Maritime kinship routes cross landscape memory grids. Versioned across generations, carved into stone, held in breath, encoded in place. At the edges of this world, Highlaŋu endures. Shaped over millennia and carried forward intact. Turns out that all that irreverant palimpsest syncs geography, technology and memory into shared resistance architecture. Into alliance systems that learned the taste of many poisons. Into cultural transmission networks immune from systematic imperial erasure. What happens when we recompile knowledge infrastructure built to survive deletion? Libraries that read between dimensions. Archives that pulse through bloodlines. Keepers who download centuries while lexing dreaming tracks. The transmission never stops. And the cores might be overheating. But not as long as the template is living and the zarjaz of anemoia purrs with silicon gardens.