Black sand flies from your kicking, scarred foot over the white, sun-bleached rocks. You exhale, muscles burning, and slowly raise your salt-crusted arms into a strong position, left arm forward, fist raised, right arm back, palm open. Shouting, you bring your foot down in a twisting stomp into the surf. Brine sprays, its coolness pleasant to your sores and bruises under the noonday sun.

The kata you are performing comes from the Blessed Isle, originally. Gojai told you its origins between sparring bouts one day. It's favored by Immaculate monks of some esoteric tradition - most of them Dragonblooded, children of Water - on the continent’s far northwestern shores. There, in their rocky hilltop monasteries, they perform this kata in weather so cold that water becomes hard and the air gnaws your skin red to black. (How water can be hard and air can gnaw, you don’t understand, and in spite of his assurances, you don’t think Gojai does either.) In these inhospitable conditions the kata is performed as a test of endurance, to make sure all the monks are hale of body as well as of spirit. In White Lightning City, it’s employed as part of a ritual prayer to Water.

You do it for self-control of a different kind. You know that you can have… problems… with anger--you don’t hold on to it so much as it holds on to you. It’s what keeps you moving, keeps you breathing, and your ability to harness it is why you have the life you do today. Yet it can control you.

You don’t like being controlled.

So here, facing the sea, you come to be alone and manage your anger and other feelings. Let them flow out through you, released with every kick, every kiai. Lately, you come here a lot.

A twinge of pain on your cheek. Anger rousing, rising in black and red coils.

You count to ten and recite a prayer to the Dragons.

You believe the words less than you need them.

You count to ten and recite the prayer again, then restart the kata.

Your mind wanders, looking for some topic to latch onto, and you remember another bit of trivia about the kata--this one Masumi taught to you by Masumi over tea. The kata came to White Lightning City when the Realm took control, and mutated when the pagan natives appropriated it for their own religious rites in worship of the ocean. As time passed and these pagans were converted to the Immaculate Faith, the kata became a way for the pagans to worship Water as their Father-Mother Danaa'd, the first among the Dragons. Essentially heterodox by the standards of the Blessed Isle, but ultimately a successful conversion.

All this history in just a sequence of stances and shouts. Masumi says that this is why she finds the kata remarkable. You don’t disagree. Apparently, in Old Realm, its name means “the sea is hungry”.

Slowly you relax out of your stance, having completed the kata for the nth time. (You lost track a while ago.) You should take a break, return to the Vashra Estate and eat. You should ask about your mission for tomorrow night. You should.

Staring out over the white rocks at the flat, calm waters of the Dom Phnom cove behind the Vashra Estate, you feel a twinge of bitterness at that name. The sea is hungry? Then let it eat. Let it swallow Dom Phnom, then Tam Pu, then White Lightning City, then the Yorito Cities, then all the Sunset Isles and all of Creation and-

“I thought I told you to stop brooding!”

You turn in time to see your sister bearing down on you in a tackle-hug. The two of you go down in a pile of sandy limbs, groans and giggles.

"I was not [i]brooding[/i]." You scowl up at your sister, who shows no signs of getting off of you. "I am an adult. I do not brood."

"Do too." Masumi smiles. Her frizzy hair is exploding in every direction, and she wears little makeup, only eyeshadow and eyebrow paint. The orange sash around her waist is loose, and the folds of her white-gold dress are covered with grains of sand, like an angry spirit ground peppercorns over her. You can't take her seriously looking like this.

"I do not. And you look ridiculous." That you look even shabbier in your ragged me-hia overshirt, bound undershirt and salt-crusted linen pants doesn't slow you down. She's your sister, you get to laugh at her.

"You literally let me tackle you! How am I the ridiculous one!"

"Because you're you."

"Bah!" Masumi rolls off of you, dusting the sand off of her clothes and kicking it out of her sandals. You hop to your feet lithely, picking a wave-smoothed shell out of your back. You like the feel of it, and so slip it into your pants pocket.

"Regardless! The point stands. This is a brood-free zone and I will so see that edict enforced!"

Rolling your shoulders to work a kink out, you pad down the beach away from the rocks toward the path to the Estate. A small flock of seagulls hops around, pecking intermittently at the corpse of some washed-up fish. You know what Masumi's doing. You appreciate it, but you're not in the mood to be cheered up.

"Hey," your sister says, her voice barely louder than the soft lap of the waves and without its humor. "Want to talk about it?"

"I have nothing to talk about."

"I can see the bruises on your face, Tesaki." She taps her own cheeks, still ruddy with youth, where on your face you feel a dull pain. "Was Father drinking again?"

"No."

"Then why-"

"Because he wanted to make a point to me, it doesn't matter why'!"

Your sudden shout drives the seagulls away in a squawking flurry, the peaceful silence gone. Sharply you look away from Masumi, the pain on your cheek throbbing and hot like it were fresh.

"I... apologize," you say at length. "I should not have lost control. I should not yell at you."

"It's okay." Masumi slips her hand into yours and squeezes reassuringly. You look up. "I was prodding, so it's only fair."

"Thank you."

You think about the shell in your pocket, gripped in your left hand. Its spiral grooves, the feel over it under your thumb. You want to kill Roshi. You think about your sister, smiling patiently and with love on the beautiful beach. You want to slaughter the whole Estate.

It always goes like this. Roshi says you disrespect him. Roshi says you disobey him. Roshi says you could do better. Roshi says you're ungrateful. Roshi's ego gets pricked. Roshi gets mad.

And when he's really, truly mad, he gets mean--meaner than usual. And when you're around, you're the recipient of his anger. You're the young man of the house, aren't you? ("Being a man means taking punishment like a man.") And if he hits you, he's not lashing Masumi with his tongue, is he? ("Taking care of your sister, mm?") At first you fought back, but that never helped. So now you take it. Every slap, every belt, every shove. They all stir the hate. They all feed the anger.

And isn't that the point?

Don't you do your best work fueled by resentment? Doesn't it just make you faster, sharper, more lethal? Isn't that why you do anything?

Roshi certainly seems to think so. He likes to fuck with you, because--and you can't argue with him, because you can't argue with anyone--as far as he's concerned, it all makes you better at killing.

Thus far, you haven't proven him wrong.

"Tesaki."

Your sister's voice is strained. She's hurting. Why?

You feel her hand strain in yours--

You're squeezing her hand in a death grip. In your other hand you feel something wet. The broken fragment shell, cutting into the hand in your pocket. Your chest heaves--

You let go of her hand and try to apologize, but the panic clots your mouth, filling it up, taking up the space meant for words and for air.

Masumi stares for a second, and then hugs you close. She knows what to do. She's done it before; she'll do it again.

The waves lapping on the beach. The knowingly murmured reassurances. The sputtering of air. The components of a regular scene.

Time passes. Some of the feelings go with it.

You're limp in your sister's embrace when she breaks the silence.

"Feeling any better?"

You press into her in answer.

"Excellent. I'm glad to hear that. I'm going to get up now, okay? " Masumi lets go of you and stands, pulling you gently up with her.

She looks you dead in the eye. "Show me your hand."

You look away, face heating.

"Tesaki."

"It is fine," you say thickly, finally managing to speak.

"[i]Tesaki[/i]."

Grumbling, you take your left hand out of your pocket, leaving the shell.

Running across your palm from your fourth finger to your thumb is a deep red gash.

Masumi narrows her eyes and trains a look on you, one of those looks only older siblings get to do. A "I'm not [i]saying" you're stupid but Dragons you're stupid", "you idiot, take better care of yourself", "I'm simultaneously exasperated and concerned and impressed all at once" look.

"Somehow you managed to shatter that shell completely," she says as she studies your hand intently. "I didn't actually think that was possible. But of course [i]you[/i] did it."

Your face feels even hotter."I was not trying to break it," you say.

"Mmhm. Either way, we're cleaning this up."

"But-"

"Zpp! No buts. I'm your sister, and if I say we're cleaning it up, [i]we're cleaning it up[/i]."

You glance at the walkway up to the Estate. At this time of day, the grounds are full of servants, gardners and family members. You're bound to be seen.

"I'll get all the things and come back here," Masumi says knowingly. She pats your head. "Listen. I know we have a mission tonight, but how about after I clean you up, we go see street performers in Dom Loh? I believe it would cheer you up. There's no white lightning there either--it's one of the districts with the death penalty for posession, so it's still... peaceful." For now, she doesn't say.

You nod tentatively. It probably won't help, but it probably won't make things worse either.

Besides. Masumi wants you to go with her.

That's enough reason for anything.