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.)