles his chin, and when he breathes the sweet scent of the forest still washes over him.

The mask of the Blue Spirit weighs absolutely nothing. 

It and Zuko are one. Two halves of the same whole. 

Zuko has a split second to have this thought before the world explodes into color . 

Rainbow tendrils of energy snake up tree trunks and thread themselves through the canopy. An endless web of threads, in every shade imaginable and more, connecting, intertwining, weaving together existence as a whole.

Each living thing pulses with light, it’s own unique flavor of life, and Zuko is left breathless and awed. 

It’s beautiful. 

Under his shirt something buzzes, and it pulls his attention away from the web. A tiny blue light shines through the cloth, and he pulls out Duri’s necklace, cupping it in his palm. It seems to… float a little. Like it’s aware of gravity but doesn’t really care. 

It pulses at him, warm and happy, and Zuko can’t help but smile.

“Hello again.” He says. “I’ve been thinking about you.” 

The blue of the quartz bleeds into his hand like ink, and it sinks slowly into his palm, lodging itself there like a tick. Images begin to pour into Zuko’s mind, offered to him like a gift by the brilliant little stone. 

Biyu. His village. And people, ah, he knows these people. They’re the ones that chose him. He is theirs and they are his. Even now, some of them sit before a tiny shrine and send him their prayers. He can hear them so clearly, like music, and he wonders why he couldn’t before. 

“Blue Spirit, please let my baby be born healthy.”

“Protect my son in battle, Blue Spirit, don’t let him fall.” 

“Let spring come soon, Master Spirit, let the crops grow big and tall.” 

“Save us from the Fire Nation, oh Spirit of Blue. Don’t let us burn.” 

Never. The Blue Spirit thinks, for he is Fire and he would never let that happen. 

He is a Flame that twists and flickers and surges. 

He is the campfire that lights the dark and keeps the soldiers warm, the brushfire that clears away the dead things and makes way for new growth. He is the lamplight that illuminates the traveler’s path, and he is young and old and eternal.

The Blue Spirit is many things. 

There are offerings before his shrine, and he catalogs each one and drinks in their essence, the love-care-devotion poured into each one of them by his people. They give him power, feeding his Flame and making him stronger, anchoring him more to the Earth. 

The more he takes, the more he loses himself to the music. He lets himself drift. He wants to be lost. He feels so peaceful, so at home, in a way he never has, not even Before when he lived in a palace and wore human skin. 

He belongs there, in that holy place, with those shiny people, and he wants so desperately to stay , it’s all he’s ever wanted - 

But something stops him. A voice in the music that doesn’t match. 

Come back, Little Flame. It calls. Come back from the Other World. Do not lose yourself to the music, child. Do not fade away.  

Zuko gasps back into himself and rips the mask off his face, tossing it into the undergrowth. All at once the colors disappear, and he heaves, taking deep gulping breaths as he gets used to the feeling of being singular once more. 

In the tall grass, the mask of the Blue Spirit glows like a coal. 

Zuko stands there and gapes at it, for far longer than he probably should, and tries to wrap his head around what in the hell just happened.

He hadn’t brought the mask with him tonight on purpose, leaving it safely tucked away under his bed with the rest of his secret belongings. (It’d be really fucking suspicious if the Blue Spirit showed up in two places where his ship was known to be docked.)

But somehow, the damn thing had found its way here . Latching on to people’s faces and making them feel safe and happy. 

All Zuko feels now is cold and afraid, his thoughts spiraling out of control as anxiety slithers its way up his spine.  

Did he just get possessed? Is that what happened? 

Is there a real Blue Spirit somewhere that’s vengeful because Zuko stole their Name? 

It would make sense. He pretended to be something he wasn’t, back in Biyu. He wore the skin of a Spirit and passed its noble voice off as his own. And he also did... something ... with his Fire. Something no human had any business doing but that he can’t articulate because it makes his brain go fuzzy. 

(His palms itch.) 

This must be his punishment. To be slowly driven crazy by a haunted fucking prop. 

“What the fuck.” Zuko whispers.  “What the fucking fuck.” He turns his eyes to the sky, to the fading splash of color on the horizon where Agni has laid Himself to rest. The Great Spirit probably can’t hear him anymore, but Zuko still whispers “What’s wrong with me?” to himself, if no one else.  

He’s not a religious person, not really. But tonight he asks, begs, for an answer to his prayer.

Zuko returns to the ship quickly following the… incident . He uses the ramp instead of the portholes because 1) he is not sneaking back , he’s returning , and 2) the portholes are all being oiled and polished and he doesn’t want chemical stains on his clothes. 

He still ducks the guards on watch because even though he’s the commander of the Wani and thus under no obligation to answer questions, it would still be extremely awkward to be caught (sneaking) returning home this late. 

Under his clothes, a mask that shouldn’t be there digs into his stomach, sharp as a knife.  

Uncle is already asleep when he gets back to their hall, the light under his door extinguished. It makes Zuko feel guilty and relieved. Uncle is already worried about him, he doesn’t need any more shit to add to the pile. 

Zuko slips back into his room and replaces his swords on the wall. He’ll polish them later, when he’s not still freaking the fuck out. Then, he checks the hidden compartment under his bed where he keeps the mask and, surprise surprise, finds it empty. 

Wonderful. 

Zuko all but throws the mask back into the compartment and slams his mattress down with extreme prejudice. He sits down hard and hopes all the food Uncle made him eat today has made him fat so that he crushes the stupid thing under his ass.

He then remembers another potentially dangerous item and fishes the quartz out of his shirt, dangling the little stone in front of his eyes. He hasn’t forgotten what it did, what it made him see. 

“Are you cursed too?” He asks, giving it a little shake. It doesn’t answer him. Typical. “If you are, you have to tell me. That’s how it works.” 

A thought occurs to him. 

“Am I cursed?” The stone pulses like it’s laughing at him, the sensation fizzing against Zuko’s fingertips. Zuko resists the urge to huck it into the ocean. 

He doesn’t, though. The thought alone makes him sick.

It goes back to resting against his chest and thrums in what can only be satisfaction. 

Zuko groans and drops his head into his hands. “Agni’s sweaty balls.” He mutters. “This is so fucked.”  

“My my, you’ve got quite the mouth.”  

Zuko’s head snaps up and he jumps to his feet, flames in his hands. “Who’s there?” He demands. “Show yourself!” 

“Bossy bossy. You Fire Spirits. So quick-tempered.” Zuko follows the sound to the source and what he sees... confuses him. A blue sparrowkeet sits perched on top of his desk, keen black eyes darting about as they take in the room. 

Zuko stares. He can’t help it. 

The sparrowkeet manages to look unimpressed. 

“Well?” It chirps. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” 

“Um,” Zuko manages. 

The sparrowkeet sighs. 

“I suppose I’ll go first then.” The sparrowkeet takes flight and lands on Zuko’s outstretched hand, tiny claws leaving pinpricks on his wrist. “My name is Sae.” It spreads its wings and dips into a tiny yet regal bow. “I’ve come to ask for your help, Blue Spirit.” 

Zuko’s entire world is shattered by two words. 

One name.

“...What?” He squeaks. 

And then he passes out. 

Chapter Text

Twenty three minutes after blowing out his red prayer candles, and after taking one last bitter sip of his over-steeped evening tea, Iroh finally hears it; the traitorous squeak of an under-oiled hinge, followed by the near-silent slide of footsteps in the hallway. Whoever it is is in quite the hurry. Iroh can sympathize. An old general like him was made for mud and dirt, Earth, for better or for worse, and almost three years later he’s still unaccustomed to the exquisite claustrophobia of a ship at sea. 

Iroh peeks, because of course he does, opening his door the barest sliver and taking in the sight of a figure all in black slinking silently down the corridor and up onto the deck. 

He chuckles. The poor boy probably thinks he’s being sneaky. Bless him. 

It’s honestly a relief, Iroh thinks as he’s pulling on his coat, for Zuko to be doing something as mundanely teenage as sneaking out. Childhood burned through him so quickly, for Zuko, most of the small rebellious milestones that other youngsters meet (drinking, carriage-crashing, piercings in regrettable places) never came to pass. Other parents would probably be grateful to have such an eerily well-behaved child as Iroh’s nephew, but Iroh has always wished Zuko would be a little... freer with himself. 

When Iroh was his age, he had the kind of energy buzzing beneath his skin that could only be sated with mischief, and he split his time between sneaking sips of wine at banquets and awkwardly flirting with the doe-eyed daughters of every nobleman at court. 

Zuko, by contrast, is at war, chasing a promise made in bad faith to a man who never loved him, that was more than likely intended to get him killed. Instead of youthful revelry, he pours over sea charts and port gossip, forgoing the kind of food and sleep a young man his age requires, endlessly scouring the Earth Kingdom for the Avatar, for his father’s prize. 

So. Sneaking out. Wonderful. 

Iroh still worries, because of course he does. Zuko is his most beloved nephew in all the world, and if anything happened to him Iroh would kill a not insignificant number of people and then himself. But he meant what he said about letting Zuko have his secrets, so as much as he would like to, he does not follow where he nephew goes. 

(Lu Ten grew restless once, as crown princes with famous fathers are wont to do. His restlessness led him to the battlefield, which in turn led to the greatest tragedy of Iroh’s life.) 

The night guard bows to him as he makes his way down the gangplank, it is no secret that he favors evening strolls, and he tucks his hands into the sleeves of his long cloak to shield them from the cold. Iroh heads into town, taking his time so as to thoroughly enjoy the fresh air. The windows of the buildings glow softly with lamplight and the air smells heavily  of tavern spice and coal smoke, and eventually Iroh finds himself in front of a humble tea shop with a lotus motif carved into its ancient double doors. 

Iroh knows this particular establishment well. He stayed here for a time after Ba Sing Se refused to fall, after his Lu Ten… well, after. He’d vomited his grief into the floorboards of it’s tiny upstairs bedroom, had contemplated hanging himself whilst peeling potatoes in the grubby little kitchen. It was here he was introduced to the Lotus Gambit, and here he took his first steps on the winding road toward redemption. The Madam of the Crooked Lotus is a dear old friend. And she makes a truly stupendous cup of tea. 

Iroh enters the shop and is hit with a thousand flavors of smell all at once, so many that even his expert nose cannot pick them all apart. The tea hall is unusually crowded for this time of night, the small waitstaff answering shouts for snacks tea all while darting between tables holding trays stacked precariously high with clay pots and cups. He finds a seat in the corner and orders ginger tea from a gangly teenage waiter, asking politely if he would alert the owner to his presence. The waiter gives him a strange look, but he agrees, and Iroh settles in to wait. It takes awhile for the Madam to make an appearance, but the tea is fragrant and the bustle of the other customers is soothing, so Iroh doesn’t mind. 

The owner of the Crooked Lotus is a stout woman whose hair is black as pitch, save for a long silver streak that winds its way through her tall braid. She carries herself like a forgewoman, her gaze always on the steel before her, waiting for the perfect time to strike. When she spies Iroh at his table in the corner after the watier points him out, she actually rolls her eyes , to his absolute delight, before barking orders at her employees and shedding her apron with prejudice. She stomps over and plunks down in the empty seat across from him, folding one leg over the other.  

“I hope you don’t expect me to rehash the whole ‘lotus gambit’ spiel.” The woman sneers. “Because as you can see, the pai sho board is gone, it’s late, and I’m fucking tired , Iroh.” 

Iroh blinks. “What happened to your board?” He asks. 

“Sold it.” She says bluntly. “To some Fire noble a few winters back. Paid a damn fortune for it, too. Bought myself a brand new copper boiler, the kind you rich types have on your fancy ships.” 

Iroh smirks. He likes smirking. He never gets to smirk on the Wani . “Just so we’re clear, this is the same pai sho set that has been passed down through the order for generations - the one that marks this building as a sacred house of knowledge safe haven to our kin?” 

“Oh spare me the speech.” The woman scoffs. “It was an eyesore and it was taking up space.” 

“Forgive me, the ancient relic upon which the code that has ensured the security of the White Lotus since time immemorium was taking up space?” 

“If someone needs to find me, they find me. With or without Spirits-damned riddles. Case-in-point, you. And you know how much I hate pai sho.”

“Pai sho is a wonderful game!” 

“No, pai sho is boring -”

“- Stimulating!” 

“- and hard to play -” 

“ - Tactical.” 

“- and I don’t know why the Founders even chose it in the first place. One wonders how they ever had time for peace and unity and all that garbage when it takes all fucking day to play a single fucking game!” 

Iroh doesn’t try to hold in his laughter, throwing his head back and slapping the table with mirth. 

The owner snorts, and her face eases into a soft yet crooked smile. “How are you, Iroh?” 

Iroh smiles back. “I am very well, Madam Xiao, and yourself?” 

“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” Madam Xiao crosses her arms and frowns. “What with the deluge of uninvited guests that keep darkening my door.” 

“Uninvited?” Iroh cries. “The last time I was here you told me that I was always welcome!” 

“Last time you brought booze. And yet here you are, booze-less before me. I’ve half a mind to kick you out right this second.” 

“Careful, Agent Xiao, that sounds like treason.” Iroh says, eyes twinkling. 

“Will you sanction me then, oh wise and powerful Grand Lotus?”

“Lucky for you, kind Madam,” Iroh smiles, “I’m not here in an official capacity. I am merely paying a visit to an old and treasured friend, nothing more.” 

“Ha!” Scoffs Madam Xiao. “I don’t believe you. Cut the crap you old dragon, why are you really here?” 

Iroh pouts, mock-hurt. “Can’t two people have a conversation without one of them accusing the other of subterfuge?”

“No.” 

Iroh laughs, belly deep. He really does adore this woman. 

“Very well.” He says. “You’ve caught me. Sadly, there is a reason for my visit. A matter into which I had hoped you might offer insight.” Madam Xiao leans back in her chair, taking a pair of spark rocks and a short pipe out of her sleeve and lighting it with a click. 

She takes a deep drag, then exhales a cloud of blue-black smoke. Her eyes are keener than any dragon’s. “Depends.” She says at length. “What do you want to know?”  

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Avatar’s recent escape from Puohai Stronghold.” Iroh begins. 

Madam Xiao snorts. “Who fucking hasn’t? The news was everywhere. Admiral Zhao - he’s a fucking Admiral now, can you believe it? - was spitting blood.” She takes another long drag of her pipe. Blows out. “But you don’t need me to tell you that, General. What’s this really about?” 

“I am curious about the culprit behind the Avatar’s rescue.” Iroh sips his tea, finds it lukewarm, and gently reheats it between his hands. “You could say I have a… personal interest in knowing what kind of man would risk his life to rescue a single child from captivity. Even if that child is the Bridge Between Worlds.” 

“Hm.” Madam Xiao squints suspiciously, searching Iroh’s guileless face for true intentions. “Unfortunately for your ‘curiosity’, there’s actually very little information about him. My contacts at Puohai were surprisingly... vague in their report about the whole incident.”

“I don’t need much. Just a description will do.”

 “Well, physically, they said he was on the shorter side, skinny, but moved as fast as an eel-hound. Said he carried a set of dao blades with gold inlays on the handles, and that he wore a painted mask.” 

“What sort of mask?” 

“A fanged blue devil. I guess that’s why they’re calling him the ‘Blue Spirit.’” 

He always did love that play, Iroh thinks, hiding a smile behind the rim of his teacup. It probably reminds him of his mother . Where under Agni’s all-seeing eye did he get the mask, is Iroh’s question. Did he smuggle it onto the Wani when no one was looking? It’s just childish enough that the thought has Iroh biting back a chuckle. 

“Any clues as to his identity?” Iroh asks. 

“Not at the moment.” Says Madam Xiao. “Whoever this guy is, he’s good. The whole fucking Fire Army is after him, and so far they’ve turned up squat. Zhao even put a whole company of Yuyan on the case. Still nothing. He’s a damn ghost. The best they could do was track him to some backwater Earth Kingdom town before the trail went cold.” 

“Hm, impressive.” Iroh says, even as his shoulders unclench and a wave of relief sweeps through him. He expected as much, this is his nephew they’re talking about, but it’s still nice to hear that Zuko was so capable in covering his tracks. Of course, Iroh is retroactively horrified that his boy did something as suicidally reckless as break into the most secure stronghold in the occupied territories, to save the life of his self-proclaimed nemesis . And they will be having words about it eventually, make no mistake. But for now, Iroh reasons, a little rebellion is good. Healthy even.

Zuko scaling a fortified building in the dead of night with swords strapped to his back is hardly the most worrying thing he could be doing. 

Madam Xiao cocks an eyebrow at whatever emotion is on his face. “Indeed. It’s not every day the Fire Army puts all their resources into hunting down a single enemy. Excluding Avatars.” She takes a pointed puff of her pipe. “Anyone I know?” 

Iroh winces. “Not… personally.” 

It’s then that he notices how empty the teahouse has become. In fact, other than the gangly waiter, he and Madam Xiao are the only people left. Goodness, has it really gotten that late? Zuko is probably home by now. Iroh should return as well. “Well then, noble Madam,” he says, standing and slowly stretching out the kinks in his back. “As always, I thank you for your time and your hospitality, but as you’ve mentioned it is getting late and I must take my leave.” 

“That’s it?” Says Madam Xiao sceptically. “You only wanted to hear about some daredevil punk going around stealing monks?”

Iroh puts his hand on his heart. “Of course not! I also wanted to partake of some of your delectable tea. And gaze upon your beautiful face.” Iroh drops a few coins on the table and is turning to leave when he hears -

“Sit down, Iroh.” Madam Xiao’s sharp voice rings out, making Iroh start at the sudden change in her tone. The Madam’s gaze is dark where it rests on the tip of her pipe. “You asked for my insight. I have yet to finish giving it.” 

Cautiously, and with no small amount of trepidation, Iroh complies. 

Madam Xiao is silent for a moment, then sighs and leans forward, meeting Iroh’s gaze intently. For the first time Iroh notices the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the wispy unkemptness of her hair, usually so impeccably braided. “... I wasn’t going to contact you until I had more information, but as long as you’re here you might as well know. There's movement in the Other World, Iroh.” 

Iroh’s stomach sours. So much for his good mood. “Are you certain?” He rasps. 

Madam Xiao nods. “There have been signs. Animals emerging early from their dens. Clouds in bizarre shapes. And this.”  

She takes a small package out of her sleeve and places it on the table between them. With hesitant fingers, Iroh reaches out and unwraps it, revealing a thick bundle of corded plants that seem to... pulse against his senses, glowing softly with an otherworldly light.

“... Where did you get these?” 

“You remember that village I mentioned? The one where the Yuyan lost the Blue Spirit?” 

“Yes.” 

“One of my people found them growing along the riverbank there. And these aren’t the only ones. I’ve been getting reports from other agents all over the coast who’ve had similar findings.”

“...Spirit Wilds.” 

“Got it in one.” She carefully rewraps the bundle and returns it to her sleeve. 

“How long has this been going on?” Iroh asks gravely. 

“About a week, give or take.” 

“Why wasn’t I alerted?” 

“I told you. I was going to, I was just waiting until I had more intel.” Iroh gudgeingly accepts that this is true, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. Abruptly, Madam Xiao pushes back her chair and gets to her feet, gesturing for Iroh to follow her. 

“Gongyi!” She shouts over her shoulder. 

“What!?” The teenage waiter yells back. 

“I’m going out.” 

“What, now?” The teenager blinks. “It’s the middle of the night?” 

“Yup. Mind the shop.” She turns to Iroh. “There’s something you need to see.” 

Iroh swallows, dread building, but smiles through it. “By all means lead the way.” 

Madam Xiao leads Iroh out of the shop through the back kitchen door, which in turn opens onto a little dirt path that winds its way into the forest. The two follow the path for a few minutes until they come upon a tiny shrine, a simple stack of smooth flat rocks, adorned with Spirit charms and housing wooden effigies carved in the shape of the local deities. 

If Iroh didn’t know any better, he would say that it was abandoned. The faded plaque that leans against the stones, invoking the Names of Oma and Shu, is cracked and peeling, the calligraphy almost totally worn away. Green moss drapes over the stones, shiny with dew, the vegetation overgrown and unkempt. Tall grass grows around the shrine in an almost perfect circle, and nestled among it are strange blue flowers whose petals catch the light and seem to glint, reflective like polished metal.

“My grandson is a priest at the main shrine in the back hills.” Madam Xiao breaks the silence. “He comes here once a week or so to weed and perform the rites as a favor to me. All this shit sprouted practically overnight.” 

Iroh squats down to examine the plants. “Have you ever seen flowers such as these?” He asks, cupping his hands around one of the blooms, very carefully not touching the sharp-looking petals. 

“Never.” Says Madam Xiao. 

“Neither have I. They are not of this world.” Cautiously, he runs his finger across the petals of one of the flowers. It doesn’t bite, but it shimmers oddly, like it’s upset about being susceptible to touch. 

“So it’s a Spirit then?” 

“It certainly looks that way.”

“Do you know which one?” 

“Not any that I am familiar with.” There are hundreds of Spirits, thousands even, that exist in the combined lore of the Mortal Realm. Memorizing all their Names and attributes would be a gargantuan task, and Iroh’s memory is good, but not that good. 

Perhaps if he probes a bit…

Iroh stretches out with his energy, seeking the disturbance that Madam Xiao described. He can almost make it out, but it slips through his senses like an eel through a hole in a net. He chases it, far enough into the web of energy that he almost has to pull back for fear of losing himself among the threads, when he finally manages to extend himself enough to touch - 

Flames lick up his body, searing him, eating up his skin like paper. The Other World is loud in a way Iroh has never felt before, it’s voice an unstoppable tidal wave of emotion and sound. It bubbles up like laughter, it cuts like a scream. Iroh’s soul was not made for this, it stretches and strains against the pressure of it, so close to snapping, and it hurts hurts hurts -

 Iroh severs the connection as fast as he can and is left reeling, holding onto Madam Xiao’s shoulder for dear life. She’s in his ear asking if he’s alright, asking what he felt, what he saw. He can’t answer, because he doesn’t know . A presence like that… Iroh has never felt anything like it before. No minor Spirit could put forth such energy. 

And anything to do with the Great Spirits almost always spells disaster. 

“-- oh. Iroh. If you don’t answer me right this second I swear to Shu -” 

“Peace, Madam.” Iroh tries not to gasp. “I am alright. Just give me a moment.”

Madam Xiao bites her lip, but helps Iroh settle down onto the grass where he folds into his meditation pose, focusing all of his energy towards soothing the turbulent flow of his chi.  

He breathes. 

“It is a Spirit.” He says after a long moment. “An extremely powerful one.” He says after a long moment.  

Madam Xiao sucks in through her teeth. “I was afraid you’d say that. Is it a threat?” 

“Unclear. It hardly seems like coincidence that a Spirit as powerful as this should make itself known the same year the Avatar returns from the dead.” 

“Makes sense. Fuck, this is all we need right now, huh?” Madam Xiao swipes a hand through her hair, mussing up her braid even further. “I’ll alert my network. See if we can’t get to the bottom of this.”

“I advise caution.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” She rolls her eyes. “I’m aware of what the Spirits are like. And more importantly so are you. ”

Iroh carefully unfolds his fist to keep his nails from biting into his palm. 

There are scars etched into every facet of his soul that can testify to what, exactly, the Spirits are like . 

They return to the inn, plans for investigating the Unknown Spirit made. The sky is dark pitch above them, and Iroh feels the lateness of the hour in his bones. 

Their goodbye is muted and, as always, bittersweet. Madam Xiao makes him take a loaf of her lychee nut bread home with him, and then threatens to do him bodily harm if he doesn’t write. She grabs his hands in his, and they are as warm as a firebender’s, warmer even, because Iroh has felt them carding softly through his hair while wracked with fever, body sick with the taint of his grief.  

Iroh has much to think about in the wake of the night’s activities, so he takes the scenic route back to the ship, walking along the water with his hands folded pensively into his sleeves. He wonders if Zuko is home yet. He hopes he is, the knowledge that his nephew had been to a place touched by the Unknown Spirit settles heavily in his gut. Iroh thinks back to every strange thing Zuko has said or done since the morning Iroh found him. Catalogues every strangeness, every emotion out of place. 

It could be nothing. Or, Iroh might very well need to keep a closer eye on his nephew going forward. The Spirits are not to be trifled with, and Zuko is painfully young, susceptible in a way that Iroh and the other Masters are not. 

He will protect him. 

Or else he will see the whole world burn.

Chapter Text

Zuko is flung back into awareness when something small and hard stabs him in the eye. 

“Fuck!” He sits up, clutching his face. His eye waters and throbs, so much that he almost misses the feather-like softness that brushes against his cheek. There is an odd scent. The tang of lightning hangs in the air. 

Zuko’s sun-sense tells him that it’s just after dawn. If he strains, he can hear the sounds of his ship waking up, the bustle of the sunrise shift, the dragon’s-breath groan of the boiler. The ache in his muscles tells him he’d spent the night laying on a cold metal floor. His memories are scattered, and when he tries to remember things –

- Lights, voices, cold ribbons on his skin -    

- his thoughts fold and twist like paper kites, and he has to brace against a wave of nausea.

“Finally, you’re awake.” Chirps a voice. 

Zuko springs to his feet, hands ignited. “Who’s there?” He demands, eyes flitting to every corner of the room. “Show yourself!” 

“Over here, boy.” The voice comes again. Zuko’s gaze snaps to his desk, where a single prayer candle still flickers, melted down to the wick. There is… something there. 

The dim light casts an unearthly glow upon the creature, its shadow looming larger and darker behind it than it has any right to be. Outwardly, it looks like a sparrowkeet, with keen black eyes and stark blue feathers that fold neatly along its back. One of its claws has caught the edge of the Earth Kingdom map on Zuko’s desk, creating a jagged tear through the sea. 

It grins. 

“Hello again, Blue Spirit.” 

“Buh.” Is all Zuko can say. He can’t help it. The bird is talking. Talking bird. 

“Well?” It chirps impatiently. “Let’s get on with it. I have no idea how the Spirits of the mortal realm conduct their business, but in the Other World we do things properly.” The bird takes sudden flight and swoops towards him. Zuko will deny this later, but, unprepared for the thing’s sudden approach, he screams, which startles the bird so it wavers mid-air. Before it can right itself, Zuko’s hand has darted out and snatched it from the air.   

For a moment, their eyes meet, both mute in their surprise. 

Zuko… doesn’t know what to do now, and so numbly gives the creature a little squeeze, feeling its form in his fingers, wondering how it can possibly be real. 

It is immediately unhappy with this development. 

“Unhand me!” It squawks, wriggling and pecking. “Release me at once!”  

Zuko keeps a firm grip on the creature. His first coherent thought is now what? And then, quite reasonably, This is a dream. I’m dreaming right now. Any second I’m going to wake up and forget any of this ever – The sparrowkeet bites down hard into the back of his hand.

 “Fuck, shit!” 

In his agony, the bird squirms free from Zuko’s hold and glides away, landing daintily on his bed. “Serves you right!” It snips. “How dare you lay your hands on me. I’m a radiant being, you egg!”

Zuko numbly lifts his bleeding hand to his lips. The bird has the audacity to look smug.

Zuko’s ears are ringing, his mind racing. What the fuck, what the fuck –

“I’m a little surprised, Blue Spirit.” The sparrowkeet says arrogantly. “You are not at all what I expected. What are you, by the way? You smell like Earth, but your energy is all Fire.” 

Zuko doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns and very calmly begins heading for the door. 

He makes it halfway before there comes an indignant squawk. “Wha- hey!” Cries the bird.  “Don’t ignore me! Just where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m hallucinating.” Zuko explains. It appears he’s taken one-too-many arrows to the skull. He’s cracked. “I think I need a doctor.” 

In a flash, the bird appears before him, level with his gaze. “I am no apparition! ” It bellows, voice echoing like a thunderclap. “ I am older than the stones beneath the sea. I have flown beyond the skies of all worlds, and you are nothing but a wriggling newborn before me! I will not suffer your disrespect!” 

Power fills the air, thick enough to choke on, and Zuko falls back onto his ass with a sharp thunk. He stares up at the bird (Spirit, Zuko’s mind corrects, it’s a fucking Spirit) half-blind with terror. It hovers as if suspended by unseen strings, wings spread wide, large shadows spreading, ancient and hungry, in the sharply cast corners of the room. 

This is real. Zuko’s heart pounds against his ribs. It’s real it’s real it’s real – 

“Now.” The Spirit lowers itself to the floor, taking measured steps until it’s close enough to reach out and touch. “Shall we begin again?”  

Distantly, Zuko understands how dangerous this is. Every lesson he was ever taught about Spirits and the Other World flashes through his mind, Uncle’s grave voice preaching over fragrant wisps of tea - Speak plainly. Show no fear. Offer nothing of yourself to them, and ask for nothing in return. The words were always spoken with an undercurrent of fear that Zuko hadn’t understood. But now, trapped in the thrall of a creature barely larger than his thumb, he very much can. 

Although it wears the form of a sparrowkeet, Zuko can tell there is something more to the being before him than feathers and skin. It crackles in the air like lightning and causes the hair on the back of his neck to rise, painting the back of Zuko’s tongue with the flavor of ozone. I know you. Something deep within him cries. I know what you are. 

Do you know me too? 

Zuko swallows. Music lilts into his ears from a far away place, and he brushes it away. He can’t afford the distraction. He stands slowly, backing away from the Spirit without turning or breaking his gaze. He keeps going until the sharp edge of his trunk bumps against his calf, and then, still keeping the bird in his periphery, quickly turns and unlatches it. He takes out his spare blanket and the sack of day-old spice puffs he’d swiped from the galley. He digs until he finds the silver offering plate he never uses but Uncle insists he keep. Working quickly he spreads the blanket on the floor between himself and the bird, placing a fresh prayer candle on either end. He lights them with a pinch, and finishes by placing the spice puffs in the center of the blanket on the silver plate, equidistant between the gathered parties. 

It's a shit offering. His Temple School Masters would faint if they saw it, but it's better than nothing. 

Be polite. Uncle’s voice reminds. Spirits are fickle, easily angered. Be as gracious as you can, hospitality could very well save your life. 

Zuko folds into a stiff seiza, proud of how steady his voice is. “Honored Guest.” He bows. “You are welcome here.” 

At first, the bird says nothing, looking over the meager setup dispassionately. Zuko holds his breath. An agonizing minute passes before, finally, it takes one dainty step onto the blanket. Relief nearly turns Zuko’s bones to jelly. The first test is passed. 

“Your manners are lacking.” The bird sniffs. “But I accept.” He flits forward and grabs a puff, munching loudly and scattering crumbs all over the blanket. “You may call me Sae.”

This is part of the ceremony, Zuko remembers. The Giving of Names. “Uh,” Zuko scrambles to come up with a fake name. “I’m, uh – you may call me –” 

“I have already called you.” The bird, Sae, interrupts sharply. “And I will continue to call you. You are the Blue Spirit.” He snaps up another puff.   

Well that’s fitting. Zuko thinks, and doesn’t protest. 

He waits for the Spirit to munch his way through three more puffs before asking a question. As the Host, he gets to go first. He chooses it carefully, praying it doesn’t offend. 

“Great Sae.” He says. “Why have you come here?”  

The sparrowkeet seems to smirk, the corners of its beak peeling back, giving the impression of lips over teeth. “I’ve been watching you.” It purrs. “I happened to be there when you first appeared. I quite like your village. The little girl is cute, very pious.” 

Duri’s face flashes across Zuko’s mind. Her sweet smile, the way she places flowers on his altar and tells him about her day. Sparks come to his hands before he calls them, rage and affront pooling in his gut like lava. How dare –

“Be still.” The Spirit chirps. “I’m not threatening your humans. I couldn’t do anything even if I wanted to. Which returns us to your question. I’ve come to ask for your help.”

Zuko swallows back his anger, a little alarmed at how fast it had come. “My help.”

“Yes. My dearest treasure has been stolen. I need your help to take it back. My current circumstances are… limiting, to say the least. I am, temporarily, in need of another Spirit’s power.”

Zuko frowns. “You’re the only Spirit on my ship.”  

Sae laughs, whistle-high and dark. 

“I’ll give credit where it's due, you’ve done a marvelous job keeping yourself hidden. But that’s done now. I need an ally. I’m willing to pay whatever price you demand, but I won’t be deterred.” 

An oily feeling begins to pool in Zuko’s stomach. 

“I don’t understand.”

The Spirit huffs in disbelief. “Let me simplify it for you then. ‘He appears where he is needed most, and lends his aid in exchange for an offering of Blue.’ Sound familiar?”   

Zuko’s blood turns to ice. 

Sae rolls its eyes when he fails to answer, something that is deeply disturbing to see in the face of a bird. “Are you seriously telling me you haven’t figured it out yet?” It asks. “That you haven’t seen the signs? You’ve definitely heard the Music. You heard it last night, in the forest.” 

Oh, Agni. 

He couldn’t deny the Music. It had welcomed him so sweetly, shown him visions of people and places he had never seen. Even now, it hovers at the edges of his perception, patiently waiting for him to fall back into the golden warmth of its song. 

“You are called the Blue Spirit, boy. And not just by me.”

“No.” Zuko whispers, head full of white noise. He wants to cover his ears and curl into a ball. More than anything he wants the Spirit to stop talking. He doesn’t get his wish. 

“You are worshiped.” Sae continues. “That village has been paying tribute to you ever since you changed its fate.” 

Shut up. Zuko thinks. I don’t want to know this, shut up shut up SHUT UP —

“There are beings ten times your age who would kill to have such a following. A young Spirit like you should be grateful.” 

A young Spirit like you…

A Spirit like you…

A Spirit…

“ No .” Zuko says. 

The sparrowkeet says nothing, bouncing forward to nibble another puff. 

A sound starts to fill the room, like the rusty creak of the galley door, only faster. Zuko realizes that it’s him. He’s breathing too quickly, air sawing in and out of his lungs too rapidly for him to really get any in. He’s panicking. That hasn’t happened in awhile. It feels just as shitty as he remembers. 

“Stop that.” He distantly hears Sae chirp. “What’s wrong with you? Be still!” 

But Zuko can’t stop. He wrestles with his own lungs, gasping for air that just won’t come. Everything is spinning out of his control and it’s too much. He wants to die. He wants to go to sleep and never wake up. Maybe then he’ll stop feeling like this. 

Sae bites him again. 

“Fuck!” He gasps. The pain sears through his panic, breaking the cycle long enough for him to suck in a greedy lungful of air. “Fuck.” His hand is really bleeding now, but the warmth of his blood as it trickles between his fingers is grounding, somehow. He curls his hand into a fist and relishes the sting of his flesh pulling. He breathes. 

“...You’re mistaken.” Zuko wheezes. “I’m not a Spirit.” 

“It’s no use lying.” The Spirit says. There’s a smear of red around its beak. “To me or yourself. Your blood tells the truth even if you do not. You are the Blue Spirit.” 

It’s a lie. Zuko knows it’s a lie; a Spirit-trick meant to force him into some kind of twisted service. Zuko isn’t falling for it. He’s been trained better than that. 

(But what if it’s true? What if he is a Spirit somehow. It’s a truth too horrifying to think about. So he doesn’t. Zuko shoves everything he’s feeling into the tiny box in the corner of his mind where he leaves all his darkest fears to rot, locking it tight.)

“You’re mistaken.” Zuko repeats. “I can’t help you. I’m not a Spirit.” 

The sparrowkeet loses some of its smugness, eyes narrowing in irritation.  

“I’m getting tired of your games, Blue Spirit.” 

“Then you’re free to leave.” 

The Spirit growls, low like a beast. 

“I will not. You’re going to help me, whether by your will or against it.” 

Zuko snaps. Fuck hospitality. 

“Leave or I’ll make you leave.” He grits out. 

Sae laughs. “A weak little thing like you? ” It says mockingly. “I’d like to see you try.” 

Sae lifts his wings and the air around him rumbles. Energy gathers to him, dense and electric, and Zuko rolls to his feet in a stance, ready to fight. 

Sorry Uncle. Zuko thinks. I did try.  

Just as it feels like the Spirit is about to attack, the power around building and building until it feels like the very air is alight, its little body suddenly freezes. The power it had been gathering rushes out of it like a punched-out breath, and it drops to the floor like a stone, landing in an undignified heap of legs and feathers . It spits in frustration, seeming to struggle against its own muscles, jerking and twisting like it's trying to force its own body into submission. 

“Damn it all,” It hisses. “This blasted thing–!” 

This is my chance! Zuko thinks. He readies a strike, the boil of his chi spreading from his stomach to his fingers, and just as he leans into to deliver the blow – 

There is a knock at the door. 

“Nephew?” Comes Uncle’s muffled voice. “Are you awake yet?”   

Reality sets in and Zuko panics, suddenly very aware of where he is and what he’s doing. Before he can think better of it, he darts forward and scoops the Spirit off the floor. It squeaks in surprise and he muffles it against his chest. “Don’t come in!” He shouts. “I’m, uh, changing!” 

There’s a snicker from beyond the door. “Apologies, Prince Zuko. Please, join me once you’ve finished, I’ve arranged breakfast for us on the upper deck.” Footsteps echo as Uncle leaves, but Zuko still waits a few long, agonizing seconds before releasing his held breath. 

He holds up the sparrowkeet an inch from his face and glares. “Not a word.” He whispers harshly. “The last thing I need is Uncle or anyone finding out about – this.” 

“Do you think I’m a fool?” The bird huffs. “I know better than to reveal myself to lesser beings. Now release me!” Reluctantly, Zuko lets the Spirit go. It flutters stiffly to the floor, whatever paralysis it had suffered apparently wearing off. “This better not become a habit.” It mutters. 

“Okay.” Zuko takes a deep breath in. Lets it out. “Okay. We can’t fight here. I don’t want to fight here. Do you?”

“I’d rather not fight at all.” Sae says flatly. “I’d rather you just do as I ask without throwing a fit.”

 Zuko ignores it. “ Okay. So, no fighting. Great.” He holds up a finger. “Ground rules. Rule number one; no talking.” 

Sae gives him a flat look. “Obviously.”  

“Rule number two.” Zuko continues. “No… Spirit shit, okay?” 

“‘Spirit shit.’” 

“Yes, Spirit shit!” Zuko throws up his hands. “Like, I don’t know, cursing people, or eating souls, that kind of thing!” 

“Killjoy.” Sae grumbles. “Not all Spirits like human souls, you know. I, for one, find them chewy.” 

“Whatever! Just - none of it, okay?”

“Yes, yes, fine.” Says Sae impatiently. “Now can we return to the civil discussion we were just having?” 

“Not here. Too many ears.” Too many Uncles. “Wait until we’re off the ship. We can finish, ah,  talking then. I promise I’ll hear you out.”

“Swear to it.” Sae says solemnly. His voice is larger suddenly, his presence swelling to fill the room like a thundercloud. Zuko swallows. 

“I swear.” He says. Electricity jolts up his spine, something snapping into place between them. Instinct tells him the vow he just made is binding, that he must honor it, that the consequences of not doing so are unthinkable. He tries very hard not to think of what Uncle would do to him if he knew his nephew was swapping oaths with Spirits. Probably something wise, but violent. 

He puts it out of his mind. 

Zuko quickly changes from the smelly black training robes he’d passed out in into a fresh undershirt and pants, layering his armor over the top and swiftly tying the ties. He undoes the ratty phoenix tail from yesterday and carefully re-wraps it into a far more presentable one. A thin layer of fuzz has begun to form along his scalp where he hasn’t shaved in a few days, and he resolves to remedy this later. 

“Interesting look.” The bird chirps from his bed, having made itself perfectly comfortable on Zuko’s pillow. It eyes Zuko’s armor with vague interest. “Going off to war?” 

Yes. “Shut up.” Zuko snaps. 

“Humans are still offering their children up for slaughter, I see. I suppose some things never change, even after a thousand years.” 

“It’s an honor to serve my nation on the battlefield. Also, shut up .”

“Not many Spirits could stomach fighting in a human war. But I suppose you do what you must to maintain your cover.”

“There is no cover, I’m not a Spirit.” 

“You keep saying that.”

Zuko grits his teeth and ignores him. Once he finishes dressing and washing, he turns to the tiny monster currently ripping holes in his blanket with its talons. 

“Remember our deal. No talking.”

“Yes, yes fine.” Sae chirps. “The old one said something about breakfast? It’s inconvenient, but I suppose our meatsuits need sustenance. Lead the way, child.” 

“I’m not a child.” Zuko grumbles. “And it’s not a meat suit.” 

Walking up the steps toward the upper deck feels akin to walking towards his own execution. Uncle is where he said he would be, waiting for him by the starboard bow at a table set for two. “Ah, Prince Zuko!” He smiles. As always, his face is ringed with steam. “Good morning. I trust you slept well?” 

“Fine.” Zuko lies, ignoring how gritty his eyes feel all of a sudden. He sits, taking a large gulp from the extra tea cup in front of him. It scalds his throat in a way that is deeply satisfying. 

“And who is this?” Uncle smiles in surprise, gaze turned to the unwelcome passenger on Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko grimaces and scrambles for a lie. 

“Uh, I found him! Last night – not that I went anywhere last night –” Sae’s little foot digs into his shoulder. “It came to me, actually. Flew in through the, uh, porthole!” Uncle’s knowing smirk makes Zuko’s blood boil. He scowls. “It won’t leave.” And hey, at least it's the truth. 

Sae chirps innocently. 

“How generous of you, nephew, to allow a stowaway on board.” Uncle snickers. “And such a cute stowaway, too! Does the little birdie want a cracker?” He holds out a prawn cracker enticingly. Zuko thinks there’s no way a ‘radiant being’ would degrade itself by eating from a human’s hand, but is proven wrong when Sae swoops down and lands on Uncle’s outstretched finger, nibbling the cracker like a tamed pet. “Such a pretty thing!” Uncle crows in delight. “I wonder if he’s somebody’s pet.” 

“No way.” Zuko growls. “He’s a wild animal.” Sae darts back and attacks his phoenix tail. Zuko yelps, swiping at the beast. “Ack! Quit it!” 

Uncle laughs. “You should speak more kindly about your friends, nephew.” 

Yes, be kind to your friends. Sae’s voice floats into Zuko’s brain. 

“He’s not my friend!” Zuko snaps, snatching the bird out of the air and chucking it over his shoulder. Infuriatingly, Sae responds by gliding in a graceful circle and coming to rest right back on Zuko’s hair. 

Uncle’s eyes twinkle. “Perhaps you should keep him. A man should have a pet. Animals often reflect our own souls. In caring for them we are taught how to care for ourselves.” 

“I don’t need a pet! As soon as I can, I’m taking him and dumping him back in the woods where he belongs. Ow!” Sae pecks his ear. 

“As you say.” Uncle concedes. “But before you do, there is something I’d like to discuss with you, if you can spare the time.” 

Uncle reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a plain wooden box. There are characters carved into the lid that Zuko has never seen before. It seems old, and for no reason that he can name, the back of his neck breaks out in a cold sweat at the sight of it. 

“Prince Zuko.” Uncle’s teasing tone melts away. “When was the last time you and I spoke of the Spirit World?” 

Zuko freezes. He knows. He panics. How the fuck does he know. 

“I don’t remember.” Zuko says as casually as he can. “A few years maybe?” 

Uncle hums, running a callused hand over the lid of the box. “There have been stirrings, lately. Something powerful has awoken. Signs of its presence have begun to appear across the land.”

“The Avatar?” Zuko leans in intently. 

Uncle shakes his head. “More recently. Perhaps the Avatar’s return was a catalyst of some sort, but whatever is happening is its own phenomenon.” 

Zuko sends a mental glare to the tiny creature on his head. 

“What does it mean, Uncle?” 

“I am unsure, which is what bothers me. The presence has yet to declare itself as either malignant or benign. It simply is. Often creatures of such power sow harm with merely their presence, which is why we must take precautions.” Uncle lifts the lid off the box, revealing a long string of bone-white beads. He picks them up and holds them out for Zuko’s inspection. 

At first glance, they look like ordinary beads. They’re made of either porcelain or polished bone, Zuko can’t tell. They string together to make a long chain that could wrap twice around Zuko’s wrist. Also, they’re creepy. Like really, really creepy. Zuko kind of hates looking at them. 

Suddenly, Sae screeches, swooping down in a flurry of feathers and fluttering madly around the beads without touching them. His voice shrieks in Zuko’s mind, danger danger don’t touch DANGER –

Stop that! Zuko thinks wildly. Why are you freaking out!? 

Swiftly but gently, Uncle catches the bird in his hand and brings it up to perch on his own shoulder. “Sorry, little friend,” He coos. “These are not a toy for you to play with.” He turns back to Zuko and offers him the beads again.

Swallowing hard, Zuko gingerly reaches out and takes them. Sae screeches again and takes flight from Uncle’s shoulder, flying so high into the sky he becomes a black dot against the blue.

“These will protect you from any Spirit that wishes to do you harm.” Uncle says. “They are an artifact from the distant past, and not many like them still exist today. I want you to keep them with you at all times until the danger has passed.” 

That thing is abhorrent. Sae’s voice spits. It is a Spirit-killer. Drop it now before it destroys you! 

Zuko frowns, looking down at the beads. They tingle a little against his fingers, but not unpleasantly. He certainly doesn’t feel very destroyed. 

“Alright, Uncle.” 

“Good.” Uncle sighs. At that moment, Sae reappears, choosing to land on Zuko's shoulder this time. He glares at the beads and twitters unhappily. “Goodness, your friend seems upset, is there a gull-falcon nearby?” 

Zuko quiets Sae by squishing him against his shoulder. “Oh, wow, would you look at the Sun, I should be getting to my duties.”

“Very well, Prince Zuko.” Uncle excuses him. “I shall see you at dinner.” 

Zuko does not, in fact, get to his duties. For the very first time in his tenure as a sailor, Zuko plays hooky from shipwork and practically sprints to the forest, his tiny tag-a-long fluttering behind him. They make it as far as the clearing Zuko remembers from the previous night, before Sae hisses and swoops down to scratch at Zuko’s wrist where the beads are wrapped. 

“Drop it!” Sae cries. “Drop it now!” 

“Okay, okay!” Zuko yells. He rips the beads from his wrist and throws them. They land in the bushes a few yards away. “There, no more beads, happy now?” 

“Hold out your arm.” Sae commands, and Zuko rolls his eyes but obeys. Sae scans the skin of wrist intently, staring it down like it's some kind of venomous reptile. “Does it hurt? Do you feel like you’re dying? Or like the flesh is burning off your bones?” 

“No.” Zuko says flatly. “Are you done? What the hell are you so scared of anyway?”

 Sae turns to glare in the direction of the beads. 

“That thing is made of ancient magic.” He growls. “Dragon bone, laced with purification spells of the highest human capability. I didn’t think there were still humans alive who knew how to craft such things.” Sae fixes him with a heavy gaze. “It was made to repel Spirits. To drive them from this world back to the next, even kill them.” His expression turns confused. “Or at least it’s supposed to, how are you not affected by it? It touched your skin, there should at least be a mark, if not a wound.” 

“Gee, maybe it’s because I’m not a Spirit?” Zuko snips. “Just like I’ve been telling you?” 

“No,” the bird sighs. “That’s not it.”

Zuko grits his teeth to the edge of pain. “I’m not a Spirit !” 

The look Sae gives him is patronizing at best. “You really believe that, don’t you? After all you’ve seen. Why?” 

“Because!” Zuko shouts. “Spirits are all… old and Spirity , I don’t fucking know!” 

“That’s a common misconception. New spirits are born all the time. Humans just can’t perceive them, usually because they’re too weak.”  

“I’m. A. Human.” Zuko insists. “I’ve been human all my life.” 

“Exactly. Been. Past-tense. Like it or not, circumstances emerged where your mortal essence became entangled with the Other World, irrevocably transforming you, body and soul. It’s not that weird.” Sae flies up and stares into the center of his chest with deep black eyes. “What is strange is why you’re like this.” 

“Like what?” Zuko says warily. 

Sae tilts his head back and forth and looks deeper. The probing gaze becomes a physical sensation, like a giant hand has plunged into the very core of Zuko’s being and is rifling around, fingers grazing over the deepest and most hidden parts of himself. It hurts. His head feels like it’s being squeezed between two boards, the pressure building and building until he’s forced to shout - “Stop!” 

The pressure instantly releases and Zuko gasps in relief. 

“Just as I thought.” Sae hums. “Split. There’s a rift between your Spiritual essence and the parts of you that are still human.” 

“Whatever you just did,” Zuko wheezes, bent in half. “ Don’t do it again. Ever.”

“Don’t be an egg.” Sae dismisses. 

“You,” Zuko angrily points a finger at the Spirit. “Are the fucking worst. ” 

Sae snickers. “At least I’m not in denial.” 

Zuko bristles. “I. Am. Not. A. Spirit. ” He repeats. He’ll say it again and again, as many times as he has to until it finally starts to feel true. 

“Of course you’re a Spirit! If you weren’t there’s no way you’d smell so -” Sae leans in and sticks his beak behind Zuko’s ear, sniffing deeply before pulling back. “Not-human.” 

“Look!” Zuko gestures to the various parts of himself. “Skin. Bones. Blood! I’m a human being!” 

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve got all those things too.” Sae chirps, disturbingly unfazed. “Just because I happen to be wearing the body of a mortal being, doesn’t mean I am anything less than what I am. The same goes for you. Even if you deny everything else, you’ve at least heard the Music.” 

The Music again. Now that it has been named, Zuko hears it in everything he sees. The trees around them sing out in dark green baritones, the insects in the grass a symphony of high buzzing notes, discordant yellows, blacks, and blues. A pair of squirrel-bats have nested in a nearby shrub, settled in for the winter, their songs a slow and sleepy harmony of soft red-brown.

Even the sky sings. Even the clouds. 

It is all so overwhelming. And it is so, so beautiful. 

“Aargh!!” Zuko cries, falling back onto the ground. He has a headache. A playful blue melody floats up from the pendant and he tries very hard not to chase it. Sae settles into the grass by his face and munches a beetle. 

“How can you be sure?” Zuko asks in a small voice. “How do you know that I’m… like you? You could be wrong. Didn’t you say your Spirit-powers are all fucked up or something?” 

Sae snorts.  

“I’m not so far gone that I can’t recognize one of my own kind.” He snaps up another beetle, speaking around the crunch. “Each Spirit has a unique aura about them.” He explains. “One that marks them as part of the Other World. Yours is all... flamey and sharp. Like steel in a forgefire.” He flaps his wings and settles on Zuko’s chest again, covering his shirt with flecks of insect. “Can’t you see mine? It’s weak, but it should still be there.” 

Zuko squints, scar pulling tight across his face.

“I don’t see anything.” 

Sae rolls his beady eyes. “That’s because you’re looking with your eyes . Look closer. Inside.”

Zuko… isn’t sure how to do that, but he tries. He looks, taking in the beak and the feathers and the bad attitude of the creature before him . He tries to remember how it felt like last night when the mask appeared. What he was thinking, what he was feeling. Zuko imagines the shape of it forming over his face, the friction of leather pommels against his palms. The sweet smell of incense fills his nose, and suddenly it’s like the fog has vanished from his sight and he can finally see. 

A pale corona of green-blue-silver sparks and crackles around Sae’s entire form, shimmering like the thinnest shroud of silk. Little glowing threads, whisper-thin and humming with music like thunder trail from the tips of his feathers and disappear into the open air, connecting him to something vast and unseen. 

When Zuko peers deeper, he can make out the thin membrane of separation between his sparrowkeet shell and the true, pure energy of his being. 

He feels gigantic. 

“...Oh.” Zuko whispers. 

“Yeah, oh.” Sae huffs. 

The Spirit who calls itself Sae is bigger than Zuko ever could have imagined. How the whole of this being fits into such a tiny body, Zuko has no idea. It strains against its confines (massive wings, sword-like talons), the flesh of the sparrowkeet seemingly stretched almost to the point of bursting. It must be taking an extraordinary amount of control to keep everything where it is. 

Beyond Zuko’s awe, however, is a sick feeling he can’t name. Sae is hurt. Badly. The damage pulses through his aura like an infection. It feels like there are fissures running through the whole of him, great riverbeds run dry where massive currents of power once flowed. It’s like something has taken great bites out of him and the wounds have yet to clot. Zuko’s gut roils in horror.

“What happened to you?” Zuko whispers. 

Sae closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “Nothing which concerns you.” He says evasively. “I will return to my true form soon enough. All the sooner once my treasure is returned to me. With your assistance, of course.” 

“I never said I’d help you,” Zuko argues. “I’m still not convinced any of this –” He gestures, “-- Is real.” It can’t be real. It can’t be. “Because if it is – if it is then –” Then everything is ruined. His honor. His throne. All of it lost, forever this time. He barely had any hope as a human, if he’s lost even that, even the very foundation of his being, well. Then he’s exactly as worthless as his father always said he was. 

“I can’t do this.” Zuko gasps. His chest feels like it's collapsing. “It’s too much. I’ve had enough of - of - Spirits and weirdness –” 

“Just where do you think you’re going? We’re not done yet!” 

Zuko ignores him, stumbling to his feet and turning towards the path that will take him back to the Wani. “Go find someone else!” He declares shakily. “I can’t help you.”

“Really, Blue Spirit –” 

“I AM NOT A FUCKING SPIRIT!” 

Zuko rounds on the bird and an arc of flame follows, searing a line into the grass between them. The dew evaporates with a sick-scared sizzle. The mask is back, stuck tight to his face and comfortably cool.

Sae snarls. “We had a deal boy –” 

“I kept my end. You asked. I said no. Conversation over.” 

Zuko turns back around and walks, a stride short of running. 

“Wait!” Sae continues to shout. “ Wait I said!” And then, in a voice like a storm - “ STOP. ” 

Zuko stops. 

Great invisible chains have wrapped around his entire body, anchoring him in place. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He feels like a volemouse before a hawk, heart beating fast enough to burst.  

Zuko tries to turn his head but finds that he can’t. Sae lands on the grass before him. 

“You little fool.” He spits. “Do not make me do that again.” The sparrowkeet’s breathing is labored, his wings drooping at his sides. The vibrant shock of his feathers has dulled, like spilled watercolor paint. “I told you before; I will not be deterred.” 

“Let me go.” 

“I will once you listen –” 

“Let me go!!” 

A sudden surge of power overwhelms him, shattering whatever spell Sae has used to bind him. His swords manifest in a heartbeat, and he slices through the invisible chains. The backlash of their severing reverberates through Zuko like a blow, and he stumbles, falling to his knees. All at once the power leaves him. He feels empty, used up. The mask unties itself from behind Zuko’s head and falls to the ground with a thud. 

He looks up, and sees that Sae has been blown a few feet away by the surge of energy, and lies in an unmoving heap on the grass. Only the faint rise and fall of his breast belies the fact that he’s even still alive. At first Zuko keeps his guard up, raising his lightly smoking fists in front of him, fully prepared to defend against any more paralyzing attacks. But as he creeps towards the fallen Spirit, Sae remains still. 

Guilt starts to bubble in Zuko’s stomach. Maybe he overdid it? The Spirit was already badly hurt, what if he made it worse somehow?

Zuko crosses the rest of the distance quickly and drops to his knees beside the tiny creature. His hands hover uselessly, unsure if he’s allowed to touch. Zuko swallows, summoning courage, and scoops the little bird up in his palm.

“Sae?” He asks worriedly. “Are you okay?” He brushes his thumb along the delicate curve of his back, smoothing down the ruffled feathers and checking for wounds.  

“... Don’t fuss.” Sae wheezes. “I’m alright.” He coughs, little puffs of smoke shooting from his beak. He smiles ruefully. “Ha. How far have I fallen that even a little trick like that was too much for me?” 

“I-I’m sorry.” Zuko stammers. “I didn’t mean to - I was just –”

“Don’t apologize!” Sae snaps. “Lesson one of Spirit-hood. You are righteous in all things and through you all things are righteous. Don’t ever lower your head before another if you can help it.” He rises stiffly and shakes out his feathers, then hops out of Zuko’s hand and faces him with a solemn expression. Zuko feels very much like a child before him, bumbling and thick-fingered, always making messes for other people to clean up. “That being said,” Sae continues. “We can’t keep having the same argument over and over. 

“You are a Spirit.” Sae tells him. “Accept it. Accept it now, and move on. Wallowing never helped anyone, least of all baby Spirits who don’t know their ass from the Astral Plane.” Sae voice gentles a fraction, warmth slipping into his tone for the first time. “You’re strong. Stronger than many Spirits much older and wiser than you. You’ll survive.”

Zuko’s eyes burn. He isn’t so sure. 

All the things he used to be, all the things he wants to be again, suddenly feel so far out of reach its maddening. Yesterday, he was a banished Prince with one goal; regain his honor. Today, he is somehow… other. 

What would Uncle do in this situation? Stupid question , Zuko thinks. Uncle wouldn’t even be in this situation to begin with. He would have already found a clever way to wriggle out of it, or negotiated with the powers that be in that firm yet cheerful way of his to release him from the bonds of Spirit-hood. In any case, he wouldn’t be where Zuko is; facing the endless expanse of the Other World with no fucking clue what to do about it.  

Zuko takes in a deep breath, then another. Maybe… nothing has to change? He feels for his fire, feels its pulse, its heat. That at least hasn’t changed. He’s still a fire bender, still a Prince, still one of Agni’s noble children. The rest of him may warp and become unrecognizable, but those parts of him will always remain the same. He hates to admit it, but Sae is right. He has to accept things and adapt. Survive. Something that he was already good at before occult forces came crashing down on his head. 

“Okay.” One breath. Then another. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right about everything. Let’s say, I wasn’t a Spirit a few weeks ago, but now I am, and that’s… how things are now. Let’s say I’m fine with that, and that I’m not freaking out.” 

“Generous assumptions all around –”

“-- And let’s say I believe that I’m the only one who can help you, and that maybe, just maybe, I’d be willing to lend you a hand. Maybe. What’s in it for me?” 

“Whatever you desire.” Sae says. “As long as it is within my power to grant The terms of your service are yours to decide.” 

Something blue. Zuko thinks, then shakes the thought away. What else does he desire? The Avatar, obviously. Victory and Glory to the Fire Nation. But in the short-term…

“Can you make me human again?” Zuko asks. 

Sae blinks, taken aback.   

“You want to be human?” He says in bewilderment. “Why in Ancient’s Name would you want that?” 

“I’m the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation.” Zuko explains. “I have to regain my honor. And to do that, I need to regain my humanity. I can’t be a Spirit and sit on the throne at the same time.”

“But humans are so… human. ” Sae sniffs. “So fragile. They die if you look at them wrong! Why would you ever want to go back to that?”  

“I just do, okay?” Zuko snaps. “Can you help me or not?” 

Sae clearly thinks that he’s lost his mind, but nods. “I can.” 

Zuko relaxes, satisfied for now. “What is this ‘dearest treasure’ of yours anyway?” He asks.

Sae stills. For the first time he looks… aged. And deeply truly, sad . Certainly more sad than Zuko ever thought a sparrowkeet could look. 

Zuko almost regrets asking when Sae answers in a wilted voice: 

“My wife.” 

Zuko blinks. “I’m sorry?” 

“My wife.” Sae repeats. “My mate, my most beloved. We were separated when we crossed over and now she’s missing. She is worth whatever sacrifice I have to make.”

“You have a wife?” Zuko says, baffled. “Spirits have wives?” 

Sae rolls his eyes. “Yes. Spirits have wives. And husbands, and life-partners, and every other inane relationship humans have.” 

“Didn’t you try looking for her yourself?” Zuko asks. “Why get another Spirit involved?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sae snaps. “I’m weak! Just now, it took nearly everything I had just to keep you from taking a few steps! Not to mention keeping this disgusting form from crumbling to dust. It will probably be years before I regain even a sliver of what I once was, but there’s no time for that!” 

“So you’re… trapped?” 

“Not trapped. I just… can’t leave this body. Right now. It’s probably temporary.” 

“ Probably?” 

“ Definitely. Definitely temporary.”

“Oh well, that’s reassuring.” Zuko grumbles.

“I need another Spirit –” Sae speaks over him. “Because I have no power of my own. As I am, the best I could do was bite any enemies I meet really hard. And that would be annoying, and maybe it would hurt, but it wouldn’t save my Saki.” 

Zuko… has no idea how to respond to that. He didn’t even know Spirits, or birds, could have things like husbands and wives. He stares down at the pitiful creature before him, tries to match its small form with the thundering power that had coursed through him before, and can’t. 

“Okay.” He says. “Start from the beginning. When was the last time you saw her?”  

Sae frowns sadly. 

“In the forest to the north of here. We were both… injured, when we fled the Spirit World. Upon arriving in the mortal realm it became obvious that we couldn’t maintain our Spirit forms, so we were forced to possess the closest vessels we could find. And they just so happened to be this.” He spreads his wings, showing off his cute sparrowkeet body. “I lost consciousness during the transfer. When I awakened, my beloved was no longer by my side. I was alone.”

“So she’s a sparrowkeet too then?” 

“Most likely. And I have no idea where she is. Normally, I can sense her presence no matter how far away she is, but my senses are dampened in this body. The only thing I could do was seek out the source of the most potent Spirit energy in the region.” He gives Zuko a significant look, which Zuko elects to ignore. “Even that was a stretch. I was forced to rest for several days afterwards to recuperate.” 

Against his better judgment, Zuko feels…bad for the Spirit. He knows what it’s like to yearn for someone and never find them. “I’m…sorry.” Zuko bites out. “That you lost her. That sucks.” He wants to punch himself in the face. He’s no good at comfort, why does he even try? “But I have my own mission to worry about, too.” 

“Mission?” Sae cocks his head, intrigued. 

Suddenly, Zuko very much wants to change the subject. 

He mumbles an answer.

“What was that?” Sae presses. 

Zuko mumbles again. 

“Speak plainly please, boy.” 

Zuko swallows, resigned. “I’m hunting the Avatar, okay?” 

“You’re hunting the Bridge?” Sae quirks his head. “Why?”

“Because I was ordered to.” Zuko grits out. “Because it’s my duty as loyal son and Prince of the – you know what? Shut up. It’s none of your business.” 

“Seems like it’s my business.” Sae says casually. “If it’s preventing you from assisting me.” 

“And it absolutely has to be me?” Zuko half-pleads. “Isn’t there literally anyone else you can ask? There have to be other - ugh - Spirits around who could help you. Why don’t you go ask them?” 

“I’ve tried!” Sae exclaims, throwing up his wings. “None of them will help me, Blue Spirit! My wife and I are fugitives. We were being hunted when we fled the Spirit World, and word has spread to the lesser Spirits here, because they’re all too afraid to speak to me. All the more powerful Spirits fled the mortal world over a thousand years ago! And even if they hadn’t, they most likely wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of the creature which pursues us. It is ancient and powerful and I would slay it if I could, but I can’t!” 

Sae takes a shuddering breath and his whole body seems to slump in sudden exhaustion. Zuko has the strange feeling that if he were human his eyes would be full of tears. 

“Please.” Sae whispers, bowing deeply. “I’m begging you, Blue Spirit. I need to find her. I need to find my Saki.” 

Zuko can see it in his aura. The pain. The grief. The love that strains the seams of Sae’s very soul and the desperation that taints it. 

Zuko sees himself in that love, in the way he’s always reaching for someone, too. Always searching for her laugh among port market stalls, always feeling the gentle sway of her arms in the push and pull of the sea. 

And so he asks again, even though he knows he shouldn’t, “Why me?” 

Sae meets his gaze and his eyes are soft. “Because I know what you are, at the heart of you.” He says, fluttering up so Zuko has to let him perch on his finger. “Because I saw what you did in that village for those humans. I saw you become you, Blue Spirit. I’m not sure what you really are or why you’re like this, some halfling Spirit with a foot in each world, but I knew that if I asked you for help, you would listen. That girl knew it, too. That’s why she gave you that.” He nods to Duri’s necklace, dutifully strung about Zuko’s neck like it has been since the day he got it. 

“And,” Sae continues. “I swear to you that if you help me with this task, then I will do everything in my power to help you in return.”

“...You’ll help get me back to normal?” Zuko says slowly. 

“If I can.” Sae allows. “I can at least help you manage the transition. Give me some credit boy! I may not look it now, but beings from far and near cower before my might!”

Zuko snorts. “You’re two inches tall.” 

That earns him a nip on the finger. “Brat.” The levity drains from him as he settles his fathomless gaze on Zuko once more. “So. Do we have a deal?” 

Zuko freezes, trapped in indecision. If his Uncle knew what he was thinking of doing, what he was almost definitely going to do, he would kill him. Actually, truly, literally kill him. Bargains with Spirits famously did not end well for the humans who took them up. Every Spirit tale he was ever told, be it around a crackling deck fire, or sung softly into his ear as he drifted to sleep, told of their treachery and fickleness, of deals struck under pale moons which cost the victim everything.

And yet…

There are things he desperately needs to know. About what’s happening to him, about this world and the Next. He can’t afford to let this opportunity pass. All he has to do is find something. He’s good at that! It’s a skill he’s spent the last two odd years perfecting. Before he can think better of it, Zuko extends his hand.  

“Deal.” 

Sae flies up and gently touches his forehead to Zuko’s. Every cell in his body instantly ignites, the universe and everything therein holding fast as, like before, the bargain snaps into place. Strings of light weave between them to form an iridescent cord, shot through with sparkling blue and vivid gold. One end wraps itself around Zuko’s wrist, the other to one of Sae’s tiny clawed feet. It’s as light as a feather. It’s heavier than an iron chain. 

Zuko snaps back to himself, breathing heavily. His thumb touches something soft, and he finds that he’s holding a single blue feather in his hand. He looks at Sae and raises an eyebrow. 

The bird shrugs. 

“It’s not my fault you asked for payment in the form of ‘something blue’. Really, you should’ve picked something more valuable. Like firemoth silk, or precious stones! Lots of uses for gems in spellwork.” The bird sighs in theatrical dismay. “But oh! How was this poor child to know such things! Thank the Spirits that now he has one such as I to guide him on his way.” 

Zuko snorts, which gives way to belly-deep laughter. “You’re so stupid.” He distantly thinks about how little humor there should be in this situation. He’s just made a Spirit Deal. Agni forgive him. 

“Watch your mouth!” Sae carries on. “Is this how you address all your Masters?” Zuko flicks him so hard he goes tumbling into a shrub. 

“Nobody called you my Master.” 

Sae pops up from the shrub and opens his beak to chirp out a witty retort – when a terrified scream splits the air. It’s closely followed by the unmistakable bellow of a giant platypus-bear.

Zuko doesn’t think.

He bolts in the direction of the sound. Sae squawks in surprise before swooping to follow him. Another scream rings out. Zuko’s heart pounds loudly in his chest as he sprints. Soon enough, they come upon a clearing, where a young man is dodging and weaving between the crushing swipes of a very large, very angry giant platypus-bear. Judging by the large gash on his leg, he’s had mixed success so far. 

“Help!” The boy cries. “Someone help me!” He dodges another strike. “Gods! Spirits! Anyone!” 

The prayer hits Zuko like an earthbender’s strike and nearly sends him to his knees. The desperation in the plea fills the back of his mouth, tasting of bitter metal. Emotions flood him, he feels buffeted by the tide of them - fear, pain, the overwhelming desire to live. 

“Steady.” Sae’s voice is calm in his ear. “Breathe through it. That’s it. Separate your feelings from his, don’t ever forget, your will is your own.” Zuko does as he’s told. With difficulty, he mentally carves a path through the foreign emotions, letting them flow into and through him. He shakes them loose when they stick, and within moments he is himself again, steady on his feet and able to act. The young man leaps out of the way of another swipe, only this time he stumbles, landing hard on his bad leg and crying out in agony. 

Zuko fills his lungs with qi .

He strikes out with his fire, scorching a line between the bear and the young man. The beast draws back in surprise, hissing at the heat. Zuko follows up with his swords, called from the air like twin sparks. The mask has tied itself neatly over his face between thoughts. He is the Blue Spirit. 

The Blue Spirit slashes across the bear’s chest, drawing a hot line of blood. The beast roars, fangs dripping poisonous saliva. It pulls itself up to its full height, looming over him in a wall of furry death. 

The Blue Spirit stands his ground. He lets the music in, just barely, just enough to soothe his nerves. He can be a more terrifying monster than this animal, if he wants to be. The corners of his mouth draw back, and fangs reveal themselves. To any on-lookers, it appears as though the mask itself is grinning, smoke pouring from between its teeth from the dark flames lashing along its tongue. 

Deep in his belly, a growl starts to build. The Blue Spirit stares into the platypus bear’s beady black eyes and imagines biting into its neck, savagely drinking down its lifeblood as it flows from its veins. He imagines the creature struggling weakly beneath him before it breathes its last. The Blue Spirit will be its death. 

Something of what he’s thinking must show in his face, because finally, slowly, the bear backs down, lowering itself to all fours. It gives one last half-hearted grumble before turning to lope into the trees. The Blue Spirit flicks the blood off his blades, deeply satisfied, and sheathes them with a shck. 

A gasp from behind him makes him turn. The young man has dropped to his knees, his wounded leg sticking out at an odd angle. His eyes are wide and terrified, almost more so than when he was facing down a raging platypus bear. He holds his hands out in front him like he’s braced for an attack. 

“S-Spirit,” He stutters. “You’re a – oh shit, I didn’t think one would really –” Zuko turns to face him fully. He scrambles backwards, yarding his bad leg in the process and crying out in pain. “Shit. Shit shit oh shit –”  

“Stop.” The Blue Spirit commands, his voice ringing loud in the clearing. The young man freezes. The smell of his fear is bright in the air. 

The Blue Spirit goes to his side and kneels down. “Show me your leg.” He orders. The young man twitches, but obeys, moving slightly so he can see the wound. It’s not great to look at; the boy’s poor leg is shredded, his pants soaked through with blood. Luckily, it seems mostly superficial, no bones or muscle poking through. The Blue Spirit lets out an internal sigh of relief. 

He raises his hand and holds it over the wound. The young man flinches back fearfully, but stills again under The Spirit’s sharp glare. The Blue Spirit warms his palm and lets the heat radiate onto the young man’s skin. It’s an old Fire Master’s trick, one meant to soothe aches and pains after hard days’ training. Slowly, he can feel the young man relax beneath him. The bleeding slows, then stops. It isn’t fully healed, but it’s well on its way.  

“It’s not broken,” The Blue Spirit tells him. “But you need to get it seen to. Can you walk?” 

The young man doesn’t answer. He’s pale, his heartbeat loud and frantic. The Blue Spirit realizes he can hear it as clearly as his own, thrumming like a hummingbird-wasp in his ear. He doesn’t ask again, instead simply reaching out and scooping the young man into his arms, careful not to jostle his leg. The young man yelps but doesn’t struggle. 

“Where do you live?” The Blue Spirit asks. 

“N-North.” The young man stutters. “Behind the v-village. On the big h-hill.” 

The Blue Spirit nods, and walks quickly from the clearing. He makes his way there in less time than it should take. The house, when they arrive, is modest in size, and attached to a comparatively opulent looking shrine. The pillars of the shrine are freshly painted in shades of green and gold, the old wooden floorboards clean and smoothly polished. Whoever the shrine-keeper here is must love this place very much. The Music that emanates from it is gentle and old, drumming with the rich flavor of Earth. The Blue Spirit wonders if the shrine is dedicated to any Spirits in particular, like the Temples of Agni back home, or if the Earth Kingdom, in its vastness, worships a pantheon of gods.

Regardless, the Blue Spirit feels out of place here, like him trespassing upon the threshold of the shrine would be… wrong , somehow.  He is not worshiped here. He is an outsider. And so, when he lowers the young man to sit on the steps of the shrine, he does so carefully, making sure not to touch a single thing. 

The young man stares up at him with a complicated expression, a touch less afraid for his life, and a million times more confused. 

“...Are you going to eat me now?” The young man asks. 

“ What ?” The Blue Spirit chokes. 

“Only it’s just… Can you do it somewhere my Granny won’t see? I don’t want her to be sad.” The young man sniffs and rubs his eyes. Then he starts bawling. “Fuck, she was right! I should’ve listened more to her dumb Spirit Tales, and now here I am about to be eaten by some rando in a creepy mask–” 

“Hey–” 

“I probably won’t even be tasty! I’m all gristle. Look at these arms!” He waves his arms in demonstration. 

“Wait a minute –” 

“Please just make it quick! Eat my face last, please, it’s my best feature –” 

“Nobody is getting eaten!” The Blue Spirit cuts him off. 

The boy pauses his wailing, wiping his snotty nose on his sleeve. 

“Aren’t you a Spirit?” He asks pitifully. 

The Blue Spirit works his jaw but manages to bite out “yes.” 

“Spirits eat people!” The boy accuses. 

“ Sometimes,” the Blue Spirit admits. “I do not.”

“Huh.” The boy says in amazement. “So you didn’t save me to turn my marrow into soup?” 

“No!” The Blue Spirit scrunches up his nose. “Gross.”  

“Then… why?” 

Good question. The Blue Spirit thinks. “You prayed to me.” He answers honestly.

The young man flushes. “That was just some junk I blurted out when I thought I was about to die!”  

“But you meant it.” The Blue Spirit points out. The young man doesn’t bother denying it. They both know it's the truth. 

“Huh. Okay. I know this part. You didn’t eat me so… you must want, like, payment, right? For saving my life?”

The Blue Spirit feels a migraine building behind his eyes. “Something like that.” 

“Well, what do you want?” The young man asks nervously. 

This question is easy. “Something blue.” 

The young man blinks. “...Really? That’s it?”

“Yes.” 

“Nothing specific, just…blue?”

“ Yes. And can you hurry it up? I’ve got, um, Spirit things. To do.”

“Huh. Okay. Yes. Please, wait here a minute, your, ah Spirit-ness.” The shrine keeper scrambles to his feet and limps into the shrine. He emerges a few minutes later holding a wrapped parcel in his arms. He’s also changed his clothes. In place of the rags he had previously worn, now are donned the semi-fine clothes of an Earth Priest’s zhiduo. The rich yellow of the robe pools on the ground as he kneels, like the long petals of a sunflower. He’s also pulled back his hair into as neat a bun as he could manage and fastened it with a hairstick. 

He must be the shrine-keeper, The Blue Spirit realizes. 

Bowing his head in deference, the shrine-keeper lays the parcel at The Blue Spirit’s feet, keeping his eyes down and his arms extended. The Blue Spirit has been bowed to many times in his life, but never like this. The worship feels… strange, and part of him recoils from it, while yet another, bigger part preens and lets itself be soothed. 

“For your mercy, and your grace to save this humble one’s life, my most profound thanks.” The shrine-keeper says. Gone is the rambling and stuttering. His current words are smooth and sure. “There is no offering I could give which would equal the gift you have given me. All I can do is repay you in the manner you have chosen.” He reaches out and unwraps the parcel, revealing a carved wooden doll wearing a faded blue dress. “This is the only blue object I have to offer. Please accept it. It belonged to my –”

“Sister.” Zuko interrupts, and realizes it's true. He knows that the doll was the shrine-keeper's sister’s. It was her favorite toy. She used to pretend it was a waterbender by throwing it into puddles. Her name was Suyin. 

Zuko has to squeeze his eyes shut to weather the sudden tide of information. It pours into him from the doll in a never-ending surge, memories from all the hands that have ever touched it, all the stories it has borne witness to. 

The toymaker who carved it. 

The woman who brought it home from the market.

The daughter she gifted it to.

The brother who found it –

– in the ashes –

– after she – after Suyin –

The Blue Spirit doesn’t realize he’s crying until a startled gasp jolts him free of the chain of memories. He reaches up to wipe his cheeks, but instead his fingers meet cool wood. The tears are coming from the eye-holes of his mask, dripping down and catching in the bone-white teeth. The shrine-keeper stares at him, mouth agape, all previous deference forgotten.  

The Blue Spirit leans down and quickly picks up the doll, cradling it in his palm. “I accept your offering.” He says. 

“I didn’t know Spirits cried.” The shrine-keeper mumbles, then blushes hotly. He once again drops his eyes and flattens to the ground. “I-I mean, this humble one thanks you, Master Spirit. I-If there’s ever anything else I can do to repay –” 

“Stop that.” The Blue Spirit snaps, suddenly furious. “Stop groveling. I hate it.” 

“Eek!” The shrine-keeper cries. “I’m sorry! I-I mean I’m not sorry, but also I am –”

“Just –” The Blue Spirit cuts him off, taking a deep calming breath. “Please. Talk normally.”

“Sorry.” The boy smiles shakily. “It’s just… I’ve never talked to a Spirit before. I don’t know what to say. My Granny’s gonna flip, she said never to talk to Spirits, that they’re, uh, not to be trusted?” 

The Blue Spirit snorts. “Your Granny is smart.” 

“Is there something I can call you?” The shrine-keeper asks hopefully. He frames the question wisely. This ‘Granny’ of his has taught him well. 

Unlike the last time he was asked, the Blue Spirit now has an answer to give. “I am called the Blue Spirit.” 

The shrine-keeper chokes. “Are you fucking serious?” 

“Excuse me?” The Blue Spirit growls in affront. “Is there something wrong with my name?”

“No no!” The shrine-keeper says quickly, waving his arms. “Your name is fine! Nothing wrong with ‘The Blue Spirit.’ It’s just – there’s a Fire Nation outlaw with the exact same name as you. Now that I think about it, his wanted poster looks a lot like your… mask… face?” He laughs nervously. “Must be a coincidence, though, haha!” 

Oh yeah, I have a wanted poster. The Blue Spirit thinks. On the one hand, wanted posters are deeply cool. On the other hand…uh oh. 

“I must go.” The Blue Spirit says. “Take care of yourself.” He turns. “Try not to die.”

“Wait!” The shrine-keeper cries. The Blue Spirit waits. The shrine keeper smiles, grateful and open. He bows. “Thank you for saving my life.” The Blue Spirit ignores the way his throat tightens and his eyes grow hot. 

“Be well.” He says in parting, and vanishes back into the forest. 

Zuko makes it half a mile before he rips the mask off his face and vomits into the bushes. 

“Well that was exciting.” Sae chirps, appearing from out of fucking nowhere and perching on Zuko’s shoulder. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Zuko rasps, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 

“I was watching.” Sae says bluntly. “It wasn’t my place to interfere in your business with that boy. You’re the one who saved his life after all.” He tuts and shakes his head. “You’re too sentimental, you know that? Not every human needs to be plucked from the jaws of death.” 

“So I should have just let him die?” Zuko snaps.

“I didn’t say that!” Sae defends. “It paid off at least.” 

Something warm pulses against Zuko’s fingers. It’s the shrine-keeper’s doll. Zuko holds it up to the light and looks it over, cataloging how the shadows play over the rough carving of its face. The faint chiming of bells seems to echo from it. Zuko traces his thumb over the blue pattern of its skirts, and the bells answer his touch, tinkling like laughter. 

“I don’t know what happened.” Zuko says, feeling lost. “It was like, all of sudden there were all these – pictures in my head, and I couldn’t shut them out. What was that?” 

“Emotions are a powerful thing.” Sae says sagely. He taps the doll with his beak. “Especially in humans, who feel things so strongly. Emotions are pathways through which qi is able to flow, and can leave an imprint on things that humans are particularly attached to. Just take your little necklace for example.”

Zuko frees the blue quartz from his shirt and holds it cupped in one hand with the doll in the other. They both have a distinct melody, and harmonize together into a beautiful song. 

“I didn’t know.” Zuko mutters. 

“You’re lucky. Objects like these are highly sought after in the Spirit World. They’re chock full of energy Spirits can use to make themselves more powerful. Doubly so if they’re offerings from believers. How do you think the Great Spirits got to where they are today?” 

Zuko had never really thought about it. To him, Agni has always been Agni. The idea of a world before Him and His Fire is unimaginable. 

“Do you have a bunch of worshippers stashed away somewhere then?” Zuko asks. 

“Some Spirits are just magnificent for magnificence’ sake.”Sae chirps primly. “What use have I for human followers when I am already a perfect being?” 

Zuko rolls his eyes. It’s getting dark, the afternoon having passed them by without him noticing. They should head back to the ship soon. He promised Uncle he’d be home for dinner. 

“At the rate you’re going,” Sae carries on excitedly as they walk. “You’ll have more faithful than the Great Ones by the time you’re five-hundred!” 

“Oh goody.” Zuko mutters. 

(break)

“The most reliable way for one Spirit to find another is to track them with a spell.” Sae tells him once they’re safely back on the Wani. Zuko is exhausted, all he wants to do is crawl into his bed and pass out, but one tiny annoying bird won’t let him. 

“A spell?” Zuko rubs his eyes, trying to pay attention. 

“You know, magic, sorcery, whatever the humans are calling it these days.”

“Humans don’t have anything like that.” 

“What do you call your bending then?” Sae says pointedly.

“That’s different!” Zuko protests. “Bending comes from within, we mold and shape our qi to become one with the elements and control them.” 

“Spirit magic is the same, and has been for far longer than the likes of bending. Young as you are, you should still be able to access it.” 

“Wait… are you saying I can do magic?”  

“That’s what I’ve been saying! Please keep up.” 

Zuko looks at his hands, examining them back to front. He wiggles his fingers. “I don't feel magic.”

“Give it time.” Sae reassures him. “Your Spirit powers will manifest themselves eventually.” 

Zuko shoves that terrifying thought way into the back of his mind. 

“I’m not going to grow, like, horns and scales or anything, right?” Zuko asks. 

“Eh…” Sae shrugs. 

“I’m not , right?” Zuko presses. 

“Most likely not, but also, who knows? Spirit forms are as much of a gamble as anything, so I can’t be sure. Your face might even benefit from a few patches of fur and some tusks.”

Zuko flinches. His scar itches fiercely all of a sudden, and he fights the urge to reach up and cover it. 

Sae sees this rolls his eyes. “Oh stop. I didn’t mean it like that!” He flies up and Zuko lets him perch on his finger. “I don’t care about scars or birthmarks or any of that nonsense. Your physical body is just a shell. It has absolutely nothing to do with what’s inside.” 

Warmth fills Zuko’s cheeks. That… might be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to him, Spirit or otherwise. Sae, again, probably doesn’t mean it like that, but still. Zuko coughs into his fist and fights against his rising blush.   

“Okay, so, magic, ” Zuko attempts to steer their conversation back on track. "What else do we need for this ‘tracking spell’?”  

“We’ve got the most important component already; a strong Spirit full of delicious energy.” 

“Don’t call me delicious.” Zuko grumbles. “What else?” 

Sae holds out his wing and counts his feathers like fingers. “Well, we’re going to need a vessel to hold the spell, something sturdy enough to contain it without exploding. A ruby would be nice, but a diamond would do in a pinch.” 

“I don’t have diamonds.” Says Zuko flatly. “Or rubies.” 

Sae gives the impression of lifting an eyebrow. “I thought you were a Prince?”  

Zuko huffs and glares out the porthole at the sea. 

“Well do you have anything made of gold at least?” Sae says exasperatedly. 

Zuko thinks for a moment. There are gold inlays on the fire crest above the shrine in the galley. Gold foil in the four half-broken Fire Festival lanterns stowed in the hold. He’s pretty sure Helmsman Kyo has a gold tooth. 

One of his Uncle’s teapots has gold in it. Uncle had laid it there himself after it was smashed to bits when Zuko was six and prone to dropping things when he got excited. Zuko’s mother had been mortified, but Uncle had reassured her that nothing had been broken that couldn’t be fixed. He’d liked watching Uncle repair it, liked how he’d heated the molten gold between his hands and rolled it around like putty. He’d then carefully smoothed it between the shards of porcelain, sticking them together piece by piece until they resembled a teapot once more. He remembers thinking it was magic.

“I might have something that will work.” Zuko replies at length. 

“Wonderful.” Sae chirps. “This kind of spell also requires a piece of the thing that is being sought in order to work.” He tucks his head beneath his wing and draws out a slim white feather, contrasting sharply with his own of cobalt blue. He holds it out to Zuko with precious care, and Zuko takes it and holds it up to the light.

  Pretty, he thinks. 

“Now all we need is a binder to hold it all together.” Sae states. “The strongest elemental binders are Water and Earth.”  

“Well that’s simple enough.” 

“Not so fast!” Sae chirps. “Not just any Water or Earth will do. We need elements that have been infused with the qi of a living being. Elements strong enough to last.” 

“So you mean… elements that have been bent?” 

“Recently bent, if possible. The fresher the better. Qi quickly seeps back into the Earth once it’s been used. Know any Earth or Water Benders?” 

Yeah, one. Zuko thinks but doesn’t say. He pictures how that conversation might go; “Hey, peasant, bend this water for me and don’t ask questions. ‘Kay thanks bye!” She’d probably bend the blood right out of his body. 

There is one place Zuko knows for sure will have Earthbenders. But it’s the last place in the world he wants to go. 

“The Western Front is close.” He says slowly. “About forty miles from here. There are Earth Kingdom soldiers there.” And Fire Nation. “Bound to be some recently bent rocks and dirt.” Sae’s eyes glint with interest. “It’s two days’ journey by foot. Maybe longer if we run into trouble.” 

“Then I suppose we’d best get started.” Sae smirks darkly and a chill runs down Zuko’s spine. “It will be interesting to see how much better human beings have become at killing one another. They were already so good at it to begin with.” 

“I’ll only be gone for a few days. A week, maybe.” 

Zuko’s Uncle does not look reassured by this. “Are you completely sure you wish to go alone?” He asks for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Surely more intelligence could be gained with another pair of eyes to scout your path.” 

“I don’t need an escort, Uncle.” Zuko repeats. “I’ll cover more ground on my own.” 

Uncle bites his lip, obviously wanting to say more but trying to be diplomatic about it. He clutches Zuko’s traveling cloak to his chest, worrying the material between his knuckles. “It’s late in the season for a scouting mission.” He reasons. “The snows will come soon, what if you’re stranded somewhere and are unable to return? What if you encounter… obstacles you cannot overcome? Obstacles with large angry sideburns who hate your guts?” 

“Uncle,” Zuko sighs, turning away from the bag he’s packing and placing a reassuring hand on Uncle’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine. I’m not a child. If I run into trouble, I’ll send for you. And I’m not going far, just a few miles up the coast.” He hates lying, but the truth is poison. If Uncle knew where he was really going, the true reason for this pilgrimage, he’d do everything in his power to stop him. The game they play, where Zuko pretends that he’s in charge and Uncle is only there to advise him, means almost nothing when the chips are really down.

Uncle frowns deeply but doesn’t protest. He carefully drapes the traveling cloak around Zuko’s shoulders, smoothing the fabric with warm hands. His touch is as it always is - weighty and sure. Zuko lets it comfort him. 

(Uncle’s hands are never hot. Not even when they train, when fire weaves between them like golden thread on a loom. Other hands were always scorching, leaving molten bruises, burns in the shape of cruel fingers. 

Mom’s hands were always cold.) 

“Take care of him for me, would you?” Uncle smiles at Sae, who nibbles on breadcrumbs from Uncle’s open palm. Sae looks up with bulging cheeks, tweeting innocently. Uncle chuckles, stroking Sae’s head fondly. 

Zuko leaves at dawn, bidding his uncle farewell. The crew give him a mix of neutral nods and half-hearted salutes, and he sets off down the road with his pack slung lightly over his shoulder and his swords on his hip. Each step feels heavier than the last, knowing what he’s walking toward. But Zuko knows there’s no turning back. He’s made his choice and struck his deals. All that remains is to live with them.