The armory of Asgard rang with the distinctive sounds of preparation—leather being adjusted, metal buckles clicking into place, and the soft scrape of enchanted steel being drawn from well-oiled scabbards. Prince Thor stood in the center of the organized chaos, his sixteen-year-old frame already broad with the muscle that would make him legendary among warriors, while palace servants and the Warriors Three fussed around him with the kind of focused attention usually reserved for preparing heroes for epic quests.
Which, technically, was exactly what they were doing.
"The straps on your baldric are uneven," Sif observed with the clinical eye of someone who had learned that poorly adjusted equipment could mean the difference between life and death in the field. She moved to adjust the leather harness that held Thor's sword across his back, her own hunting gear already perfectly arranged and clearly well-used. "And your cloak is going to catch on branches if you don't secure the clasp properly."
"I can handle my own equipment," Thor protested, though his tone carried more good-natured grumbling than actual irritation. "I've been dressing myself for quite some time now, Lady Sif."
"Yes, and the results have been consistently mediocre," Fandral observed from where he was examining the fletching on his arrows with the kind of meticulous attention that had made him legendary among Asgard's archers. "Remember the incident with the twisted boot laces and the very unfortunate encounter with that tree root?"
"That was one time," Thor said with wounded dignity.
"Three times," Hogun corrected in his characteristically grave tone, not looking up from the axe he was honing to razor sharpness. "All within the same month. The palace healers began keeping a betting pool about when you'd next trip over your own feet."
"The betting pool was Volstagg's idea," added Volstagg himself with cheerful self-incrimination, his own considerable bulk somehow managing to look graceful in hunting leather that had been specially tailored to accommodate his impressive girth. "Though I should point out that I always bet on you recovering quickly. Family loyalty, you understand."
"Your confidence is overwhelming," Thor replied dryly, though he couldn't quite suppress the smile that suggested he enjoyed this familiar banter with his closest companions.
From across the armory, Captain Tyr watched the proceedings with the kind of patient attention that came from long experience supervising royal expeditions. The grizzled warrior had been tasked with ensuring this bilgsnipe hunt remained both educational and safe, which meant maintaining careful oversight while allowing the young nobles enough freedom to actually learn something useful about hunting, tracking, and surviving in Asgard's wilder regions.
"Your Highness," he said in the tone of someone providing necessary instruction without being condescending about it, "remember that bilgsnipe are significantly more dangerous than their appearance suggests. They may look like oversized, temperamental cattle, but they're faster than most predators and considerably more intelligent than livestock."
"I remember the briefings," Thor assured him, though his expression suggested he was looking forward to testing those warnings against reality. "Track them to their watering grounds, approach from downwind, avoid the males during rutting season, and never, ever attempt to corner one in difficult terrain."
"And if you do accidentally corner one?" Sif prompted.
"Run very fast in the opposite direction while making as much noise as possible," Thor recited dutifully. "The goal is to convince it that you're fleeing rather than threatening."
"Good," Tyr nodded approvingly. "And remember—this is a training expedition, not a competition. The objective is to learn proper hunting techniques and wilderness survival skills, not to see who can single-handedly take down the largest beast."
His gaze fixed meaningfully on Thor, who had the grace to look slightly abashed.
"I understand, Captain. No heroic gestures, no unnecessary risks, no attempts to prove anything to anyone."
"See that you remember that," Tyr said with the kind of paternal sternness that suggested he'd had similar conversations with royal princes before. "Your parents would have my head if I brought you back with anything more serious than minor bruises and wounded pride."
The preparations were interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the royal family, led by eight-year-old Kal-El who bounded into the armory with the kind of enthusiastic energy that had become his trademark. His dark hair was still slightly mussed from whatever activities had occupied his morning, and his blue eyes were bright with curiosity about his older brother's upcoming adventure.
Behind him came twelve-year-old Loki, moving with the more measured pace of someone who had learned to observe before acting. His green eyes swept across the organized chaos of the departure preparations with the kind of analytical attention that missed nothing. Flanking him were Sigyn and Angrboda—now twelve and approaching the age when noble children began to take on more serious responsibilities, but still young enough to find vicarious excitement in Thor's expedition.
"Are you really going to hunt bilgsnipe?" Kal-El asked with the kind of awe that suggested he considered this to be roughly equivalent to hunting dragons or possibly gods. "By yourself?"
"Not by myself," Thor corrected with a grin, gesturing toward his companions. "With Sif and the Warriors Three. And under Captain Tyr's watchful supervision, of course."
"Of course," Kal-El agreed solemnly, then brightened. "But you'll bring back trophies? Antlers? Maybe a pelt?"
"If we're successful," Thor said, though his tone suggested confidence rather than uncertainty. "Bilgsnipe hide makes excellent leather for armor, and their antlers are prized for carving ceremonial items."
"Don't encourage him," Loki said mildly, though there was affection in his voice. "Thor's ego doesn't need additional inflation before a hunting expedition."
"My ego," Thor replied with wounded dignity, "is perfectly proportioned for my abilities."
"Which is exactly the problem," Sif observed with the kind of dry humor that had made her Thor's favorite sparring partner and frequent source of humbling experiences. "Your abilities have never quite caught up to your confidence."
"Ouch," Fandral said with theatrical sympathy. "A direct hit to the pride. I felt that one from here."
"Lady Sif speaks wisdom," Angrboda added with the faint smile that had become her trademark when watching her Asgardian friends interact. "Overconfidence has killed more hunters than any bilgsnipe."
"You wound me," Thor said, placing a hand over his heart in an exaggerated gesture of injury. "All of you. Here I am, about to embark on a dangerous quest to prove my worth as a hunter and warrior, and instead of encouragement, I receive mockery."
"You receive honesty," Sigyn corrected gently. "Which is more valuable than encouragement, even if it's less comfortable."
"Besides," Kal-El added with the kind of logic that eight-year-olds applied to complex situations, "if everyone just told you how great you were all the time, you'd never learn anything new."
Thor stared at his youngest brother for a moment, then burst into laughter.
"Out of the mouths of babes," he said, reaching out to ruffle Kal-El's already disheveled hair. "Very well, little brother. I accept your wisdom. I shall endeavor to learn many new things on this expedition, including—hopefully—humility."
"Good luck with that," Loki murmured, though his tone was fond rather than cutting.
From the armory's entrance, the distinctive sound of approaching footsteps announced the arrival of the King and Queen of Asgard. Odin entered with the measured pace of someone whose presence commanded automatic attention, while Frigga glided beside him with the serene grace that had made her beloved throughout the Nine Realms.
"Are we ready for departure?" Odin asked, his single eye sweeping across the assembled group with paternal approval. "Captain Tyr, you're satisfied with the preparations?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Tyr replied with military precision. "Weather conditions are favorable, the route has been scouted, and emergency protocols are in place. We should return within the week, weather permitting."
"Then you have our blessing," Frigga said warmly, stepping forward to embrace her eldest son with the kind of maternal affection that remained constant regardless of royal protocol. "Be safe, my darling. Learn much, risk little, and remember that there's no shame in retreat if circumstances require it."
"I will, Mother," Thor promised, his voice slightly muffled by the embrace. "Though I hope circumstances won't require anything quite so dramatic."
"They rarely do, if one plans carefully and remains alert," Odin observed, though his tone carried the kind of paternal pride that suggested he was pleased with his son's approach to the expedition. "Safe travels, my son. We look forward to hearing of your adventures."
As Thor and his companions made their final preparations and began moving toward the stable where their horses waited, the younger members of the royal family offered their own farewells.
"Bring me back a story," Kal-El requested seriously. "A good one, with proper details about what bilgsnipe actually look like and how they behave."
"And perhaps some observations about their magical properties," Loki added with scholarly interest. "I've read conflicting accounts about whether their antlers retain enchantment after death."
"If they do," Sigyn observed thoughtfully, "the implications for alchemical applications could be significant."
"Practical applications," Angrboda corrected with a slight grin. "Forget alchemy—bilgsnipe antler makes excellent focusing tools for combat magic."
"I'll make note of everything," Thor promised, his expression suggesting he was genuinely touched by his younger siblings' interest in his expedition. "And I'll bring back proper evidence for all your various scholarly pursuits."
With final embraces, reminders about safety protocols, and promises to return with both trophies and stories, the hunting party departed, leaving the rest of the royal family standing in the armory amid the lingering scents of leather oil and weapon steel.
As the sound of hoofbeats faded into the distance, Odin and Frigga found themselves alone with their two youngest sons and their companions, the sudden quiet making the armory feel larger and more echoing than it had during the organized chaos of departure.
"He'll be fine," Frigga said, though her tone suggested she was reassuring herself as much as anyone else. "Tyr is experienced, the Warriors Three are capable, and Sif won't let Thor do anything too spectacularly foolish."
"Thor's judgment has improved considerably over the past year," Odin agreed, though his single eye remained fixed on the doorway through which the hunting party had departed. "Still room for growth, but he's learning the value of caution."
"Slowly," Loki observed with the kind of affection that came wrapped in gentle criticism.
"All learning is slow," Kal-El said with the matter-of-fact tone that children used when stating obvious truths. "Thor just learns differently than we do."
It was, both parents noted, a remarkably mature observation from an eight-year-old—the kind of insight that suggested Kal-El was developing the sort of wisdom that transcended mere intelligence.
"Speaking of learning," Odin said, his attention shifting to focus on his youngest son, "there are matters we need to discuss regarding your own education, Kal-El."
"My education?" Kal-El's blue eyes widened slightly with the kind of wariness that children developed when adults used that particular tone. "Am I behind in something? I've been keeping up with all my lessons, I think."
"You're not behind," Frigga assured him quickly. "If anything, you're ahead of where most children your age would be. But you're approaching the point where traditional classroom instruction needs to be supplemented with more... practical experience."
"Combat training?" Kal-El asked, his expression brightening considerably. He'd been watching his older brothers' weapons practice with increasing interest, though his parents had been careful to limit his participation to basic forms and safety exercises.
"Among other things," Odin said carefully. "But that raises certain... complications."
Before Kal-El could ask what sort of complications, Loki spoke up with the kind of directness that suggested he'd already identified the problem.
"Your strength," he said simply. "Kal-El, you're already stronger than Thor, probably by a considerable margin. Traditional combat training assumes opponents of roughly equivalent physical capability. When one participant can accidentally break weapons—or bones—normal training methods become inadequate."
"And potentially dangerous," Sigyn added thoughtfully. "Not dangerous for Kal-El, but dangerous for anyone training with him."
Angrboda nodded agreement. "I've seen him lift training weights that would challenge adult Einherjar. Without apparent effort. The power differential is..." She paused, searching for the right words. "Significant."
Kal-El looked between his parents and companions with growing concern. "So I can't train with anyone? I have to practice alone?"
"Not necessarily," Odin said, though his tone suggested this was a problem he'd been considering carefully. "But you do need training partners who can match your physical capabilities, or at least survive them without injury."
"The question," Frigga said gently, "is where we might find such individuals."
"Actually," Odin said, his expression growing thoughtful in a way that suggested he was about to introduce a significant new development, "there may be an opportunity presenting itself."
He paused, glancing at Frigga with the kind of look that passed between spouses when they needed to have a delicate conversation in front of their children.
"I had an interesting conversation during my recent visit to Omnipotent City," he continued carefully. "Zeus mentioned that he's facing certain... diplomatic complications that may require our assistance."
Frigga's expression immediately shifted to one of careful neutrality—the kind of diplomatic mask she wore when dealing with potentially sensitive political situations.
"What sort of complications?" she asked, though her tone suggested she might already have a good idea of the answer.
"The usual sort, I'm afraid," Odin replied with the kind of diplomatic circumlocution that adults used when discussing topics they didn't want to address directly in front of children. "It seems Zeus has once again allowed his personal inclinations to create political difficulties."
The meaningful look that passed between the royal parents was so loaded with implication that even Kal-El, at eight years old, could tell they were discussing something complicated and probably involving adult matters that he wasn't supposed to fully understand.
Loki, however, was twelve and considerably more worldly in his understanding of divine politics.
"He had another affair," Loki said flatly, his tone carrying the kind of weary familiarity that suggested this wasn't the first time Zeus's personal life had created diplomatic incidents. "With someone important enough that the consequences are affecting inter-realm relations."
Odin sighed, clearly recognizing that attempting to maintain diplomatic vagueness with his intellectually gifted children was a losing proposition.
"Zeus formed a... connection... with Queen Hippolyta of the Amazons," he said carefully. "The result of that connection was a daughter."
"And Hera disapproves," Frigga said with the kind of grim certainty that came from long experience with the Queen of Olympus's reactions to her husband's infidelities.
"Hera," Odin confirmed, "disapproves in the strongest possible terms. To the point where the child's safety has become a matter of concern."
Sigyn looked puzzled. "But surely even Hera wouldn't harm a child for her father's mistakes?"
"Hera," Angrboda said with the hard-earned wisdom of someone whose own mixed heritage had taught her about divine politics, "has a long history of taking her anger at Zeus out on his children. Especially the ones born to powerful mothers who might be seen as rivals."
"Exactly," Odin said grimly. "And Queen Hippolyta is definitely powerful enough to be considered a rival. The Amazons have never acknowledged Olympian authority, and Hippolyta herself is a formidable warrior and leader. From Hera's perspective, this child represents both a reminder of Zeus's infidelity and a potential future threat to Olympian supremacy."
"So what does Zeus want you to do?" Loki asked with the kind of direct practicality that cut through diplomatic complexity to reach the core issue.
"He's asked me to take the child as a ward," Odin said simply. "Temporarily, until the political situation stabilizes and it becomes safe for her to return to Themyscira."
The silence that followed was the kind that occurred when significant information was being processed and its implications considered.
"Her name is Diana," Odin continued. "She's Kal-El's age, and according to Zeus, she's already showing signs of considerable physical ability. He mentioned that she may eventually grow strong enough to match Hercules in combat."
Kal-El's eyes widened with interest and excitement. "Another Amazon princess? Here in Asgard?"
"Possibly," Frigga said carefully, her tone suggesting that no final decisions had been made. "Your father requested time to consider the proposal and discuss it with the family before giving Zeus an answer."
"What exactly are we discussing?" Loki asked with characteristic directness. "Whether to take in another child, or whether Kal-El needs a training partner with comparable abilities?"
"Both," Odin admitted. "The timing is... convenient, perhaps suspiciously so. But if Diana's physical development follows the same trajectory as Kal-El's, she could provide the kind of training partnership that would benefit both of them."
"And if she doesn't?" Angrboda asked practically. "If her abilities develop differently, or if she proves incompatible with our family dynamics?"
"Then we adapt," Frigga said simply. "As we've always done. But I should point out that taking in children who need protection is something of a tradition in this family."
She smiled at each of her children in turn—Thor absent but definitely included in her maternal regard, Loki whose Frost Giant heritage had once been a source of political complexity, and Kal-El whose arrival from the stars had required considerable diplomatic maneuvering.
"The question," she continued, "is whether this would be the right choice for all concerned. For Diana, who would be separated from her mother and her people. For our family, who would be taking responsibility for another child with potentially complicated heritage and significant abilities. And for the wider political situation, which could be either helped or hindered by our involvement."
"What does your instinct tell you?" Kal-El asked with the kind of directness that children applied to complex adult problems.
Both parents looked at him with surprise, though not unpleasant surprise—more the kind of reaction that came from being reminded that wisdom could emerge from unexpected sources.
"My instinct," Odin said thoughtfully, "tells me that a child in danger deserves protection, regardless of the political complications involved. And that Zeus wouldn't have made this request lightly—if he's genuinely concerned for his daughter's safety, the threat is probably real."
"My instinct," Frigga added, "tells me that Diana would benefit from growing up in a household that understands what it means to be different, to carry abilities and heritage that set you apart from others. And that our family has always been stronger when we've opened our hearts to children who needed us."
She looked at Kal-El with particular warmth. "Some of our greatest blessings have come from taking chances on children who fell from the sky or needed homes."
"And practically speaking," Loki observed, "Kal-El does need training partners who can challenge him physically without being injured. If Diana develops comparable abilities, the arrangement could benefit both of them."
"Plus," Sigyn added thoughtfully, "an Amazonian princess trained in Asgardian techniques could become a formidable warrior. The combination of Amazon combat philosophy with Asgardian magical knowledge and technological advantages..." She trailed off, clearly intrigued by the possibilities.
"It could work," Angrboda agreed. "Though there would be challenges. Mixing Amazon, Olympian, and Asgardian cultures in a single household would create... interesting dynamics."
"Interesting is one word for it," Odin said dryly. "But not necessarily problematic. We've managed to blend Kryptonian, Asgardian, and Jotun influences successfully enough."
"So what's your decision?" Kal-El asked, his blue eyes bright with curiosity and, if his parents read his expression correctly, hope.
Odin and Frigga exchanged another of those meaningful spousal glances that carried entire conversations in a single look.
"I think," Odin said carefully, "that we should send word to Zeus that we're willing to discuss the arrangement in more detail. With the understanding that the child's welfare comes first, political considerations second, and any potential training benefits third."
"And if Diana proves incompatible with our household?" Frigga asked, though her tone suggested she was asking for completeness rather than out of genuine concern.
"Then we help her find a more suitable placement," Odin replied simply. "But somehow, I don't think that will be necessary."
He smiled at his youngest son, whose excitement was becoming increasingly difficult to contain.
"It seems, Kal-El, that you may soon have a companion who can match your strength and perhaps challenge your abilities in ways that will help both of you grow."
"When?" Kal-El asked with the impatience that children brought to all interesting developments that didn't happen immediately.
"These arrangements take time," Frigga warned gently. "Diplomatic negotiations, travel arrangements, cultural preparations. It could be weeks or even months before Diana arrives, assuming all parties agree to the arrangement."
"But it could really happen?" Kal-El pressed. "She could really come live with us?"
"It could really happen," Odin confirmed, his single eye twinkling with paternal amusement at his son's enthusiasm. "Though I should warn you—Amazon princesses are known for being... formidable. Diana may prove to be more challenging than you expect."
"Good," Kal-El said with the kind of grin that suggested he was looking forward to the challenge. "I've been wanting to test my abilities against someone who won't break."
"Careful what you wish for," Loki advised with elder-brotherly wisdom. "You might just get it."
As the royal family began making their way back toward the palace proper, the conversation shifted to practical considerations—what accommodations would be needed for an Amazon princess, how to adapt training protocols for two children with superhuman abilities, and what cultural adjustments would be necessary to help Diana feel welcome in an Asgardian household.
But beneath these practical discussions, there was an undercurrent of excitement and possibility. Another child was potentially joining their unconventional family, bringing with her new challenges and new opportunities for growth.
And if Kal-El's barely contained enthusiasm was any indication, Diana of Themyscira would be welcomed with the same love and acceptance that had made him feel at home among the golden spires of Asgard.
The future, as always, would be interesting. But increasingly, that seemed to be exactly how the House of Odin preferred it.
—
## Three Weeks Later
The private study of the All-Father was a sanctuary of accumulated wisdom and carefully controlled power, its walls lined with treatises on cosmic law, diplomatic protocols, and the delicate arts of inter-realm governance. Ancient tomes bound in leather from creatures that no longer existed shared shelf space with crystal matrices containing the encoded wisdom of civilizations that had transcended physical existence millennia ago. The chamber's windows looked out over Asgard's golden spires, but the view was secondary to the room's primary purpose—providing a space where the ruler of the Nine Realms could contemplate decisions that would echo across generations.
Odin sat behind his desk, a massive construction of enchanted wood that had been grown rather than carved from a single tree in Vanaheim's sacred groves, reviewing the formal documents that would make Diana of Themyscira a ward of the Asgardian crown. The papers were written in the flowing script of ancient diplomatic protocol, their parchment embedded with magical safeguards that would make them impossible to forge or alter without detection.
"The arrangements are finalized," he said to Frigga, who sat across from him in a chair that had been crafted to complement the desk's organic elegance. "Zeus has agreed to all our terms regarding Diana's education, cultural heritage, and contact with her birth family. Queen Hippolyta has provided written consent for the temporary guardianship, along with specific instructions about preserving Diana's connection to Amazon traditions."
"And Hera?" Frigga asked, her tone carrying the wariness that any sensible person felt when discussing the Queen of Olympus.
"Hera has been... appeased, at least temporarily," Odin replied with the diplomatic circumlocution of someone who had spent considerable effort negotiating with divine personalities that could charitably be described as difficult. "The understanding is that Diana's presence in Asgard removes any immediate threat to Olympian stability while allowing her to develop her abilities in a secure environment."
Frigga's expression suggested she found this explanation less than completely reassuring. "Understanding with Hera has a tendency to prove temporary when her jealousy is involved."
"True," Odin conceded. "But the formal agreements include provisions for Diana's protection regardless of changing political circumstances. If Hera's attitude shifts, Diana remains under our protection until she's old enough to defend herself."
"Which, given her parentage and training, may be sooner than most people expect," Frigga observed with a slight smile. "Amazon princesses don't typically require extended protection from anyone."
"No, they don't," Odin agreed, his expression growing thoughtful. "Though in this case, the protection may be as much political as physical. Diana's very existence challenges several established power structures. She's the daughter of Zeus and an Amazon queen who has never acknowledged Olympian authority. Her abilities will likely surpass those of most gods, yet she's being raised with values that prioritize service over dominance."
"A potential catalyst for significant change," Frigga murmured, her mystical senses picking up the subtle threads of destiny that seemed to gather around certain individuals like cosmic spider webs. "The kind of person around whom history pivots."
"Exactly. And that makes her both valuable and dangerous, depending on your perspective."
Their conversation was interrupted by a polite knock on the study door, followed by the entrance of a palace guard whose formal bearing suggested he carried important information.
"Your Majesty," the guard said with precise military courtesy, "Lady Diana of Themyscira has arrived. She's currently in the reception hall with her escort."
Odin and Frigga exchanged glances that contained entire conversations about parental readiness, political complexity, and the subtle terror that came with taking responsibility for another exceptional child.
"Thank you," Odin said formally. "Please inform our children that we'll be conducting formal introductions in the family receiving room in half an hour. And ask the kitchen staff to prepare refreshments appropriate for a welcoming ceremony."
"At once, Your Majesty," the guard replied, bowing precisely before withdrawing to carry out his instructions.
As his footsteps faded down the corridor, Frigga rose from her chair with the kind of graceful determination that suggested she was mentally preparing for a significant and potentially complicated family expansion.
"Are we ready for this?" she asked, though her tone suggested the question was rhetorical.
"We're never ready," Odin replied with the hard-earned wisdom of someone who had spent millennia learning that the most important decisions rarely came with adequate preparation time. "But we're capable, we're committed, and we're experienced in making unconventional family arrangements work."
"True enough," Frigga agreed, moving toward the study door with the kind of queenly bearing that could make diplomatic receptions feel like intimate family gatherings. "And if Diana is anything like her parents, she'll appreciate directness over elaborate ceremony."
As they made their way through the palace corridors toward the family receiving room—a more intimate space than the formal throne room but still impressive enough to convey appropriate respect for important guests—both found themselves reflecting on how their household had evolved over the years.
When they had married, they had expected to raise an as heir to the throne and perhaps one or two other children in the traditional manner of Asgardian royalty. Instead, they had accumulated a collection of exceptional young people whose combined heritage spanned multiple realms and whose individual destinies seemed designed to reshape the cosmic balance.
Loki, the Frost Giant prince whose magical abilities were already approaching legendary status despite his youth. Kal-El, the Kryptonian survivor whose developing powers suggested he would eventually surpass most gods in raw capability. Sigyn and Angrboda, their educational wards whose magical partnership was producing theoretical breakthroughs that impressed even the most senior court wizards.
And now Diana, Amazon princess and daughter of Zeus, whose presence would add Olympian divine heritage and Amazon warrior philosophy to their already complex household dynamics.
"The children are waiting," Frigga observed as they approached the receiving room, her enhanced senses picking up the distinctive energy signatures of their gathered family. "Including some who are trying very hard not to eavesdrop on our conversation."
"Loki?" Odin asked with paternal amusement.
"All of them, actually," Frigga replied with fond exasperation. "Though Loki's technique is the most sophisticated. I believe he's using a combination of enhanced hearing charms and strategic mirror placement."
"Should I be impressed by his ingenuity or concerned about his lack of respect for privacy?"
"Both, probably. Though in this case, their curiosity is understandable. Diana's arrival affects all of them, and they have legitimate interest in understanding what to expect."
They paused outside the receiving room door, taking a moment to compose themselves for what would undoubtedly be a significant moment in their family's history.
"Final thoughts?" Odin asked quietly.
"That love and patience have served us well so far," Frigga replied with the kind of maternal confidence that had made her beloved across the Nine Realms. "And that Diana couldn't ask for better siblings to help her adjust to a new realm."
With that reassurance, Odin opened the door, and together they entered to meet the newest member of their extraordinary family.
---
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