Zuko's always believed in Spirits.
It was hard not to. His mother's, and later his, love of theater was the start. The stories of good and evil, of Beings greater than man. That's all they were at first; stories. Thought to be either long dead or entirely made up.
Uncle's stories made them real. He never fully told any, believing that the Spirits had a right to choose who learned their secrets, but there was enough to them to convince Zuko.
And if Spirits were real, that meant the Avatar had to be as well.
He chased any Spirit tale, not just ones about the Avatar. After all, if he had hidden himself away so well for so long, maybe he'd found a way to hide himself in the Spirit World. Zuko knew it was a long shot, but any amount of knowledge, even tangentially related, was a boon and worth looking into.
He should have expected something to happen eventually.
He wasn't even looking into any rumors or legends this time. It had been far too long between ports, too many people in too little space and Zuko had been getting antsy, feeling too caged in. He took off as soon as they docked, running into the forest that wrapped around the village. He should have been paying more attention; looking and listening to what was around him. Maybe then he wouldn't have fallen into the water.
Zuko couldn't really remember much of what happened. He had been running on fear, anger, and adrenaline the whole time, so his memory was hazy at best. The clearest part of it all was a Face, grin as sharp as it's horns adorning blue skin. The Face helped him, lead him to the right path back to his people, and as soon as Uncle had seen him and called out to him, Zuko fainted from the sheer relief of being back.
He was convinced that it had all been a dream.
It was just a coincidence that the theater mask he purchased on a whim reminded him of the Face. It was one from his favorite play, after all.
And if he used the mask when going out? Collecting intel, practicing his stealth and swords skills, and just fucking with Zhao? Well, he had to hide his identity somehow. Might as well use what he already had.
Surely the Blue Spirit wouldn't mind.
Still though, every time he went to put on the mask, Zuko would pause a moment and think about that Face, that Spirit, and thank it. For helping him get back safe, and for allowing him to use It's Face like he was. Even if he was half convinced he'd made it up.
And what more could a Spirit ask for in a Blessed Worshipper.
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