"1 The falling stars spell out destinies once foretold, prophecies now unbidden.

2 It arrives now, all at once. Sing to us, o Awoken, of the insurmountable celestial chorus. The Infinite Spiral.

3 This world began when the first Being was reborn in Hell.

4 This First Hell-Being, after a billion years of torment, was reborn as an Antigod. And though his unskillful karma was purged, his Mindstream was infected with boiling wrath.

5 The First Hell-Being resolved that if justice were to be served, he must inflict the suffering he has suffered upon the world itself. The First Hell-Being mastered the arts of war and violence, and then amassed the largest empire known to the Lotus Realm. Spear in hand, the First Hell-Being ravaged the land and plunged it into hell, with armies of screaming ivory chariots and hellmonks riding upon devil tigers. Wandering was saved only by the arrival of Wairosana , and their army of 80,000 Waking Saints and 80,000 Divine Mystics. The Demigod’s body was plunged into the sea, and parts of the Firmament fell upon the endless oceans..."

Scriptures of Fates Hitherto Unforetold, Volume 1, Chapter 1, Verses 1-5

To the sound of swinging bamboos and crowing cocks, they traveled. To the smell of light dew upon morning grass, they traveled. To the feeling of light humidity upon one's skin, yet infused with the chill of the cold morning air, they traveled. To the taste of light wetness upon one's tongue, they traveled. To the sight of the morning air sending its spears through the rainforest canopy, they traveled.

On a gentle trot. Not too fast, not too slow. It was understandable: though there be a path already blazed, it was still much too choked by green, the path still too uneven. Unlike the coastal path, which was no doubt well-trodden by travelers true.

Raxri and Sungai moved away from the coast, but they could still feel the gentle sea breeze blowed nonetheless.

Peace permeated their trek through the forest. The forest was dense, as to be expected from a tropical island. The walkable section of it was narrow, no doubt only able to fit two people. Only about two tails wide. They rode across streams and brooks that have split away from the main river. As they rode, Raxri realized that they still hadn't been able to truly see the main river that cuts through this all.

A few sun-movements of traveling and Sungai slowed his pace. No doubt fatigued from the burst of sudden travel.

"Does the day fatigue you yet, Sungai?" asked Raxri, bending down and brushing his smooth, silky mane. :Let us rest." They stopped beside a small pond, where frogs and fireflies flitted about. They had set out so early that the sun was barely over the horizon when they left. Now the sun was just about at its zenith.

The sun shined its beaming blasted rays upon the world. In the syntax of her gleaming shine she spoke of how she ruled the world and hated the dead.

Thankfully, the pond was roofed by a canopy of vines and giant leaves.

Overhead, the sound of monkeys and cockatoos and hornbills. This place was lively, much lively. Raxri performed another triple obeisance before the pond, and then sat by one of the stones. They brought out a hollowed out and lacquered gourd and drank it until it was empty.

The pond flowed constantly, fed by a small creek and then flowing out into a somewhat larger stream, somewhere down the elevation. Upon it danced little manikin-like creatures. As if molded from white clay, and then little holes pushed in to create the fascimile of eyes. They floated about like feathers, nigh weightless.

Partway instinctively, Raxri pulled out some uncooked rice they'd had readied on their person, wrapped in a little palm leaf. They laid it on a little flat stone set before the pond, and then performed the crown reverence to them. The little spirits looked down on the offering, and nodded.

A few more of those spirits floated into view, dancing and jumping about, as if in festival. They leaped over the pond and barely touched it. Many floated over Sungai and Raxri, some of them pulling at Raxri's cloud-like hair. A small group came over to sit beside Raxri, stumpy feet swinging without a care. They moved almost like children, in a way. In the same mischievenous yet innocent way that children did. Some of them climbed atop Raxri's shoulder and did a little jive. Raxri chuckled. "I thank you, spirits of the forest."

A frog leapt out of the pond and onto a smooth rock beside them. It was larger than usual frog, but its smooth skin betrayed that it was no toad. It regarded Raxri for a moment, before it got up on its hind legs and stretched.

"I hath ne'er seen such a one as you," said the frog. Notice now that it had robes of such viridian, where it once was bare! It gleamed in the sun like an emerald. "A wanderer yet!"

Raxri performed the crown reverence to them. "I am but a passerby seeking solace herein this quaint pond."

The frog dusted off their robe, though there was no dirt upon it. A gesture that emulated humanity. "Yes, the Blasted Sun does like to parade her apexness around and radiate upon everybody, does she not? Such obnoxiousness. Anyhow, well pleased I am, that thou rememberst to make offering. Too many vagrants doth forget, whether willingly or not."

"Art thou the god of this blessed forest?" Raxri was uncertain, but decided that speaking in Bazaar Kyarpan's formal register was a safer bet.

The frog spirit shook their head, refuting Raxri's wondering. "But I am one of their vassals 'tis true! This region be guarded by the Cervine Glade Lord. If thou hath made offerings before entering this forest, then thou shalt trek safewise. If thou hath offered naught, then thou best leave!"

Raxri nodded. "This one hath made offerings, lord."

The frog nodded again, satisfied. Now, suddenly, it had a crown, in the same vein of chakravartins. A crown that was not just around the head, but also went down the sides of the face, and the crown itself resembled a golden flame erupting from one's brow. Before the frog had no headwear, but now it wore the regalia of Universal Lords!

"Good, good. Thou wilt proceed in full safety. Take thy time to appreciate the beauties of this grand city of the forest lords. They hath cultivated it with much diligence, I canst assure thee."

Raxri looked up, watched the canopies, the hanging vines, the orchids swaying in the breeze, the giant leaves... "It is, milord. What grand cultivation it must have required!"

"Indeed, indeed. Now, ah, I take my leave, servant. Fare thee well." The frog turned and walked away, not using the pond at all. It didn't take long before the little god disappeared into the underbrush.

Raxri watched them disappear, and then took the time to rest for a few more moments. The silence was conducive to meditation, and Raxri did so, focusing on their breaths, on the lazy movements of the ponds, the occasional breeze swaying the leaves and flowers. Sungai drank a bit from the pond.

Before long, they embarked again. Raxri knew they needed to get to at least the base of Mount Jura before too deep into the night.

By the time the sun had moved past its position atop the Utmost Throne of the World (otherwise known as Zenith, or in other languages, Noon), Sungai and Raxri were well deep into the wood. The trees loomed ever larger; the path became less traveled. Large roots and crawling vines obstacled the road. Eventually the road itself became covered in grass, and they were truly walking down nothing but forest, upon a path none had been able to blaze.

Deep in this forest, Raxri heard the lilting tune of a zither being struck. A dancing jive. Our dear wandering amnesiac had not been adequately briefed on the realities of the wood. They knew not that one should never trust sounds that emanate across the wood. The Deepwoods are not the space for humans, for mortals. As cities are the burgeoning hub of human civilizations, so too are the Deepwood glades and strangler figs the hubs of spiritual activity.

Raxri, moving on sheer instinct, figured that hearing such music might be dangerous in the middle of the woods, where any form of human settlement would not have arisen. And yet, the almost jovial tune of the zither rang through the air, electric.

Raxri spurred Sungai on, and Sungai obeyed. The black horse cantered through the road until they ended up in a small clearing. In the middle of which arose a large moss-covered boulder. The nigh blue grass that surrounded the rock gave the impression of a towering, unmanned lighthouse rising from the middle of the sea.

Atop the moss-covered boulder was a beautiful maiden, with hair the color of the deep sea, skin the color of lightly bleeding rose. She wore nothing but a loose, thin silk robe that fanned about them supernaturally, as if they were constantly underwater. This robe was transparent enough that it kept nothing to the imagination, revealing supple breasts and bare, untouched skin that continued until her waist.

Her lower half was that of a bird's. Feathered, from her waist erupted giant iridescent bird-wings, folded now as she sat.

The bird-woman's arms were embellished with gold armbands: many upon her biceps, many more upon her wrists. Gold rings adorned her fingers and her ears. Ear ornaments arose from them as well, giving her ears a more pointed look. She wore the burgeoning trappings of a rich noble in the Utter Islands.

Or perhaps... it was these rich nobles that emulate the trappings of this bird-lady?

She strummed a bamboo zither as Raxri and Sungai arrived within the clearing, as if she had known they were arriving. The bird-woman stopped strumming and opened her eyes. These eyes had the same green-blue that the grassy glades bore around her.

"Hello." Her voice was deep and sonorous. A voice belonging to a seasoned songstress.

Stolen novel; please report.

Raxri dismounted from Sungai. They performed the crown reverence to the bird-lady. Sungai bowed as well.

"Stellar musician," said Raxri, bowing still. "Forgive your servant, they did not mean to interrupt your performance!"

"O, human," spoke the woman in her dulect tones. "Think nothing of it. Thou art a wanderer, as much as I." She played again, and the tone this time was less jovial and more somber. Melancholy, even. It matched the azure gloom of the forest clearing that they were in.

Raxri didn't even know they were staring until the woman stopped smiling and turned. "Hast thou not been informed that it be full rude to stare?"

Raxri blinked, and then immediately kowtowed. "Ah, f-forgive thy dumb slave! I have let go of all mindfulness and trespassed upon thy comfort!"

"Oh, worry not overmuch. Come, thee and thine may rest here upon this rock for a while. O, come now. A bidaree biteth not! And please, trouble yourself not with the formal register. Speak plainly, it is all sound with your lady! But I am used to speaking with humans in the godly register, so bear this in mind."

"Bidaree?"

She waited for Raxri to come closer and rest upon the boulder, before speaking: "Yes, my name is Vibujja, and I am a bidaree. We magickal beings that are the celestial dancers, sometimes considered little gods of our own right. As thou canst see." Vibujja rose to her full height; though she was not as tall as Raxri, her long avian legs made it seem like she was. Almost like a flamingo. The wings on her waist unfurled, almost twice as wide as she was tall. Her long flowing hair was bound into a bun, held fast by a beautiful pin decorated with pure malachite.

Raxri couldn't sit. Not because of fear, but because of excitement. "Forgive me,I've never seen a bidaree before!"

"O really? Thine eyes obscureth a greater truth, knowest thou?" She moved in a sensual way, in the kind of way that ancient dancers would've done, to both appease and arouse kings. "We bidaree are celestial dancers, wrought from stardust and karma."

"I thank milady for revealing such truths to me. I am ignorant to them." Raxri could do nothing but bow again, performing the mouth reverence.

Vibujja came closely and pinched Raxri's cheek. "Oh thou art such a cute human. Beautiful besides! Thou carrieth thyself with a harmony hard to find in this furious world. The gait and sleekness of the masculine, the beauty and warmth of the feminine... thou art a wonder."

She said all this while pinching Raxri's cheek. Raxri couldn't help but blush.

"Oh, my subject doth blush! Adorable." She leaned in and kissed Raxri's forehead. "Let us make story. Tell me: for what noble ambition dost thou travel into the Pemiwood?"

"A-Ah..." Raxri blinked, and then saw Sungai in the corner of their eye. The sun was getting low. "O-Oh, great lady. Please, please! Forgive me. I cannot tarry for too long. I must travel to Mount Jura, to speak and confer with the monastery there."

"Ah, meanest thou the monks that meditate upon the Giant Stone Monastery? I am well acquainted with the people there. They offer me gifts and offerings every four moons!"

Raxri wondered for a moment at the significance of four moons, but decided against it. "O, truly? Can you help me on the way there?" Sungai turned and exhaled in Raxri's direction, as if to say: That is not the right thing to say to a celestial musician! It was funny all the same, as Raxri did not notice Sungai's rebuke.

Vibujja smiled and said: "Surely, I will guide thee. But in barter, sing to me thy tales!

Raxri's eyes lit up, a fire ignited. "You are most gracious, milady! Yes, I agree to such a barter."

Sungai neighed again, but the bidaree was already alighting upon the air, strumming their zither. So did Raxri leap and mount upon Sungai, and Sungai did no more rebuking.

And so they traveled. They moved past the clearing following Vibujja as she soared across the forest. It was more accurate to say that she floated apace with them, with her wings beating effortlessly. Almost as if her wings were nothing but decoration, and in truth it was magick that lifted her aloft. Raxri watched in marvel. She moved as if dancing upon the wings of the wind.

"Hail, riding one. It is full rude of thee to not anonunce thyself to me!" She twirled as she bounced and flew and flitted about.

Raxri bowed as Sungai cantered. "Ah, forgive me, Hri Vibujja! I am Raxri Uttara, a student of the witch Akazha. I travel to Mount Jura to learn more about this talismanic tattoo bound around my arm." They raised their arm and showcased the talismanic tattoo that bound about their forearm.

"Ah, if it isn't a shield talisman! A shield yantra."

Raxri tilted their head to the side. "Yantra?"

"Shield Yantra. A yantra...," Vibujja moved her finger like a stele. A bright light erupted from her finger, and where she moved it, it left behind a trace in the air, as if she were writing upon the very air. She created a complex geometric mandala in the air then, "...is sacred geometry and sign, carved into the world, an instrument from which great supernatural magick flows. Where it comes from, nobody knows! Many theorize that these geometries are the closest thing to Absolute Reality. What is Absolute Reality? Wars are waged over the answer. Some say it is the Ultimate God, others say it is the deepest awakening, the Awoken Nature, others yet say that it is the Transcendent Realm."

Raxri stared at their forearm. Once again, another slew of questions. Once again another slew of concepts Raxri couldn't quite fully grasp, at their current moment. But Raxri meditated and concentrated on those things Akazha had said, about turning one's every moment eventually into meditation, and pressed on. They had faith they will understand it eventually, in traveling and in movement.

"A shield yantra," continued Vibujja, waving her hand to dissipate the floating light diagram. "A yantra which protects thee. However, a yantra of that size canst protect thee only by so much, before it loses charge. As with all talismanic things." She pointed at the talismanic necklace hanging from Raxri's neck.

Raxri looked down upon it. It felt cold against their chest. "Charge?" they asked.

Vibujja smiled. "All supernatural things are not hewn of this world. Things like magick and the creation of gods... their powers are greater, made of Will, but not natural. Thus why they're known as supernatural. They are all temporary--in truth, all things are temporary, but some fade away quicket than others--and thus to stay them upon this world requires it to be charged by meditation or by spiritual imbuement. That is the way of most magicks in this world."

"Can all beings work magick, great lady?"

Vibujja shook her head. "The possibility of magick is nascent in all beings. Yet, only a scant few can work the great wizardries that nigh-Liberation provides! True wizardry is a path to Liberation, while false wizardry is a path to power and immortality. Both are wizardry to be true, but false wizardry is the way of temporariness... though it seem to be the true path to power. Truth abides, you see, and is silent. Absolute Truth is patient, whereas the Phenomenal Truth is quick."

Raxri only nodded, though in truth they were not able to absorb all of that. They simply repeated 'Absolute Truth is patient, whereas the Phenomenal Truth is quick' in their minds. Despite wielding their mindfulness, they could not parse the entirety of what she had said. However, Raxri was full glad that they were able to shine a light on the whole wizardhood business that their master incessantly spoke about.

"Now!" she spoke again. Her voice was so full and so distinct, Raxri couldn't help but listen. "Enough about me. Great wanderer, tell me from whence thou has thus gone." She laid back and floated, as if reclining on a bed of clouds.

Raxri gulped. "A-Ah... well you see... milady. I cannot remember for the life of me where I have thus gone in the past."

"Oh?" Vibujja plucked on her bamboo zither, lazily. She created a light looping melody as they traveled. The melody intermingled with the sound of the winds lightly brushing the foliage and sending leaves cascading to the ground. It mingled with the babbling of the creek in the far distance, the sound of hornbill cries in the air, the sound of chiding geckos. "This be the truth? Thou art lost of memory...? Prithee, err not in thine speech and speak full truth: what was thine earliest memory, then?"

"Ah, great bidaree. This servant found themselves awakening in the pits of what witch Akazha had said... the Vault of Souls?"

"I see." Vibujja looked up at the sky, as if accusing the gods of something. Then, she said: "It seems perhaps the Hell King hath shewn thee a modicum of pity... or perhaps bound you to some duty? And yet no rhapsody of prophecy hath been lain upon mine ears, speaking of one such as thee. No fanfare, no song. Thou art no hero... thou art a vagrant stumbling into something much greater than thyself. Thine is the beginning of a hero's story in truth!"

Sungai leapt over a crawling vine. Raxri reached up to pluck a loose clove from a clove tree as he did. "This servant has no claims to being a hero, great one. However, the witch and I have taken it upon ourselves to find the cause for the loss of my memory, and to seek out who I once was in truth."

"And it is the witch Akazha in truth that has taken thee in? Thou hath my full interest. Thou art a blank slate! And yet not as a blank slate as not able to speak. Though thy memories hath abandoned thee, thine innate skills cultivated from thine past life stayeth." Her plucking on the bamboo zither was soothing, still. She was a true expert in that artistry. Raxri wondered if all bidadaree can do such a task. Vibujja floated closer to Raxri and asked: "But tell me thou must: what doth thou believe might change if thou regaineth thy memory?"

Raxri blinked. Then, without much thought for it, said: "This servant in truth does not entirely know. They suppose that they'll find out when they get there." Raxri realized that they still spoke in formal register despite the bidaree telling them otherwise.

"Ah, a wise response. The future and the past are ever now, as much as they are never now. However, try as I might, I cannot find the spark of heroes within thee. Thou truly art a being that hath stumbled into a terrible fate greater than thyself."

"This servant supposes that to be true," replied Raxri, bowing.

They then traveled for relative silence afterwards, only breaking it occasionally for Vibujja to ask a few more things, such as if Raxri remembers where they were born, or if Raxri remembers any of the martial arts they've practiced or any mystic cultivation they have performed. The answers to all this was no, of course.

Through it all, she played her bamboo zither, which had only two strings, which were mightily taut. The tune she played went high and low, but was long and of moderate speed, as if the wood itself played a melody for the both of them. During a point where there was a lull in their conversation, she would sing along in harmony with her zither, and it was during these times that Raxri had to fight not to fall asleep. Eventually, her humming melody became ripe with lyric.

She sang:

"O, though trials there might be

The star bard shall herald thee.

Though Raxri Uttara be,

Full lost of their memory."

At that, Raxri blushed and grinned. "A song for this servant?" No one had ever written songs for them before. At least, not one they can remember. The song, nonetheless, had an impressively familiar tune...

Vibujja smiled. "Of course! Song ariseth from the meekest of places, from the most invisible of spots. It is this tanyaga that has now arisen from me. Consider thyself blessed!"

"Your servant's ears are overflowing with nectar, great one! The tanyaga is full bursting with inspiration."

Vibujja laughed. "Ho ho ho! Thou art a spritely one, and a flatterer besides!"

"No flattery here, milady." Raxri sounded desperate, trying not to get onto Vibujja's bad side. "It is worth full mention of the great singer's capabilities. One can become idle and bored in the travel."

"No such thing as bored during travel, young one," said Vibujja. "During travel is a perfect time for meditation. Thou would do well to remember that."

Raxri nodded again, and then decided not to speak, so as to not get any more into Vibujja's bad side. They instead folded their hands palm-to-palm in front of their heart, and began meditating, focusing on Sungai's long black mane. It tossed and tussled, and in that moment a poem similarly arose from Raxri's heart:

"Tossed and twirled, black sea be ye?

Your chaos, Shagara's Web!"

Though Raxri did not full understand what Shagra's Web meant, from the context they had gathered when Akazha (or was it Jikajika?) said it, they took it to heart when it meant interpenetration. As every part of Sungai's mane was separated into a strand, they nonetheless intermingled, flattened, twisted and curled, creating large locks of hair.

Much like how, in Shagara's Web, all things and all beings have influenced one another at some point. The wind that now blew through Raxri's hair came from a stray breeze that spiralled down the nearby mount, which was once part of the sky, which once fought in the Windswars, which once was a little windling born from a thousand years of karmic cultivation from a rat that stayed listening to the Awoken's teachings.

This act of mental stimulation cost Raxri a few movements of the sun.