> "Though we drink of apocalypse, let us revel.

> In the light and in the love. Tomorrow and ever after.

> Let us not turn away from life's darkness.

> Swords forged from sorrow. Armors crafted from tumult.

> Let us wield that handleless blade, so that the petals may fall to the pond.

> Even in direness, let us turn the Wheel, so that we can finally attain Revolution.

> Love has left us behind. Love is for the next ones, who will come after us.

> Let us pave the royal road to enlightenment with our mistakes.

> Cut the throat of self-doubt. Walk, move forward. Do it for the world.

> Until all beings are free."

A light refuses to go out. A burning flame.

At the beginning of all things is darkness.

Did you know that at the beginning of all things, the first thing that arose was sound?

"Raxri."

A name. An epithet. A vow.

An anger. A wrath.

"Raxri Uttara, thy tale endeth here, and so shall it begin. Walk... until all the heavens and all the hells... have danced to your song."

A laugh. The voice continued: "Walk. Walk! Ye, once-dead! Let the world realize thy madness: you have been killed. Find out why... and enact your vengeance." The cackle of a mad woman caged within the husk of a man. "Until all beings are free."

Until all beings are free. A thought from our dear Raxri's mind. Arising, dependently, from the prodding of the Mad Fool.

The cackle of crazy wisdom pierced the gloom.

Raxri awoke...

image [https://i.imgur.com/iuXtMlD.png]

...half-submerged in ankle-high water. It glowed azure, blue tendrils reaching to the night sky. The body was rent of all clothing, of all armor. Skin the color of brightening dawn. Hair floating about them like a dawn halo. Lithe yet muscular. A dancer of the sword.

Raxri's eyes opened; eyelashes long. Lotus-like. Their scarlet eyes dim... shorn of memory.

The swordstress' body floated upon a shallow pond. Bright blue liquid lulled them to peace, to sleep.

Above them, through their eyes, the Sword Moon leered. His gleam bathed them in the light of pallid undeath. A giant edifice framed the moon: an arch with the middle removed. Two spires creating a gateway—a Divine Gate. Its adobe was a deep red. Blood used to bind it together.

Raxri's eyes grew heavy. The lulling movement of the softly moving pond beckoned them to sleep's farthest shores. They could choose, right then, to leave—to slumber again under the warm, almost rejuvenating glow of the blue-light pond.

A kindly voice told them, from the back of their head: It's time to rest. You've fought all your life. It's time to surrender to oblivion. Finally find extinction!

Raxri closed their eyes.

A gravelly, demonic voice uttered: walk. That sounded more like them.

The words of the Holy Fool...?

A vision of a scowling, scornful buddha. Wrathful heruka. Ready to strike. Ready to kill.

Walk. Walk. Walk. Not yet time for your death. Walk Raxri Uttara. Cultivate again Compassion. Wield the blade of Karma. Walk until the Path becomes the Destination.

Raxri... Uttara.

Walk. Rise, Raxri Uttara. Revolt against your own undoing. Let your blade find those that have betrayed you. A sound, a rock clacking against hardened soil, sounding like a final, gasping laugh.

Raxri Uttara rose from the waters of rejuvenation, water dripping from their form. As the liquid sapphire slowly left them, their soul bound itself again. Reconstitution.

Raxri shivered and then took their time to ground themself. They were wounded, naked, alive. A large gash on their belly, another across their chest. Incredibly, the wounds seem to have healed, turning soft pink.

The pain persevered.

The pain blossomed into anger. Who did this to me?

Raxri’s tattoo itched, ink writhing like worms under their skin.

Raxri expanded their awareness, encompassed the darkness. 10 bodhisattva statues surrounded them, each meditating in a lotus position. Raxri knew they were bodhisattvas, as ascertained by the moon haloes about every single one of them, but they could not remember their names. Each wielded a distinct weapon: a longknife, a pewter staff, a bow and arrow, an arquebus, a longsword, a greatsword, a spear, prayer beads, a crossbow, and then four sets of hands.

Each of the bodhisattvas hummed a single note. A continuous drone. Singing of oblivion.

At the edges of the chasm, they could sense corpses—cadavers—all rotted. Most of them were now just skeletons. An unnerving alertness arose from them. Looking at one, Raxri could swear they could see a soul's Eye staring back.

Their awareness continued to expand. There were a set of clothes from a mound nearby. Neatly folded.

Neatly folded? Raxri couldn't complain. They took their chances. They walked over to the folded set of clothes and took it. "Monksrobes...?" they muttered to themself.

Without any other set of clothes to cover themself in, they took on the monk's garb: a sarong combined with a simple, scarlet wrap shirt with cap sleeves. No slippers, no over-shawl, and no undergarments. But that's all right: Raxri knew they couldn't be too picky with their current predicament.

"No monk am I. Nevertheless..." they turned to the bodhisattvas. Muscle memory rang clear: Raxri folded their hands in front of their head, lips, and heart. They didn't know what it meant; all they knew was that they had done it before, and so it felt like second nature to them. Like breathing. Or smiling.

They turned and walked towards the last thing they became aware of: the opening that led to a corridor. As they neared it, they noticed a bronze mirror—the frame of it a giant imp-like demon—leaning against the opening. It was exceedingly dirtied, and part of it had fractured off. No doubt, this place must have been some sort of ritual importance, now abandoned.

Upon the mirror, they saw themself: brown skin, white hair, fair build, veins upon their forearms. The build of a martial artist. A tattoo wound around their forearm, written in an ancient script, arranged in such a way to form an ink talisman.

Raxri breathed. They followed the path.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The chill wind and the nakedness became thoughts behind them. They came to the cognizance of their aching bones and throbbing wounds. Indeed, the pain still persevered. I must find a place of repose first, they thought to themself, so they walked. That was the command of the Holy Fool, after all.

Their feet pattered upon a cold, hard, cavernous rock. Despite the darkness raveling about them, they felt a nakedness beyond physicality. Spiritually, they felt bare. Flensed clean of both sin and virtue.

Their thoughts were a vortex: Where am I? Who am I? Why... am I here? Was I embroiled in some crime? Was I left for dead? This did not seem like a place for joy and laughter... It feels like a temple, of some sort. Was this a temple? A temple for the dead? Was I carried here?

Their walking brought them to a doorway. A bulging-eyed, sharp-fanged demon god stood atop the arch. It whispered a mantra. Again and again.

Raxri's throat tightened, a white-hot knot of unspoken words.

Keep walking. Raxri uttered their own mantra. They walked through the doorway, ignoring the eyes swiveling to watch them. They arrived at a clearing in the cavern. The rugged and craggy rock turned into smooth gray stone, with patterns of overlapping circles engraved onto it. The rippling circles of a stone dropped into a still pond.

Light illuminated the hall. Raxri looked up to notice whiteglass lotuses housing white smokeless fires in the shape of perfect spheres and bulbs of light. Four-armed, bulging-eyed guardian spirit sculptures held up each lotus housing. No doubt, due to the march of time, some of the sculptures have lost their arms and hands.

Lotuslights? The nervous system of the temple was a network of electric circuitry etched into the bone of its stone walls. The circuitry rippled out of holes in circles: a pond constantly disturbed. Who made these? To whom does this temple belong to...? What powers this temple that it continues to run despite being in a state of disrepair?

Raxri's feet padded upon cold stone. Nephrite pillars lined the sides of the corridor, stories of warfare and justice carved onto its bas-reliefs. Many of the pillars are crumbled, no longer supporting the stone roof.

Foot after ragged foot: Raxri's walking led them to a broken stairway of blue jade, so blue that it could've been considered lazuli. A beat, as Raxri slowed down. Can I jump it? Might as well try. Things can't get any worse. With a grunt, they threw themself over the crumbled-away pit and easily onto the other side, clambering onto what was left of the blue jade stairway.

They breathed. Their physicality returned to them like a long-lost pet. They hauled themselves onto the stairs, noticing that the blue jade glowed an almost unearthly blue-green. Is this some sort of guide to my path? Is this similarly powered by what powered the lotus lights?

Raxri let out a shaky breath. Nowhere to go but forward.

There, two giant ogre statues flanked a narrow set of stone doors. Flanged shoulder armor, eyes bulging and fangs twisting. Raxri breathed. Are these... directional guardians? Yakkas? Demon Guardians... The direction they're facing is what they're guarding against.

Raxri paused and looked over their shoulder. What manner of evil did they seal...? Or am I the evil?

A beat. Raxri decided that the ogre statues were not going to move, not going to assail them—at least, not yet. They placed their hands on the two stone doors, hewn from stone and engraved with the same overlapping circles rippling across them. In the slight darkness, Raxri could make out, squinting, the little flecks of stars scattered across them. The night sky reflected from a rippling pond.

Raxri's muscles awoke like dragons uncoiling from stone as they heaved and pushed the doors straight open. Their muscles spoke: Hey, this is your body. You were so comfortable in it once.

Like a friend reaching out a hand to help, Raxri was suddenly imbued with strength.

The doors groaned. White dust billowed. Loose stones tip-tap fell onto the ground. The machinery within the doors creaked and groaned and protested... until finally acknowledging Raxri's latent strength.

The doors swung open like a jaw unhinging, stone teeth grinding against the floor. The night wind was a cold hammer striking Raxri's face, body.

The smell and touch of freedom, a slight glimpse at liberation. Raxri's hair whipped about them, their sarong fleeing from the touch of freedom.

Raxri moved forward. The night sky was cut by a clean stone path flanked by bamboo groves that lead into a cliff. A curtain parted: a shooting star streaked across the starry night sky.

The Gash of the Invincible Blade Princess cleaved the black of the sky.

Inhaling the cold air, Raxri felt the warm rejuvenation catalyzed into vigor. They stepped forward, bare feet embracing the cold stone at first and then eventually the harder, weed-choked stone path as they stepped into the bamboo gateway.

Beings watched them from between the shadow of the bamboo. As is well: they were unnerved by the utter lack of spirits inside the chasm they crawled out from.

Deep inside them, they knew that the world they walked upon was the world of spirits, not man. To stake one's own kingdoms and empires is to accord with the gods that walked upon the grass, danced about the clouds, swam across the trees, and warred in the seas. Or to subjugate them. But the cycle of subjugation abounds, unlike the mutual trust of the accord.

The stone path was eventually choked by grass, soil, roots, and underbrush. The spirits always reclaim what is theirs. Raxri walked upon dank soil until they found themselves near the cliff's edge. There they beheld the vista:

Overpowering the scene was a titanic strangler fig reaching into the sky. It held the Firmament, or at least a part of it. Further, craggy spires scoured the sky, the fingers of a long-dead giant. Clouds dance about it in mockery. You will never touch the sky! In the valley below, smoke wafted up and dissipated into the black. Multi-roofed wooden shrine structures jut out from the lower mountains, stopping by a river. The river fed into a small village of stilt houses and cottages until a lake, at the mouth of the valley, where a city walled by the roots of the titanic strangler fig slumbered.

To their east, past the jagged mountains that formed the southern part of the valley, were more coastal towns, similarly slumbering, with nary but slight torches to keep them alight, to ward off bears, tigers, and crocodiles.

Immediately to their east, Raxri saw the dirt path that led down to that coastal region. A destroyed wagon lay upon its middle.

Raxri inhaled. Their muscles creaked and moved. They felt as if rusted cogs began moving on their own within their bodies, ready to carry them where they needed to be. They took a step forward when--

"Oi!" A man peeked out from the path. Clad in bandit's garb: a dusty and torn sarouel, a sleeveless, collar-less vest, and a cloak that covered his face all the same. His hair was shorn on its right side. A tattoo branded the left side of his face. Not a talisman. "Moon's out, guts're in!"

Raxri bit their lip, stepped back. "Please, patience, good sers! I am lost!

"Lost? At this time of night in the midst of the forest? Don't fuck with us!"

Another man stepped in, wearing much of the same, though this one had bright blonde hair contrasting his burnt caramel skin. "Jugi... Do you not think it foolish to deal with that one? Witness: it bears monksclothes, and walks out of the Vault of Souls."

"Fuck the monkrobes Ruru! The Wizard'll pay all the same for a good piece of esoterica," said the other bandit, stepping closer and brandishing his longknife[1]. They pronounced "esoterica

by uttering every syllable. Mocking.

The blonde bandit frowned, staring at Raxri. "Look at its eyes. That’s no dead thing. That’s... a woman?"

"What stygian business would a woman have in the Vault of Souls[2]? What kind of demon mockery is this, ha?"

The blonde bandit paused for a moment. Then they said: "Did not the wizard say to look out for a dawn-haired chick?"

Jugi, the dark-haired man, said: "Oh. The Heaven Dancer? Right, the wizard said look out for a heaven dancer with white hair! Could that be...?"

Sighing, the blonde bandit raised their kinked-up longsword. "Even if it isn't... the wizard'll pay all the same. I'll be damned if I shirk the commands of heaven." The two of them lunged.

Raxri inhaled, exhaled. They fell into battle meditation. In that meditation, they trusted their body's memory.

Something blossomed in their body. No: multiple things blossomed in their body. Raxri could see it, burgeoning like a lotus.

First, at their groin area, their Yellow Secret Chakra.

Then, at their liver: the Green Abdominal Chakra.

Then, at their chest, the Crimson Heart Chakra.

Then, at their neck: the White Throat Chakra.

Finally at their forehead, at the top of their head, atop their blinking Third Eye (invisible, still): their Azure Crown Chakra.

Raxri was a keening thunderhead, about to explode. In their Liver, a mystic Inner Fire suddenly burned, sending their Inner Winds flurrying in every direction.

What... what is this? What power do I hold?

Against all the gods and the buddhas, without weapon nor armor: Raxri moved forward to meet them.

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1. Longknives, also known as sundang or machete, are single-edged blades, heavy, capable of both chopping and piercing. They are the most common form of weaponry in the Utter Islands, used not just for battle, but for cooking, gardening, pathfinding, and farming.↩︎

2. A hallowed pit the far eastern tip of Padma. Otherwise known as the End of the World. Souls thrown here are kept in thrall for eternity, removed from the Wheel of Wandering and forced to dream eternal.↩︎