I wanted to collide two cultures obsessed with reading invisible lines — the Marshallese stick chart navigators who mapped swells and currents in bent wood, and the Transylvanian tradition of boundary stones and land registries that date to the Habsburgs. The compass becomes a different kind of instrument here: not for finding your way, but for proving where you belong. The tooth isn't grotesque in this world — it's a signature, a notarized claim, proof that your body ratified the map. The cave is both Pacific and Carpathian, limestone and coral, a space where property law and ancestral navigation become the same practice.