The ferry was smaller than Meruem expected.
That concerned him.
Its hull sat low in the water, carrying perhaps forty passengers, several crates of produce, two tethered goats and enough luggage to make the deck appear narrower than it actually was. Unlike the coastal vessel from Namar, it had no enclosed passenger cabins. A wooden structure near the stern provided shelter from rain and wind, but most travelers remained beneath stretched canvas awnings or sat along the benches fixed to the sides.
Meruem inspected the ship before allowing Komugi aboard.
He examined the hull where it met the pier, the condition of the mooring ropes, the spacing between deck boards, the emergency boat suspended along the starboard side and the sailors responsible for lowering it.
The captain noticed.
"You planning to buy her?"
"No."
"Then stop looking at my ship like you're deciding which part to replace."
Meruem turned toward him.
The captain was a broad man with skin darkened by years at sea. No Nen. No visible weapon except a knife used for rope work. His posture, however, revealed none of the nervousness Meruem had grown accustomed to seeing in humans who sensed something unusual about him.
Interesting.
"Your starboard emergency boat has a damaged rear support."
The captain's expression changed.
He looked.
Then looked again.
A sailor nearby crouched beneath the support and swore.
The captain stared at Meruem for several seconds.
"Anything else?"
"The portside railing near the bow is loose."
Another silence.
Then the captain called for a hammer.
Edrin, standing behind Meruem with their bags, shook his head.
"You could probably make money doing this."
Meruem looked at him.
"Inspecting boats."
"No."
"I knew you'd say that."
Mitu reached the gangway with Komugi seated in a simple transport chair borrowed from the terminal. She looked at the captain's sailors repairing the railing, then at Meruem.
"What did you do?"
"Improved the vessel."
The captain shouted from the other side of the deck, "Without being asked."
Mitu closed her eye briefly.
Komugi smiled.
"You've been here less than five minutes."
"The defect existed before our arrival."
"That isn't what she meant," Edrin said.
Meruem ignored them.
The weather remained favorable. Cloud cover was thin, the western sky clear and the wind moderate. According to the captain, the final crossing would last most of the night. If the current held, Whale Island would become visible shortly after dawn.
Meruem disliked night travel.
Not because darkness impaired him.
It impaired everyone else.
Yet the sea route remained superior to waiting two days for another connection.
Another imperfect move.
He was becoming accustomed to those.
That realization was itself irritating.
---
They departed with the evening tide.
Selka's lights remained visible behind them for nearly an hour before shrinking into a thin orange line against the coast. Passengers gradually stopped speaking as the temperature dropped. Families wrapped themselves in blankets. Sailors lit shielded lamps along the central walkway, their flames protected behind thick glass.
Komugi remained awake.
Mitu had wanted her lying down immediately, but Komugi had negotiated fifteen minutes on deck.
Meruem had reduced the number to ten.
They eventually settled on twelve.
He had begun to recognize this as one of Komugi's preferred methods of victory: propose an unacceptable position, wait for resistance, then make the compromise feel like his decision.
It was disturbingly similar to Gungi.
She sat near the railing with Meruem standing beside her. Mitu had wrapped two blankets around her and ordered her not to remove either, regardless of how warm she claimed to be.
The sea beneath them had lost its color.
Only the moon distinguished water from sky.
Komugi watched it anyway.
"So this is what darkness looks like."
Meruem glanced at her.
"You have experienced darkness."
"Not like this."
"What distinction are you making?"
She raised one hand toward the horizon.
"When I couldn't see, everything was dark because I couldn't see anything. This is different."
Meruem followed her gesture.
The moonlight spread across the water in broken silver lines. Beyond them, the ocean disappeared into blackness.
"There are things there," Komugi continued. "I just can't see them."
"That was also true before."
She thought about it.
"Yes."
"Then the distinction is psychological."
"Probably."
She smiled.
"But it feels different."
Meruem looked back toward the water.
That answer would once have annoyed him.
Increasingly, he found that human perception contained categories that remained useful even when they resisted precise definition.
Not everything experienced had to become measurable before it mattered.
He disliked that conclusion.
Komugi rested her chin against the blanket.
"Can you see in this?"
"Better than you."
"That's rude."
"It is factual."
"How far?"
Meruem examined the horizon.
"A fishing vessel approximately three kilometers north-west."
Komugi immediately turned.
"I can't see anything."
"You asked."
"What else?"
He listened.
"Two birds behind us."
"At night?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Meruem pointed.
Komugi squinted at the darkness until she gave up.
"What else?"
"A school of fish passed beneath the ferry several seconds ago."
Her eyes widened.
"You can tell that?"
"The sound changed."
For some reason, she looked impressed.
Meruem found the reaction strange.
He had once possessed abilities capable of terrifying armies.
Apparently identifying fish in the dark was more interesting.
"Could you always do that?"
"Yes."
"So when I thought my hearing was good…"
"It was."
"But yours was better."
"Considerably."
Komugi frowned.
"That feels unfair."
"You defeated us repeatedly at Gungi while blind."
"That was skill."
"So is perception."
"No, you were born like that."
Meruem paused.
The argument had become unexpectedly interesting.
"Natural advantage does not invalidate skill."
"No, but it changes what skill means."
"How?"
"If two people arrive at the same place and one starts closer…"
She trailed off.
Meruem waited.
Komugi seemed to realize she had wandered into a problem larger than the conversation.
"I don't know yet."
"Then complete the thought after you do."
She looked at him and smiled.
"All right."
Mitu appeared behind them.
"Twelve minutes."
Komugi looked toward the sky.
"That was very fast."
"It was twelve minutes."
"Exactly."
Meruem lifted her before she attempted negotiation.
Komugi sighed.
"One day I'm going to become strong enough to walk away before you do that."
"You should prioritize survival first."
"See? That's motivation."
He carried her beneath the sheltered section of the deck.
Mitu watched them approach.
Something almost resembling satisfaction crossed the old woman's face.
Meruem noticed.
He chose not to ask.
---
The first anomaly occurred three hours after departure.
Meruem was awake.
Komugi was not.
Mitu had placed her on a padded bench against the inner wall where the motion of the ferry was least pronounced. Edrin had fallen asleep sitting upright with his hat pulled over his face, displaying an ability to ignore discomfort that Meruem found difficult to understand.
Most passengers slept.
The sea remained calm.
Then Komugi disappeared.
Not physically.
Her body remained exactly where it had been.
But her aura folded so abruptly that Meruem's perception registered absence before his eyes confirmed presence.
He moved.
Mitu woke before he reached Komugi.
Perhaps his movement had disturbed the floor.
Perhaps experience had taught her to sleep lightly.
Her hand closed around Komugi's wrist.
Death Judge activated.
Komugi remained asleep.
Three seconds.
Her aura returned.
Mitu exhaled slowly.
Meruem crouched beside them.
"Longer."
"Yes."
"Previous disappearances were below one second."
"I know."
"Total aura?"
Mitu closed her eye.
"Wait."
Meruem did.
The ship creaked around them.
A sailor walked overhead.
The goat tethered near the rear cargo began chewing its rope.
Nothing else in the world seemed aware that Komugi had just ceased to exist within Nen perception for several seconds.
Mitu finally opened her eye.
"Still there."
"All of it?"
"As far as Death Judge can measure."
Meruem considered the answer.
"So the aura is not being consumed."
"Apparently not."
"Nor expelled."
"No."
"Then it changes state or location."
"That is the most reasonable interpretation."
Meruem looked at Komugi.
Still asleep.
"You did not intervene."
"No."
"Why?"
Mitu's expression tightened.
"Because there was nothing for Death Judge to stabilize."
That mattered.
"What do you mean?"
"Her circulation didn't become chaotic. It didn't spike. It didn't reverse."
She glanced down at Komugi's wrist.
"It simply stopped being available."
Meruem's eyes narrowed.
"And you could still sense total aura?"
"Not continuously."
A pause.
"For part of those three seconds, Death Judge could not read her at all."
Meruem went still.
"Not even total aura?"
"No."
That was new.
And worse.
Mitu lowered her voice. "Then it returned exactly where it should have been."
Komugi stirred.
Both stopped speaking.
Her eyes opened slowly.
She looked first at Mitu holding her wrist.
Then at Meruem crouched beside the bench.
"How bad?"
Meruem almost answered.
Mitu did first.
"Three seconds."
Komugi stared at her.
"The aura?"
"Yes."
"Gone?"
"Unreachable."
Komugi absorbed the distinction.
Meruem watched her face carefully.
Fear did not appear immediately.
Instead she frowned, as if someone had given her an unfamiliar Gungi position.
"What was I dreaming?"
Mitu blinked.
"What?"
"I was dreaming."
"Do you remember it?"
Komugi closed her eyes again.
Not to sleep.
To search.
Meruem waited.
She opened them.
"A board."
He felt his attention sharpen.
"Gungi?"
"I think so."
"You think?"
"It wasn't normal."
"How?"
Komugi looked frustrated.
"There were no pieces."
Mitu and Meruem exchanged a glance.
Komugi continued. "Or maybe there were, but I couldn't see them."
"You can see now," Meruem said.
"I know."
"In the dream?"
"Yes."
"Then why couldn't you see the pieces?"
"I don't know."
Her fingers moved against the blanket.
"There was only the board. I knew something was moving on it, but whenever I looked at a square, it was empty."
Meruem's thoughts accelerated.
Dream.
Intent.
Gungi.
Aura disappearance.
Correlation did not establish cause.
Yet Komugi's Nen had first awakened through Gungi. Her concentration during games had always produced unusual intensity. If her current condition involved an ability emerging outside conscious control—
No.
Too early.
He stopped the hypothesis before it became certainty.
"What happened before you woke?"
Komugi looked at him.
"One piece reached the other side."
"Which piece?"
"I told you, I couldn't see it."
"What changed?"
Komugi's face slowly lost color.
Mitu noticed.
"What?"
Komugi raised one hand toward her chest.
"The board disappeared too."
Silence.
Meruem felt her aura.
Present.
Weak.
Stable.
Yet something in the description produced an unpleasant alignment with the medical observations.
A system disappearing without losing what it contained.
He did not like the similarity.
Mitu apparently did not either.
"No more questions tonight."
Meruem looked at her.
"I need—"
"No."
"The dream may be relevant."
"And if forcing her to remember it triggers the same phenomenon?"
That stopped him.
Komugi looked between them.
"I can answer."
"No," Mitu said.
Meruem remained silent.
Komugi turned toward him, expecting support.
He gave none.
Her expression flattened.
"You agree with her?"
"For now."
"You're both becoming very annoying."
Mitu pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders.
"Good. Sleep."
Komugi looked at Meruem.
"If I disappear again, wake me."
"You are not physically disappearing."
"You know what I mean."
Meruem considered.
"No."
Komugi frowned.
"Why?"
"Because if sleep is part of the trigger, waking you would destroy the observation."
Mitu stared at him.
Meruem continued before she objected.
"Unless your physical condition deteriorates."
Komugi smiled faintly.
"That sounds more like you."
She closed her eyes again.
This time, Meruem did not move away.
---
Hours passed.
Komugi did not disappear again.
Meruem remained awake.
The ferry crossed through a region where the sea became rougher near midnight. Nothing severe, merely larger swells rolling in from the north, but enough that Mitu moved Komugi to the floor between two padded benches to minimize the chance of falling.
Edrin woke once, looked at Meruem still sitting nearby and muttered something about statues before falling asleep again.
By the final hours of darkness, the wind weakened.
The sky began changing before sunrise.
Black turned blue-grey.
Stars disappeared one by one.
A narrow line of pale light formed along the eastern horizon behind them.
Meruem stepped onto the outer deck.
Salt covered the railings.
Several passengers were already awake, rubbing sleep from their faces and gathering belongings. Sailors adjusted ropes while the captain stood near the wheel, looking ahead.
Meruem followed his gaze.
At first there was nothing.
Then he saw it.
A dark line against the western horizon.
Land.
Small enough that an ordinary human might have mistaken it for cloud.
Meruem did not.
He remained still.
Whale Island.
The name had existed in conversation long before the place itself entered his sight.
Ging had spoken of it.
Gon had grown there.
Mitu had left it.
Now Komugi would remain there.
The island slowly acquired shape as the ferry advanced. High green ridges appeared first, then steep cliffs cutting into the sea. Mist clung to the upper slopes. On the southern side, the coastline descended toward a small harbor surrounded by scattered buildings rather than a dense town.
No towers.
No factories.
No walls.
No visible military infrastructure.
Almost no meaningful concentration of Nen.
Meruem extended his senses carefully.
Humans.
Animals.
Forest.
Water.
Nothing approaching the density of the cities they had crossed.
Quiet.
Mitu came onto the deck beside him.
She stopped when she saw the island.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Meruem looked at her rather than the coastline.
Her posture had changed.
Barely.
The shoulders that normally remained squared despite her age had relaxed.
Her hand rested on the railing.
"You recognize it," Meruem said.
Mitu did not look at him.
"I'd be concerned if I didn't."
"Seven years."
"Yes."
"What changed?"
She watched the cliffs.
"The trees are taller."
Meruem waited.
Mitu's mouth moved faintly.
"And I'm older."
Not useful.
Yet he understood she did not intend to give him anything more.
Behind them, Komugi's voice emerged from beneath the awning.
"Are we there?"
Mitu turned immediately.
Meruem did as well.
Komugi was trying to sit up.
He reached her first.
"You were instructed to remain lying down."
"That wasn't my question."
Meruem stared at her.
He had heard that exact response before.
Komugi smiled.
"Are we there?"
He looked toward the western horizon.
"Almost."
"Can I see?"
Mitu was already beside them.
"For five minutes."
Komugi brightened.
"Seven."
"Five."
"Six."
Mitu sighed.
"Six."
Meruem lifted Komugi and carried her outside.
The morning air was colder than the previous evening but cleaner. Komugi pulled the blanket tighter around herself as they reached the railing.
Then she saw the island.
Her expression changed.
Meruem had expected curiosity.
Perhaps disappointment.
Whale Island was not spectacular in the way Valmeris had been. There were no impossible towers or hidden elevators, no enormous libraries, no crowds flowing through markets.
Only green hills.
Cliffs.
Forest.
A harbor.
Houses scattered far apart.
Smoke rising from several chimneys.
Komugi looked at it for a long time.
"So that's where I'm staying."
Meruem did not answer.
Mitu did.
"For a while."
Komugi's gaze followed the coastline northward.
"Where is your house?"
"Not visible from here."
"Why?"
"Wrong side of the island."
Komugi smiled.
"The other shore."
Mitu nodded.
"The other shore."
Meruem examined the terrain.
The harbor appeared connected to the inland settlements by one primary road. From there, the island rose toward wooded ridges. Mitu's house lay beyond those, along the less populated coast.
Several kilometers.
Possibly more.
Another journey.
Short.
Yet important.
He would inspect every part of it.
Water.
Access routes.
Food.
Shelter.
Potential threats.
Nen users.
Distance from medical assistance.
Every variable he could identify before leaving Komugi there.
Then—
He stopped the thought.
Not because it was painful.
Because there was no advantage in calculating the separation before they had reached the house.
Komugi leaned slightly against him.
Her strength was already fading from the effort of sitting upright.
Meruem adjusted his hold.
She noticed.
"I'm fine."
"No."
"Better than yesterday."
"Not relevant."
"It feels relevant."
He looked at her.
For once she did not argue further.
Instead she looked back toward Whale Island.
The harbor was close enough now that individual figures could be seen moving along the docks.
Fishermen.
Families.
Workers carrying baskets.
Travelers waiting near the small terminal.
Somewhere among them, perhaps, were people connected to Ging Freecss.
To Gon.
Meruem remembered the name.
For a brief moment, the possibility of finding him returned.
Questions existed.
About Ging.
About the continent.
About the strange similarities between what had happened to Gon and what was happening to Komugi.
Once, Meruem would have considered any potentially valuable source of information worth pursuing immediately.
Now he looked at Komugi.
Her weight in his arms.
The faintness of her aura.
The island approaching.
Gon could wait.
Folklore could not.
The ferry horn sounded.
Once.
Deep and long.
People gathered their luggage.
Ropes were prepared.
Whale Island filled the horizon.
Meruem watched the harbor approach and felt something he had not experienced since beginning this journey.
Not relief.
Relief implied the danger had passed.
It had not.
This was merely the next position on the board.
But for the first time, Komugi was approaching a place designed not to carry her farther—
but to let her stop.
The ferry entered the harbor.
And somewhere beyond the crowded pier, on the road leading toward the opposite shore, waited the house Meruem would have to judge worthy of something no palace had ever been asked to protect.
Komugi.