> "To soothe a heart aflame,

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> compassion must pierce uncrowded.

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> For a heart must love unashamed,

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> to see with eyes unclouded."

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> Poem by Venerable Flower Garland Fifth Patriarch Jisinsati

Witch's Hut

Raxri made themself at home in the guestroom. Cold wind drafted from the open windows and the bamboo slat floor. Raxri Uttara clad themself in the provided cotton blanket, which had the abstract representation of a lizard upon it.

Raxri removed their wrap shirt now. They used their blanket to cover the entirety of their body, which was not remarkably lithe; they had the severeness of a warrior. From their silhouette they would be mistaken as a broad-shouldered woman with unfortunately almost non-existent breasts, but by the way they moved they carried themselves with the warlord mien of a man.

Narrow by the waist but broad-shouldered. Their naked body betrayed a long past of myriad events: slashes and gashes pocked their light brown skin, some of them not as recent as the bright pink gashes they had taken. Some of them cut into the soft flesh of their breast, their sternum, their abdomen, their buttocks. A light bruise as well, not yet fully healed, on their groin area. Instead of being incensed, Raxri couldn't help but be confused.

The night, as always, was quiet. Raxri was made to sit in their thoughts alone, except for the occasional hoot of an eagle owl and the slight call of the gecko. Within this mire, they couldn't help but think and be aware that they most likely had a long history before this. They didn't seem like they were of young stock: Raxri conjectured that they'd lived around twenty-five harvests by now. Looking up at the roof of the mosquito net, they segmented their thoughts: deep gash wounds now turned into pink scars--no doubt because of the Medicine Awoken's waters. But they wondered then: what were the Awoken? What were those Saint statues depicting? What were those ogre statues? Gods thrived here, it seemed, but sometimes their temples might be forgotten or forsaken. Dilapidated. What did that mean?

What was the Whorl? What were all these things that Raxri could swear they had knowledge of? Deep understanding and awareness. Perhaps something even close to Enlightenment in these subjects, but now nothing. Did they just lose all progress, then?

Clinging to these thoughts, Raxri knew, would only deepen the confusion, like clinging to the blade of a knife already lodged into your heart.

They focused on succumbing to slumber. It didn't take too long; they were mighty tired, even with the rejuvenation of the Awoken Waters. And in that state, no dreams came to them. Not even the words of Silang sa Bayno.

***

Dawn came. The incense sticks on the burner had fallen into stumps and were out.

Raxri arose to that all-too-familiar sound of the cock's crow. Their eyes opened. Though they had no clue about the length of their slumber, they knew from the buzzing energy deep within their muscles that they were ready to move. Raxri leaped out of the mosquito net and stretched their body to the full length it could, priming it like a blacksmith heating a blade.

Then, they put on the monk's garments they'd picked up—that wrap shirt with cap sleeves and the sarong—and walked out.

In the living room, as the rays of sunlight streamed in from the malachite sky above, Raxri found no mentor or teacher. All they found was silence and emptiness. The cock's crow reverberated again, this time accompanied by the flapping and the tweets of little Maya-maya. Raxri figured that perhaps Akazha had gone on ahead. Perhaps this was some sort of test against them, and they should pick up the slack. To show that they're eager to move, learn, recover their memories, and help them.

Raxri walked over to the kitchen annex and saw that the unwashed clay pot was still there. Raxri also noticed at least five other claypots, most of which had leftover rice within. Must be Akazha's other dishes. I'll clean those too.

Raxri fit all five claypots onto their arms and walked down the annex ladders, balancing everything precariously. From their vantage on top of the annex's ledge, they could see the close glistening waters of the stream that Akazha must have been talking about.

They walked past the open kitchen and into a lightly trodden path, cutting through lush jungle underbrush. The path eventually opened into the stream, which flowed to their right. The stream flowed quickly and cleanly.

Slightpond Stream

Raxri placed the pots onto a nearby rock, knelt, and drank the glistening water. Refreshment poured down their throats, cleaning them. There was no teacher here, and Raxri eventually concluded that perhaps the teacher had just slept in.

As the sun rose and the chill morning air slowly gave way to a slight dawning heat, Raxri shrugged, removed their clothes, and washed themselves clean in the rushing waters behind a large boulder the stream snaked around. Tall trees created a verdant canopy over them, shielding them from the worst of the sun's rays. Though they had no oils to coat their hair nor any soaps to clean their skin, Raxri found themself at peace, once again. Always, it is always the rushing waters.

Afterward, as Raxri dried themself, they set about washing the clay pots. It didn't take long until each pot was cleansed of detritus. Raxri allowed the large chunks of leftover rice, some still stained with soy sauce, to flow away with the river, chanting a mantra as they did. Or what is a song? Raxri couldn't know anymore. These were at the forefront of their mind, and they sang it, but they didn't exactly know what it meant.

As Raxri washed the dishes, they found that each dish was intricately engraved with flower spiral designs. It was a beautiful design, no doubt, though Raxri didn't precisely understand the true meaning of each spiral. They understood now that the world they've returned to is filled with the uncontrollable urge to make everything they see beautiful, filling it with the same beauty as nature-filled empty spaces—the truth of emptiness.

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

Then, behind them, a yawn.

"Oh, Raxri, my dear student. You woke up much too early."

Raxri turned around just as they finished washing the last of the claypots. "Good morning, teacher. I had thought you came here first as a test of loyalty."

"From whence did you get that thought? For someone who lost all memory, mischief dances yet in your head." Akazha saw the cleaned claypots and said: "Quaint, cleaned you even my own dishes. Those I'd laid aside for I promised they'd be washed when the chance presented itself."

"A waste of a trip it would've been if I hadn't," replied Raxri, rising to their full height and bending backward to stretch their back.

Akazha smiled and shrugged. She moved over to the other side of the boulder, saying: "Well, you've certainly won me over with your diligence. Our first lesson shall begin, then." She spoke over the rushing stream's din and on the boulder's other side. Raxri figured she would be bathing and didn't want to go over there to ruin her privacy. "Parry at my thrust: do you 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: North Ra-om, South 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."

Akazha stepped beside Raxri and let her fingers flutter against the rushing waters. In a moment, pebbles floated up from the bottom, floating and bobbing, hewing together to create a bubbling facsimile of a map on a table.

image [https://i.imgur.com/5kZY7ku.png]

Akazha pointed at the leftmost island. "Nilatpa is so called because of the Nilatpa Lake, where the Azure Lotuses float and choke the waterways. Upon that, very lake floats the Bastion of Erudition, the grand castle of the Witch-Queen Diran Jaka Asra of the Immanent Darkness in the Republic of Soreh. Nilatpa is long known to have attracted the great Sages, those who mastered the very elements of existence, and the Mystics, those who achieved Enlightenment Through Violence. Among others, this is also a hub for wizards, alchemists, adepts, monks, scholars, savants, smiths, and more. It is a place I have been to and studied in for a while in my meager past."

"Past Nilatpa is the Refuge of the Gnostics. Here, great hermits arise from its dense forests and high-altitude mountains covered in frost and snow. The Refuge is where one would go if one wishes to detach from life. Once here, you will become lost until you've found the supernatural powers that will allow you to return or otherwise get the help needed to return. There is only one town in the Refuge of the Gnostics, and it is on the nearest island to Nilatpa. Past it is undoubtedly the land of dragons and fairies.

Akazha then pointed at the rightmost island, where the top half is complete. In contrast, the bottom half is shattered into a thousand isles. "On the rightmost, on the other hand, is grand Wadzara, home of the Liger-Kings. Otherwise known as the Land of Morning Light, for the sun blasts its gleaming rays first upon their lands as it breaches the east. Wadzara has ever known strife and war. Even now, they are embroiled in a fatal civil war in an attempt to seize power over the entire island. Controlling the whole island is the Empire of Wo. Yet most Wo is ruled by the Regent Generalissimo Sisep Karasama, Chosen of the Gloam Dragon, turning Wo into an Autarkic Empire that rules over the main island and its southern archipelago. He rules while the Emperor, Taiyan Fhiyo of the Solar Dynasty, grows, as he is but a babe.

"The southern archipelago is known as the Blasted Chain. During the Final Wars, the Invincible Blade Princess wielded the might of the Blasted Sun to destroy a part of Wadzara where an indomitable rival to her might have gathered the peasantry to revolt. This was the result of his revolution. Within the Chain is an assortment of diverse cultures and communities that have coalesced under the might of Tuanku Tai Semangga, the many-handed lord, who protects the interests of the little people of the Chain. Their clashes shake the world."

Raxri's hand moved to the topmost part, where a collection of smaller islands scattered like flowers in a field. "This is the Jagged Swordfield, so called because it is a collection of islands half made of true earth and half made of the shattered pieces of giant blades, armors, and shields, all collected from the Final Wars where the Invincible Blade Princess attempted to seize Dakmala."

Akazha's hand drifted to the topmost island. Raxri noticed it as the largest of all: a vertical island, almost like a horn or a blade. "Here, grand North Ra-om, where the Heaven-Earth Shennin Society arises, beneath the Ceiling of the World. Now Shen was an old and storied empire: in truth, the oldest one of all. While it is still wracked by civil war, the Society has survived by evolving its empire into a union of a hundred thousand warlord states. Not so long ago, Shen once conquered the entirety of the Utter Islands, save for the Heavenshards and Pemi, and brought them into their fold. This period of world order shattered almost instantly as the haughty Bajrans and the cunning Utpalans rebelled and soon defeated the very being that conquered the Utter Islands: the Invincible Blade Princess. Shen survived but was fractured into the Hundred Thousand Warlords. They only survived through unionization and an ideological evolution into one that emphasized mutual aid, self-determination, virtue cultivation, and humanitarianism... but power corrupts yet. And word on the wind says that Wadzara prepares to mount an offense to shatter this and seize the greatest society that Wandering has ever known."

She pointed to the island in the middle of it all. "And this quaint island, the smallest of them all, is South Ra-om. It is so-called because North and South Ra-om were once a single island. But the grand Invincible Blade Princess sliced it in half during the Unification Wars. This is important, so take care to listen: upon South Ra-om is the Nail of Dakmala, a piece of the Cosmic Mountain that pins the Utter Islands in place so it doesn't float away. More importantly, atop the Nail of Dakmala is the great Lotus Throne, the seat of the universe. Whosoever sat upon it becomes a veritable Wheel-Turner. It is said that the next Atmost Awoken will only arrive when the Wheel-Turner has united all beings under a single throne... Though the Scriptures say nothing about whether that is a peaceful or baleful reign.

"And so this section of Ra-om was bisected from the rest in the Invincible Blade Princess' attempt to weaken the forces of the Great Coalition: the forces of the Hundred Hundred Kingdoms that banded together to stop her from becoming the Wheel-Turner. It is important to note, then, that none have ever sat upon the Lotus Throne, and none will ever sit upon the Lotus Throne.

"South Ra-om hath no lord, and this is full true. Once, the great kingdom of Selorong existed here. Yet, after the Great Cleaving and the Final Wars, the kingdom was dissolved, and now only ruins are the evidence that it ever existed. Now, only a few communes have sprouted here, known as the River Tribes. Upon the mouth of the river, Manawag is the great merchant city of Selorong, one of the largest in the world. It is so because it welcomes every community and every commune and allows for trade as long as peace is maintained and no human rights are violated. This peace is maintained by the people within themselves, who only become part of the city commune if they prove to be good peoples of the society they live within. Selorong accepts all faiths and uniquely thrives in its diversity... and this peace is maintained amongst themselves. Despite this, Selorong is blessed by Vaizzan, the Warrior-God of Wealth and Mercenaries, and followers of the unique teachings of the Scarlet God Awoken: a fusion of local animist lore, the worship of the Scarlet God, and the ultimate truth of the Awoken. Hri Vaizzan was said to have been so admirant of their trading policy--that being the only thing traded must be commodities and never necessities, meaning food, water, shelter and comfort were free in Selorong--that he blessed them with smooth administration and a legion of debt-spirits! It is not utopian in any sense: portions of it going up in flames and tribal infighting abound, but they are constantly worked upon, and none of the people ever want for anything. I've never been attuned to Selorong, as I cannot live alone in a community. And thus, I left."