> The greatest spirits of the world are the Water Spirits, for water spirits arise from everywhere. What is water but that which binds us? The most powerful of water gods are the dragons. Ruong in the Shennin tongues, Naka in Pemi and Nilatpan tongues, Nawa in the Charnel Isles and in Northern South Ra-om. These are beings that live in the great rivers or in the clouds, and can summon rain, thunders, cause floods, or cause droughts. Reverence is paid to the dragons to ask for rain for crops or flooding for rice, or to stop too much overflooding.

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> It is said that the King of Dragons, or the Rakainaka, once used their own life to safeguard and protec the meditating Sanjah Kitama Murat from the javelins of Mada, the God of Dread Illusion and Craving.

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> From The Treatise On This World's Great Spirits

Raxri stood mesmerized. Akazha darted.

This is the closest Raxri had ever seen a dragon before. Was this a Naka? The dragon's scales shimmered like pearls. Their eyes bulged. Black rimmed them as if it wore mascara. Its fangs were razor sharp. Blades flanged from its snout, executioner axes. Its claws were as long as kalises, gleaming pitch like meteoric iron. This particular dragon had skin the color of the sky-before-dawn. And even with its darkness, it gleamed. Its appendages and extremities shone with a bright orange glow, as if it was lava. As if it were on fire.

Volcano's wrath breaching the waters.

Raxri unsheathed Puksa, and Akazha chant a mantra while slashing the earth before them. A barrier of pure light sliced up in front of them, shielding them.

The dragon slammed into the purelight barrier, and immediately shattered it.

"Raxri, prove now your worth!" screamed Akazha.

Raxri snapped out of the mesmerization and said: "Oh, how nice of you!"

"Spare me your sarcasm!" The two of them dove in opposite directions, out of the way of the dragon as its claws came down and carved into the earth.

Raxri's Light Body was defter. Stronger now. They had better control of their body. Their Will Burned Brightly. Instead of hitting the ground with their shoulders and rolling prone, they used their Light Body to flip in mid air, elegantly, as if they were swimming underwater, and planted both feet on the ground.

Akazha was already floating backwards, performing quick mudras with her hands. She put her fingers over her mouth and unleashed a burning stream of flame at the dragon.

The naka screamed and turned to Akazha. The fire turned sizzled into steam against the dragon's black pearl scales.

But Raxri was upon them, Puksa glinted within the speed. The sword cracked into the pearlescent scales, inflicting a bruise which looked more like a dent. But no further damage was done: the dragon's natural armor stood fortified.

The naka flickered toward Akazha striking with its claws as if it were human. Akazha met them with her blade, clanging against their sword-length talons. They clashed. An intense flurry of blows. The outcome: Akazha crashing to the ground, but managing a clean cut up the dragon's throat.

"Raxri!"

Raxri dashed underneath the nak, performing the mudras for Heavenly Lightning Saber. When they saw the fresh wound, they unleashed it: three burning cuts of scathing light searing and slicing into the same wound. The nak screamed in pain, thrashed about, knocking down entire trees and sending earth into the air.

Raxri had to concentrate to avoid the nak's havoc. A loose claw swipe struck their breastplate and sent them hurtling back into a nearby tree. The tree buckled.

Akazha was there beside Raxri. "The breastplate holds well," she said. "Rise, Raxri Uttara."

The dragon continued to thrash.

As it did, it shrank.

Raxri tilted their head to the side: "What happens to the great one?"

Akazha pointed to the scar. Burning writing engraved onto the flesh. "It means SEAL. A calming yantra. It will be enough to pacify the dragon for a moment. There is no way we will be able to kill it. Not yet."

"It shrinks...?"

"A common sign of divinity is shapeshifting," said Akazha. "That vaunted ability to change one's form."

"Are all dragons divinity?"

"Aye," replied Akazha. "For better and yet for worse. But all naka can change their form at will, and many have human-seeming forms to traverse across our world all the more easier."

"I see. So say you, I might have met a dragon before, but would have never known?"

Akazha raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps. But that is not entirely relevant to our current conversation, I would believe."

"Oh. Akazha, look."

The dragon had shrunken now from its titanic, serpent like form into a still hulking figure of a man. His skin was the color of darkest blue, the night at its coldest. His hair was bright orange, fire from his scalp. So was his beard, though it was kept in check by gold bands and rings that kept them tied together.

He was kneeling, almost bowing, in the direction of both Raxri and Akazha. They still both had their weapons at the ready, just in case. One can never be too sure.

The man was clad in brigandine made of dragonscale of his draconic form. It looked as though it were difficult to remove.

The night-skinned man looked up and stared at them. His muscles rippled, he was a hulk of a creature. His eyes were the color of orange sunset, like his hair, and stood out in stark contrast against his navy blue skin.

He spoke, and his voice was hoarse, gravelly, but not completely basso. The voice of a dragon. "What have you done to me?"

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"Nothing," replied Akazha Han Narakdag, floating kalises pointed towards the man. "Why did you attack us?"

"You refrain from killing me yet," said the man, still kneeling. "You preclude me from such a mercy."

"Killing is not high in my priorities," said Raxri.

The man stared again. "What? Ye be saints?"

"We have said no such thing," said Akazha. "And you have not answered my question. Prithee, reply to my interrogation: why did you attack us?"

The man stared again, and then rose to his feet. Raxri watched as he ascended to his full height: they were the height of two Raxris. Given, Raxri was not particularly tall either, they were just tall enough to be taller than Akazha, and they were both roughly of the same height. But even then, the man seemed to be a tail and a half tall.

"Will."

Raxri furrowed their eyebrows, confused. They gripped Puksa's handle.

Akazha let out a breath. "If consuming our flesh is your objective then I must stop you, I am afraid. Death calls thee."

"But you have defeated me." The man looked down, and truly, he did look defeated. They looked as though they haven't been fighting, despite their impressive bulk. "I am in no condition to fight any longer."

"A dog backed into a corner will bite," said Akazha. "Prove to us that you will not slay us when we have lowered our guard."

The man managed a smile. "Your paranoia is justified, witch," said the man. "I can only respect it. Very well, if I must prove myself docile and pacified: I am Sintra Kennin, Prince of Hri Asra Kinawetan, the God of River Wetan. I am heir apparent... but I lack the power to do be this."

A silence. Raxri's eyes flickered between Akazha and Sintra Kennin, who breathed with large nostrils that no doubt housed flame.

Then, Akazha waved her hand. Her kalises disappeared. Sheathed again into the sun's rays. "I believe you."

Raxri licked their lips. "Akazha I--"

"I was wondering why you were so quickly subjugated," said Akazha. "Now it makes sense. You have not been cultivating your draconic powers, have you not?"

Sintra Kennin looked embarassed. He shrugged. "To become the God of Wetan River one must be warlord. I am no warlord. I am a painter."

Raxri blinked. "Forgive me," they said, chiming in. "I beg your pardon?"

"I am no warrior," repeated Sintra Kennin. "More accurately, I do not wish to be a warrior. I wish to explore the visual arts."

Akazha held back a laugh. Sintra Kennin scowled. "You laugh at me, a Naka Prince?"

"Forgive your servant," said Akazha. "It is simply something new to me. How interesting the last few months have been."

"So what will you do with me?" asked Sintra, still towering over them, looking like the true warrior among the three of them.

"We will let you go," said Akazha. She performed a gesture: two fingers pointed at her heart. She cut down, as if cutting it away. the seal on Sintra Kennin's neck melted into nothingness and Will. "Return to your River Palace. Forgive us. And do not bother us again."

Sintra Kennin sighed. In one hand he had a giant curved sword. A dakgatana, a single-edged, two-handed blade, enlargened to zweihander proportions. He did not unsheathe this. He held onto the scabbard, clean and unbroken.

"I cannot."

Akazha scowled. Raxri held their grip on Puksa. They waited for a reason.

"I..."

"Speak," said Akazha.

"It is all right," said Raxri. "Please, let out what you wish."

Sintra Kennin seemed to be at war with his thoughts. Raxri looked at Akazha, who seemed to be completely calm, almost too lax. In truth, Sintra Kennin's body language spoke of no keening violence. Instead, it spoke of pure uncertainty, fear, doubt, and a dollop of shame.

With another final exhalation, he said: "I cannot. My father will kill me."

Raxri blinked. Akazha seemed to be waiting for more information, no reaction on their face. Not yet. A butterfly fluttered in Raxri's stomach. Was Akazha this committed to protecting me? No, it must be because she is protecting herself. We are no longer master-student, after all.

"Why would your father kill you?" asked Raxri.

"Their disappointment is greater than the bleakest dark," Sintra Kennin replied. They spoke so softly, despite their ogre-like appearance. "Firstly, I am their firstborn, and I was already a failure for I manifested into a painterly woman form when I first came of age. 'Women cannot be warlords!' He had said. When I asked why, he said 'It is tradition, the momentum of history!' When I pointed out that we were shapechangers and could change our gender at any moment, he overtook him, boiling like milk upon a furnace. I changed my form to that of a warlord--" they gestured to his giant self, "--and embodied it... but my martial training lacking, unlike my brothers and sisters who had been trained thoroughly in the martial arts since their birth. They did this enthusiastically so.

"But since I was still the first-born, I was the rightful heir of the River Throne of Wetan. I struck my father in the face in defiance when they forced me into exhaustion in training for being a Warlord. In another fit of wrath, he exiled me and told me: 'You can only return to this family and this palace once you are strong enough to defeat all of your siblings in single combat! Until then, you are not my spawn!' And so I was forced to leave. I have been wandering for years since, cultivating my Will, but found it slow-going. I am handily defeated by master swordhands. The only skill I have cultivated is my painting skill."

Akazha inhaled and then exhaled. She turned to Raxri, whose lip was quivering at the story. "Raxri...? Fare you well?"

Raxri nodded, successfully managing to burst the bubbling emotion of sorrow they had for Sintra. "It is all right, Sintra," they said. "Journey with us. Together we can cultivate your strength, and your father will bid you to return!"

Akazha turned and immediately added: "IF! If, you wish to return to your father, that is." Then she turned to Raxri and said: "Damn me, guard well your bleeding heart, Raxri."

Sintra Kennin bowed low and nodded. "I do. I wish it so. I miss my siblings, my family. We were all so happy there. And my siblings... they never hated me. I always cooked for them and helped them when it came to artistic sides of things."

"Oh, Sintra Kennin, great dragon of the river! Please, I implore you, travel with us. We will cultivate martial skill together! You will be able to return to your family in due time!" Raxri was practically leaping up trying to convince Sintra Kennin to go with them.

Akazha only mopped their face. She did realize that having another, large and physically imposing warrior with them would not be a burden, but a boon.

And so she stayed quiet. She let Raxri talk. She felt like they were doing a good job anyway, because Sintra Kennin's eyes lit up, almost glistened. It was comical in a transgressive sort of way to Akazha, seeing this huge hulk of a warrior--nay, a warlord!--pouting and moping and being excited by a cloud-headed warrior half his size.

"I am not sure. I would hate to intrude, and I have never known a world beyond Wetan River."

"How long have you been alive, if it is not rude of me to ask?" asked Akazha, from behind Raxri.

"One hundred and thirty four," said Sintra Kennin, gripping their blade. Despite not being peerless at it, or having suboptimal martial skill, the way Sintra Kennin carried themself and their blade was an imposition of intimidation all the same. A large number of humans would cower and forfeit at the mere sight of someone like Sintra Kennin, and perhaps that was violence enough.

"Hm. Relatively young for a spirit," said Akazha.

"That's young?" asked Raxri, stopping from jumping around. "That's so many years..."

"Maturity is different for each sentient being, you should know," Akazha noted. "And for spirits, sometimes it is slower than a human. Unlike humans who must toil under mortality, spirits rarely get diseased, rarely get infected, live for long times, and gain sustenance through the prayers and merits of those devoted to them and making offerings to them."

"I see." Raxri turned to Sintra Kennin and walked over to them. They stood so close to each other now. This close, Raxri was truly only half Sintra Kennin's height. They had to look up to be able to meet Sintra's eyes. "How long have you been cultivating, great spirit of the river?"

Sintra shook their head. "It is all right. You may call me Sintra or Sintra Kennin. And I have been cultivating for a hundred years, but no doubt I simply of the same Cultivation Stage as you."

"Even better," said Raxri. "If we are of the same cultivation stage, that means we can advance at the same rate. We'll be able to help each other effectively! Join us. I am Raxri Uttara."

Sintra Kennin stared at Raxri for a moment. From afar, it looked like the River Dragon Prince was scowling at the sun-haired swordmaiden. Then, they said: "So it is true."

Raxri tilted their head to the side.

Akazha caught on quick. Her hands flew into performing mudras.

Sintra Kennin continued: "So you are They Who Danced Against The Heavens."

Raxri frowned.

"If I consume your flesh," said Sintra Kennin, fire-colored eyes blazing, suddenly. "I will be awarded with power beyond reckoning. Will that shalt scourge the heavens themselves."

Sintra Kennin unsheathed his dakgatana. It fell in a deadly arc toward Raxri.