Synopsis: A fallen star crashes on the continent of Perim, its warlike inhabitants ignorant of what it possesses. What many see as another gift from the gods, but what it holds could trip the fragile balance of the tribes into chaos.
Unknown region of Space
UNSC Standard Calendar: December 12, 2552
UNSC Frigate Forward Unto Dawn.
28 years after first contact.
He exalts then inhales, allowing synthetic oxygen to enter his lungs. A feeling of peace and clarity took over in his mind, something he had not felt since the battle for the Ark. His enhanced brain took in the information as he floated in the empty cryo chamber, devoid of life and the cold silence of pods once filled with people, darkness embracing him except for his helmet lights and the digitized form of his AI partner.
"It's finished." Her voice was a low octave, with a touch of someone from the British Isles on earth. Though she hides it well for an AI construct, the months of them battling the monstrous Covenant has shown the old warrior how she acts, the movements in her body displaying her mood, the way she insults him playfully with a touch of alertness when they were on Halo.
He distanced himself from his thoughts, his attention now towards Cortana.
"It's finished." He joined in the confirmation, the raspy and gravel drawl pierce through the helmet, distilling the quietness between the two. He switched off his lights, admitting the ship's darkness to swallow him whole. He went towards one of the armor racks nearby to permit his weapon to rest. Hearing the sudden clink of the weapon magnetizing, though there was no sound given the exposure of vacuum, his mind recalled the familiarly of it.
It reminded him of something. Something deep inside that he kept down through the fires and trials of fighting.
He is lost.
Not lost in sense of purpose; that was drilled repeatedly during the early years of his training, instilled upon the day he was conscripted into the Spartan Program. Back in an age when Humanity was tearing itself apart across the stars, before contact with aliens that were more sinister and maligned, the purpose of the program was to prevent any world under USNC control to secede, from wreaking humanity grasp on its sister worlds, and to thwart those who use the ideology of separatism to make worlds fall under their yoke of madness and entropy.
What he lost was direction. Where would he go from here if he and Cortana were rescued? Would he return to active duty with his fellow Spartans to continue protecting humanity from itself and the remnants of the Covenant upholding their fanatic faith of exterminating his kind? His mind wonders as he glides towards the sole functioning cryo-pod. The life he once had was gone. The parents who raised him were dead during the war, his home colony burned and sacked, the planet a lifeless husk amongst hundreds, another reminder of the many Covenant's atrocities. The Spartans he fought and bred with were becoming few and far between after the fall of Reach. His original teammates, Blue Team, were probably still out there, fighting timeously against the inevitable, spitting in the face of the alien hordes, never surrendering, never giving in.
Even after all that; the baptism of war, drowning the enemy with his bullets, gore and glim coloring him into one of those demons of old. He has gone through the perils of what the galaxy can throw at him, and survived, but what would that come after? Will he continue his career of fighting, ascent up to the annals of history of the few who sacrificed to save humanity and further to protect it?
"I'll drop a beacon," Cortana spoke, snapping John's daze, climbing into the chamber as she continued.
"But it'll be a while before anyone finds us-years even." She finished, her voice no longer soaked with her cheerfulness, only sorrow and deadness. John lies down his bulky form, the cushions inside the chamber adjusting to his form. They both made eye contact, his burning blue eyes behind its protection meeting the soft velvet of the AI.
"I'll miss you." Her voice creaks with misery, the emotional matrix of her programming peeking through. The drainage of emotions going through her as she watched the chamber close itself left her with a ping of loneliness.
"Wake me up when you need me." He let out his last words, the chamber closing its door, allowing the process of cryo-sleeping to begin. The last recollection was the distraught face of his partner, his friend who been with him since Reach. His body soon began to relax, his eyes becoming weary as the glass in front of him is being covered in frost, obstructing the gloomy AI from his view.
He gave one last breath and let his dreams to embrace him, his warrior soul finally able to rest.
Cortana stared at the pot for a long time, her thought processes discarding the constant alerts flowing thought her systems of the ship's status. The forthcoming ping of the completion of the cryo process did not relieve her of her perusal. At last, she tore away, covering her face with her hands, codes of data streaming down her body.
She released her hands, all thoughts of doubt erased. Soon, determination burns through her core as she began her work for the long-term, her form blinking out. She diligently works through the power systems, shutting off areas that weren't critical, securing off places that were exposed to the darkness of space. She then went deeper into the system, picking off areas of interest such as food processing and mini-manufacturing for critical parts.
Her mind was blazon with ideas, long-term plans for the inevitable of her demise. The deep-searing thought of reaching the seven-year mark torn through her, almost pausing her work before continuing. She berated that thought, no need to let deep-seated fears stymie her work.
She appears on the pedestal again, screens of data along with her. Digital hands dance across, unthinkable to the human eye. She checks off each priority, look over the inventories of weapons, alien and human, armor, parts for John, and drones to help repair the ship.
She looked up from her work, her claim eyes checking her caveman, crusts of frost crisp-crossing the glass, blocking her view. Her eyes quirked and smile as she traversed deeper into the system, discovering a couple of undamaged data centers. She was relieved as she began offloading the immense data banks she had retrieved from her time on halo.
Cortana hum as the data was being transferred. Even though the centers couldn't process all of it, at least it'd postpone her unavoidable descent into rampancy. She winced at that thought as deadness sets over, interrupting her flow before it continued, additional information coming in.
The mere thought of her mind crushing itself, her matrix coming apart, spilling into different personas as her mind worked itself to death, letting lunacy running its course as she burns herself out, sent symbolic chills down her form's spine. If she were organic, she'd had weep at the mere situation, leaving John drifted through endless space, alone with his cryo-chamber as his mausoleum, a forgotten reminder of his deeds and duty.
She wipes away those thoughts. There was no time to let anguish rule the day when their lives were on the line. Cortana checks off final preparations as she prepared to go into hibernation, leaving behind several sections of herself to watch, observe only for any ships that hit the sensor net.
Cortana exhales faux air, sanctioning stresses in her programming to be diluted out, wiped away from her mind. As she began to shut down to join her close friend in the realm of sleep, the ship around her began to lurch, titanium armor buckled and groan if some beast was trying to get in.
She bought up the sensor net, her eyes flared and crinkled as she stared what the sensor picked up; against the backdrop of a class-m star, an aurora of colors splitting as it rises up, revealing what was putting the ship. The star's rays wiping away shadows, wisps of it displacing as it reveals the culprit. A mass array of land appeared before her, marshes of green crisscrossed with parch deserts along with large bodies of water.
'An uninhabitable planet? We may get out of this yet.' She gave a flicker of a smile, typing away as new orders were given, lines of new code entering into the system. She accesses John's cryo-chamber, starting the unfreezing process, her auto receivers catching the hiss of gas.
John's eyes shot open, his armor systems coming online, his body resuscitated as the chamber's door open upwards. Alertness took hold as the lack of gravity made him float, his helmet nearly hitting the glass, but took control, making his way towards his AI partner.
"What happened?" Chief asked, concern laced with his professionalism, his right hand gripping the edges of Cortana's pedestal. The AI swivel on her feet, popping up the screen showcasing what the sensors detected. His eyes peel over it, taking in the discovery.
"Is it inhabitable?" He queried, but she shakes her head, an undeniable no.
"I haven't picked up any radio nor comms traffic. The planet is completely quiet." The Dawn groan once again, metal twisting against itself.
"How long do we have?" Chief said, blood pumping faster through his veins as the ship gave another rumble. He sent a look towards her, waiting for an answer. Cortana pulls up another screen then closed it.
"About thirty-nine minutes at the most. The ship is already entering its orbit. I've locked down the motor pool, armory, and many of the areas that aren't severely damaged." Several screens pop up, blue fingers tap away as the chief watched.
"Where will we land?" He asked again, trepidation clipping away at him.
Cortana put on a reassuring smile on the big lunkhead.
"My calculations and projections showed that the ship will most likely crash in the north of the largest continent, possible in the heavily-forest regions." She reviews another screen, this one broadcasting in real time from one of the few aft cameras, panning out to catch the growing orb of life, inching closer and closer.
"Will the ship survive the impact?" The question hangs in the air as John pulled Cortana's chip from the pedestal, her human avatar wrinkling out. He calmly inserted her chip into the port on the back of his helmet, allowing her artificial essence to claim her place inside his mind, tendrils of her existence being put in place, allowing her to indulge into memories of old.
"If it can survive the ark, it sure can survive a bumpy impact." She said, mirth lacing with her charming persona. The pretty officer rolled his eyes as he disabled the magnetic clams to his feet, permitting him to free float.
"I've lockdown the observation deck. It should offer better protection in case the ship takes a bitter beating. We should head over and buckled down, and inspect where we are once we land." She piped in, setting up schematics on his hub, pinpointing hallways that allowed the quickest access to the area of question. John places his hand on the lone plinth and, with a great effort of strength, propelling himself towards the opening portal to the hallway, letting himself to be basked in demonized lighting from the automated emergency alarms before they were shut off by Cortana. He floated near the walls to allow him to traverse the impending darkness of the ship.
The ship gave another bucking tear of metal as he entered another hallway, his weary eyes catching an elevator on the left wall. His ears ward off the sound as Cortana wirelessly started the lift, the hatch in front of him seating off as the floor below began to ascent.
The old soldier gave a tired sign, preparing for another level to jump through before reaching the bastion of safely. Death by ship crashing wasn't something he wants his fellow surviving Spartans or superiors to remember him by; he already experienced the malignant breath of death looming over him many times, and he will not allow this moment to be his finale.
The answer he got back was the cloven of the ship's hull and his own breath as the elevator finally stop.
Planet Tiria
Continent of Perim
Age of Narggon
Lake Ken-I-Po
To the unsuspecting traveler from the Underworld who manages to roam across the dangerous, scorching under cavern of Everrain, its flora being nourished by glowing mushrooms long adapted to the dark, and the lake above providing constant refreshment, right before trying to hike through the various cavernous passageways to the surface, each one more convoluted and dangerous than each other, they'll witnessed one of the few spectacles in Perim, eyes gleaming in fascination before raging envy takes hold, eating away at them until nothing more than rage and hollow loathing, shouting curses to the colorful sky at their dreaded enemy.
To the credulous traveler from the Overworld, one must ride on a makeshift raft to reach the other side of a tumultuous river in the Riverlands, passed the pernicious jagged slopes and rock embankments that could end a shore live, bringing upon another carrion of flesh to be feast about by predators in an unforgiving land. Once there, he or she must navigate the various bristles of jungles clinging to the myriad of tributaries as their lifeblood. Nerves will be assaulted by the chorus of monsters that lived there, lurking amidst the dense foliage, but the prize that awaits them at the end of the road will be succinct; their eyes sparkling as they behold what came from the sky they were born under. Vast swathes of vivid auroras drenched the sky with its luminous touch, finger-length columns of color trailing behind. Waves of crystal water clash against pearl-color beaches, splashing dew onto the tallgrass, obstructing what lay beneath.
To the travelers of Perim, this was a sight worth remembering until death itself came knocking, but to the lone dweller living in a lone castle, its gloomy structure perch on the largest of thumb-shaped rocks in the lake, bespeaking itself towards all, it was an everyday occurrence to his life of solitary and isolation.
"Mmmmm…"
Sitting in his cotton-bound chair amongst troves of scrolls, tomes, and worn out maps, some even lifting in the air, indigo coloring their borders as they lay still, waiting until their turn, sat the most powerful mugic user that ever lived, Najarin. Legends and rumors have been spoken of this man, a man that bear witnessed the dawn of civilization, the erection of Kiru city by several Overworld tribes against the aggression from the giants to the west, and the fall of the city's first leader which bears his name, progenitor of the current leader whose belligerence towards any overworlder is enough to sunder the earth with blood.
Rumors persisted on what his true origins lay. Some speak of him as a guardian of the elusive Cothica, warning off and misdirecting any who seek it. A rumor that led to many creatures to come and foolishly challenged him for the secrets he holds, but all failed, either swept away from the waves or now dust in the wind. Other rumors say that he took part in several historical events or, to the paranoid, manipulate them, such as the disappearance of the Giants and the various mugic-related catastrophes that plagued the land ever since.
The ancient mugician sighed in annoyance, his clockwork mind ticking by conjoined with his thoughts, ideas quickly sum up and then somber away, lock away and the key throw away; he has been at this for hours, peering through lines of text, ancient languages long extinct that only he can translate. Beyond the realm of his desk lied his liberty. Thousands up thousands of books lay at his hands, each tome holding secrets that even himself haven't discovered since inhabiting the castle. Each one telling a story about Perim, some before the invention of the writing process, many about deep cultures beyond the continent, and several about the advanced arts of mugic, some that could bring untold destruction.
But yet, this was not what concerns him of this moment, despite his bibliophile being considered one of the few privations he held dearly, other than nutrition and the company of someone in his bed, what concerns him were the visions he has received over the past few days.
The visions he received from the auroras in the past were sometimes random; some concerning the balance of mugic itself, some towards the political instability that could lead to dreadful harm to all of Perim. But recently, the visions were worse, more precise in each one. Some were so acute that he woke up, eyes traumatized, red blood seeping from them while his hands were soaked with mugic-infused sweat.
The visions tell the same story, every one of them clear and horrifying; distinctions of a creature, clad in armor with the hue of green, crested atop mountains of corpses, bodies of Underworlder, Overworlder, Mipedian, and Danian alike, all meshed together with their ichor funneling into the earth. In the background was Kiru City, burning to the ground. Its walls were torn asunder. Wisps of black smoke billowing from the buildings becoming nothing more than stabs of blackening ruin. Maxxor's castle overlooking the doomed city, destroy with nothing more than the clunks of its foundations and steps connecting to it.
Najarin ground out another migraine as the scroll in front of him hold no answer. He has been at this for hours, barring no visitations from the few contacts he has in wider Perim. He scrolled through every book, scroll, document, and reports from previous life givers about any new creature sightings, anything that yields the closest resemblance to this unknown being.
Sadly, nothing bear fruit to his endeavors. The immense archives of his home, for the first time, provided no answers to him, only numb silence and the fiery sounds of the last of his candles as they reached their climax. Najarin pinched his nose as the darkness invaded the room. With a snap of his right hand, fury tongue-shape embers blossom anew, depleted wax reappearing where they were as if they were never lit in the first place.
Najarin slouched in his chair, letting his head lolled about, trying to let his mind a moment of charity and flush the amount of mental detritus before continuing on with his search.
'Perhaps a little break would suit me just fine. No need for this old mind to waste away to exhaustion.' He thought. After letting his body to rest a little from bending over his desk, he sits up, hearing the creaks and groans from his wooden companion in these hours. With a brink of his eyes, the candles blew out and the door towards the foyer opens, letting in a bask of light. The literature used in his research soon returned to their original arraignments, sliding back as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him without looking back.
He hiked through the numerous sections of stairs, through the labyrinthine hallways only him can pass without difficulty, and the mountainous ascent towards the top of the castle after requiring the necessary ingredients for this brew along with porcelain and cutlery cups, following right beside him. A long time ago, each step would have required an extraordinary effort of will, courage, and determination. It was not just a physical but mental, a test to his mind and intellect, a deeper communion to the winds of mugic flowing through the physical world. It was a test that he aced many times in his life, but entropy and age were soon getting to him. His feet ached with soreness, the steps themselves felt even longer as he clambered upwards.
Relief pumped through his lungs, letting it out as he finally reached his inner sanctum. Not wanting to waste any more of his energies for today, he simply unlocks the door with his free hand. Hearing the familiar *click*, he let a trace line of a smile appeared on his lips, obfuscated by his hoary, silvery beard. The room he entered was one of the few in the castle that offers him peace. If the laboratories beneath him were considered asylum for his genius and the alchemy rooms his craftiness, then the top was to deem his peace and restfulness. It was nothing special; only a desk on the left of the room with a bookcase behind it. A bottle of link stood there, unhindered, and ready to use. Right next was a pile of paper stack neatly, blank as the day they were created. He pays no mind as he meanders towards the outdoor balcony, flinging it open as he prepared his tea. To speed up the process, he led his mugic to do the work. Najarin consent another smile from his lips, hearing the all familiar machination of tea-making. The cape attached to him flickers as it caught the wind in its grasp, the saline smell from the lake hitting him like a torrent.
He set upon the lone setup of chairs and one table in front of him. Settling down the tea that was just finishing, curls of sizzling gases rise from the cup, its boiling contents bubbling before fixing it to an acceptable temperature for his taste buds. He pops his back a couple of times, slouching into the chair, feeling the comfortably of the material against him. He inhales and exhales, allowing the fresh, humid air entered his lungs, away from the dust and claustrophobia. A whirl of his hand later, the teacup was lifted up, its fragile white surface stood in great contrast to the auroras in the great distance. A myriad of colors flashes and bathe against his eyes from above as he moves his precious tea towards his quenched lips, ready to consume the soothing flavor of ragghior berries to help tempter his tiredness.
But it was not meant to be; as soon as the rim of his cup reached his craggy lips, he felt a string in the air, a vibration. He paused, ears perking up as the string turned to a slight tremble, enough to cause his tea to oscillate, some of it patting on his clothing. Light cerulean eyes darted all over looking for the source.
'What in the name of the Cothica is th…'
Whoop
Najarin's eyes widen as a thunderclap of untold proportions pierced his ears. The windows behind him rattled in a continuous rhythm, spider webs crisscross their surface. The slight tumble from before soon became an earthquake, becoming so great that even that the cup in Najarin's hand loosen, breaking apart upon impact on the ground, spittle the liquid across the old mugician feet.
Amassing the mental strength to fight pass the heavy tremors, Najarin gaze towards the stars, searching for answers to what is causing this. What he got instead would forever haunt his dreams and thread his nightmares, burning into the very retina of his mind.
Like an angry hand from a vengeful god, it fell through the sky like a hammer. To the ignorant, this would seem like any ordinary comet passing through the stars, an omen foreshadowing of a good or ill time, but to an intellectual like Najarin who spend years studying the stars and the numerous objects gazing across the sky, this was no comet.
It was colored red, of blood and angry, as it descended. Chunks and pieces spit apart from it, the smallest burn up instantly while some of the medium-size ones stay close to the larger one. Najarin's knees shudder for the first time, fearful eyes glued to the unimaginable object heading towards Perim. The hackles of his skin swell as the caricature of the auroras was brushed aside by this thing. Flames scorched the colors of the sky, becoming a haze of hatred and reminiscent of burning villages. The object soon streaks overhead over his castle, not close to hitting but close enough to let Najarin's skin be touch by its scorching skin. Najarin's heart pulsated, blood pumping faster in his veins. His lips moved soundlessly, thoughts trying to convey words, but the astonishment of what he is seeing couldn't slip past description in his own words.
But what steals his attention the most before it passed overhead his home, scurrying away from his eyes, were tiny sparks of blue stars amidst the red sea of flames on it. Each star splutters on its own, burning out and then relighting as if it never went out.
To the mystical and arithmetic mind of Najarin, it was if the monstrous rock was slowing down, pulling back from being kill upon impact. The mere thought of it being self-aware radiate fright in his own bones, legs wobbling in dread. The intensity of the conflagration in the sky it left behind was drying down, colors from the auroras reclaiming their place amongst the stars, but the burning object still remains.
Snapping out of his daze of fear, he uses his mugic to propel himself towards the tallest top of his tower, relishing in the chill air to wipe away the sweats from his arms. Once there, landing with a small thud on the circular platform, the object was still there, flames still burning, not receding as it trails over the blue yonder. Najarin observe it further it before it passes over the hulking mountains to the north, fixated and calculating on where it will land.
The answer gushed up from his heated brain, numbness jolting down his nerves as it finally hit him; studying the wide curvature of the sky, along with the speed and direction of impact, it would land in the Forest of Life, a long stretch of verdant and lush forest, seeping with the most concentration of mugic in the Overworld.
He could imagine it now what would become of the sacred forest. Tongue-shape flames engulfing large swaths of green, wiping away its majesty, plant life turning brown and scrunching in an ash of oblivion. Creature and animal alike washed in pain-spitting red as the canopy of the sky turned violent, expectorating death as the source of the calamity nears collision. The earth heaving, spewing the ground upwards, dirt specking what remains before submitting for the final time. The acidic flames producing inky smoke to block the true carnage layered behind.
The thought sent shudders down to his very soul, terror resurging through the constant pounding of his heartbeats and the ringing of his eardrums. The fiery object disappears over the mountains in the distance, hollow booms still breaching, but losing its deafening vim as it crisscrossed the sky. The haze of angry discordant ebb away, the source of its power receding from Najarin's view. The area around him soon returns to its original color and harmony, the feeling of dread and death gone from the air.
Yet, the resumption of calm did not wipe away at what the lone mugician just saw; this was a once in a life event, unrecorded by any of the four tribes. But the curious side of him did not stop the quaking of his brittle bones, his lithe fingers grasping in the open as if looking for something. Saving what left of his sanely from the bottomless depths of his inquisitive mind, he reaffirmed himself, gathering his thoughts and settling upon his next goal.
The wave of his hand and the flickering of fingers bought trances of mugic coursing his hands, summoning the most precious in his arsenal of mugic weaponry. A thin line of light arose from his hands, releasing what is contained within its collimated bonds. As soon as it appears, it disappeared, leaving behind what its caller desire.
To the simple-minded, what the mugician is carrying looked like a walking stick to upheld him, giving him a look of frailness to the unfamiliar, but this wasn't a simple stick to carry him in his advanced age. Cut and reshaped from one of the few livable trees in Glacier Plains, imbued with potent mugic to survive this long in the frozen wilderness, it was wreathed into the shape it is today and stenciled with hidden runes whose meaning is only known to its master. Its wooden skin smooth without any imperfections, lustrous in the light, showcasing the delicateness and artistry of what Najarin's mind could accomplish. Setting the staff vertical with his left hand while the other waving with sparks of mugic, he muttered another series of invocations, his deep, baritone voice rasping through the hairs of his beard.
With a quick snap of his fingers when the final words of his spell came out, a ball of light engulfed him, blinding and obscuring the area around it, appearing as if part of the aureoles in the sky. It didn't stay on the ground, however. Hovering about a meter, its luminosity pulsating like a candle, propelled across the welkin. Wisps of blue mist dangling behind sprinkle its substance, bright tails of blue, racing through the sky. The blue orb didn't chase the lone object to its destination but instead rode to the north, fear and anxiety driving Najarin from following.
Glancing one last time through the sphere towards his dwindle home, the mugician set out on his quest to warn Maxxor and the rest of Perim, of this dark omen from the heavens.
As Najarin sped away to bring about his warning, beyond the snow-slicked mountains of old, the Forest of Life lit up, heralding what is to come.
Najarin wasn't the lone witness to this furtive phenomenon. Across the wide and width of Perim, across the sultry sands of the Mipedian desert and the colossal edifices of Mount Pillar to the arid plains and the plateaus of Maxxor domain, the attempted landing of the Forward Unto Dawn caught the eyes of many, but most with simple minds dismissed as another cosmic wonder played by the gods. Others, those who delved into darker paths, perceived it as an answer to their macabre rituals and abysmal blood sacrifices to their thirsting gods of old. But to the many, whose grasp of the world around them was the wind blowing in the air, it was seen as a gift, a sign from the gods watching over them. Depending on the circumstance of the witness observing this event, it was to be taken either as a sign of good omens to come or as a messenger of the troubles waiting for the unfortunate.
Whatever it may be to the simple-minded and the craven, the two otherworldly beings aboard their fallen ship prepared for their inevitable landing, bucking down until impact, not knowing that their very presence upon this world changes the static balance, redirecting the course of the proverbial river of destinies that shines many and smothers others.
But beneath the coursing oceans and behind the monumental iron doors of the Deep Mines, an old enemy stirs from its torpor, blazing anger pouring through as its mind reaches beyond what mortals could sense, catching the familiar signs of the dimensions of slipspace beyond the confines of its prison.
Slipspace wasn't just another convoluted field of science for lesser beings to tamper with, but an art form for the superior. Combing through the intricates and indolently of its cerulean waves was child's play to one whose powers can subdue the minds of thousands with a single blast of its mind. Weaving through the chaotic remnants, it finally locates what it was seeking.
Dread and fury pulsed through it as it recognized the signature. Any species that discovered the travels of Slipspace would leave lingering marks before they scathing to the cosmic winds, but what it found sends spasms of telepathic rage through him, causing any of its minions nearby to suffer its indignation, clawing out their eyes in self-inflicted madness.
As the self-perpetrated storm of lunacy subsided within its chamber, it looked upon the effects of what it had caused. One thought burrowed through its thick mind, never ceasing as it ignites, imploding all lines of thought until it became unbearable, the words etching into the very heart of its vindictive soul.
The old enemy has returned.
Author's note: It's been a while since I posted any on this site, but this idea couldn't get out of my head since I started re-watching Chaotic and playing The Master Chief Collection. I'd like to express to any that have viewed this story with gratitude.
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