Pakhangba Lampak

In the eastern recesses of Lamphi, under the chiselled ridge of the jagged mountain Lampak, stood the monolithic amphitheatre: Pakhangba Lampak. Crowned in the spring sun, its rotund roof gleamed. Brimming with human touch, the vaulted entrance rang in a sea of cheers. The monolith trembled under its resonance. The drums bellowed, with the blaring of conch shells, its melody rousing the entire village.

The stringcourses ran over its seamless obsidian walls, separating the two arcades. The engraving of Pakhangba, the wingless dragon, roared majestically as Pennant flags, seven of them, fluttered beside it. It was a show of solidarity, a union of Seven Silais—clans—assembled on the occasion of the annual rites of passage ceremony—Yaoshang. This ceremony was a week-long procession. Each day signifies the seven stages of a person's life.

Today was the seventh and final day. A momentous occasion as the children who have come of age, climbed the stairs of adulthood, basking under the might of glory.

In the second arcade's fifth row, clad in red-black ceremonial garb, sat a six-year-old Korou. His blue eyes plastered not at the bout in the arena but over the white haired girl. Her hands were raised, clasped as she mumbled apologies.

"No! You don't get off the hook easy this time, Atla!" He screamed, in an attempt to not drown in the erupting crowd.

"In my defence," She leaned behind. Her arms were resting over the bamboo support. "I was only three."

"I was nine months old. And couldn't speak."

"You were smart."

"No, no, no," Korou replied in a fluent Lamphi Lon. In the past six years, he had mastered the language. "You are not hiding behind the compliments, not this time."

"But it's true." Atla defended. "You are smart."

His cheeks heated up as he pursed his lips into a pout.

"Shut... Shut up..." He mumbled.

"What?" Atla tapped her ear. "Can't hear you."

"You used me as a human sacrifice!"

"Shhh." She gave a horrified screech and leaned over his side. "Don't say that."

"It's not like they can hear me," He shook his head. "Plus, everyone knows. The entire village was involved."

"Still." Atla sighed, her palms resting over his mouth. "There are people from the six Silais here."

"That's what you are worried about? Not that I was a sacrifice, propped up to be eaten by Asamahi." He paused, staring into her scarlet eyes. "The Asamahi, the evil twin of The Pakhangba."

"You are alive, though."

"I could have died."

"But you didn't."

"That's not the point." He held her by the shoulder. It's about infant safety. I don't think people just put up their newborn for a death march, praying he lives?"

"You are overdramatic." She broke into a smile. "Also, Grandma wouldn't have allowed you to die anyway."

"She was the reason I was chosen..." He mumbled.

"Also why you survived." Atla reminded him with a wink.

"I fear my life."

"Because of the village?" Atla grinned as she twirled her loose strand. "Or my grandmother?"

"You tell me."

A thunderous screech bellowed from the arena, compelling Korou and Atla to turn their gaze. Khamba Pakhangba Lamphi, the eldest son of the village chief and the favourite to sweep victory at the annual Yaoshang Martial Arts tournament, raised his sword. His chiselled abs glimmered under the afternoon sun as sweat made them sparkle like pearls.

"He is so strong," Atla muttered with dreamy eyes. "I knew he would win it all. The warriors of Loktak and Ukhrul couldn't hold a candle before his might."

"Disgusting."

"Huh? What? I am being honest."

Korou imitated her squeal with dreamy eyes.

"You were being a fangirl."

"Everyone's his fangirl." Defended Atla. "He is that good."

Korou shook his head.

The ceremony proceeded as the seven assembled Village chiefs and Korou's father, the honorary Grand Champion of the Seven Silais, produced the golden medallion. There were dialogues, promises of the future, responsibility of leaving the village, and an embrace with applause and cheer.

The sound was chaotic, and Korou could barely handle it. He raised his palm to his ears, drowning the chatter away.

Nearly seven years had passed since his untimely death and subsequent rebirth. A lot had happened during that period. Beginning with his identity as Anutaputa Sisodiya, Korou, over the course of half a dozen years, had felt that name slowly erode. As an ancient engraving, it was subjected to a stream of water, trickling slowly each day until not even its outline survived. Except here, his new family chiselled it out, etching a new one.

Despite its quirks and outlandish grammar, the language was easy to learn. Speaking came fairly quickly; it hardly took Korou a year and a half. Though writing and expanding on the vocabulary took him nearly five. Still, he wasn't sure if his list of words was nearly enough.

He also knew names and surnames now. Initially, he accepted that this world, specifically the region, lacked surnames. It was an assumption based on his knowledge of the previous world and its history. But during his learning of language: Lamphi Lon, his mother, Anemone and father, Nongyak, drilled in the significance it carried.

He remembers his father's words from two winters ago: "One's surname is their undying bond to their ancestry. It tells the tale of the ones who came before and carries their hopes forward. That's why, you Korou Kouboru Kshetriba, the amalgamation of eastern wind tribe and western warrior tribe should always wear the name with pride."

Korou had grimaced at the acclaim. It reminded him of similar reasoning from his previous life. Sisodiya were the lineage of royalty brought to an end with the fall of medieval society and subsequent revolts. Still, to not hurt his father, who was proud of his ancestry, he smiled and accepted.

Geography and politics were still lacking. Despite his tenacious discipline and rigorous reading habit, Korou could not find a single book, tome or even a scroll within the confines of his home. The closest he got was the scriptures his mother recited at dawn and dusk. He had deduced that to be a religious practice. He didn't delve further.

After spending time eavesdropping on his father's conversation with other men over the weekends, he learned about this world's geopolitical distribution. Although that too was riddled with doubts and gaping holes.

His village, named Lamphi, was the capital of the province Kangleipak. Which in turn belonged to the largest empire on the continent of Ukiya. Ironically, it was also named the Empire of Ukiya. There were other villages, six to be precise; Lilong, Ukhrul, Moirang, Jiribam, Kangoropi and Wuyakachui.

He had also heard of terms such as central province, frontier states, and Kolodon. The Western continent was a recurring topic of discussion, while names like Kingdom of Eterna and Araktasia were referred to in almost every conversation.

Despite knowing these words, he had little to no idea what they meant or if they were real. For all he could guess, they might be fictional.

Lastly, the magic, although very common and accessible, he had seen a barrier to entry. This one was imposed by the societal laws and governance. He found it widely annoying and frustrating. One's pursuit of knowledge, despite age, race, creed or sex, should never be hampered.

"In about a year or two, even his younger brother Laishram would reach his level," Atla spoke calculatingly as they walked down the arcade and towards the erum ornamented Vomitorium. "Not that he isn't strong now. He has been stellar in our age group."

"You are obsessed with him." Korou picked up the pace.

"Everyone is." She shrugged. "Both brothers have been proficient in Thang-ta and Sarit Sarak. Thus, the craze around them is valid."

"It's just you." He grumbled.

"Do you even know how hard it is to master one, let alone two?" Atla replied in exasperation. "Dumb brat."

"Shut up, dork warrior."

"Says the one who can't even swing a bamboo sword without tripping." She snickered. "Though, you beat them all when it comes to brains." Atla pointed over his head. "And as for the martial arts, you are lazy."

"The rule of Lamphi clearly states that a child under the age of six should not indulge in learning practices pertaining to tomes, scrolls, hunting, agriculture, martial arts, and Shamanism." He recited like a broken record. "It is a decree approved by the Imperial court and thus is to be followed with utmost importance."

"Didn't stop you from reading Aunt Anemone's scriptures."

"I haven't," Korou sighed. "And they aren't in Lamphi Lon, some other language from Central province."

"But you know a lot." She tilted her head. "Even by my standard."

"How?" Korou shot her a disgusted look. "You get to study in the monastery, and I eavesdrop on Baba's conversation. Technically, you should know more."

"Not everyone is blessed with your uptake in studies."

"It's hard work."

"Sure."

They passed through the vaulted chambers and approached the forest clearance. Neither wanted to bother taking the main road in lieu of the event and the overcrowding it brought. Even in a different world, some kinks remain the same.

"Have you decided on your choice of study?" Atla abruptly asked, her feet tiptoeing over the bamboo bridge. "You start the monastery next week, don't you?"

That question was very off-putting for his age, and despite his being smart. He, who was not even sure about this world's workings, had been asked not once but ten times about his choice. One he had no context for.

"I would like to know more about the world first."

"But you are smart."

The same argument again. It made Korou sigh. His previous world skill, combined with his sagacity and implicit reading and observational habits, has compelled those around him to believe in his potential to be a prodigy. He, too, indulged in that thought for a while. When he was three, he declared his want to become an Emperor; it was a childish whim, which, despite his better judgement, he believed. All because of his knowledge, barely passable, on the field of modern physics, chemistry and maths. In simple words, he would conjure up world-ending missiles, and everyone would bend under his tyrannical rule.

He couldn't have been more mistaken. After a month of trying to recall rudimentary science, and another of sulking for lack of internet and by extension AI, he returned to his base skill: sheer willpower, determination and hard work.

"Even that isn't enough; if I don't have the illicit documents or exquisite knowledge provided to increase my understanding of the framework of this world, I can't make a sound decision."

"See." Atla smiled like a proud mother. "You are smart."

"..."

"You just used words I have never heard, and even though I understood nothing, it was fun."

"What kind of logic is that, dork warrior?"

"A very sound one dumb brat."

"Uhh, whatever." He got down the single-stem bridge and offered his hand. "And to answer your question, no, I haven't."

Atla accepted the hand and came down in a bounce. Her silver bang swayed around, as her silvery phanek caught under the warm spring breeze and fluttered.

"Why? Are the choices confusing?"

"No..." His voice faltered. "I mean, you could say that..." He paused, counting the options on his fingers. "See, hunting is predated, agriculture too much physical strain, Shamanism, despite the mystics, seems abstract, and lastly, warriors, they are too barbaric."

His head bobbed forward, with Atla slapping it from behind. She wore a pout with a childish glare.

"I am not."

"Not you, in general I mean."

"Your dad?" Atla accused.

"Holy Pakhangba! No!" He quickly replied. "He is cool."

"Then who?" Atla scratched her temples.

"Khamba...and Laishram." He mumbled after a pause. His cheeks were flushed as he peeked at Atla, whose palms covered her lips. She was holding back a giggle.

"Don't laugh." He sulked. "I am being serious. Did you not see how he pressed the hilt, breaking the opponent's ankles? It wasn't required; he was already winning."

"It was..." Atla tried to explain, despite the laughter. "It was the speed...the opponent could use extra speed. Something to do with the Shamanistic practice of Ukhrul."

"So he crippled him."

"Pretty much." She shrugged. "And it isn't so bad, one whiff of the healers from Monastery's apothecary and they will be back to normal."

"So Barbaric." He shook with a mutter.

"What about magecraft, though?"

Magecraft, a term, Korou had only ever heard Atla mutter. During their weekly reading of Nostos's Adventure Picture Book, Atla mumbled it after Korou's repeated query on the profession of the people beside the protagonist. Korou was enamoured, his mind raced back to his nightly surf on Isekai and the subsequent claims of magical powers and using them for slaying dragons. A profession, involving the manipulation of an abstract source mana and the occupation branching from it, Mages. However, the more he tried to ask about, the more dead ends he found. His parents would skim past it, outsiders would shush him, and the fanatics would give a heretical eye. In the end, the only one who would talk, even if just in constructs of fiction, was Atla.

"Still too abstract," Korou cast his gaze over the fresh stream of Ennoa. "Everyone ignores the topic like a taboo. Honestly, I wouldn't know it was a thing if you had never brought it up during the narration of the picture book."

"Though you do have proof." She shrugged. "Real one at that."

"Your grandmother's companion?" He inquired, remembering the young grey-eyed lady with an enigmatic ocean-teal hair, who too was compatriot to him, being a human sacrifice.

"Pretty much."

"Still not enough. All I know is that she is a mage. That too because you told me." He ran his fingers through his tousled raven hair.

"They say she is over two thousand years old," Atla recalled a rumour. "Also, she is a Grand mage."

"Humans don't live that long."

"She has the blessings of Goddess Mara."

"Wasn't Mara supposed to be the Goddess of Death?" Korou waved his arms and started walking. It was getting late for lunch, and he didn't want his mother to be angry for being tardy.

"Rebirth," corrected Atla, running to his side after his abrupt start.

"Still doesn't explain immortality."

"You sound just like my grandmother."

"I do?" He was astonished. Being compared to the head priestess, a living legend, wasn't a compliment he hoped for.

"Yes," Atla replied nonchalantly.

"Wise?" He inquired gleefully.

"Stubborn," Atla concluded with a grin.