> 1 - Great Teacher Thus-Come-And-Gone, prithee tell this unworthy disciple. How may I achieve enlightenment, when I must face the tribulations of the world?

> 2 - Disciple Utavashika, learn ye this: if an obstacle standeth before you, cut it down.

> 3 - If the obstacle be my family?

> 4 - Cut down thine conception of thine family.

> 5 - If the obstacle be my beloved?

> 6 - Cut down thine delusion of thine beloved.

> 7 - If the obstacle be the God?

> 8 - The Thus-Come-And-Gone answered not.

> 9 - If the obstacle be myself?

> 10 - Kill God Yourself."

>

> From The Water Lily Wreath Scriptures

Akazha shook her head. "Unlikely. Rebirthing means you are born from the start of that Path's life. Unless you're reborn as a God, but all Gods are reborn upon Heaven or within Mountains. You are no Spirit either, as Spirits often are born fully born. I'm assuming your Killing Intent carried your body there?"

Raxri nodded. "My killing intent tapped into my muscle memory, I believe."

"And you easily dispatched water ghosts. Something mortal swordsmen would never have been able to do. How truly interesting. But do not get used to your Killing Intent. It will only save you at the direst of times. It is not a combat skill, it is a survival skill. Killing Intent is used to threaten souls. You cannot depend on it. You must depend on your body and mind."

Raxri nodded. "Understood, master." They stared at the water again. It reflected something, but it did not reflect Raxri.

Akazha took a moment to wash her face even more. Then, when she finished her facewashing ritual, she said, "Parry at my thrust, Raxri Uttara: you've truly lost all memory? You do not even know what this island we are upon is called?"

Raxri shook their head. "Unfortunately, no. I recall nothing. Emptiness greets my recall."

"Just as well. Listen, kind, and with care.

"This grand island is known only as Pemi, a word in Karita meaning Lotus. Now, you need to know: Karita is the language of the gods and the Awoken. It is the great tongue, the first of all writing, the first of all language, from which all other languages became streams. Pemi is one of five great islands comprising the Archipelago Continent known as the Utter Islands. The other Islands are..."

Raxri waited, feet now dangling in the stream. Akazha climbed on top of the rock and wrung water from her hair. Her skin was smooth, almost poreless. "There, so I need not shout over the din of the rock. Now. The other islands are thus: Hiraga Ra-om, Temog Ra-om, Nilatpa, and Wadzara. Upon each island, one rules over most of the others that stay within. However, each island is large enough to have multiple rulers within. I will not go over every island, for that will no doubt be too much for your newly awoken brain. One thing you should remember is this: the first world ended when the Invincible Blade Princess conquered the world, and then was slain in the First World Revolution."

"But you talked of the Second World Revolution, master."

Akazha nodded. "The Decades of Carnage lasted for 40 years. Proletarian revolutions across the entirety of the Utter Islands. All this ended when the Merchant Empires mounted a full offense, which ended in them detonating an Atima Bomb upon the Lotus Throne itself."

Raxri raised an eyebrow. "The Lotus Throne?"

"The seat of the Universe. It is annihilated, now."

A silence followed. A reverence. Raxri themself did not know exactly what to do, but having the Throne of the Universe be obliterated by a bomb seems... disastrous.

They looked up at the gash in the sky. Is that why the world is as it is?

Akazha continued explaining. "In Pemi, the Godtree is placed, taken from the peak of Mount Dakmala, and placed for safekeeping so that the Asra and the Tewa would not fight over it. This great Godtree cannot be cut down, and I believe it is an anchoring point of sorts for spirits and gods. A collection of steward communes presides over the Godtree, facilitating matters of shamanism and spirit and tending to the giant flowers and forest surrounding the Godtree: the Nunuk League. We are near it, no doubt you've seen it. Their split gateways and spirit shrines pock the island.

"Pemi is commonly seen as the final border. Past it is the archipelago only known as the End of the World. And that would be no mistaken name: past the End of the World, there is nothing more than the ocean and, eventually, a vast sea of milk."

Akazha pointed at the island's eastern edge, known as Pemi, at the border of the End of the World. "Currently, we reside here on the far eastern edge. Though we are on Pemi itself and near the Godroot to boot, we are considered at the End of the World. This is the region where one can watch the moonly March of the Sea Monks."

"Did you get all that?"

Raxri nodded. They didn't. Just remember. I'm on Pemi. There's a big bomb that destroyed the Lotus Throne. I should make a mental note to ask about the Lotus Throne again in the future.

"Good." Akazha wrung the water out of her hair momentarily and then stood. Though she still had a cloth wrapped around her, Raxri noticed how long her limbs were and how lanky she seemed. She was so thin compared to Raxri's athletic frame that she might have passed as undernourished, almost skeletal. "Now, that's just one of the many things you must refamiliarize yourself. Just know the following: you are on the island of Pemi, in the region of the world known as the Utter Islands. To the far, far north, thousands of miles away, you will find the Dakmala mountain ringed by a jagged steel spire. The Dakmala is the center of the Trichiliocosm: the Three Billionfold Universe. It pins everything together. The Lotus Throne used to be in the Nail of Dakmala, a portion of Dakmala that was shorn away from it and became the pinning rod that bound the Utter Islands together."

Raxri scratched the back of their head. "The wonders of this world hammers my mind!"

"And there is more withal," replied Akazha. "The surface of the deep ocean of this world, of the Utter Islands. But you will learn it as you go along, like how a blade strengthens through water. Now, rise."

Akazha rose. She put on their garb and said, "Mercenarism is how people make money these days. If you have truly lost all memory, then I might as well acquaint you violence yet again. Not knowing any martial art in the Utter Islands is a death sentence. Now, on your guard."

Akazha fell into a low stance, legs wide apart, accentuating the stability of the earth, one hand near the cheek as a guard and another outstretched as a blade. "We witches on the Adamantine Path have been taught bits and pieces of a fist art so common in the southern reaches of the Utter Islands." She moved her hands in a flowing, spiral motion. "The Whorl Hand Art is commonly used by the pacifistic warrior-monks in the Heavenshards. Follow me."

Raxri took on the same pose and followed their movements. Slowly, as if chains were being broken open, Raxri's body remembered the movements. Raxri followed Akazha's kata, a perfect shadowing of her motions. It was as if, in a past life, they'd perfected this very Art, and moving in the same way gave them the catalyst for remembrance.

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Together, they danced an intricate fist-jive, following a silent rhythm revealed to them only from the betraying sounds of the forest. Raxri followed and learned each movement until they realized the entire kata was a mixture of repetitions. Eventually, Raxri let the flow of the movements carry them. They quickly sank into an almost meditational state, where their mindfulness was only upon the movement of their hands, legs, elbows, feet, their place beside the stream, their place within the world. Their stream of consciousness quieted and turned into a blade they could wield, cutting away frustrations and unknowns, focusing on the present now.

Akazha and Raxri's fists struck out at the same time, striking the air. The foliage before them moved, disturbed, as if a wave of invisible wind struck it. A force erupted from each of their fists.

"How does that feel?"

"Interesting. I... what is this power erupting from me?" Raxri gasped for air.

"I'm glad you can feel it immediately. The majority of people cannot, they are not trained to do so. This is your inner power working. Your Nihawa. The Inner Breathing Wind flowing through all sentient beings. Sometimes known as qi, ki, chakra, vim, daya batin, gahum, sakti, kundalini. .

"Your Nihawa is strengthened by your Sapi Furnace, the cinnabar fields where power erupts. The Sapi is your Inner Mystic Fire.

"Nihawa and Sapi can be cultivated separately, leading to Nihawa focused Physical Cultivators and Sapi focused Warlocks and Witches. But for you, we will be training both at the same time, as most people would teach. The successful fusion of Nihawa and Sapi is a lifelong process, one that eventually creates the conditions for the Secret Spiritual Energy to arise: Vajra, the Emptiness Thunderbolt.

"I will explain to you at length in due time, for this is a deep and life-long wisdom. For now, understand that the cultivation of Nihawa and Sapi is tantamount... but they are nothing without the proper Systems and Techniques to harness them. Think of them as spiritual fuel, something useless without proper technique to use and burn them."

Raxri straightened and looked at their hands. "It felt... familiar. My body told me that this is the way to move."

"Delightful. Then, my conjecture proves true. You were a martial artist before the loss of your memory. May our movements bring remembrance."

Raxri looked at their hands. "I'm... not so sure about your proposition, however. I do not know if I can do it. If I can take a life."

"Precisely why I've taught you the Whorl Hand Art. The Whorl Hand Art hews closely to the First Precept of the Buddhas: Never take a life. All these techniques--" she performed a quick movement, elbows and fists striking. "--are for disabling, incapacitating, for inducing remorseful contemplation. You will not worry about answering that question just yet."

Akazha took Raxri's hand and put them in a fighting stance. Then she struck with her fist. In reflex, Raxri's hand shot out to parry it, guiding it away. To that, Akazha answered with another twirling fist, and Raxri caught that with a thwip of a forearm. Question, reply, question, reply. A counter to a counter to a counter. Raxri was enlightened by the realization that this was the very kata they had been doing just a few moments before.

"Hm. You're better at this than I thought." Akazha found an opening in Raxri's defense. She shot through with an obfuscating elbow, only to break it with a knee straight into the gut, followed by flipping Raxri over that same leg and slamming them into the ground. Akazha's hand still wrapped around Raxri's wrist, twisting their hand. "It is fascinating to note. Your body clearly remembers, but it is clouded, much like how the mind is clouded from the truth of enlightenment. An obscuration of death, somehow?" Akazha let go of Raxri's wrist when she realized they were shouting, "Yield!"

"Ah, forgive me."

Raxri sat. "You're really good."

Akazha's lips curled up. "Come, we've much more to learn."

The lancing pain in Raxri's wrist lasted only for a moment as enthusiasm bubbled within them again. "Right!" They leaped to their feet and trained.

Raxri was taught the meaning of the Whorl Hand Art: "The Whorl Hand is so called because it is the microcosm of the truth of the world: every being will inevitably enlighten. And so the circle is more of a spiral. A whorl. However, it takes innumerable years to get there, and in so doing, one prolongs one's suffering. The Whorl Hand's movements are exactly that: spiral, circular movements that eventually end in a point, which is the very point that incapacitates or disables in some way. The Hand is powerful and cannot be broken. Tell me, where can whorls commonly be seen?"

Raxri's mind was blank. "Uh. The sky?"

"Well, yes," said Akazha, shrugging. "But whorls are most common in the sea. The whirlpool, remember?"

"Ohhhh!"

"Yes. It is called the Whorl Hand Art due to the rushing strength it can generate from its wheeling movements and its eventual strikes that crash like the very ocean's waves. It is the very martial art wielded by Badrapaan, the vaunted bodyguard of Dattreya Wairini, the Adamantine Buddha, who vowed never to take a life until they reached Enlightenment."

Then, Raxri was taught the basic movements. The fundamental punches, the fundamental exchanges, the counters, and the counters to those counters. Once Raxri got it--and they got it much too quickly, though not quickly enough to betray prodigiousness--they moved on to the counters of those counters and then various ways to lock an opponent or disarm them.

As Raxri performed the techniques, they could see the spiraling movements that echoed the teachings of the Buddha. A long arc that eventually turned into a single point. The long arc of rebirths eventually ending in enlightenment. As Raxri performed an arcing movement, they saw something arc across the sky, as if following the motion of their finger. They squinted, saw that it was more like a worm, wriggling across the clouds or the malachite blue.

"What is that...?" asked Raxri.

"Hm?" Akazha looked up. "Oh, that's a dragon. Naka in the trading tongue of Bazaar Kyapo. Ruong in Dragontongue."

"I see." Under closer inspection, Raxri saw that it had bright scarlet scales and moved like a serpent would move across water. Bright light trailed behind it from its horns, eyes, whiskers, talons, and claws.

"AHOM NAKA SANG TANI WANAG HOMA," Akazha said, folding her hands and touching the base of their hands to her forehead. Raxri did the same, uttering the same thing.

Afterward, Akasha said: "That means: Glory to Dragon, Enlightenment Omen. It's a good sign, and dragons are gods that lead to awakening."

"I see. A good omen, then."

"Very much so," said Akazha. She turned and raised her fists again. "Come, an omen is but a sign of things to come. It is not an excuse to forego the work."

Raxri nodded, and they continued to train until the sun was high in the sky.

When the heat felt too much, Akazha stopped. Drenched in sweat, she said, "Ah, it's zenith. The sun smiles upon us. Let's rest. It's time for us to eat. Grab those bowls. I'll make spicy coconut stew."

Raxri was commanded by their master to collect finger chilis in the Witch's garden. Raxri bound their shoulder-length hair into a mid-parted ponytail, messy yet, and went about their work. As if binding a cloud to a master.

Raxri was a wonder of a warrior: at times, when their hair is loose and falls about them, they seem like a woman true, and a beautiful one at that, with soft features, full cheeks, and almost doe-like eyes. However, when they adopt fiercer aspects, such as pulling their hair into a messy ponytail or wearing armor, their man's visage shines like a fierce god suddenly arising. A full-handsome one as well, with features angular and sharp, as if they themself were born of a sword.

The Witch's Garden lay on a small patch of land behind the witch's house, right in front of the giant strangler fig tree, which provided wide shade for all the crops beneath it. Arrayed in rows upon the garden were tomatoes, taro, finger chilis, safflowers, black peppers, basil, ginger, limes, pea flowers, and turmeric.

One entire row was empty as if it belonged to a particular crop. Raxri knew not, of course. They would not be privy to that knowledge as of yet.

The smell of morning dew, of green grass, of wet, damp soil overpowered Raxri. However, none of this became a bother: the cold wind that wrapped around them and then tousled the crops... felt like a blessing of the gods. Off in the distance, the sound of Maya birds tweeting and flitting about was punctuated by the occasional cry of monkeys and roars of tigers.

Behind the fenced-out section of the garden, beside the large strangler fig, was a sole areca palm. Raxri hazarded a guess that Akazha collected her betel nuts for her quids from that.

Then, a wide-brimmed hat. Peeking out from behind the giant roots of the strangler fig. Eventually, the wide-brimmed hat revealed a large... night heron, brown of feather, bright yellow-eyed. It walked in a funny, lax gait. It moved its wings as if it were its hands, keeping its hat on. On its beak was a long reed.

The heron walked like a young man needing to work the fields to earn their keep.

It yawned. A sound escaped its beak. The croaking crow of a night heron. Then, when it turned to see Raxri, it raised an eyebrow laxly. Unbothered, it said: "Yes? And for what reason under heaven would you have to be staring?"