enchanting crystalline patterns swirl across the blade, like the steady flow of a mountain river.
more mesmerizing is the khanda, submerged in an iron bowl. its ripples disturb the pure water. pataase become crystals for only an instance; swirling to sounds of Bani and the stroke of the sword til theyre gone.
to drink from this bowl is to make folaad our dhian. it is to realize our existence is akin to sugar in water. the waters of creation are stirred eternally by death; this iteration of our bodies is but momentary.