…Rage Of The Black Dragon…
Warnings: This chapter contains:- angst, sadness, mention of self-harm, mental health issues, possessiveness, mention of mental breakdown, fluff, and Zuko leaving the Fire Nation! All reviews are appreciated.
P.S.: This is my first story in this fandom (ATLA fandom as a whole) so I can say I am a little insecure as this is my first voyage here as opposed to my usual fandoms (I can admit that watching the ATLA original show, which I loved very much, and had captivated and inspired me to write this story!) fair warning, English is not my first language, and I am still unsure about the story but I will try my best to give this fic the attention it deserves. For everyone who knew of me or even read some of my other stories, then everyone, you know the drill by now, bring your tissues and get ready for the angst and tears!
P.P.S.: This is an Omegaverse story as in Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamic, with Alpha Aang and Omega Zuko, so you have been warned! And it is also a time travel one! The titles that would be used for the Omegaverse dynamic in this story, are from the Chinese fandom (As the story would have many customs and cultures from southern and eastern Asia; China specifically):-
Alpha - Qianyuan
Omega - Kunze
Beta – Zhongyong
P.P.P.S: This is a dark (And I mean really dark!) story that takes place in the ALTA's timeline (The original show, not the live adaptation, but who knows, maybe I will add a pointer or two from the NATLA after I watch it?) to some extent but with many major changes such as Aang being aged up to sixteen and Zuko being OOC; this story is also the first part of the series that would follow the first chapter but diverge after a certain point.
Chapter 2
It's hot… so hot… it almost felt like Azula's lightening shot through him again… panting, Zuko could only curl around himself, swallowing all of his pained whines and whimpers, trying not to attract any attention to himself least Azula or worse, Ozai would come and torture him even more. Why… Zuko's sluggish mind could only wonder why he felt like his blood was boiling inside his body almost burning him from the inside out. He couldn't help but wonder if the freezing temperature in his cell had messed with his body so much that some wires in his brain got crossed, or maybe it was an injury that festered and got infected, something that happened to him more than once that Zuko even wondered how he was still alive when he should have died a long time ago.
"How could this be?"
"…Too young…"
"…Heat?!"
"Impossible! How…?!"
"…The fight with fire Lord Ozai?"
"There is…"
"…Danger… not safe… could possibly…"
"…But a Kunze?!"
"General Iroh…"
Many voices buzzed around him, causing Zuko to groan from the headache he felt pounding in his head; he couldn't help but curl around himself when he felt a stabbing pain in his abdomen, causing him to grit his teeth and breathe deeply. Taking deep breaths to elevate the pain, Zuko cracked his right eye open, trying to see through his blurry vision who was in the same room as him.
A gentle hand ruffled his hair before a cool palm touched his forehead, making Zuko sigh in relief and lean into the coldness, the scent of jasmine and bergamot made Zuko's tense muscles relax, and his mind couldn't help but drift away, remembering the man who was more like a father to him than his own parents and sister. "Uncle…" Zuko mumbled under his breath, trying to stop himself from sobbing like a baby, his mind still reeling from the confusion and madness that almost choked him.
"I am here, Zuko… I… everything is going to be fine… just sleep, nephew…" A familiar and gentle voice said, a forgotten one; a voice that Zuko had almost forgotten as many years had passed between the last time, he heard it and today. Zuko hummed, a tear escaping his eyes before following the voice's order, in his feverish state Zuko couldn't follow what was said and the orders that were spoken, too overwhelmed but content with the presence of his uncle…
Zuko couldn't help but lose himself in the darkness…
…("My name is Zuko…" A hoarse voice whispered as a thin figure kneeled, shaky hands drew something on the floor using blood; vacant eyes watched the red lines formed on the icy cold floor, while his ears continued to hear the drip-drip sound his blood made on the floor as his hands shook, accompanied by his loud gasps as he forced his words out of his throat. "Son of Ursa the Forsaken Child of Agni; son of Ozai the Conqueror…" In the north, the Water Tribes' insignia was painted by his hands, followed by the south being represented by the Earth Kingdom; the east representing the Fire Nation, and the west representing the Air Nomads.
"…Grandson of Azulon the Murderer… and grand-grandson of Sozin the Mad…" Zuko continued, even as he felt dizzy due to blood loss, even as something primal inside of him screamed at him to stop; begging him to stop this madness or else… "I am a child of Agni; a forsaken one who suffered in the world of the new order..." A line of red followed by another, followed by another, and another, and another… another… until it formed an incantation that long since thought as nothing but forgotten rituals and myths.
"My blood is wretched, and my sins are great…" Forgotten myths and rituals that Zuko only remembered because of his years spent away, banished to roam the lands until he found his reason to get back home; his years searching for an enemy turned into beloved. Forgotten myths and rituals that Zuko only knew of because of the years he spent in the abandoned Air Temples, in the Fire Sages' High Temple, in Ba Sing Se's Great Libraries, and reading the Water Tribes' Forgotten Tomes; myth and rituals that were supposed to bring a person closer to the Spirits' world, and help them communicate with the deities who first taught them bending, rituals that were forbidden because it requires human sacrifice.
"My line is cursed, and my regrets are countless…" How long had Zuko been here? How long had he been trapped in this cold and dark cell? How long had it been since Azula had last come, not even looking him in the eyes as she told him in a bored tone this would be the last time they met because she was getting married and would have children so she couldn't make the time to come and play with him anymore… How long had it been since Zuko had last seen a living person come into his cell, or had been able to see any light that wasn't the deemed lights coming from the metal door at the end of his cell? How long had it been since he had last seen his beloved? Or even remember what his precious people used to look like?
He wanted out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here; out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here! He wanted out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here; out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here! He wanted out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here; out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here! He wanted out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here; out of here, out of here, out of here, out of here! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out; out, out, out; out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out! Out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out, out,͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰͈̼̯̜̄͋̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̸̸̖͙͇͙͉̯̞̦ͥ̉͒̌͌̒͟Ọ̷̡̥̱͕̲̖ͫ̌̋̊̃͂͗̚͟͜ͅų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͫ̂͢͜ͅ͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋
̼̟͈̹̙͔̟̏̉̽̅͛H̷̬͈̩͔̜͔̝͎̩̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺̋̂̂͂͌̏̀̕͝e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳ ̛̲͍̮̼͚̮̘̓͑w͚͓̃ͤ́ͮ͆ͧ̑ͫ͢a̷̸̴̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪̹͓͍̘͗̀͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿ͫ̂̕͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̷̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺̄͋̏̀̕e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳̩͔͉̙̪̘͓̟͌ͥ̉ͤ̏d͕ͭͮ̽ͧ͗͠͞͞ ͫ̂͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰͈̼̯̜̄͋̔͆͂̇͝ͅo͇̬͎ͦ ̪̻͉̞̞̗̠̎͂̃̑ͧ͘͜s̸̷͖̖̹̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺̑͒ͭ̓̂̈̏̀̕e̒ͦ̇̈҉̷͙͓̳̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺̏̀̕e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳ A̟̤̖̗͈̦͔̮͐̒̇ͩ͋̃̾̇̕a̷̸̴̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪̹͓͍̘͗̀͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿ͤͦ̅̽̈̍̕͏̩̠͚ḡ͕̤͕ͪ̉͟...
"It had been years since death had come and claimed everyone, I held dear in my heart; years since the day of the end had come and burned the mortal realm down… bringing nothing but imbalance and madness to this new world…" Now finished writing the names of the deities, a dazed Zuko prostrated, rubbing his forehead harshly on the ground, hoping that the freezing ground would shock him enough that he would be awake to finish.
"I, the forsaken child of Agni, am left with no one by my side…" A tear slid down his face, followed by another, and another, and another… another… a foggy face came into mind before it was wiped away, nothing left but the impression of a sunny smile, and twinkling eyes filled with love and hope as they looked at him. "But…" A hitched breath trapped itself in his chest; a suppressed sob he refused to leave his throat, a sniffle that left him as he tried to compose himself.
"I beg you to not forsake me like the others, to help grant my long-cherished wish…" Sitting up and raising his hands to the ceiling above, an empty gaze staring at the darkness… hoping… "Here I beg of you, here I beseech you. Agni, the God of Fires and Dragons; the beloved father, whose warmth and protection shined on us all." The Temperature dropped so drastically, that Zuko couldn't help but wonder in detachment if the Ozai had ordered his death by ice… but the shadows started dancing in such intense patterns, so strange, so… alluring… and all of his instincts started writhing and shrieking at him, telling him that something was wrong… that someone… something… was here with him in the empty cell.
"I am one of your forgotten children… one of your most beloved… tortured, humiliated, and left for death… I beg of you, grand me my wish to right my wrongs and erase the stain that brought nothing but imbalance to the world… Agni! With my flesh as a tool for you to bring justice and balance and my death as compensation, I beg of you to grant me my wish!" Whispers, so many voices hissed, growled, whispered, and talked.
Zuko felt his consciousness flickered and he couldn't help but wonder if Agni heard his prayers, or if a more sinister Spirit had heard him and was drawn by the scent of blood and death, and the promise of flesh… not that Zuko cared, not that he gave a damn about what happened to him, not after years and years of this madness that ripped his mind and soul to shreds. A growl resonated behind Zuko, and he felt a buff of hot air ruffling his hair and clothes from behind, almost burning him for how different it was from the freezing coldness surrounding him… a beat, then two passed before a voice resonated in his whole being…
"I heard, and I accept.")…
It was when the fever finally broke and he once more could think clearly that Zuko woke up to a new world. His eyes surveyed the room he slept in with disinterest, only the fact that he could smell the scent of his uncle (His family, his father, the only one who truly cared about him and protected him) calmed him down and stopped him from doing something as crazy as burning the whole place to the ground; a frown painted his face as he was subjected to gaze at the colors of the Fire Nation, bringing forth a wave or rage that almost made him burn everything if he didn't take deep calming breaths to meditate.
His hands twitched, as his eyes fell on the Fire Nation insignia, and he almost growled and threw himself at the tapestry hanging on the wall and burned it to a crisp… Such a disgusting sight should be burned and erased from existence… something dark hissed inside of Zuko, a sentiment that was shared by the Kunze who huffed and turned in the… nest… until he was facing the ceiling.
Humming to himself, Zuko picked at the blanket and softness surrounding him with a thoughtful look; his eyes once more surveying the room, while mentally he was inspecting every itch and throb in his body; categorizing everything he felt until he finally relaxed when he reached a satisfying conclusion, of his body being free of disgusting touches and violation he was threatened with for years.
However, that didn't stop Zuko from wondering (And even being amazed) about how he found it in him to make a nest when not once in his life did Zuko do this or was even given the chance to connect with this side of him… the life of a Kunze hiding as a Zhongyong was a harsh one that didn't offer many luxuries when you try to keep your true nature a secret; it got even worse when you are nothing but a banished and dishonored prince who couldn't let his true nature slip if he didn't want something bad to happen.
"But it wasn't your fault Zuko…"
"It was never your fault, nephew…"
"You forfeit, it's within your rights, you did nothing wrong…"
"Your father, attacked even when you forfeited the Agni Kai, Zuko… if anyone is dishonored and has broken the laws of Agni then it was no one but your father…"
"You are not dishonorable…"
"You did what was right…"
"It wasn't your fault…"
"You always tried to do what's right."
The voices of his beloved and uncle overlapped, and Zuko had to close his eyes tightly and take deep breaths hoping to calm himself down and not start another fit that would end with the Azula coming to beat him up… But that won't happen again, you are back… A voice whispered within, causing Zuko to open his eyes once more, a sudden spark returned to his eyes as he remembered the events that took place not that long ago. A gasp left him, and he couldn't help but fight with the nesting material, to get off the bed; finally free, Zuko jumped toward the mirror in the corner, wanting to confirm his suspicions desperately because if Zuko was back… if he was back… then…
The sight that greeted Zuko almost made his legs shake, zapping all the strength out of his body, causing him to slide down until he sat on the ground; a sob left him, and he could only gaze at himself in the body-size mirror, tears running down his face as he took in his younger self. Instead of the emaciated corpse, he expected to see; Zuko was greeted by the sight of his younger self… his younger self who looked so small and tiny, but healthy, as any child of twelve out to be. Instead of being greeted by the sight of the transparent grey skin of a corpse, he was greeted by the sun-kissed skin, so soft and baby-ish that informed him how healthy he was… instead of being greeted by a grotesque monster of nightmares he knew he had become in Azula and Ozai's care; Zuko was greeted by the sight of someone who would be handsome and beautiful when growing up.
A sob left his throat before a laugh followed it, and Zuko had to put both of his hands on his mouth to stifle the noise that left his shaking body, his eye blurring with the tears that continued to fall… He was really back… he was back, he could change things, he could stop this madness for real… he could…
Aang…
Aang, Aang, Aang; Aang, Aang! …Zuko's breath hitched, his shaky lips muttered his beloved's name over and over again as for the first time in years, hope reignited inside of him. He could finally see Aang; his beloved, his destiny, his reason for living, Aang! He could finally see him… Oh, Aang, Aang, you are alive, you are alive, alive, not dead yet, Ozai hands didn't reach you yet; you are alive, Aang, you are alive! ...Was the only thing that ran inside of Zuko's mind, a thought that brought a hysterical laugh that Zuko stifled as he stood on his shaky legs; his mind already planning everything in his journey to the south pole to retrieve his beloved.
Oh, Aang, how I have missed you; oh, how I waited for you, you won't believe what happened, Aang… Zuko grinned, his hysterical laugh trapped in his chest as he already started to plan for future events that were going to take place; first, he needed to find Aang before Ozai, and then tell him… Zuko then froze in his place, when his eyes once more glimpsed his twelve years old body, shattering all of his plans as he started at a body that didn't even experience anything of his past life, other than the scar that now adored his left side… Tell him what?
The more Zuko stared at his body the more furious he became, and he had to stop himself from losing it and setting the room on fire; taking deep and calming breaths, Zuko tried to calm his wayward Chi before something happened and he ended up letting his inner fire burn him from the inside out… Tell his beloved what indeed… Zuko's lips curled into a snarl before he went to the bed, sitting on the edge while facing the mirror, his mind in turmoil as he lost himself.
The longer Zuko looked, the darker his expression became and the angrier he felt… Why didn't I go back to the time when I was older? Or at least the time I found Aang?! …Zuko seethed, feeling so wronged and angry at the fact he returned as a child… a twelve-year-old child who got banished and was to be sent on an impossible quest. The problem for Zuko though, wasn't that he believed that Aang would take his words as a lie; no, his beloved was too kind to call someone a liar to their face, and would probably even believe him if the two of them met and Zuko shared some of the secrets that only the both of them knew and shared… that was not the problem; the problem was looking at him, like a reflection on a funny mirror that used to confuse and disorder the person… The problem was him; his age… him being a child in Aang's eyes… wasn't that what Aang told him when Zuko confront him about that bitch Katara?
"She is a child, Sifu Hotman! Just the thought of me and Katara is like… ugh… she is like my little sister!"
Why don't you look at that, you also turned into a child, and will be a little brother soon! …Zuko snarled before he tried to calm himself once more, lest he caused a catastrophe and started to think rationally through things... He was twelve… Zuko's face twisted at that… He was recently banished and sent on an impossible quest to find the Avatar… An advantage on Zuko's side if he thought about it… He has no allies, no friends, and the whole world considers him an enemy… Zuko raised his hand to rub his chest, the sudden pain that pierced him at this thought; it was too much to even consider when he remembered his dear friends… He presented… recently? …Zuko's nose twitched as the scent of sandalwood and spices filtered in the air and a frown took over his face, a part of him wondered why his body decided to present as a Kunze now when he had three more years before his coming off age, but thinking of his situation and how time travel shouldn't even be possible, he scrapped this line of thinking and decided to focus on what mattered…
He was a child in everyone's eyes; a naïve lamb that didn't know anything about life… Even if he presented as a Kunze which marked him as an adult, and was in fact an adult in a child's body who saw horrors beyond anyone's comprehension… He was weak, so weak it was even funny to compare it to his past (Future?)… This body was not that of a warrior like Ozai and Azula, but that of his mother's, a delicate creature that should be sheltered and pampered; his constitute was weak, and this body wasn't the one that Zuko spent years breaking and shaping until he could stand face to face against Qianyuans and win every time… His uncle, even if he believed him, wouldn't trust his words without proof… which Zuko doubted because this was his uncle he was talking about, and his uncle would always take his side against anyone, but what about the Order of the White Lotus? Zuko was sure they would suspect him and refuse to trust him without some sort of proof, and even if Zuko showed them where Aang was all those hundred years, who could guarantee that they would allow him to see his beloved when they have him?
He has no money, no resources, no backup… Zuko's mood darkened even more as he remembered how Ozai had abandoned him after he was banished, not even sparing him a thread of gold or a ship to travel, and how his uncle did the impossible to keep them afloat, using all of his resources and wealth to help his ungrateful nephew find the Avatar when he could have used the money and gold, he had to live a peaceful life away from the palace… And then, there was Aang who wouldn't even look twice at him because he was a child... A snarl left Zuko and his anger got the better of him; as if he would allow his mate to look at anyone that wasn't Zuko! Aang was his, and Zuko would burn anyone who as much as looked at his mate!
Black fires burst out of Zuko's hands, causing him to jump and his breath to hitch; shock and disbelief colored his face as he raised his shaky hands toward his face, his jaw dropped when he moved his hands around and saw the black flames dancing in front of his eyes. "How…?" Zuko whispered to himself, wrecking his brain and trying to find any explanation for the phenomena that was taking place before his very own eyes. "But the deal…?" Zuko mumbled, frowning deeply as he remembered some of the words, he used to beg Agni with, words that if the deity approved of, would be like an honorable oath on both sides that should be followed until the end. "Agni already gave me his fires…" Zuko tilted his head, closing his hands and then calling the fire to return within, narrowing his eyes when the fire complied and vanished; wanting to be sure, Zuko recalled the fire back, and a burst of black fire appeared, stealing his breath with it…
Could there be a part of their deal that was left unfulfilled? A part that didn't make sense or overlapped with a desire that reversed the order of things? Zuko hummed, lost in thought as he saw the black fire dance before his eyes, trying to remember the deal he made with Agni word for word, only to come empty-handed when he couldn't remember anything. "But I died, and fulfilled my part…" Zuko was sure of that, his part of the deal was done, and Zuko paid the price in full without cheating or acting dishonorably by going back on his word.
Zuko was dying, he had been dying since the day he lost his beloved and child, so offering his life as compensation for being able to use even a sliver of Agni's divine fires to get his revenge on his wretched bloodline was not something he would think twice of… but to actually still have this power and ability even after their deal was sealed, Zuko could only feel tears of confusion mixed with overwhelmed gratitude the longer the black fires danced in his hands.
"Thank you… thank you…" Zuko's voice cracked with every word he spoke, suddenly feeling like a great burden had been removed from his shoulder and that he could finally breathe. "Thank you for the second chance, thank you for this gift, I promise I…" Zuko didn't even continue as he felt a breeze ruffling his hair, causing his breath to hitch before tears of gratitude and happiness ran down his face once more, a little laugh left him knowing that this couldn't be anything other than the Spirit of Agni, not when he was in a room barred from any windows and easy access of wind.
The sound of the door handle moving, made Zuko act fast and extinguish the fire in his hands, turning to see the one who dared to come inside his room; the sight of his uncle coming in (Looking so tired and old all of sudden, like the weight of the world, fell on his shoulders and he was forced to carry it all alone) with a trey of food. "Zuko…" Iroh breathed, scrambling to put the trey on a nearby surface before coming toward Zuko, concern, and relief pouring out of every pore of his body.
The sight of his uncle, after all these years; the sight of the man who raised him and sacrificed everything for him, being whole and healthy and alive. It was enough for Zuko to start sobbing uncontrollably and throw himself in the man's embrace, blabbering and apologizing, as he held the man tightly and refused to let go. Weeping as he felt his uncle's gentle hands running through what was left of his hair and telling him that everything was going to be alright, which did nothing but make Zuko cry even harder and hold his uncle tighter…
Zuko could only thank Agni until his throat bleed that night…
Did you hear?
...
Did you hear?!
...
What? Hear what?
...
Prince Zuko is a Kunze!
...
What?!
...
What in the name of Agni?!
...
Is it true?
...
Yes! Yes!
...
…You won't believe it!
...
But isn't that impossible?
...
So young!
...
Agni's beloved…
...
But wasn't he banished?
...
What?
...
How could this be?
...
When did…?!
...
…War Council… disrespect… Agni Kai… lost…
...
Who in their mind would challenge a child to an Agni Kai, and one of Agni's beloveds at that? Isn't that against the rules?!
...
He didn't even fight, he forfeit!
...
What? What did you say?
...
What did you say?
...
Is it true?
...
My father worked at the palace; he was one of the servants who were inside the war council at that time…
...
…Prince Zuko defended our children!
...
He stood against his father to defend the young soldiers…
...
…I was there… I saw him crying and prostrating to his father, refusing to fight… he forfeited… it's within Agni Kai's rules… he forfeited… but still… Fire Lord Ozai attacked him and burned his face! He is just a child!
...
…I still hear his screams…
...
Such a dishonorable wretch!
...
Shush! Are you mad? Watch your tongue!
...
Watch my tongue?! This is one of Agni's beloveds we are talking about! A Kunze!
...
How could he?!
...
…Kunzes are meant to be treated with respect and reverence!
...
Fire Lord Ozai was always cruel and heartless, but to think that he…
...
He is Mad! He always was! That's why his father refused to appoint him as the Fire Lord!
...
Don't you find it suspicious?
...
Fire Lord Azulon died, and instead of his son General Iroh…
...
He probably killed his father, and is trying to kill his son too!
...
The one who lost the Agni Kai was the Fire Lord, but he still had the audacity to sit on the throne and act like he was the Fire Nation Lord!
...
That meant…
...
Wait that meant….
...
That meant…
...
…meant…
...
A dishonorable fight! He broke the rules of Agni Kai!
...
The fight immediately nulled, the winner all along was…
...
…The true Fire Lord is…
...
How could this farce continue like this?!
...
…But did you hear?
...
What?
...
Prince Zuko he…
...
…Cut his hair…
...
…Disowned his bloodline!
...
Agni, help us…
...
Fire Lord Ozai went mad!
...
…Destroyed everything in the palace, even burned one of his commanders!
...
The dishonorable wretch deserved it for touching one of Agni's beloveds…
...
Such a shame…
...
…A shame…
...
…Shame!
...
He deserved it for dishonoring the prince!
...
But where is the prince?
...
The prince?
...
…Where is the prince?!
...
Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?! Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where? Where?!
...
No one knows…
In the end, the new plan that Zuko agreed on was the same old one he followed when he was nothing but a stupid child; but this time with many changes that would help Zuko and his beloved win this stupid war once and for all. To travel the world for a few years, to gather loyal allies and friends who would stand by Aang's side; to be able to train this weak and soft body into the body of a warrior he used to have, to Master the power that was entrusted to him by Agni. Zuko needed time to perfect it all this time so that when he went searching for his beloved to bring him back, the world would stand beside them when they fought Ozai, not against them.
But as Zuko was walking through the hallways of the Western Air Temple, a part of him was wondering if it was necessary to push back his meeting with Aang by a few years, when he could find his beloved now and hide him away from the world... hide him away and tell him everything and make him see reason when in the past he refused to and continued to follow the Air Nomads teachings, even when that ended bringing nothing but pain and heartache.
To see the Western Air Temple standing tall and intact after it was destroyed by Azula all those years ago, brought nostalgia and heartache to Zuko, who forced himself to travel through the temple, feeling the ghosts of his friends surrounding him, and hearing the laughter and happy moments that they shared within these walls once upon a time… The Western Air Temple, the place where he and his beloved had…
There was the large Pai Sho table, where he, Suki, and Hakoda used to spend time unwinding, challenging one another to a game of Pai Sho (Suki was the one who lost first, every time, and would spend her days sulking and glaring at them, before coming to challenge them next time, always laughing and jumping happily when she won). There was the obstacle course that Aang always made Appa fly through, training Appa and Momo and giving them treats when they did right (Zuko almost cried then and there when he saw the shadow of Aang, of Appa, of Momo; he remembered Aang always dragging him to the obstacle course, saying something about Zuko's need to learn how to fly Appa. Zuko remembered how Appa would always pound toward him and give him one of his stinky kisses, slubbering all over him; he remembered how Momo always sat on his head, before chittering about something and flying away at the sight of food or treat).
There was the great old library where Sokka spent his day, trying to find books or anything of use that weren't confiscated by the Fire Nation, or thinking of one of his crazy plans and gadgets, always choosing dinner time to show them his crazy inventions with a smug grin or tell them one of his jokes that were not funny but made them laugh anyway (Or sometimes get annoyed, but that didn't stop Sokka from laughing and joking and flirting with Suki… Zuko wondered what happened to the man, he always wondered what happened to him after he knew of Katara's betrayal, after Suki and Toph were killed, after his tribe was enslaved… he never knew, until this day he never knew what happened to the smiling man). The meadow above the cliff where Toph would always go there to nap, complaining loudly before climbing her way up to sleep under the sun with a smile; Zuko remembered how many times Toph dragged him with her to relax, giving him those knowing smiles that made Zuko suspect that she knew what he was hiding (Zuko missed Toph, he missed her brash personality, her 'Friendly Punches' and the amusing jokes and witty comments; he missed having her drag him to the meadow with her, where she would nap and Zuko would stare at the cloud and meditate because as long as the sun up, Zuko was up to and couldn't even nap… he missed everything).
Shaking his head, Zuko walked through the temple, his fingers tracing the walls as he continued to hear his uncle moving behind him, following him and trying to smile at him with reassurance that Zuko knew Iroh didn't feel; not when the news about him being a Kunze had spread throughout the Fire Nation and no doubt reached Ozai's ears, and the crazy Fire Lord would surely rush to find Zuko and try to convince him to return back home (The power Ozai would have with a Kunze standing beside him, even if that Kunze was a despised son; his status that would be elevated and praised day and night when the Fire Nation would hear about Ozai siring a Kunze, the first Kunze born in the royal family in over a hundred and fifty years. The rush of elation and the stroking of ego, when it became known to the world that one of Agni's beloveds was within the royal family) after all, nothing could boast the morality and convince their people that their case was the true one, other than seeing one of Agni's beloveds being one of the royal family who believed in the order of the new world…
Don't worry, uncle… Zuko wanted to reassure his father figure, wanting the man to relax and be happy because everything was going according to his plan… The people will hear about the Agni Kai, and they will learn of the Fire Lord's sins, and when that happened… Zuko's breath hitched when he finally reached his destination, gazing at the statues that adored the exterior… A riot will break out… walking to the edge of the temple, gazing at the river below, Zuko couldn't help the tear that left his eye when he swore, he heard Aang's voice laughing as he called Zuko to come inside for dinner… Because… we are in a time where people still believed in the will of Agni… and back in the past Zuko was stupid not to use this to his advantage, all because he wanted to be a filial son and protect his father, but no more, Zuko was done being Ozai's puppet and sacrificial shield.
Turning to the right, Zuko could only see the ghost of his past self sitting near the edge, being embraced by his beloved who laughed and whispered sweet promises in his ears, telling him about the Holy City of Lung-ta and how he would take him there after the war was over, sealing his promise with a kiss that made Zuko feel all warm and happy on the inside. Zuko blinked, hearing the voices of his friends from behind, calling him for dinner and telling him to hurry up; with a shaky breath, Zuko followed their calls, his eye flickering around the place…
Here was where he and Aang used to train in fire bending and meditate after they were done… This edge was where Zuko would sit and stargaze all night before he was joined by his beloved who held him and told him the story of the stars above… That tree was Momo's favorite for napping and the pillar beside it was Appa's go-to scratching post… This statue was the one Sokka broke, and had to prostrate and apologize to Aang for days before the Qianyuan forgave him… Suki used to pull Sokka behind this wall so the two of them would have some time together… Toph enjoyed earth surfing on the stairs behind him… Katara's fav… better not think about her…
Reaching the fountain, Zuko let out a hitched breath, tears clouding his eyes before he managed to reign them in; the ghosts of his friends (Family, they were his family, the ones who stood beside him when the whole world condemned him for siding with the Avatar) sat near the fountain, laughing and joking and sharing meals and warmth and giving Zuko the best days of his life. Aang's infectious laugh beckoned him, calling his name and trying to guide him deeper; Zuko heard his beloved call him from behind one of the pillars, and when Zuko turned he saw Aang giving him a mischievous smile as he put his finger in front of his mouth to shush him, while in the same time pointing to one of the halls and telling him to follow… and Zuko did… he always followed his beloved…
…("Hotman~" Zuko chuckled, squirming half-heartedly out of Aang's hold when the man jumped him from behind and hugged him tightly; the kisses made him feel so warm that Zuko laughed and hugged the Qianyuan who used this as an advantage to Spirit him away that night after everyone fell asleep. "I finally caught you~" Zuko almost let out a shriek of laughter before moving fast and covering his mouth with his hands, trying to stop his laughter when Aang started to tickle him without mercy.
"Aang! No! Stop it! You will wake everyone, stooohhhhpppp!" Zuko wiggled around, his hands muffling his laughter as he tried to escape Aang's merciless tickles; happiness, joy, and love coursed through his whole being; the memories of what happened with the Sun Warriors, and the knowledge of Aang choosing him as his beloved brought Zuko such joy that he almost felt like was about to fly. Being surrounded by warmth, the fire of all colors twinkled like jewels; holding each other's hand and the soft kiss that followed. All of it still repeated in Zuko's mind even after days, making his heart pound like crazy, with every gentle touch Aang offered him, and every soft kiss they shared.
"Then come with me…" A soft kiss on the cheek followed Aang pulling him away from the fountain; hushed laughter and giggles dominated the silent hallways, as Aang led him deeper into the Air Temple; they only stopped now and then to share a sweet kiss, and let out a small giggle like they were children who managed to get away while sneaking treats and candies.)…
"Zuko…?" Iroh's confused voice sounded behind him, summoning a hum from Zuko who gazed at the sacred doors of the sanctuary in front of him. Zuko raised one of his hands to gently trace the pattern engraved on the door, gazing at the door with pain and hurt, wanting to get inside but being unable to as the heavy doors would not open to those who can't bend air; Zuko leaned his head on the cool door, a part of him wondered if Aang would open the door for him if he begged enough.
…("Where are we going?" Zuko asked, a smile painted on his lips as he gazed at the heavy door in front of him, tilting his head as he studied the heavy doors; the only place that Zuko and his uncle couldn't enter when the two of them came to the Western Air Temple years ago.
"Wait and see," Aang whispered after he leaned down and kissed the corner of Zuko's lips, causing Zuko to scrunch his nose to hide his smile; grinning, Aang went to the door and took a deep breath before he started air-bending, summoning air and directing it to the locking mechanism.
It didn't take long for the door to open, and Zuko could only watch with wide eyes as the door and Aang dragged him inside. Gazing around the place, Zuko's breath hitched when he saw the statues around them, all depicting Aang's past lives from different generations and eras; but what made him let out a confused noise, was the chests on every surface, heavy with many treasures and fabrics, the candles on every surface, the fire burning in the center.
"Aang?" Zuko asked, turning to see his beloved, feeling his breath leave him when he saw a jade hairpin in Aang's hands. "I… wha… Aang…?" Zuko stuttered, gazing at the hairpin with such an intense look; part of him wondered hysterically if Aang understood the significance of giving a hairpin to a Kunze… "You…" Zuko said breathlessly, gazing at Aang and then at the hairpin, a sudden sort of desperation gripped his heart.
"Marry me." Aang smiled as he said those words, but Zuko was able to detect the nervousness and hope shining in his beloved's eyes. "I know we didn't know each other that long… and most of our time together was you chasing us around…" Zuko winced at that, which only made Aang laugh. "I know, that I am not good enough with words to make a grand confession that would move the hearts; but I want you to know that you are the only one for me and that I will always love and cherish you for as long as I lived… will you marry me?" Aang gazed at him hopefully, not even realizing how his words made Zuko's heart pound inside of his chest like crazy that he almost felt it jump out of his ribcage.
Zuko swallowed, his eyes misting as his eyes fell once more on the jade hairpin, taking the delicate and beautiful engraves of the blooming lotus flower on one end of the pin, and he couldn't help but wonder how Aang managed to acquire such a beautiful and fancy gift or even find treasures and riches like what he saw behind when there was no time for love in this war. "Can you… can you help me wear it?" Zuko asked shyly after a while, his words summoned a radiant smile from Aang who let out a choked laugh of relief and pulled Zuko into his embrace.
"Of course!" Aang cheered after pulling away, his grey eyes twinkling, happiness shining in those grey orbs as Aang handled Zuko's hair gently into a bun before inserting the hairpin. "Beautiful…" Aang mumbled, leaning down to kiss Zuko on the forehead, his words and gentle actions brought tears to Zuko's eyes who leaned on Aang's chest, sniffing when he felt his beloved's arms tighten around him in a loving embrace…
Zuko never felt such joy before…)…
"I am fine, uncle…" Zuko whispered, pulling his head back and giving his uncle a tired smile, his words made his uncle worry even more but before Iroh managed to pull Zuko into a comforting hug or even reassure him with his gentle words and wise advice, shouts and screams came from the outside, making Zuko narrowed his eye, as a harsh frown took over his face… They came fast… Zuko couldn't help but sneer, knowing that the only person on the other side was no doubt his wretched father or one of his ass-kissers who came to bring him to Caldera.
"Commander Zhao, how may I be of help?" Iroh said when he and Zuko finally saw who made the commotion outside of the temple, Zuko almost spat fire and mercilessly attacked Zhao when he saw that the disgusting man had destroyed one of the statues lining the wall (The one that Aang always used to sit under and meditate, always giving Zuko a smile when he opened his eyes to see him watching from far away) before he reign himself, least he did something stupid and exposed himself.
"General Iroh…" Zhao said as he turned away from his uncle's man, gazing at his uncle before gazing at Zuko with fascination and something else that made disgust color Zuko's face when gazing at the older man. "I came bearing great news!" Zhao smiled as he said those words, taking a golden scroll and opening it, showing an edict that no doubt came from the Fire Lord. "Crown Prince Zuko and General Iroh the Dragon of the West are to return to Caldera immediately to-" Zuko didn't let the man finish as he walked around his uncle glared at Zhao.
"No." Spitting this word with a glare that promised pain and death if Zhao as much as said another word; the confusion, followed by shock and even some fear that Zuko saw on everyone's face made Zuko feel a sick and twisted pleasure at the helplessness and confusion on every face.
"I… wha… Prince Zuko!" Captain Zhao, who was left speechless for a second pounced back, frowning harshly before turning the scroll to show him the Fire Lord seal on the paper, looking at Zuko with a look that told him the man thought of him as nothing but a misbehaving child. "The Fire Lord, your father, ordered your return to the capital, your home. You cannot possibly refuse when your father sent all of his men to bring you home, your father did what he did because you disrespected him-!" Zuko rolled his eyes, ignoring Zhao, and turned his head to his uncle who inched his way to stand in front of him and shield him.
"All I hear is rubbish, and I all get was that the man who sent you here refuses to man up and admit his mistakes…" Zuko sighed, his words rending the temple silence as everyone froze, all were gazing at Zuko who stood near the edge, gazing at the river below with nostalgia as he remembered how Aang took him flying on his glider. "He didn't even come to apologize… show you what the kind of Qianyuan he is…" Everyone was speechless, and Zuko didn't need to turn around and see how worried his uncle was and how he was inching closer to Zuko as if to protect him if things got messy. "It doesn't matter, not anymore, because I the banished son of Ursa, claim no relationship with the Fire Lord." Zuko grinned, as he pulled a dagger, relishing in the horror he saw on every face as he cut what was left of his hair (Where it was cut by one of the Fire Sages, to inform everyone how he was nothing but a dishonored individual who went against the Fire Lord) before anyone could even move. "Tell him, that I will not change, and that I will never learn." Zuko spat as he threw his hair in Zhao's direction, the horror and terror on every face was enough to bring a vindictive smile to Zuko's lips as he knew what would happen after such a declaration.
In a world where hair plays a significant role in their culture; a Kunze only dared to cut their hair for two reasons. The first, was when they considered their marriage to their Qianyuan as dead marriage and they no longer want to stay with their Qianyuan; either because they were trash or scum not worthy of living; if a Kunze wanted an out of a marriage, they would cut their and their children's hair before returning to their childhood home, where their family would stand beside them and protect them. The second reason was their want to leave their family and forsake their Clan and their ties with their birth parents, and that only happened when a Kunze questioned the soundness of their family's Patriarch (Or Matriarch) and their worth of being the head of the family; a practice that descended from when their Nation was nothing but separated Clans fighting to get the upper hand…
For Zuko to do this in front of many prominent people… for Zuko, the Crown Prince of Caldera… to do this in front of many Commanders and Captains told everyone that Zuko who was the only Kunze born into the royal family in over a hundred and fifty years, Agni's beloved, had found the Fire Lord lacking and did not consider him worthy. Not worthy to be a father… Not worthy to be the Family Patriarch… Not worthy as a Qianyuan… Not worthy as the Lord of the Fire Nation… Not worthy in the eyes of Agni for daring to go against one of his beloveds…
"Make sure, to send my regards and tell him everything I said word for word," Zuko stated, a spiteful smile painted his face as he turned around and walked away, ignoring the cries and calls of his name as he walked deeper and deeper into the Air Temple, following ghosts and promises and what-ifs.
"Nephew…" The sound of his uncle's hurried footsteps stopped him, causing Zuko to turn to the man, his face softened when he saw his uncle (The father he wished he had, but instead was given to a cruel man who didn't even deserve to be called a father) before his brows furrowed in confusion when he saw his uncle's short hair.
"You… You didn't have to… you could have still…" Zuko whispered, looking at his uncle with uncertainty because he knew if his uncle came with him then the past would only repeat itself and he would lose the only family he had left; all of Zuko's thought was put on hold when he was pulled into a tight hug by his uncle.
"I already lost a son; I won't lose the other because of fools who never used their brains…" That made Zuko give a choked sob, sniffling as lean into the older man's hold. "Besides… one of Agni's beloveds has spoken, and his words are law." Zuko sniffed, nodding his head even as he fought the tears that wanted to leave him as he leaned into his uncle's embrace, soaking in the comfort and familial touch that was taken away from him because of Ozai's cruel hands… just for a moment… just for a second longer…
Zuko would rest just for a second longer in his father's embrace…
…("Let's get married; here, now. This instead; let's elope!" The sound of waves leaping on the shore resonated in their ears, and the chirping of birds in the distance created a symphony all around them; Zuko looked at Aang as he said these words, seeing the shock and surprise on his beloved's face, who looked like he didn't even know what happened. Not that Zuko faulted him, not after he dragged Aang away from lunch and spirited him to one of the isolated spots on Ember Island just to tell his beloved that the two of them were eloping.
"I… huh… do you want me to call the rest of the gang or are we keeping it a secret?" Aang said after a while, an amused smile played on his lips, and he didn't even look angry or reluctant, just amused and happy; Zuko who suddenly felt like a huge weight was removed from his shoulder smiled, as he leaned on Aang, letting the scent of his beloved, the scent of something as sharp as lightening, of the forest after rain, of something fresh that was wholly Aang, relax him fully.
"I don't know…" Zuko laughed, leaning on his beloved who snorted and seemed to hold his own laughter by the skin of his teeth. "But I really, really, want to marry you now… Agni… I should have made you elope with me that day in the Temple…" Zuko grumbled, his words summoning an amused laugh from Aang who held Zuko's tightly.
"Well then… why should I keep you waiting?" Aang grinned, leaning down to kiss Zuko, sighing when Zuko reciprocated the kiss enthusiastically. "We could always have a second wedding, maybe even a third, so why wait…" Another kiss that stole Zuko's breath away, and brought a happy smile to his lips.
That's how their wedding went, with the sound of waves leaping on the shore as music in the background, an abandoned theater Zuko used to come to with his mother as their wedding venue; the illuminating moon was their guide, and Zuko didn't even wear a veil or anything fancy other than the jade hairpin as he walked toward Aang. There was no loud festival, no wedding sedan or a march, no fancy red robes embroidered with golden threads that held all good wishes and hopes, no wine or a feast or the festivity of a wedding, or even their friends surrounding them as Zuko marched to his beloved… but for Zuko, this was the happiest day of his life.
As Zuko walked toward his beloved, his hands cupped together producing a flame, a sight mirrored by Aang who waited for him with his flames blazing brightly… so similar but so different from their time with the Sun Warriors… Zuko couldn't help but smile, as he felt his heart pounding in his chest like a hummingbird about to escape. He stood beside his beloved, feeling shy but so happy when they stood side by side to perform their bows.
The first bow was for Agni and Lung-ta. Where Zuko prayed for a happy life with his beloved, to always stand beside him and do the honorable thing and stand beside justice.
The second bow was for their ancestors. For Zuko whose ancestors he was ashamed of, he wrote the names of his uncle, mother, and his mother's ancestors on a makeshift tablet, same with his beloved who only wrote Monk Gyatso's name.
Their third and final bow was for each other, and when they finally stood up, they joined their inner flames together signifying their union.
Zuko could only smile happily, leaning up to kiss his beloved, a happy laugh left him when Aang suddenly pulled him into his arms and started to kiss him all over his face. "Wait, wait!" Zuko said breathlessly, pulling the hairpin from his hair, and looking at it before looking at Aang. "There is a story… more like a myth really… about how two lovers found each other using each half of a hairpin…" A light of recognition shone in Aang's eyes before he gave Zuko a nod of acceptance; Zuko couldn't help but smile as he leaned to kiss his beloved once more. "When the war is over, and we win… come back and give me the other half; I will be waiting…" Zuko whispered, giving Aang half of the hairpin, a smile danced on his lips when he was given another kiss…
Zuko never knew what happened to the other half…)…
"Why the South Pole?" Iroh asked, sipping his tea, gazing at Zuko who was staring at something in the distance as he waited. Zuko blinked, snapping out of his daze as he turned to his uncle, giving the man a soft smile before he picked up his cup and took a sip from the tea, his eyes softening as the smell and taste of jasmine tea engulfed him.
"My destiny is there…" Zuko answered, before returning his gaze to the icy surface, waiting for the light that would show up at any minute now to tell him that his beloved had been found; his words though, summoned a hum from the old Qianyuan, who turned his eyes to the ice, and water, and more ice and water before shrugging and taking another sip of his tea.
"As you say, dear nephew. Now! What do you think about a vacation in Kyoshi? I heard they have the best tea leaves and an amazing tea blend that only they use and…" Iroh said with a small smile, enjoying his tea and engaging Zuko in a small conversation.
How long are you going to make me wait, Aang? Wasn't a decade enough? …Zuko thought, raising his cup to take another sip, lost in thoughts even as he answered his uncle's questions. Three years had passed excruciatingly slow, so slow that Zuko almost lost his mind and will more than once in his quest before forcing himself to continue on the journey he chose for him and reach the end of the road before quitting.
Now, three years had passed since the day he returned to the past; three years of hard work, backbreaking, sweat, and breakdowns that almost burned the world to ashes before he managed to reign himself. Three years of missing his beloved and being driven nearly crazy as he was forced to wait; counting the hours before meeting his beloved after all these years. Three years, and finally, Zuko was finally going to see his beloved.
A beam of light appeared in the distance, the oceans rolled and raged as the world shook welcoming the return of the Avatar. Zuko's breath hitched as he stood from his seat, walking toward the rail of the ship with eyes wide, filled with hope; the shouting and snapped orders behind him were ignored as all of Zuko's attention was focused on his beloved.
"Zuko, what is your next step?" Iroh's voice came from behind, his words went over Zuko's head as tears gathered in his eyes; finally, his beloved was back. After all these years, his Aang was finally back in his arms. Turning to his uncle, Zuko smiled at his uncle before he said…
"Head toward the light…"
So, what do you think?
Finally, an update!
Next chapter, Zuko and Aang meeting!
Read and Review
And tell me what you think…
Nazaki-Sama