Akazha pointed then to the small collection of smaller islands to the southwest of South Ra-om. "During the great conflict to stop the Invincible Blade Princess, she launched an attack so potent that it cracked a portion of the firmament. Do you remember? The white gash across the sky sometimes seen, when the clouds part? That is the Gash of the Invincible Blade Princess. Sections of that gash then fell upon the Utter Islands, creating the Heavenshards. This archipelago within an archipelago. It is peopled now, and truly the great Panyuwan League has arisen from it, a coalition of pirates, sailors, traders, monks, and stormsingers that serve to facilitate trade across the entirety of the Utter Islands."

Akazha's hand then pointed at the lower right rock. On the far east side of it, a small sapling had grown. "Finally, arguably the smallest island of them all, is Pemi. Here, the Godtree is placed, taken away from the peak of Mount Dakmala, and placed for safekeeping so that the Raxa 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."

Then, her finger pointed at the collection of islands in the far southeast. "Somewhere here, while still decidedly and commonly grouped with Pemi, is the group of islands known as the End of the World. It is truly the end of the world: past this, there is nothing more than the ocean and, eventually, a vast sea of milk. Past Wadzara, one would find the Southeastern Island Continent. Past Nilatpa, one would find the Southwestern Island Continent. Past the Heavenshards is said to be the floating armada continent of the sea lords. Past North Ra-om and the Jagged Swordfield is what is left of the Southern Continent, and then Dakmala itself."

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."

Akazha waved her hand in a specific way: fast at the beginning and slow as the arc ended. As if a dance.

Then, she snapped her fingers.

There was a gasp, subtle, almost inaudible, and the rocks sank deep into the waters.

"Did you get all that?"

Raxri nodded. They didn't.

"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.

"Even further north is the great Northern Square Continent, where men live for long lives and live within grand spires. Thousands of miles east of the mountain of Dakmala is the great Eastern Semicircular Continent, where tall-men reside peacefully with spirits. Then, finally, thousands of miles west of the Grand Dakmala is the great Western Continent, where giants raid giants and participate in competitions of strength. To the south is the Southern Axehead Continent, where we live, though the southern section of this continent has been split off from the rest and is what the Utter Islands are. In between our lands are countless islands.

"The distances between these Continents are so far that they very well take eternities to travel to. Thus, sailing is important in the world. And you know what else is important in this world? Mercenaries."

Raxri blinked. "Pardon?"

"The Utter Islands is locked in its own eternal war, you see. Ever since the Invincible Blade Princess was defeated. There has ever been a new war for the Lotus Throne, for peace, for any semblance of stability in this world. As it stands, we are in a fractured, broken time. A time of struggle. That fight with the darkness for that inkling of light."

"I see. 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 wish to be helpful, you will reawaken your latent martial skill and make us wealthy."

"I will...? Master?"

"We will need money if we wish to survive in this world. And you must survive this world to regain your memories, correct? That is the core of it. You must know how to defend yourself besides. 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.

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.

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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.

"How does that feel?"

"Good." Raxri gasped for air. They still hadn't gotten their endurance back. "It felt... familiar. Like home."

"Delightful. Then, my conjecture proves true. A martial artist you were 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 Awoken: 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 Awoken, 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 Awoken. 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 Kyarpan. 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?"