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343 INDUSTRIES

Women’s History Month 2024

Sundered Star

Canon Fodder

Alex Wakeford

Issue 150

Canon Fodder: If They Want Lore, We’ll Give ‘Em Lore

Waypoint Chronicles

343 Industries

Halo: Fireside

Book Preview

The story of the Didact is one of deep tragedy, spanning countless millennia in the Halo universe—from the apex of the Forerunners’ civilization where he served as its protector, to his descent into madness as the Flood’s ancient game of vengeance culminated in the firing of Halo.



Following his defeat by the Master Chief, the Didact’s physical form was burned away by the Composer, casting his consciousness into a vast desert. It is here that Kelly Gay’s latest novel, Halo: Epitaph, begins—and in this preview, we will see the beginning of his great journey…



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Stripped of armor, might, and memory, the Forerunner warrior known as the Didact was torn from the physical world following his destructive confrontation with the Master Chief and sent reeling into the mysterious depths of a seemingly endless desert wasteland. This once powerful and terrifying figure is now a shadow of his former self—gaunt, broken, desiccated, and alone. But this wasteland is not as barren as it seems. A blue light glints from a thin spire in the far distance…



Thus begins the Didact’s great journey—the final fate of one of the galaxy’s most enigmatic and pivotal figures.



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Halo: Epitaph releases on February 27 and is available in <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Halo-Epitaph/Kelly-Gay/Halo/9781668017531">trade paperback</a>, <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Halo-Epitaph/Kelly-Gay/Halo/9781668017548">ebook</a>, and <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Halo-Epitaph/Kelly-Gay/Halo/9781797160436">unabridged audiobook</a> formats.



And you’re definitely going to want that audiobook, as the entirety of Halo: Epitaph is narrated by Keith Szarabajka—the voice and motion capture actor for the Didact himself!



Looking to catch up on the story thus far for the Didact? We’ve got you covered with a recap of this character’s journey through the Halo universe in <a href="https://www.halowaypoint.com/news/the-story-so-far-the-didact">The Story So Far: The Didact</a>.



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Whether the warrior succeeds or fails, chooses rightly or wrongly, at least he dared act at all.



—The Mantle, Eleventh Permutation of the Didact’s Number



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He was rage and fire. Cinder and storm. Burning remnants and echoes tearing madly over a barren landscape.



Star by star, world by world Never peace, never solace, never rest



Disjointed, wailing voices darted and dove, amplified in the vast desert echo chamber of dust and sand. Embers and fragments churned and seethed, united into a molten core by a thousand centuries of wrath and resentment.



A deep shadow has fallen The light shuns us Stop this! Stop the pain!



Unable to contain the sweltering maelstrom, the molten core bloated and suddenly burst, flinging heat and light outward into the shape of a fiery figure.



The heat dissipated. Black smoke replaced flame, floating and curling and swaying around the figure’s outline, gradually settling like a living cloak over the wide shoulders of a tall, gaunt form, a few stubborn embers still clinging to life at its tattered edges.



His rage spent for now, the figure rolled his shoulders, straightened his spine, and then tipped his head from side to side, feeling the pull of thick neck muscles and the satisfying snap of tendons. Pressure in his legs and joints manifested as his weight eased down into his body.



No—not quite a body. . .



The remnant of one, perhaps. A shade. A memory. A poor imitation.



One with enough composition, however, to cause his bare feet to sink into the sand and anchor him to whatever reality this was.



Weariness came with the physical weight, burrowing deeply into sinew and bone and wasted muscle. With effort, he lifted an arm, the cloak sliding back to reveal shriveled skin and a large,



almost skeletal hand tipped with brittle, sallow claws.



Denial and disgust rose with a sharp bite, some vague recollection telling him the view should be much different. He turned his hand and arm, seeing in his mind’s eye a more powerful and muscular physique, healthier gray skin endowed with fleshy-pink variation. . . .



Despite his initial reaction, the withered skin and desiccated muscle did not trouble him much. In fact, it felt . . . familiar, as though he had experienced the similarity before and all that was required to remedy the situation was to initiate—



Initiate . . . what?



Aya. He knew it. Could almost reach it . . .



The lost knowledge seemed to teeter on the precipice of revelation before it evaporated, leaving him unsteady, as if the sandy ground weakened beneath him. He rubbed at the vague ache in his right eye, a faint tease of identity skipping through his mind, but that too faded.



Try as he might, he could not mentally grasp a single important thing. Who he was, what he was, or how he came to be here, all seemed equally out of reach.



His cloak flapped as a line of tepid wind blew over his position, drawing attention to the dust and sand caught up in the current. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but low sand dunes watched over by a dirty dull-blue sky and the bright flare of a sun hidden behind muddled clouds.



An arrogant snort flared softly through his nostrils, indicating a strong, ingrained confidence, one that told him not all was lost. Memory might escape him, but instinct and basic knowledge did not. His senses were intact, and his traits and emotions felt strong within him, some still gnawing and churning in his gut—indignation, contempt, bitterness, fury, obsession. But these he left alone for the time being.



No need to stir the serpent’s nest just yet . . .



He stared across the desolate landscape, contemplating his current situation. Had he been brought here? Forced here? Or had he fled here? Was his presence by chance or deliberate?



When weighed against the consuming rage he’d experienced earlier, one surety stood out above all others. It was certainly not by choice.



With nothing in any direction but the endless waste, his options were decidedly simplistic. Stay put or move on.



Without hesitation, he chose the latter, the sand folding over his feet as he started off in no particular direction.



The going was tedious and slow, his corporeal form stiff and uncooperative, though his bare skin on earth and the tiny grains pushing between his toes were oddly satisfying, the basic physical connection to the environment feeling very much like a novelty.



After trekking across several dunes, he paused to rest at a high point, revising his previous opinion. The sand was far from satisfying. His soles and toes were now raw, his body ached all over, and his mouth felt like tinder picked from the loose bark of the rataa trees that had once lined his family estate on Nomdagro.



The clarity of the vision struck harsh and quick. The force of it had him by the throat, stealing his breath.



Tree line. Children picking bark. A fire already smoking in the clearing by the white, chalky banks of the River Dweha . . .



The entire moment lay suspended.



His legs trembled and he dropped to one knee, gasping, struggling to keep hold of the vision, to place it in the context of his life, but it dodged just out of reach.



Disappeared. Gone. As though it had never existed.



Defeated, he collapsed with an angry growl, sitting in the sand and shaking his head, appalled at his own wretched incompetence. Heat crept up the back of his neck. Absently he rubbed the warm skin as his brow drew into a deep frown. His inability to capture the memory was discouraging, but there was also hope. It meant that his past was not completely lost. It was still there, under the surface.



More will come, he told himself, eyeing the next sand dune in his path—the tallest yet.



While exhaustion threatened to immobilize him, he was apparently nothing if not stubborn. Rousing his dwindling reserves, he got up and let gravity carry him in big strides down the dune’s long slope.



Once he made it to the next pile of sand, his head tipped back at its height. Such a menial, unnecessary, and time-consuming task when he could simply . . .



What? Wish himself to the top?



He braced against the now endless aches and pains plaguing his frail body, and with no small amount of grumbling began yet another climb—one sore foot in front of the other—until he finally reached the summit, out of breath, but rewarded for his efforts. A dark and dirty horizon stretched in the far distance, and within it or perhaps preceding it—it was too far to tell—a mote of blue glowed.



Finally, something out there in the sea of sand. Relief flooded him and he slumped to the ground.



Once down, he did not attempt to get back up. No matter what might lie beckoning ahead, it felt too good to stop and rest. Something told him that this too felt like a novelty. He pulled a foot closer to his body to knead the aching heel and arch, then cleared the sand between his toes. As he tended to the other foot, small dark specks appeared in the sky.



Instantly, there it was again, the precipice of knowledge. Along with an urge to assess the threat, to meet it with swift and decisive action. All he had to do was—



And . . . it was gone. Again.



“Aya,” he grunted in frustration as the specks drew close enough to see in detail. There were five creatures of flight with crested heads and long, imposing beaks. They were larger than him in both body and wingspan, and their dirty-brown color blended in well with the desert landscape. Double sets of large leathery wings protruded from each narrow torso and flapped rather slowly. As they glided overhead, the length of their tails was displayed and the—



Rangmejo



The word whispered with sudden clarity. He turned and watched their diminishing passage. Just as they faded from view, they suddenly dispersed into dust. Like a mirage. A dream.



He closed his eyes tightly, giving his head a hard shake, before looking again. But the avian creatures were indeed gone.



An unsettling sensation bloomed in the pit of his stomach. While he did not want to admit it, he knew. He’d known all along.



Wherever this was could not be based in the physical world. The landscape was not quite right, and neither was he—formed as he’d been from embers and emotion. His arms were wizened and old. His garb was wholly unfamiliar. Even his face, which he mapped with his fingers, felt bony and unrecognizable. He pinched his sallow cheeks and tugged at the tuft of hair on his head. The pain was real, at least. He studied his hands. All six fingers accounted for . . .



It was right, and yet not right. He felt solid, and yet . . . he was not whole.



Questions assailed him. None of which he could definitively answer. He must have had a past life, but there was nothing to prove his brief recollections were real or that they even belonged to him.



The mote of blue lingering far on the horizon was the only point of significance so far. If he had indeed been brought here, sent here, forced here—whatever the case might be—there must be a reason.



He stayed on the dune for a time, mildly contemplating his predicament while tending to his other aching foot. After his fingers grew tired, he lay back and put a hand behind his head, wondering if there had ever existed such a lackluster, dirty blue sky before.



Aya. But it was quiet here. Perhaps he should simply accept his fate, enjoy the peace, and wait for something to happen. Amusement tugged a corner of his mouth. If he did have a past life, he was certain such an inane and useless thought had never crossed his mind.



Gradually, his mind drifted. As sleep took over, he wondered in what reality he might awaken.



*



He dreamed of fire.



From flesh to bone, it ate away at him, ripping him apart one layer at a time, tearing and burning.



Stripped, pulled asunder, until even his consciousness peeled free, and he was nothing but writhing, screaming embers.

The Didact Returns | Halo: Epitaph Preview

The Didact - Origins

The Didact - Forerunner Saga

The Didact - Halo 4

The Didact - Halo: Escalation

Halo: Epitaph, the next novel by acclaimed author Kelly Gay, releases on February 27, 2024.



Ahead of the Didact’s long-anticipated return in Epitaph, set in the aftermath of Halo 4 and Halo: Escalation’s events where the Forerunner commander was defeated by the Master Chief and torn from the physical world, we have put together a summary of major appearances and events that have defined the Didact’s journey throughout the Halo universe.



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">ORIGINS</h2>





The Didacts—both the original and Bornstellar, his imprinted duplicate—are among the most tragic characters in the Halo universe.



“Didact” is a name Halo fans first became familiar with in 2007, during the Iris alternate-reality game which connected with the Terminals in Halo 3. These texts gave us a series of glimpses into some of the events that transpired around the fall of the Forerunners’ civilization, featuring an enigmatic figure who was responsible for lighting the spark that would ignite the galaxy, burning our cosmic cradle of thinking life to defeat the Flood. In time, we would come to know this particular incarnation as Bornstellar-Makes-Eternal-Lasting, the IsoDidact.



The original—the Ur-Didact, named Shadow-of-Sundered-Star—was conceived in part by the unparalleled mind of <a href="https://www.halowaypoint.com/news/greg-bear-in-memoriam">the late and legendary Greg Bear</a>, who detailed this Forerunner’s adventures, trials, and descent into madness within the pages of the Forerunner Saga: <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Halo-Cryptum/Greg-Bear/HALO/9781982111755">Cryptum</a>, <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Halo-Primordium/Greg-Bear/HALO/9781982111779">Primordium</a>, and <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Halo-Silentium/Greg-Bear/HALO/9781982111816">Silentium</a>.



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">THE FORERUNNER SAGA</h2>





“You are what you dare.” ~ Halo: Cryptum



The Didact’s story began for us with his fateful reawakening on Earth at the hands of the young, treasure-seeking Bornstellar—along with his two human companions, Chakas and Riser—as the existential threat posed by the Flood and the rogue AI Mendicant Bias approached its dire terminus.



Within these books, we learned of the Didact’s unconventional marriage to the Librarian and the death of their children in the war against the ancient human Ancestors. We learned of his meeting with the creature known as the Primordial; his commissioning of the shield worlds, his opposition to the construction of Halo, and the political conflict which followed with the greed-driven Master Builder.



The Didact would guide Bornstellar for a time as they investigated the aftermath of all that the old warrior had missed over the millennia in which he had been exiled within a Cryptum. They discovered that the Primordial had been released from its prison on Charum Hakkor, the former Ancestor capital world, before finding themselves in the middle of a San’Shyuum uprising that would be swiftly put down by one of the Master Builder’s terrible ringworld weapons.



Though they would end up captured, the Didact imprinted his consciousness—his memories and wisdom—upon Bornstellar, who would go on to assume command of the Forerunner military in the final years of the Flood War as the IsoDidact.



<figure class="wp-block-image size-full"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="1920" height="1222" src="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Mythos_Cryptum_Bornstellar.jpg" alt="Halo Mythos artwork by Chase Toole depicting Bornstellar with Chakas and Riser before the Didact is awakened from his Cryptum on Erde-Tyrene" class="wp-image-95465" srcset="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Mythos_Cryptum_Bornstellar.jpg 1920w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Mythos_Cryptum_Bornstellar-300x191.jpg 300w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Mythos_Cryptum_Bornstellar-1024x652.jpg 1024w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Mythos_Cryptum_Bornstellar-768x489.jpg 768w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Mythos_Cryptum_Bornstellar-1536x978.jpg 1536w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Mythos_Cryptum_Bornstellar-1568x998.jpg 1568w" sizes="(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px" /></figure>



“A deep shadow has fallen over everything Forerunner. When I was pulled up from all that, pulled out of the Cryptum and revived… I couldn’t remember. But now I do—in part. Horror brought it back. The Gravemind returned it to me. It forced me to listen.” ~ Halo: Silentium



But the original Didact was discarded, with many believing he had simply been executed by the Master Builder. He was, in fact, placed aboard a derelict ship and marooned in a region of space fully infested by the Flood. It was here that he would meet with the Primordial once more.



This beast had also assumed a new form, that of a Gravemind, and the torture it imposed upon the Didact filled him with the vengeance of the Precursors—the very beings who had seeded the galaxy with life. Millions of years ago, the Forerunners had risen up against their creators and drove them to extinction, and the survival strategies some of the Precursors sought eventually culminated in their reincarnation… in the twisted form of the Flood.



The Gravemind repurposed the Forerunners’ greatest warrior into a weapon to sow chaos during their darkest hour, and so the Didact was returned to the ecumene where he sought to find a solution to the Flood that would not involve wiping out all life in the galaxy.



Attempting to gain immunity to the Flood, the Didact performed a mutation on himself, but the failed procedure warped his appearance into a dark mirror of what the Gravemind had done to him.



And so, he turned to the Composer.



<figure class="wp-block-image size-full"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="1920" height="1080" src="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_DidactComposer.jpg" alt="Halo 4 screenshot of the Composer" class="wp-image-95635" srcset="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_DidactComposer.jpg 1920w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_DidactComposer-300x169.jpg 300w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_DidactComposer-1024x576.jpg 1024w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_DidactComposer-768x432.jpg 768w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_DidactComposer-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_DidactComposer-1568x882.jpg 1568w" sizes="(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px" /></figure>



“Didact, if the Composer is our final hope to defeat the Flood… no Promethean would resist.” ~ Halo 4, Terminal 5: Knights



This machine was capable of extracting the essence of an organic being and converting it into machine data. Of the many purposes it had been used for in the past—on the humans as punishment, on Forerunners in an attempt to achieve immortality, and on Flood victims in an effort to rid them of the infection—all saw horrific defects. But the Warrior-Servants who were loyal to the Didact submitted themselves to the device, losing their physical forms to become Promethean Knights.



Though these war machines secured several victories against the parasite, their numbers were too few to be a viable alternative to Halo. As a result, the Didact turned the Composer on the human populations that had been preserved by his wife, the Librarian, invoking her terrible wrath.



Pursuing her husband to the shield world Requiem, she convinced Endurance-of-Will—the Didact’s former lover—that he must be exiled once more. After being incapacitated by the Librarian, she imprisoned him within a Cryptum at the heart of his planet, commanded his Prometheans to guard him, and left behind a personality imprint of herself to carry out plans she had for the future.



<figure class="wp-block-image size-full"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="1920" height="1080" src="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_JanusKey.jpg" alt="Halo 4: Spartan Ops screenshot of Dr. Halsey and the Librarian with the Janus Key" class="wp-image-95649" srcset="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_JanusKey.jpg 1920w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_JanusKey-300x169.jpg 300w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_JanusKey-1024x576.jpg 1024w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_JanusKey-768x432.jpg 768w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_JanusKey-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/H4_JanusKey-1568x882.jpg 1568w" sizes="(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px" /></figure>



“This was meant for my husband to help your people, when his meditation was complete…” ~ Halo 4, Spartan Ops, Episode 9: Key



The Librarian had intended for the Didact to awaken from ages of meditation with his mind healed, whereupon he would inherit the Janus Key—a galactic cartographer for Forerunner technology. With this, she hoped he would serve as a teacher for humanity, who had been chosen to inherit the Mantle of Responsibility after the firing of Halo and the reseeding of the galaxy.



But this plan would go awry at the end of all things when the Gravemind revealed its final twist of the knife.



The firing of Halo would not just wipe out all thinking life in the galaxy, but it would burn the Domain too, leaving the Didact to consciously stew in a hundred millennia of silence and madness.



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">HALO 4</h2>





“So fades the great harvest of my betrayal.” ~ Halo 4, Forerunner



When the Master Chief and Cortana were sent to Requiem, they unwittingly released the Didact from his prison and he resumed his efforts to reclaim the Composer and turn it on his old enemy. This was no longer an effort to stop the Flood, but to contain the threat posed by humanity—a species he deemed unworthy of inheriting the Mantle, per the plans of his wife, the Librarian.



Though he would be prevented from assimilating all of Earth with the Composer, he succeeded in harvesting seven million human essences that formed the basis of the Promethean army that Jul ‘Mdama would utilize over the next year.



The Didact, however, was sent plunging into a slipspace portal, though this confrontation would exact a heavy toll as Cortana sacrificed herself to ensure the Master Chief survived the encounter.



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">HALO: ESCALATION</h2>





“You would fire the Halo. Just to eliminate me?” ~ Halo: Escalation, Issue #10



Returning to Earth, the Master Chief learned of Promethean activity on Gamma Halo and was reunited with his fellow Spartans of Blue Team to investigate. There, they discovered that Spartan Black Team had been slaughtered, and a site known as the Composer’s Abyss housed a portal that linked to the world of Clinquant—a forge for the Composers, where six new devices had been procured for the Didact.



Intending to unify the Composer with Gamma Halo and fire the ring on Earth, the Didact met his match when the Master Chief—with the help of monitor 859 Static Carillon—managed to trap him in the ring’s control room and eject that section of the ring, sending it on a collision course with the Composer’s Forge.



The unstable detonation of neural physics from the six Composers tore the Didact from the physical world, burning away his flesh and containing the threat he posed to the galaxy…



But this would not be the end for him.



<figure class="wp-block-image size-full"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="1942" height="1544" src="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Escalation_TN72H-Contained.jpg" alt="Halo: Escalation comic panel of the Master Chief informing Lord Hood that the Didact has been contained" class="wp-image-95972" srcset="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Escalation_TN72H-Contained.jpg 1942w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Escalation_TN72H-Contained-300x239.jpg 300w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Escalation_TN72H-Contained-1024x814.jpg 1024w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Escalation_TN72H-Contained-768x611.jpg 768w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Escalation_TN72H-Contained-1536x1221.jpg 1536w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2024/02/Escalation_TN72H-Contained-1568x1247.jpg 1568w" sizes="(max-width: 1942px) 100vw, 1942px" /></figure>



I want to ask her what it is that she wants. Not what she hopes to achieve or the responsibilities she has taken upon her shoulders, but her own desire, her heart’s wanting.



But I realize I do not have to ask this. I already know. “Can the Didact find peace?”



The sorrow that flashes through her eyes instantly pains me. “I fear my husband is beyond redemption.” ~ Halo: Renegades



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading">HALO: EPITAPH</h2>



<figure class="wp-block-image size-full"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="1920" height="1080" src="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/05/HaloEpitaphCoverSocial.jpg" alt="Cover art of Halo: Epitaph by Chris McGrath depicting the hooded figure of the Didact with half a broken helmet in a desert environment, the tower of Halo 3's map Epitaph in the background" class="wp-image-67234" srcset="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/05/HaloEpitaphCoverSocial.jpg 1920w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/05/HaloEpitaphCoverSocial-300x169.jpg 300w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/05/HaloEpitaphCoverSocial-1024x576.jpg 1024w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/05/HaloEpitaphCoverSocial-768x432.jpg 768w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/05/HaloEpitaphCoverSocial-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/05/HaloEpitaphCoverSocial-1568x882.jpg 1568w" sizes="(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px" /></figure>



Halo: Epitaph represents the culmination of the Didact’s journey—from page, to game, to comic, we have come full-circle, back to the page.



In a novel that is all about his past, present, and the future he will forge for himself within the hallowed halls of the Domain, this is a chapter of Halo universe history that is not to be missed!



<a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Halo-Epitaph/Kelly-Gay/Halo/9781668017531">Pre-order your copy of Halo: Epitaph here.</a>



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<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" data-width="550" data-dnt="true">The Didact returns in HALO: EPITAPH, the next novel by <a href="https://twitter.com/KellyHGay?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">@KellyHGay</a>, coming early 2024. Keith Szarabajka, the voice of the Didact himself, will assume the mantle of audiobook narrator. 🔥 <a href="https://t.co/DGMUPXnflm">https://t.co/DGMUPXnflm</a> <a href="https://t.co/qbxN7NzBd9">pic.twitter.com/qbxN7NzBd9</a>— Halo (@Halo) <a href="https://twitter.com/Halo/status/1716522436416397341?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw">October 23, 2023</a></blockquote><script async src="https://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>
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Prefer audiobooks? The entirety of Halo: Epitaph is narrated by Keith Szarabajka, the voice of the Didact himself. <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Halo-Epitaph/Kelly-Gay/Halo/9781797160436">Secure the Halo: Epitaph audiobook here!</a>



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Stripped of armor, might, and memory, the Forerunner warrior known as the Didact was torn from the physical world following his destructive confrontation with the Master Chief and sent reeling into the mysterious depths of a seemingly endless desert wasteland. This once powerful and terrifying figure is now a shadow of his former self—gaunt, broken, desiccated, and alone. But this wasteland is not as barren as it seems. A blue light glints from a thin spire in the far distance…



Thus begins the Didact’s great journey—the final fate of one of the galaxy’s most enigmatic and pivotal figures.

The Story So Far: The Didact

Halo: Hippocratica

Fireteam Jorogumo

Issue 149

Canon Fodder: Covering Fire

Games

Halo Infinite

Intel

Season 5 of Halo Infinite has arrived, bringing with it a new collection of Intel—a series of data drops that provide some additional lore and context to elements of each season.



Intel can be found here on Halo Waypoint and in-game in Halo Infinite‘s message of the day carousel.



This blog will be updated over the course of Season 5 with new Intel.



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<a href="#S5Intel1">INTEL 1</a> | <a href="#S5Intel2">INTEL 2</a> | <a href="#S5Intel3">INTEL 3</a> | <a href="#S5Intel4">INTEL 4</a>



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading" id="S5Intel1">INTEL 1: GALLOWS</h2>



<figure class="wp-block-image size-full"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="1920" height="1080" src="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/10/S5Intel1.png" alt="Halo Infinite image of a Flood-infected Spartan's wrist and chest" class="wp-image-84185" srcset="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/10/S5Intel1.png 1920w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/10/S5Intel1-300x169.png 300w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/10/S5Intel1-1024x576.png 1024w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/10/S5Intel1-768x432.png 768w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/10/S5Intel1-1536x864.png 1536w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/10/S5Intel1-1568x882.png 1568w" sizes="(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px" /></figure>



WARNING: FSC SIGNATURE DETECTED ALERT ENERGY SHIELDS DEPLETED; ARMOR BREACH CONFIRMED SPARTAN COMPROMISED . . . FSC INFECTION CONFIRMED . COUNTERMEASURES INITIATED . . . . \HYDROSTATIC GEL LAYER PRESSURIZED . . . SUCCESS \GALLOWS DATALINK SEVERENCE . . . SUCCESS \BEGIN REACTOR DETONATION . . . FAILURE . . \CODE INJECTION DETECTED \COUNTERMEASURES CANCELED BECOME \ARMOR BREACH SEALED \ENERGY SHIELDS RECHARGED BECOME \ARMOR SYSTEMS REPAIRED UNITY. SWEETNESS.



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading" id="S5Intel2">INTEL 2: GHOST OF BAROLON</h2>



<figure class="wp-block-image size-large"><img decoding="async" src="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/10/S5Intel2.jpg" alt="Halo Infinite screenshot of the skybox of the map Prism showing the Banished dreadnought Ghost of Barolon"/></figure>



SCORRIN’S BLADE HYPERSCANNER RESULTS COLLATED BY SCANNERMASTER DIBDIB



BANISHED
DREADNOUGHT: GHOST OF BAROLON



ARMAMENT:



<ul>
<li>1x superheavy grav-impact driver</li>



<li>6x light plasma lances</li>



<li>10x incinerator plasma cannon clusters</li>



<li>40x scindere arrays</li>



<li>24x plasma torpedo silos</li>



<li>70x pulse laser batteries</li>



<li>1x experimental volt piercer</li>
</ul>



CROSS-REFERENCE NOTES: “Looks like the big bad Banished dreadnought got some kind of hidden experimental electrolaser gun on their ship—bad news if they catch us gettin’ close! Hey… you ever seen a Brute scientist? I wonder if they–“



>>REPORT CLOSED 



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading" id="S5Intel3">INTEL 3: MISSING IN ACTION</h2>



<figure class="wp-block-image size-full"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="1920" height="1080" src="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/12/S5_Intel_3.jpg" alt="Halo Infinite screenshot of the crashed UNSC Mortal Reverie after it has been claimed by the Banished and renamed Outpost Tremonius" class="wp-image-88801" srcset="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/12/S5_Intel_3.jpg 1920w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/12/S5_Intel_3-300x169.jpg 300w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/12/S5_Intel_3-1024x576.jpg 1024w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/12/S5_Intel_3-768x432.jpg 768w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/12/S5_Intel_3-1536x864.jpg 1536w, https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/12/S5_Intel_3-1568x882.jpg 1568w" sizes="(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px" /></figure>



//UNSC DATABASE //FFG-525 – UNSC MORTAL REVERIE //PERSONNEL DOSSIERS



NAME: Bobrov, Elena SERVICE NUMBER: 91532-11116-EB RANK: Gunnery Sergeant HEIGHT: 6ft 1in (185.4cm) WEIGHT: 170lbs (77.1kg) BIRTH WORLD: Alluvion DATE OF BIRTH: June 19, 2522



NOTABLE OPERATIONS GySgt Elena Bobrov’s service record records marks of distinction in several major campaign areas. Notable entries include:



<ul>
<li>REACH (2552): Assisted Gauntlet Team in civilian evacuation operations during Covenant invasion. </li>



<li>REQUIEM (2557-8): Stationed aboard UNSC Infinity during both phases of the Requiem mission. Assigned as M510 Mammoth crew chief for Operation: WHIRLPOOL.</li>



<li>WOLFE (2559): Deployed to the surface of Reach alongside Spartan fireteams to engage Banished forces.</li>
</ul>



CURRENT STATUS MISSING IN ACTION



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<h2 class="wp-block-heading" id="S5Intel4">INTEL 4: SUNDERED STAR</h2>



<figure class="wp-block-image size-large"><img decoding="async" src="https://wpassets.halowaypoint.com/wp-content/2023/12/S5_Intel4.jpg" alt="Halo Infinite screenshot of a Spartan outfitted in the Sundered Star armor coating and wielding a Heatwave"/></figure>



ONI // REAP-X R&D PRODUCTION NOTES 



If the end of the Covenant War allowed us to run in the field of analyzing Forerunner technology, the awakening of the Didact in ‘57 and subsequent events concerning Requiem and the Created uprising pushed us to sprint.



Of particular interest to our ongoing efforts to unlock the potential of this ancient technology are design seeds—machine cells encoded with data to assemble anything from advanced combat skin to entire starships.



Helmet footage from Blue Team engaging the Didact on Gamma Halo demonstrated the Promethean’s armor was adaptively capable of being attuned to weaponry used against him. If we could harness this capability for Mjolnir, it could be the biggest evolution for Spartan combat since energy shielding.



Our experiments with the former have begun yielding minimal, but promising results. Will follow up with further information shortly…

Halo Infinite | Reckoning Intel

F-23 FALCATA V/STOL HEAVY FIGHTER

Spartan Ops: Lancer

Issue 148

Canon Fodder: Fiction Festivities

“February 2560. The wreckage of the UNSC Mortal Reverie served as a central rally point and home to human survivors on Zeta Halo, but it was only a matter of time before it was also overrun by the Banished.



A handful of survivors from the battle have been brought to the iron halls of the House of Reckoning where they are forced to take part in a twisted new war game…”



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Halo: Trial of Reckoning is available here on Halo Waypoint, <a href="http://aka.ms/REckoningPDF">as a free PDF</a>, and in <a href="http://aka.ms/ReckoningAudio">audiobook format on YouTube</a>.



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</div></figure>



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HISTORIAN’S NOTE



Trial of Reckoning takes place in February 2560, immediately following the Banished assault on the crashed UNSC Mortal Reverie which served as a central command post for UNSC survivors on Zeta Halo.



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“Awaken, valiant warriors!”



Gunnery Sergeant Elena Bobrov winced as she slowly regained consciousness. Everything had happened so fast since the Banished had descended upon them—the attack on the UNSC Mortal Reverie had spanned two harrowing days of almost ceaseless combat. Even though they had known the battle was coming, they’d had only hours to prepare.



The Reverie had been downed during the initial Banished naval assault, but the Mulsanne-class frigate’s surviving wreckage had become a fortified rally point for the UNSC personnel stranded on this local fragment of Zeta Halo. The installation itself had been violently fractured as a result of the escalating conflict on its surface and the accompanying emergency slipspace jump to who-knows-where. Under an unfamiliar field of stars, the Reverie had quickly become the only thing that resembled a “home.”



And in the blink of an eye, the Banished had taken that too.



Bobrov had been in the thick of the fighting when a group of Brute Berserkers were set upon her squad, tearing into them with mindless abandon—driven by a violence-fueled disregard for anything but their next target. She recalled hearing the dire sound of bones snapping, feeling the spray of Ensign Daniels’s blood across her face, and the next thing Bobrov knew she was drifting in and out of consciousness, recalling only fleeting impressions of being dragged across the verdant terrain of Zeta Halo before being loaded onto a skiff and taken to… wherever the hell this place was.



“Hey,” a man’s voice cut through her musings. “Gunny’s waking up, Doc.”



A medical scanner passed over her a moment later, followed by a small shot of fast-acting morphine which quickly and mercifully diminished the throbbing in her head.



“Can’t see.” Blinking rapidly, she tried to quell the rising panic in her chest.



“Be calm, your eyes will quickly adjust,” a deep voice soothed. “I suspect the lights will soon come on.”



Squinting through the darkness, unable to see much further than three meters ahead or so, Bobrov relied on her other senses. Beneath her hands she felt the roughness of dirt-covered ground, but the sound of movement around her echoed in ways more indicative of being inside a large building. A hangar, perhaps? That didn’t make any sense.



But then again, nothing did anymore.



As her vision continued to adjust, Bobrov was able to finally make out the one who had been seeing to her injuries.



Being tended to by a Sangheili was certainly one of the stranger wake-up scenarios she had ever experienced. Clad in simple armor, its saurian face barely seemed to register her as he decided he was satisfied that his patient’s wits and faculties had returned.



“Roll call,” Bobrov said through a strained grimace as she shifted herself into a sitting position. “Who have we got here and what the hell is going on?”



“Lance Corporal Singh,” came the voice that had first announced her awakening. “And we’re, uh, pretty much screwed, ma’am.”



“Spartan Hedge, Fireteam Lancer,” came another, causing Bobrov to swell with a momentary flutter of hope. On any other day, she’d have passed it off as an involuntary reaction, but she knew more directly of Spartan Hedge, as the two of them had fought on Requiem.



Bobrov had served two tours of the Forerunner shield world, having been aboard the UNSC Infinity when it was first pulled into the hollow sphere back in ‘57.



Terry Hedge had joined the UNSC Infinity crew as a Spartan recruit soon after the New Phoenix incident. Bobrov had read some of the mission debriefs on Fireteam Lancer’s activities, where they had been led by Hedge and taken part in some of the thickest fighting against Promethean and Covenant remnant forces.



“And our medic?” Bobrov asked, turning to the Sangheili. “You’re a warrior, right?”



The Sangheili appraised her and closed his first aid kit with a crisp snap, the case comically small in the alien’s large hands.



“No.”



Firm. Definite.



“No?” Bobrov repeated, her brow furrowing.



“I am a healer of wounds, not a deliverer of them. Not anymore.”



“You got a name?”



“Yes.”



When he did not continue, Singh interjected. “We just call him Doc. He seems alright with that.”



At that moment, the lights lining the ceiling above flickered on and the truth of their situation was laid acutely bare.



They were indeed inside a room as large as a hangar bay, but there were no vessels docked here. Instead, the area was akin to a UNSC field base—a flat prefabricated structure covered in sand and dirt, a couple of large rocks on the outer edges where groupings of sandbags were haphazardly laid out.



A small building nearby housed a handful of ammunition and weapons crates, prompting Bobrov to grab an assault rifle, sidekick pistol, and a couple of grenades. As she had been the last to awaken, the choices were slim, but the familiar weight of the rifle in her hand returned some semblance of comfort to her.



Beyond the base structure, a series of doors covered the boundaries of the room—two at each edge. They at least knew where their enemy would come from… but with only three fighters among them, and limited ammunition and cover, things certainly weren’t looking good.



“Ah, there you are.”



The booming, sonorous voice that had originally awakened her now returned, this time accompanied by a hologram at the far edge of the room, resolving into the blood-red image of an aged Jiralhanae. His right eye was milky and clouded, but the other—even in holographic form—glinted with malice as his mouth curled into a sharp-toothed smile. A grey beard covered his chin, and his forehead was branded with a symbol of his kind.



“I am Escharum, War Chief of the Banished. I welcome you to the House of Reckoning.”



“Ugly bastard,” Singh spat on the ground, tightening his grip on his battle rifle to mask a fearful tremor.



“Within these iron halls, through the Trials of Atriox, all shall know what it is to be Banished—our living history, how we once served the Covenant. All shall know what it is to be meat.”



Wasting no time, Spartan Hedge sprang into action, signaling Doc to assist in fortifying their position with sandbags and anything else they could grab with what little time and resources they had at their disposal. It wasn’t going to be much protection, but under the circumstances it was the best they could get.



“The trial is King of the Hill. One side holds the advantage of territory and must hold it while forty Banished brothers are sent to stake their claim. Survive, and you shall be granted a boon. You have played your little war games long enough. Now, you will play mine.”



With a final sinister grin, Escharum crossed his arms over his chest and the hologram faded.



Spartan Hedge motioned for Bobrov and the others to join him. “No retreat, no surrender, and no quarter. That’s what’s on the menu for us today, and it’s our job to damn well make sure it’s the same for them.”



“Four of us against forty of them,” Singh interjected and made an exaggerated show of counting on his fingers. “We’re outnumbered ten-to-one, man.”



Bobrov considered what she had read on military maneuvers back in basic training. As the ancient military strategist Sun Tzu had roughly put it: when surrounding an enemy, leave a way of escape. A retreating enemy is one that isn’t putting everything they’ve got into retaliation, but an enemy that knows they’ve been forced into a position to make a final stand is going to fight with every ounce of strength they have to the bitter end.



Either Escharum hadn’t figured that out, or—more likely—the Banished war chief was perfectly aware and that was exactly what he wanted from his captives.



“Let’s be real,” Bobrov interjected. “It’s entirely likely that none of us are making it through this. So you’d better make peace with the prospect of an unceremonious death right now, because if you freeze up and fail to make your shot count, you might as well be on their damn side.”



Doc fidgeted with his medical vambraces, his mandibles tightly formed together, giving way to a sigh. “I shall ensure that you are each stocked with ammunition, and provide you with the enemy’s weaponry when yours runs out. There is no honor in allowing one’s allies to perish for the sake of vanity.”



Bobrov couldn’t help but wonder what this guy’s story was. She could read the subtext as well as anyone and it seemed that even now, even when facing such crushing odds, the good doctor was firmly set against doing harm. 



In her experience, the Sangheili held martial prowess and their concept of “honor” as a matter of life and death. Decades of fighting against them had taught her that. Her more recent years, doing training drills with some of the Swords of Sanghelios personnel, had just confirmed that knowledge. Perhaps Doc had been amongst that cohort aboard the UNSC Infinity? Bobrov drew a sharp breath at the thought.



Infinity.



The name alone conjured an unexpected stab of nostalgia.



How she missed that ship.



UNSC vessels of all kinds throughout the Covenant War had been hell to live on—strictly utilitarian in design to serve as cold metal coffins ferrying troops from one battlefield to the next, never knowing how far you were going to make it. But the quiet hum of the Infinity’s engines, the beauty of the atrium park while cruising through vibrant nebulae in deep space that formed the “night sky” through the transparent observation dome, the chili cook-off that she and Lieutenant Gomez had attained a respectable fourth place in…



That had been the first ship she had ever been able to call home.



She thought back to the first hard touchdown on Requiem. The Covenant faction they’d fought there had thrown themselves at defensive lines they had no tactical chance of overcoming, driven by a zealous fervor that came from the belief that they were literally serving one of their gods in the flesh. She’d been the designated driver for the six-wheeled death machine that was an M510 Mammoth, which had been deployed to destroy a network of particle cannons, ferrying the then-Commander Lasky and the Master Chief himself towards a gravity well that was keeping them grounded.



It had seemed like a lifetime ago… and nobody knew what had happened to either of them. As far as Bobrov knew, no word from Captain Lasky had reached the Mortal Reverie, and the Chief had been missing-in-action since the ambush on Infinity.



All she could do—all she knew how to do—was keep fighting. Whatever hopes there had been for an age of peace after the fall of the Covenant had been shattered, and between remnant factions and rebel groups, ancient Forerunner constructs, renegade artificial intelligences, and now the Banished… “king of the hill” seemed a remarkably apt summary for the state of things, jockeying for power over the biggest and baddest guns in the galaxy. And to what end?



“Hey, ugly,” Lance Corporal Singh called out into the emptiness, knowing Escharum was still watching. “You said we get a boon if we win.”



Escharum did not reappear, but his voice snaked its way across the walls of the House of Reckoning—lowered, as if to confide a secret. “It is the same prize that Atriox received for surviving the countless battles that claimed his brothers.”



“And what’s that?”



“A new day shall dawn over the House of Reckoning. You shall be fed and watered, and tomorrow… you will fight again.”



“You bastard.”



“Take heart, human. With every moment you stand and fight, you shall know Atriox. You shall know the Banished. You shall know the Jiralhanae way of immolation.”



As the war chief’s words faded, the doors around the edges of the room slid open.



Bobrov tensed, fearing that they were about to get instantaneously swarmed from all sides… but the passages remained clear.



Then they heard it.



Like the thunderous start of an engine in the depths of an ancient machine—a dreadful, clanking heartbeat from what must have been a dozen or more gravity hammer pommels striking the ground in unison.



They began slowly, Bobrov counted the seconds between beats…



One, two, three, four—clang! One, two, three, four—clang!



The sound filled the air around them, rolled through the space with the insistence of a rising tide.



Powerful. Unstoppable.



It was not long before four seconds became three.



One, two, three – clang! One, two, three – clang!



Bobrov felt the tension twist in her gut, felt the hair on the back of her neck stand-up as the three beside her shifted, bracing for the inevitable.



Three seconds became two.



One, two – clang! One, two – clang!



Their enemy would be upon them soon.



She knew it.



And yet, in this whisper of time, Bobrov found reality crystallized with a sudden serene clarity, even as she knew this invocation was soon to culminate in a furious release of barbarism. As a Marine who had fought through the Covenant War and had known only a fleeting glimpse of peace before she had been called upon to serve once more, she greeted this moment as a friend.



The choice was simple. The priorities were clear.



Adapt. Survive. And…



She exhaled, glanced at her fireteam, and saw her own grim resolve mirrored in their expressions.



Accept whatever may come.



The pounding reached fever pitch, the hammers clanging repeatedly as the sound drew closer, grew louder, reaching its crescendo.



One second.



One. Final. Exhale.



Then came the stampeding feet. Bloodthirsty roars. The sudden sharp crack of firepower as Bobrov and her team made their stand.



Escharum’s voice echoed above it all.



“Fight hard. Die well.”

Halo: Trial of Reckoning