Calamity Awakens

Snow crunched under their boots as the portal spat them back into the clearing. The cold air bit at Harold's face—sharper after the still, timeless staging room—and the smell of smoke from the camp's fire drifted on the wind.

They'd only been gone an hour, but the settlement was already noisier. The rhythmic thunk of axes rang out from the treeline, mingling with the low murmur of voices. Maela, the cook, was bent over the firepit, stirring a pot with one hand while shooing away a pair of curious children with the other.

Kelan adjusted the strap of the crate slung over his shoulder, eyes sweeping the clearing. "Looks like they've been busy."

Lira spotted them first, striding over with her healer's satchel bouncing at her hip. She eyed the new crates. "More loot?"

"Supplies," Harold corrected, though a hint of a grin tugged at his mouth. "Some things we can use now. Some things we'll trade for later."

Hal trotted ahead, frost steaming faintly off his fur, the faint, pulsing mark of Harold's Brand visible against his shoulder. The wolf's gaze swept the clearing, lingering on each person—pack—before he padded toward the fire and curled up just close enough to feel its heat.

Kelan set his crate down with a thud. "You might want to stick close," he told Lira. "Harold's got something new—might change the way we do things."

Her brows arched, but Harold only said, "You'll see soon enough. For now, finish what you're doing. We're not stopping until the longhouse frame is standing."

He went to walk off but stopped suddenly.

Actually Lira wait, finish what you were doing and come find me please. I have mana but dont know how to use it. I need you to teach me>

Lira tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "You've been throwing your weight around in fights without even knowing how to use your mana?"

Harold's smirk was thin. "I've been winning fights without knowing how to use my mana. But that's not going to last forever."

She studied him for a moment longer, then gave a slow nod. "Alright. I'll finish up here and come find you. But if I'm going to teach you, you're going to listen. No cutting corners."

"Fine," Harold said, already turning toward the longhouse site. "Just make it quick. We've got too much to do."

As he walked away, Kelan fell in beside him, muttering, "Learning mana control will change the game for you."

Harold gave a sharp glance. "That's the idea. And when I've got it down… the next Calamity we pull is going to feel very different."

Hal padded silently behind them, snow crunching under his paws, the visible glow of his Brand faint but steady.

Harold dropped the last crate onto the growing supply pile inside one of the half-built shelters. Food, tools, cloth, scavenged armor—everything had its place. He took a moment to mentally note what they'd need to pull from it first, then dusted off his gloves and headed toward the fire.

Lira was already waiting, arms folded. "You actually showed up. I was half expecting you to get distracted chopping wood."

"Supplies are squared away," Harold said flatly. "Now teach me how to use my mana before I waste another fight just brute-forcing it."

She motioned for him to sit across from her in the snow. "Alright. Before you start burning it like kindling, you need to understand why some skills come easy and others feel like trying to lift a mountain."

Harold gave a slight shrug. "I figured it was just talent."

"It's not," she said sharply. "Skill learning rates are split into two halves. Fifty percent comes from your class—skills that fit what your class is designed for will always come easier. The other fifty percent comes from your affinity. If your Dao or elemental affinities align with a skill, you'll learn it faster. If not, you'll struggle."

Harold's brow furrowed. "So a guy with Earth affinity would choke trying to learn a pure water manipulation skill?"

"Exactly. Same way a rogue would struggle with heavy armor, or a blacksmith would struggle to master a divine healing technique. It's not impossible, but it's slow and expensive in time and resources. For you—" she gave him a sharp look "—your affinities are Soul and Freedom. That means anything that binds, guides, connects, or breaks constraints will feel more natural. Don't waste effort on something that's the exact opposite of what you are."

She hesitated, then frowned. "But… Soul affinity? I've never even heard of it. I don't know what it does."

"I think I got it for how I was reincarnated…" Harold thought outloud.

Lira looked at him for a long second…"you'll have to tell me that story another time."

"One more thing—you need to understand that Dao energy and mana aren't the same thing. Dao of Fire isn't fire mana. They can reinforce each other, yes, but they are different energies entirely. Mana is intrinsically yours—drawn from within, limited by your body and spirit. Your Dao energy… your qi… is stolen from Ascension itself. From the universe."

Harold tilted his head. "Stolen?"

"That's what the stories say," she said quietly. "When you absorb qi or gain it from your enlightenment, you're taking from the weave of existence. And the universe doesn't like thieves. That's why it calls Calamities—because we're stealing its energy for ourselves." She studied him for a long moment. "Though you probably know more than I do, actually being one of them."

Harold didn't answer.

"Qi can do more than fuel skills," she continued. "It can reinforce them, change their nature entirely—or even oppose other skills. If someone tries to snare you in a vine prison and you meet it with your Freedom qi, you'll find it far easier to break. The right Dao in the right moment can decide a fight before it even begins. Once you master your Qi and gain some of the relevant skills you will be a pain to try to nail down in a fight."

Harold's eyes narrowed slightly, the edges of a dangerous smile forming. "So… the trick isn't just hitting harder. It's bending the rules mid-swing."

"Exactly."

She sighed. "We'll start with the basics—feeling your mana, shaping it without burning yourself out. Then… maybe I'll show you something sharp."

Hal padded over and flopped down beside Harold, watching with those ice-blue eyes, the Brand on his flank pulsing faintly in the firelight.

Lira shifted in the snow so they sat cross-legged, facing each other. "First rule—don't try to blast the whole river at once. You'll drown yourself before you ever learn to swim."

Harold arched a brow. "You've seen my mana pool, right? I'm not exactly at risk of running out."

"That's the problem," she said sharply. "You've got so much sloshing around in there you'll never learn fine control if you just pour it out in buckets. You'll overwhelm your own channels."

He exhaled slowly, half skeptical, half annoyed. "Fine. Show me."

"Close your eyes. Stop thinking about mana as numbers in a window. Feel it. It's not fire, it's not ice, it's not even light—it's pressure. A tide. Let it push against the edges of you."

Harold did as she said, sinking into the quiet. It wasn't hard to find—his mana was there, a vast weight just under the skin, heavy and alive, rolling like deep water.

"Now," Lira's voice softened, "take a cup from the ocean. Just enough to fill your hands. Not enough to break the dam."

That's where it went wrong. The moment Harold reached for it, the whole sea surged. The weight behind it pressed outward like it wanted to flood through him, roaring to be used. His eyes snapped open, and frost cracked under his boots from the bleed-off.

Lira hissed. "Too much! You're shoving your whole core forward."

He clenched his jaw. "This is small for me."

"You're not trying to rip a tree out of the ground," she shot back. "You're plucking a single thread. Again."

Harold shut his eyes once more. This time he imagined holding a blade's edge, shaving away the excess—trimming the current down until it was almost nothing. It resisted him, like trying to leash a starving beast, but slowly, painfully, a thin trickle of mana slid into his hands.

When he opened his eyes, faint light coiled around his fingers—unstable, flickering, but contained.

Lira's lips curved slightly. "Better. That's the start. Do that a thousand times until it's instinct. Then you can start shaping it. Most kids learn this exercise around 10 or when they gain their class at 16. Most of these kids are better than you."

Harold let the mana dissipate and rolled his shoulders. "A thousand times. And if I don't?"

She gave him a hard look. "Then you'll keep burning the forest down every time you try to light a campfire."

Hal sat nearby, watching the exchange with his head tilted, as if trying to learn what she was teaching for himself.

Harold let the mana bleed away and flexed his fingers, feeling the faint ache in his channels.

Progress but not enough.

The thought came sharp, automatic. He needed more—more control, more ways to bend a fight to his will before the other side even knew they'd lost. He'd been playing catch-up since the first Calamity, surviving on grit, cunning, and the brute strength of those he'd Branded. That was fine for now. But if he wanted to dictate the shape of this valley's future, he couldn't just lean on Kelan's axe or Hal's teeth.

He had to be the edge they never saw coming.

And yet…

He looked toward the half-finished longhouse frame, where the brothers were levering another beam into place. He could hear the miners gathering stone for the building. Smoke from the fire curled lazily in the cold air. Children's voices carried faintly from where Maela kept them close to the warmth.

If this place failed before it even had a roof, then all the power in the world wouldn't mean a damn thing.

He set his jaw. Fine. Then he'd do both.

He rose, scooping his gloves from the snow. "I'll haul," he told Lira, "but I'll keep working on this."

She frowned. "You're going to practice control while moving half a forest?"

"Why not?" he said, already turning toward the log pile. "If I can hold a thread of mana steady while dragging something that wants to crush my spine, then I'll know I'm getting somewhere."

And he had another reason—testing just how much those new stat gains had really done for him. Strength, agility, perception—they were numbers on a screen until you put them under load. The real measure came with weight on your back and the ground fighting you every step, and there was no better test than putting weight on your back and walking.

He hefted the first log—heavier than most men could drag—then settled it across his shoulders. He could only barely lift it but he could lift it. His muscles took the strain; his footing stayed solid despite the snow. He pushed mana into a thin thread through his hands, balancing it like a full goblet in a storm, all while moving at a steady pace.

By the time he reached the build site, his shoulders burned and the mana stream had unraveled four times. But he'd also felt the truth in his body—he was faster now, stronger, steadier. The numbers were real.

He reset, picked up the next log, and tried again.

Hours bled together in the rhythm of labor.

Haul. Breathe. Balance the mana thread. Drop the log. Reset.

The cold bit at his cheeks, but the steady burn in his legs and shoulders kept him warm. Every trip felt smoother—mana holding longer, his stride sharper, each log seeming lighter than the last. Not light, never that, but no longer the grinding fight it had been this morning. His perception pulled its weight too; he could spot where the snow concealed treacherous ice and where his footing would hold without thinking about it.

By the time the sun began to sink toward the ridge, the longhouse's skeleton had taken shape—a rising frame of timber against the snow, lashed and braced by the brothers and whoever else Kelan could spare from hauling.

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Harold was heading back to the pile when a shadow moved at the treeline.

Ferin emerged, silent as smoke, with both hounds at his side. The hunter carried a bundle slung over his shoulder, and his coat was flecked with snow.

"Brought you something," Ferin said without preamble, dropping the bundle with a muted thump. Wrapped in hide, it spilled open to reveal fresh cuts of meat, at least 200 pounds still steaming faintly in the cold.

Harold crouched to check it—goat, by the look of it. "Nice haul."

"North slope," Ferin replied. "Took one down clean. Hides are good—Maela'll want them." He dropped another rolled hide next to the meat. "Told her where to find more of those red-berry brambles along the ridge. Edible, high in sugar. Enough to sweeten a meal or two. And more of those tubers she used this morning. I got the snares in place, ive seen signs of some kind of large rabbit around here."

Harold nodded, already calculating how many days' worth of food that bought them. "Good. That keeps us ahead of the hunger line."

Ferin hesitated, then tilted his head toward the far edge of the valley. "That's not all."

Harold straightened, one brow raised. "Go on."

The hunter's eyes narrowed slightly, like he wasn't sure if this was good news or trouble. "Found something while tracking the mountain goat. South end, near where the cliffs curl in on themselves. Snow was thin there—too warm underfoot for the season. My hounds wouldn't go near it."

"Why?"

"Because," Ferin said, "there's a dungeon entrance in your valley."

The words hung there in the cold air.

Harold frowned. "A dungeon?"

Ferin gave a slow nod. "Not a normal cave. The air's wrong. Thick, heavy… like it's watching you. My hounds wouldn't go near it."

Harold crossed his arms. "And what exactly is a dungeon?"

The hunter studied him for a moment, as if trying to decide whether Harold was joking. When he saw no sign of it, he spat into the snow. "Alright. Dungeons happen when mana and qi pool together in one spot for too long. Too much of either is bad enough—but when they mix and linger, the land can't hold it. The universe shapes it into a dungeon."

Harold tilted his head. "Why shape it at all?"

"To bleed the power off," Ferin said. "Safely, as far as the universe cares. It makes a place that's alive in the wrong ways—filled with monsters, traps, and challenges that grow worse the deeper you go. The energy gets spent in the killing. Either the monsters take it back when you die… or you take it from them when you win."

"So it's dangerous," Harold said flatly.

Ferin's lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "It's meant to be. Dungeons are trials—brutal ones. But if you live through them, they give more than anything else. XP. Loot. Materials you'll never see outside. Some say the system itself shapes the rewards to fit what you need most."

Harold's eyes narrowed. "And in this valley?"

"South end," Ferin said. "Near the cliffs that fold back on themselves. Snow's thin there—ground's too warm for the season. It's fresh. I doubt anything's cleared it before."

Harold didn't answer right away. The thought of something like that so close to the settlement—it was either a disaster waiting to happen or the best chance they'd get to get stronger, faster.

Ferin read the look on his face and added, "It's not going anywhere. But sooner or later, something in there will wander out."

"So it's dangerous then?" Harold asked, his voice flat.

Ferin gave a single, sharp nod. "More dangerous than anything else in this valley. You step inside unprepared, and you'll be bones before you see the first real chamber."

"Is there a tier to go with it?"

"Aye." Ferin crouched to scratch at the snow with a gloved finger, sketching a rough spiral. "Every dungeon's got a tier rating—same as people and monsters. Tells you the range you'll face inside. But there's a catch—first floor's never the worst of it. You go deeper, the tier climbs. By the time you hit the core, you might be fighting two full steps above where you started."

Harold's gaze sharpened. "And this one?"

Ferin hesitated before answering. "Feels like a Tier 3 start. Could climb to 5 or even 7 if it runs deep. And this one is old. Very Old."

Harold's jaw worked, but he didn't speak.

The hunter kept going. "And how soon will something come out? That depends on how long its been cleared. Or how long anything inside has been killed. The energy can be dispersed by adventurous going inside and taking the energy away in the form of XP and resources. But without anything being taken away….well things need an outlet eventually."

Harold's eyes narrowed. "Meaning the clock's already ticking."

Ferin met his gaze evenly. "If it's fresh, you've got time. But this one isn't fresh."

Harold folded his arms. "So… what do you suggest our options are?"

Ferin rubbed at the stubble along his jaw, eyes drifting toward the southern cliffs as if he could see the place from here.

"Three roads you can walk," he said finally.
"First—you seal it. Stone it up, collapse the entrance, make it so nothing comes in or out. Safer in the short term, but dungeons don't like to be choked. Pressure builds. When it finally pops, it'll do so mean and ugly."

"Second—you clear it now. Fast and hard. That's riskier, but it resets the cycle. Buy yourself months—maybe a year—before it forms again. Of course… clearing means fighting whatever's been brewing in there since it formed. Could be wolves. Could be worse. And we dont know what tier it can go to."

"And the third?" Harold asked.

Ferin's grin was faint but sharp. "You work it. Keep it contained, run it in teams, take the loot, XP, and rare materials while you can. Treat it like a mine, not a monster. But you'd better be damn sure you can hold the leash. If something gets out, it'll be your people paying the price."

Harold's gaze stayed fixed on him. "And you? You gonna help if we go in?"

Ferin shrugged one shoulder. "I can. I've cleared a dungeon or two before—but that's not what I'm built for. My class is meant to stalk something big, bleed it out, and bring it down in the open. I track, I ambush, I kill clean. Dungeons? That's tight halls, blind corners, traps you can't smell until they've taken your leg."

He shifted his weight, eyes narrowing. "I'll go if you ask, but you'll get more out of me as a scout or hunter—bringing back food, pelts, and keeping the valley safe from whatever's outside. Inside a dungeon, I'm not useless, but I'm not the tip of the spear either."

He paused, as if to make sure Harold understood. "Still… I can put an arrow through the heart of whatever tries to run."

Harold turned away from Ferin, letting the hunter's words settle like snow in still air.
A dungeon.

He didn't know all the rules yet, but he knew one thing—it was a gift wrapped in teeth. Loot, XP, resources… all in one place. And unlike the wilds, the monsters inside wouldn't scatter to the four winds. They'd be waiting for him.

But he also knew the truth: his team could punch above their tier, but not forever. Tier 3 opponents would crush them. The dungeon wasn't going anywhere, which meant they could bleed it slowly—take the easy kills, back out before it swallowed them whole, and grind their way up.

The thought made him smirk.

He drew in a slow breath, turned back toward camp, and called out, "Everyone—circle up!"

It took a minute for them to gather. The settlement wasn't much yet, but the sounds of work had been constant all afternoon.
Kelan and the two axe fighter brothers had been felling trees on the north edge of the clearing, their piles of stripped logs already stacked neatly near the longhouse foundation. The lumberjack—Brenn—and his wife Maela had been working with two of the laborers to haul and split firewood, while Maela had also managed to start a makeshift smoker for the first batch of meat Ferin had brought in.

Lira had split her time between tending to the children and helping lash together the first upright beams of the longhouse. Even the dwarf blacksmith, Tessa, had been hauling stones to create a crude forge space, muttering to herself about the day she'd finally light it. The miners she'd been paired with had cleared a small cut in the slope for storage, though Harold suspected they were already daydreaming about digging deeper.

Hal watched from his usual rise, his breath pluming in the cold, while a few of the younger children tried to mimic him—pouncing at snow piles like they were prey.

It wasn't much yet. Just beams, piles of logs, a growing stockpile of hides and meat, and a handful of determined faces. But it was more than Harold had yesterday, and that counted.

Once everyone had stopped what they were doing and drifted toward the fire, he let his eyes sweep over them. The work was slow, the cold biting, but the progress was real.

"Alright," Harold said. "Listen up."

"Alright," Harold said, his voice carrying over the crackle of the fire. "Ferin found something this afternoon—something that changes our priorities. There's a dungeon in the valley, south end, near the cliffs."

A murmur rippled through the group. No one needed him to explain the risks; every face here already understood what a dungeon meant.

"It's not going anywhere," Harold continued. "We're going to explore it—slowly. My team will run the first clears, see what's inside, and figure out what kind of resources we're dealing with. While that happens, I'll be hiring more people to serve as guards here in camp. We'll need the place defended while the dungeon's open."

The axe fighter brothers exchanged a glance, then stepped forward together.
"Can we run it too?" one asked.
"Yeah," the other added. "We can fight. We've been itching for something bigger than log-hauling."

Harold studied them for a long beat. "Eventually. But first, you're staying here and helping with the build. We need shelter, firewood, and supply lines in place before we throw anyone else into whatever's waiting down there. Once that's done—and once you've had some proper training—we'll talk."

The brothers looked disappointed, but they nodded all the same.

He let the firelight and the quiet hang for a moment, scanning the faces around him.
"We do this right, and the dungeon becomes ours. Loot, XP, materials—steady progress. But we do it smart, or it eats us."

Once the rest of the camp broke apart to return to work, Harold motioned for Kelan, Lira, and Ferin to follow him toward the edge of the firelight. The four of them stopped near a half-finished log pile, the night wind cutting cold against their faces.

"I need to know," Harold said, his voice low. "What's the real difference between the tiers? I've seen enough to know it's not just more stats."

Ferin leaned on his spear, giving him a long look. "It's not just more stats. Each tier is a leap, not a step. Body, mind, Dao connection—everything sharpens. Tier 2 against Tier 1 is like an adult against a teenager. Same gap from 2 to 3. Each jump makes you exponentially harder to kill, classes become more powerful, skills hit harder."

Lira crossed her arms. "And it's not just raw power. Skills change, evolve. Mana density increases. You can't brute-force your way through a high-tier opponent—most of the time."

Kelan smirked. "Most of the time."

Ferin's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Kelan shrugged, looking at Harold. "Tell them."

Harold gave a thin smile. "Kelan can already take Tier 2s."

Lira's head tilted, eyes narrowing. "That's… absurd."

Ferin let out a low whistle. "Tier 2, at Tier 1? Either you're lying or—"

"It's the Brand," Kelan cut in. "It doesn't just bind us—it deepens the connection to our Dao. My insight's sharper. My power's broader. And I'm getting more stat points per level than I should. The difference in a fight is… hard to explain. It's like Harold's pushing me toward the peak of what I can do, all the time and thats not even counting the ridiculous ability he has and he has already evolved his Brand."

Ferin's expression darkened slightly in thought, and Lira studied Kelan then Harold like she was seeing them for the first time.

"That's why we can push up tiers now," Harold said. "But I'm not fool enough to think it'll last. That's why I need to know how much longer I can expect to have this advantage. Can Kelan and Hal take a Tier 3 now? I don't know."

Ferin shook his head without hesitation. "Not a well-rounded Tier 3. Not even close."

Harold raised a brow. "Why not? We've been tearing through Tier 2s like—"

"Like they're half-built," Ferin interrupted. "And that's exactly the point. Most people don't unlock a Dao until halfway through Tier 2, sometimes later. That's why you can push them over—they don't have the insight yet, just raw stats and skill use. But a Tier 3?" He tapped the haft of his spear against the snow. "They've got a developed Dao. They've learned to weave it into every strike, every defense, every movement. They've had experience actually using it. That's partly why monsters are more powerful than people."

Lira nodded slightly. "A Dao isn't just a trick—it changes how you fight. Once it's matured, every move they make is reinforced by it. That's the gap you can't just leap. That's partly why I was so desperate to get away, a mid tier 1 like myself having not one but two Daos is ... .I don't know how rare but very rare."

"Exactly," Ferin said. "I didn't get my Dao until right before I hit Tier 2, and it still took me months before it was worth a damn in a real fight. A Tier 3's had years to shape theirs into something lethal. And Kelan is saying he feels more connected to it and can use it intrinsically. That is an advantage I would kill for."

"And that's not even counting," Lira added, "the class requirements for advancing. The deed requirements. The skill thresholds. The evolutions. And the affinity needed. Tier 3s aren't just stronger—they're sharper. Everything about them is refined. You won't find the same sloppy openings you get at lower tiers."

Ferin's eyes flicked to Harold. "So, no. Not unless you find some washed-up, half-trained Tier 3 who's never touched their Dao. And those are rarer than gold veins in a swamp."

Harold thought for a second ...."So….the reason Kelan and Hal can tear through the people we have is because they are literally just earning their Dao…..and they have had it and used it for awhile and beyond that are connected to it more.

"Exactly," Lira said.

"Yes," Ferin said.

Harold leaned back slightly, glancing between the three of them. "Then it's a good thing I just picked up something that might tip the scales—at least for a while."

Kelan tilted his head. "That skill modifier?"

"Yeah," Harold said, a faint smirk curling at his mouth. "Chain of Will. My brands can now place a brand of their own—less effective than mine, but still functional. Which means…" He gestured to Kelan. "You can brand someone now. So can Hal."

Hal's ears pricked forward, tail giving a slow, deliberate wag.

"That means," Harold continued, "we can start building our own network of branded fighters. Each of you can have as many brands as I can handle myself. It's a force multiplier. And if we use it right, we can spread our influence through the valley without me having to personally mark every single recruit."

Lira's brows lifted. "That's… dangerous. You're basically creating commanders."

"That's the point," Harold said flatly. "We need people who can operate independently but still pull from the same source of power. And I'm not planning to waste this on anyone who doesn't pull their weight."

His gaze shifted to Hal. "And as for you—this means you can start building your own frost wolf pack."

Hal's low, eager chuff came with a faint puff of icy mist.

Harold looked back at Ferin. "Think you can capture a few young frost wolves? Not pups fresh from the den, but old enough to survive—young enough for Hal to win over?"

Ferin's expression hardened, the cold lines of his face deepening. "Possible? Sure. Safe? No. I've tangled with wolves like that before—blizzard wolves. Lost my whole team to them. We were hunting them for their pelts, the Lord we were working for wanted them for his kids. You're talking about walking into the teeth of a pack that will fight to the last to protect their own. You'd better be sure the risk is worth it before I try that again."

Harold met his gaze. "If it works, it'll worth it. But I'm not looking to throw anyone away. We'll plan it right. Hal having a Pack of his own is a force multiplier for us."

"I'll think on it," Ferin said quietly.

Kelan shifted his weight, arms crossed. "I'll do whatever you need me to do. But I'm not looking to spend the rest of my life picking fights. I want to build something here. If that means I swing an sword or axe instead of a hammer for a while, I'm fine with it. But if the fight comes to us… I'll be ready."

Harold gave a short nod. "Good. That's exactly what I need from you."

He turned to Lira. "When I hit Tier 2, I'm expecting more brand slots. When that happens, I want to offer you one."

Her eyes narrowed, searching his face. "Why?"

"Because you're already tied to this place, and you've proven you can pull your weight," Harold said evenly. " A Brand will make you stronger, tie you into my network… and I need someone who can develop healers for our group here.."

Lira held his gaze for a long moment, the firelight flickering in her eyes. "That's… not a small thing to accept."

"I know," Harold replied, voice low. "Which is why I'm giving you time to think about it. When I make the offer, I won't make it twice."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded once. "Understood."