Aang had forgotten.

He had forgotten fear. He had forgotten the unpleasant, quivering sensation that rose in his stomach on the eve of great and terrible battles; he had thrown away memories of unreal, seething monsters, dark and twisted Spirits, devils in the shape of men. He had forgotten joy. The sound of laughter fell mute against his ears, replaced by a pressing silence that burdened his young shoulders and fed the hidden anguish of his heart. But even his anguish he felt distantly, his heart turned as cold as the unforgiving glacier he now stood upon. He had forgotten pain. The scars on his body moved in perfect step with his muscle, his body functioning in flawless syncopation, the disfigured portions disregarded and labeled as mere inconveniences. He had forgotten hope. His gaze was clouded only with the lives he had failed to protect, the bloody corpse of a murdered Fire Lord, the inescapable future that held only legacies of death and suffering. He had forgotten love. He had forgotten the roar of a tired, grumpy Appa; he had forgotten Momo's inquisitive glances; he had forgotten Sokka's sarcastic remarks, forgotten Katara's guidance, reassurance, friendship. But there was one thing he did not forget.

He did not forget the iron ship and its leering walls. He did not forget Sokka's mortal wounds and Katara's painful disappearance. He did not forget the sight of torn, mutilated bodies, still smoking in melted puddles of snow. He did not forget the Fire Nation. He did not forget Zhao. He did not forget Zuko.

He had not forgotten his anger.

Aang glared down at the ship from high on the ice-topped peak. Soldiers were running about in search of him, lowering boats into the water to see if he had attempted swimming away. The Avatar's eyes were shining with a pale, white glow that held no promise of hope. His tattoos burned with cold, harsh light, light that stung the eyes of Zhao when he looked upon it and caused him to crumple, terrified, to the floor. Light that held neither justice, nor righteousness, nor any form of warmth or kindness at all. He had forgotten these things, forgotten his path of peace, forgotten even his own conscience.

Iroh, flanked by guards, stumbled out onto deck holding his forehead with one trembling hand. He was very faint, and two guards stood close to him in the event he should collapse. The old General, however, proved much tougher than their predictions. He spotted the boy on the ice-cliff and an ancient fear strangled his eyes. He turned to the closest guard and grabbed the front of his tunic.

"Bring the prisoners on deck! Do you hear me?"

The soldier trembled slightly at Iroh's voice, but salvaged his pride and fought back.

"Admiral Zhao said to keep them locked up. You are also our prisoner, and -"

Iroh grabbed the recruit by his throat and shoved a burning fist into his face.

"Do as I say, or feel more fear than Zhao himself could place upon you! Bring them up, or I will burn you all from the inside out!"

"Ride, Kami, ride!"

The old priestess spurred the great Elk once again, though the noble beast was flying and hardly touched the ground for speed. Okami galloped beside them, swift as white-streaked lightning, the two men upon his back weightless as the light snowflakes that fell around them. Zuko clutched Hiero's waist half-heartedly, for he deeply disliked the old man and his bitter, impatient ways; but the bounds of Okami taught him acceptance, or else the deepening snow would soon be his only companion. Katara was likewise uncomfortable, but she did not mind Ariana as much as the old man; for though he had saved her life, she was of a much better disposition.

The priestess, however, was in desperate earnest and payed no attention to the Water Tribe girl behind her. Her ears were ringing, ringing fierce and loud, deafening her to the gale of the wind and the thank you's of the girl; they were ringing with warning, ringing with danger, ringing with the knowledge of the Avatar's descent. Ringing with the knowledge that now, after hundreds and thousands of years, a twelve-year old boy had discovered what no other Avatar had.

Aang's cold, blinding eyes glared as Zhao stumbled on deck. Sokka and Haru lay at his feet, their bodies nothing more than elaborate Picasso painting of dry blood, burn scars, whip lashes, and pulsing cuts that dripped onto the cold metal ship and left a miniature Red Sea within a barren, iron wasteland. Two soldiers were bandaging their wounds by order of Iroh and Zhao roared, furious, his body engulfed in demonic, red flame.

The priestess spurred the Elk again, the desperation seeping in. She could see the great, tall smokestack of Zuko's ship in the distance and her heart began to pound. The sun was still out; the snow was still cold; the wind still blew. The Avatar still resisted, however deep his anger set. She felt Heiro's anxiety and knew that he too was concerned; she yelled valiantly and Kami and Okami gave several last, magnificent leaps.

Zhao heard the wind whistle in an eerie, terrifying way as he threw the soldiers off of his prisoners. The gale was blowing hard, fast...and in the exact opposite direction it had been blowing moments before.

Iroh fell to his knees in prayer as the two Elk landed hard on the cold iron ship. The deck was slick and the steeds could not keep their footing; their hooves slipped and they went skidding, sending their four riders flying about the ship. The priestess was up in a flash and practically screaming a prayer; Hiero was soon at her side doing the same. Zuko fell hard on his back and the wind was knocked out of him; struggling for air he turned himself over as Katara crept to his side and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Zuko, are you -"

There was a massive, deafening, hollow boom. The ship quivered fearfully beneath it, the violent waves slowing and freezing to obedient ice. The ship, imprisoned, shook and groaned in the powerful winds and sent the crew flying. Aang, crouched low to the iron deck, glared at them with blinding eyes filled to brimming with distant, bitter hatred. His shoulders were bent forwards as one knee touched the cold deck; his right palm was spread on the metal, his fingers blue with cold. A slow tremor went through his body just as Katara looked up at him. Her eyes shrank and the world screeched to an abrupt halt.

He raised himself slowly, his aura pulsing, changing, growing into something that was too terrifying to behold, to devilish to describe. A shadow, darker than midnight, grew from within the depth of his eyes and spread slowly across his face.

It engulfed him like a hellish, ravenous beast; it choked the light out of him and tore the peace of his soul; it twisted his young mind in a painful, unnatural way and Aang cried out once in anguish. But the shadow was too strong to resist any longer. He trembled and then straightened himself again just as the shadow finished staining his body, wrapping his thoughts in a veil of hatred and wrath. It seethed from him, thirsting for new victims, creeping along the deck just as the puddles of blood crept from the tortured prisoners. It blanketed Haru and Sokka where they lay, unconscious; it fell into Iroh's eyes as his prayer faltered and faded; it washed over Ariana and Hiero in mid-sentence and they stumbled back, choking on the absolute terror of it. Zhao yelled and ran, but the shadows chased him, rearing up like hungry hounds and falling down upon him as he screamed for mercy. It covered the sky and strangled the clouds; it devoured the moon and darkened the sun; it hid the weak stars and covered the silent ice in a blanket of complete, grinning evil.

And last of all it fell on Zuko, who held Katara to his chest, watching the living shadow with breathless, terrified anticipation. Katara's eyes grew strangled with it and the light blue of her gaze turned dark.

"I love you, Zuko," she gasped. Zuko's golden eyes turned dim.

"I love you, Katara," he choked.

Then they shadow swirled around them and the world went dark.