The silence above the ruins was heavier than the darkness they had left behind. It was not the silence of peace, but that of something erased too thoroughly, as if the land itself had been instructed to forget what had taken place. With a sudden, precise movement, the King swept aside the stones blocking the exit. His tail moved instinctively, efficiently, without violence or hesitation, scattering the rubble as if it had never truly existed. In the same fluid motion, he took Komugi in his arms, his gestures quick yet calm to the point of absurdity, and carried her out of the underground remains of the palace.
What awaited them above ground was emptiness.
Everything was extinguished. The palace of East Gorteau was no longer a ruin, nor even a battlefield—it was simply gone. The ground was cracked and scorched, stripped of any structure or meaning. No buildings. No signs of life. Even the air felt thin, unwilling to linger. The King paused for a moment, lifting one hand awkwardly to his head, pressing his fingers against his temple as if attempting to steady something unseen.
Komugi noticed immediately. She always did.
"My king… is everything alright?" she asked softly.
"Yes," he replied without hesitation.
But it was not true.
The memory had surfaced suddenly, uninvited and precise. The Royal Guards. Neferpitou. Shaiapouf. Menthuthuyoupi. Not images, not voices, but sensations—absolute loyalty, unquestioning devotion, beings who had not simply served him, but had existed as extensions of his will. They had been bound to him more deeply than command or hierarchy. And now, as the realization fully settled, he understood that they were truly gone.
Erased.
Because he and Komugi were now linked, because their Nen no longer flowed separately, those memories no longer belonged to him alone. They passed through the shared space between them, silent echoes of beings who had ceased to exist. The King said nothing more. He simply turned and began to walk.
They followed the remnants of human roads, guided by fragments of maps and by an instinct neither of them consciously recognized. Without knowing it, they moved northward, toward the sea, toward an island whose name had already shaped the fate of others.
Whale Island.
Their first city appeared as dusk fell. It was a modest coastal settlement on the northern edge of what had once been the Republic of East Gorteau—Rokario Port, a city accustomed to collapse and reconstruction. The streets were narrow, the buildings worn, and the markets half-lit by flickering lamps. The air smelled of salt and metal, and people moved with the quiet efficiency of those who had learned not to ask questions.
And yet, they stared.
The King felt their gazes immediately. They lingered too long, uneasy and confused. His presence disrupted something fundamental, an unspoken rhythm that governed human spaces. He was too composed, too refined, his movements too deliberate to pass unnoticed. Without a word, he turned into a narrow alley and spoke quietly to Komugi.
"Wait here."
She nodded without question. Sitting carefully, she placed her hands on her knees, palms resting gently, her posture straight despite the fatigue. There was something almost ceremonial in the way she waited, timid yet unwavering, her trust absolute.
The King moved deeper into the alley. A man stepped forward—too close, too careless, his intentions unreadable but unnecessary to understand. The tail moved before thought could intervene. Fast. Silent. Instinctive. The man never grasped what had happened. For a brief instant, he saw only the reflection of his own body in a darkened window, disconnected and unreal. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came. Then the alley returned to silence.
The King stood still.
There was no triumph. No satisfaction.
Only discomfort.
He took the man's clothes, simple and human, and left the body where it fell. The act itself felt mechanical, efficient, something he had done countless times before. And yet, as he walked back, a strange unease lingered within him. He searched for its origin. Perhaps it was Netero's voice, echoing from that final moment. Perhaps it was the hesitation—the few seconds that had separated them—that still haunted him. Or perhaps it was this transformation, this body that brought him closer to humanity, closer to the very weakness he had once dismissed.
He returned to Komugi.
She was still there, exactly as he had left her.
Waiting.
The moment she sensed him, her eyes lifted.
"My king… you're back."
The words carried something fragile, something unspoken, as if she had feared—even briefly—that he might not return. He stopped in front of her.
"I will never abandon you," he said calmly. "We are bound now."
She smiled. The same smile as always—soft, trembling, almost on the verge of tears.
"Those clothes…" she said quietly. "They suit you very well, my king."
Again, that feeling.
Why did her words carry such weight?
He said nothing as he put on the clothes. They fit surprisingly well. When he looked down at himself, the reflection was unmistakable now: a young man, almost adolescent, bearing an elegance that felt unnatural in its restraint. Human in appearance, yet undeniably other.
Elsewhere, the world continued without them.
The election had ended long before the cleanup operation began. Gon Freecss had been healed through Killua's desperate resolve and a power neither of them fully understood. His meeting with Ging was already over, leaving behind answers that felt incomplete. Having lost the ability to use Nen, Gon returned quietly to Whale Island, carrying an exhaustion that no one there could name.
Killua, honoring his promise, traveled with his sister. Together, they discovered the world slowly, cautiously. He taught her Nen not as a weapon, but as control.
Leorio remained in the cities, dedicating himself entirely to his studies. Kurapika, however, was unreachable. Leorio tried to contact him again.
Nothing.
Back on the road, the King and Komugi approached the border of the former Republic. The land began to change. Forests grew denser, the roads thinner, less traveled. Then the King stopped.
Someone stood ahead.
A man. Alone.
His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but his presence was unmistakable. The King felt it instantly. Nen—refined, dense, controlled to an exceptional degree. His En, less oppressive since his transformation, had detected the man long before they came into view.
So this was it.
The encounter he had anticipated.
The stranger smiled faintly, neither hostile nor welcoming, simply aware.
"I was wondering when you'd arrive," the man said.
The King stepped forward slightly, placing himself between the stranger and Komugi.
"You sensed us," he replied calmly.
"Of course."
The air tightened, not with aggression, but with recognition. Two beings aware that the world had shifted, and that neither of them stood where they once had.
Komugi felt it too. Her fingers tightened gently around the King's sleeve.
The road ahead had changed.
And neither of them yet knew where it would lead.