Disclaimer: I don't own HunterxHunter, but I own 1001 Nights fanfiction! Nyahaha XD

Introduction: Five years had passed since Kuroro and Kurapika restarted their respective lives, away from each other. Five years of absence of the other's company, and that absence was about to be put to an end.

PROLOGUE

The children huddled as closely as they could. Though the cage was spacious enough for all of them to sprawl their legs, they preferred the comfort of each other's warmth in the cold cage. After all, they were all in the same boat—kidnapped children whose fates were still hanging uncertainly. They had no idea on what would happen to them, let alone making plans to escape. They were children, after all. The oldest among them was a girl aged around 15, and the oldest boy was only 12 or 13 years old.

The oldest girl had the youngest child in her arms, trying to comfort the crying two-years-old toddler while reining her fear and insecurity as well. She looked around the desolate cage. Everyone had the same expression on their faces; horror, loneliness, sorrow, homesickness, fear and other negative emotions. She could practically smell the despondency hanging thickly in the cage. However, one particular boy caught her eyes.

The boy was pretty, and she swore that he could pass as a girl. His golden hair hung delicately around his face, framing his childish round visage like a porcelain doll. His dark eyes were staring to a certain spot, and he was talking to himself. Yes, she was certain that he was talking to nobody in particular, but that was not the reason of her interest. The boy was calm and collected; no sense of fear, only slight apprehension and nervousness.

He seemed like he was just having a trip to an unknown place—which was true in a sense—while ignoring the fact that they were kidnapped by some bad guys.

"Are you sure this is okay?" The boy spoke again to nobody in particular as he cocked his head sideways. His face looked so serious as if he was listening to an adult talking to him.

All the children looked at him with bewilderment clear in their horror-stricken face.

"But they took my necklace!" He protested, speaking only to the empty space before him.

The children started giving each other suspicious and anxious looks. They had no idea on how to deal with that seemingly insane four-years-old. One little girl about six-years-old spoke with a voice that was too loud:

"Is he crazy?"

Her question/statement echoed in the deafening silence of the cage, but nobody answered her. The little 'crazy' boy, however, did lower his voice and reduced his talking-to-himself into bare whispers. His face betrayed a bit of embarrassment and shame as he continued his monologue.

"Imaginary friends, perhaps...?" The oldest girl responded rather absentmindedly.

Her mother did tell her that some children; especially those at age four, played with some invisible friends that stemmed from their own imagination, and that children with imaginary friends tended to be more intelligence than their peers. Perhaps the boy was such case? Trying to ignore the pint-sized 'anomaly' in the ragtag group of smuggled children, the oldest girl returned to her self-proclaimed task as the comforter of the distraught children; soothing them as best as her 15-years-old self could.

Little did she know that the little 'anomaly' boy was dealing with something beyond imaginary friends.

At one random day each year, he would visit that place. It was a very brief visit—he was simply being there, looking at the earth mound on the ground silently before he went away without sparing one single word. It had been a routine he repeated for the past six years since the first time the mound was built there.

The water of the lake lapped most gently, as if trying to soothe the raven-haired man. There was almost no wind, and the forest was as still as death itself. There were no sounds of crickets or birds, no faint whispers of the wind. It was overwhelmingly quiet and time seemed to have stopped, just like the man who stood as motionless as a stone statue, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants.

Kuroro Lucifer closed his eyes and in the instant he did so, flash of images assaulted his mind's eyes. Vivid images of a certain tragic scene, as clear as glass, were replayed over and over again like a broken record in his mind.

Kuroro...I want to hear it...Just once...

Her voice thinning out, as faint as the wind itself. Her hand that was touching his cheek disintegrated into fine sands. Her body melting into nothingness. That longing expression on her face, forever shadowing other expressions she had ever given him. Those pleading eyes. The frail sands escaping his clutches. The unnerving feeling of the sands of her remnants brushing against his skin. The fine grains swept away by the wind and swallowed by the lake.

Kuroro frowned deeply as he willingly remembered every single detail of that day. It was not easy. It was not pleasant. Yet it was not enough a punishment for him.

"Torturing your self again?"

A voice that sounded as ancient as the Earth itself spoke from behind him. Kuroro pried open his eyes and instantly put on his mask of indifference. With slight turn of his head, Kuroro caught a glimpse of a hunched-back old woman strolling towards him. He wondered how the wizened old woman managed to live for so long. She looked so ancient yet so sturdy, like an immovable stone wall.

Kuroro had not bothered to reply Hatsubaba's remark. He merely gave her a cool glance, before returning his attention to the cold earthen mound. Hatsubaba sauntered to his side and paid her respect to the deceased by planting one sandalwood incense stick on the mound. She offered a silent prayer, her mouths moving rapidly while uttering a string of words that were completely alien even to Kuroro.

"Five years, Kuroro." Hatsubaba suddenly said.

Kuroro remained mute.

"For five years you keep visiting this place at least once a year. So why, pray tell, do you still refuse to take the offer?" The wizened old woman asked huskily.

"Surely you are not foolish enough to not be able to deduce my reason?" He merely responded without answering her, his voice cold and detached from emotions.

Hatsubaba stood up and turned to regard him with a pointed look of mild irritation and slight pity. She had been watching him going back and forth to Ishtar's grave, the boy—yes, he would always be 'the boy' for her—saying nothing and doing nothing in front of the small mound of earth. It was a scene that pinched her heart. Hatsubaba had known Kuroro since the first time he had been adopted by Ishtar; she had been his personal doctor until he finally decided to form the Genei Ryodan and went out of the Ryuusei-gai. While Ishtar had openly expressed herself as his surrogate mother (though he had more often than not ignore it with his best effort), Hatsubaba secretly thought of him as her grandson—silly as it might sound.

Despite so, she had never felt him so distant and unreachable before. It was as if he had set up an even thicker, more impenetrable wall between him and the world surrounding him. She had no idea on why he was isolating himself so much, and he would not talk about it.

Then again, she had rarely been in contact with him. She had not known how Kuroro really was outside the Ryuusei-gai, away from her watchful eyes. She was well aware of his peerless abilities of assuming many personalities as if he was dancing in a masquerade party. The question was: what was his truest personality? Hatsubaba had no idea. She suspected that if there was anyone who would know the answer to her question, it would be only one particular person.

"You are Ishtar's only successor." She reasoned.

Kuroro gave a very faint humourless snort; as if he had dryly anticipated that argument.

"The only things she ever taught me were combat and survival skills." He coldly told the old woman. "You are asking the wrong person."

"Then you go find someone to take her role. That is the least you can do as her heir." The witch-doctor told him pointedly, feeling cross and tired of the boy's evasive game.

Kuroro almost laughed out loud sarcastically at Hatsubaba's words, but out of respect to her he refrained himself from doing so. Someone else to take over Ishtar's role? Impossible. Nobody could ever replace her—the sole pinnacle of Ryuusei-gai, its foundation, its protector, its Queen. Not even him. That was how much respect he actually held for her.

Kuroro narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.

No. Perhaps, there is one possible candidate...

Machi crept in the embrace of the shadows of the harbour. She kept vigilant watch on the abducted children, particularly on a certain blond. She kept herself in complete Zetsu, in case some of the smugglers might be some Nen-users. Even if they were, she would have no problems dealing with such small fries. She just wanted to avoid unnecessary hassles. Frankly, she was unsure on why she was doing what she was doing. One thing for sure: that little doppelganger of the Kuruta compelled her to keep a watch. She was simply planning to wait and see what would happen next.

Being a Spider, Machi was confident of her abilities. She was dead sure that her Zetsu was perfect, so nobody would notice her presence in the dark corners of the place. How astounded and caught off guard she was, when the little Kurapika-look-alike boy turned his head and directed his dark eyes right towards her direction.

Instinctively, Machi ducked further into the darker part of the shadow. She double-checked her Zetsu, and it was still perfect. She turned to the blond boy again and found the little boy still staring intensely at her direction.

He can't be seeing me. Perhaps other things... Machi tried to convince herself as she looked around her surrounding, but found nothing that might have attracted the boy's interest...except for herself.

Turning back to regard the blond boy with critical eyes, she found that his eyes were still boring at her direction with an intensity that matched Kuroro's stareIt made her flinch ever so slightly, but nonetheless she kept scrutinising the boy's face for a clue of what he might be thinking. Children were usually easy to read, not to mention that four-years-old like him were notorious for their very short attention span (about 15 minutes only), but this one was an exception. It was highly unnerving. His countenance betrayed nothing of his feelings and emotions, only the calmness and hopefulness that made Machi frowned.

How can the kid be hopeful when he's in such situation? She pondered. Then she saw it.

The boy mouthed a "HELP" to her.

Machi raised her eyebrows quizzically. So the boy did see her, but how come? She was stubbornly confident that her Zetsu had been perfect all the time!

Suddenly, a loud clanking sound snapped Machi back from her deep thoughts. Several shady men approached the cage and spoke hoarsely to the children. Some of them had smaller cages in their arms, enough to fit several children at one time. Pitiful whimpers and cries could be heard from inside the cage, but they were soon drowned into silence as one of the men barked rudely at them while kicking the side of the cage.

"Noisy brats. Can't even keep their damn mouths shut for some measly minutes! Dammit!"

"Well, they are brats for a reason. Now you don't slack your blasted ass. Get movin'!"

With several curses and other colourful combination of words exchanged between the disgruntled men, they put the smaller cages before the occupied one and opened them. Then they opened the children's cage and ordered them to get out and line up. Machi crouched in the darkness, watching with vigilant eyes as the children scampered out of the cage with visibly trembling legs and arms. When the blond boy finally got out—he was the last one—Machi tensed up for a reason that she had yet to find out. She had a bad feeling about it.

Then, she found the reason as soon as the boy stood on both his legs.

He bolted towards her direction.

The men cursed loudly and one of them turned to chase after the boy. Machi's eyes grew wide in surprise and irritation. What was the boy thinking? Surely he knew, if he was smart enough, that he would not be able to outrun those grown-ups? However, judging from the little boy's speed—which was highly unusual for such a little child—Machi suspected that the boy did hope to outrun those men. Was he desperate? When the boy was close enough for Machi to study his expression closer, then she knew that she was right. He was desperate. Very much so.

How could she not know that? Not when his eyes were blazing scarlet.

The grunt was closing in to the little boy, and when he stretched out his arm to grab the frail-looking blond, Machi could not help but to react. In an instant, she sprung to her feet and lashed out with her Nen strings. In almost the same instant, the man was depraved of one of his good arms.

Too shocked from the all-too-sudden loss of his arm, the man could only stare dumbly at the now blunt and bloody end of his arm while the other children shrieked in terror. By the time Meta had reached and hid behind Machi and by the time the pain had registered to the man's mind, he let out a beastly cry of agony that could have woken up the dead from their graves.

"You cut off his arm!" The little boy protested, his voice upset, from behind her. Machi gave him one raised eyebrow. How could he say such thing in such circumstances?

"What the hell? Who the fuck are you?" The men approached Machi, rage and fear mixing in their small eyes.

With an expression as cold as an ice berg and aura as chilling as the South Pole wind, Machi turned to regard them with condescending look. She sneered at them while she flexed her arms in preparation of welcoming any daring challengers. None of the grunts dared to take another step. When Machi narrowed her eyes dangerously, they visibly flinched.

"G—get the kids!"

In great hurry, they all surrounded the children and brandished their pathetic daggers and knives towards the children.

"Step in closer, an' we'll kill 'em all!" One of the men shouted, but his arm were shaking all the while.

Pathetic. Ridiculously pathetic, Machi scoffed inwardly.

They were definitely non-Nen-users, otherwise they would have noticed her little Nen strings trick. Machi did not advance, though, since she had no need of such act to get to them. Her Nen would suffice.

"Do what you want with them. I don't give a damn." She told them casually with glacial voice that made them flinch, but still she took one step just to enjoy the look of terror in their faces.

Out of desperation, one of the men took out a gun and fired at her. With a flick of her wrist, the bullet was split into two perfect halves five metres before it reached her. Unable to comprehend the situation, the men decided to run for their lives rather than to face the monstrous small woman with strange power. Just as Machi decided to let them off, the blond boy behind her shouted at them.

"Wait! Give me back my necklace!"

And he ran after them with his small fists flailing in the air.

"Boy!" Machi called out to him, but it fell on deaf ears.

The blond boy kept running after the men with his uncanny speed. Soon enough, the terror-plagued grunts started to shout at each other to 'get rid of that damn kid'. The gun-wielder spun and trained his gun to the boy. Barely aware of the danger called 'firearm' pointed towards him, the blond boy kept chasing after them. Only when the trigger was pulled, giving off a deafening explosive sound, did the boy realise the grave danger he was in. Machi lashed with her Nen strings, but even before her Nen strings reached the bullet, the boy's reflexes took action first.

His reaction was most extraordinary, considering that it was executed by a barely four years-old boy.

With a frightened yelp and closed eyes, the boy actually managed to duck the bullet by executing a trained evasive roll. Plunging hands first to the ground, he rolled on his back until he was back to his feet. After blinking his eyes several times; seemingly to rid himself of the temporary disorientation, he chased after the 'bad guys' again with equal vehemence.

While Machi was staring wide-eyed at the unexpected stunt that the boy pulled, the men by then were already as white as gypsum wall. Frantically, seeing that the little 'demon' kid was closing in to them, they decided to throw away the item the little blond fiend had been demanding. With one uncaring toss, they ditched the said necklace and ran for their lives.

The blond boy gave a happy squeal and picked the necklace jovially. He cleaned it and afterwards wore it with care around his neck, before slipping it behind the safe cover of his thin shirt. He turned to Machi; who was still staring at him like he had sprouted two heads, and gave her a big, innocent grin. Machi then snapped back to reality.

"Who are you?" She asked warily. The boy was by no means an ordinary boy.

The boy blinked, cocked his head to one side and answered as cheerfully as a child could:

"I'm called Meta."

Machi frowned at this answer. That was a suspiciously cautious answer—it was not something a little child his age would answer. Usually they would answer with "My name is", but this one...

"What are you?" Machi rephrased her question. Normal children would not understand the meaning of that question, but then again the boy was a somewhat-beyond-normal boy. True to her intuition, the boy called Meta went rigid at her question.

Machi frowned deeply at him, and Meta gulped audibly. Machi recalled the brief time when Meta's eyes flashed scarlet. With caution she approached him and knelt before him so that she could study his face more closely. Meta, surprisingly, did not run away when she approached him despite her having dismembering a man's arm. Meta had been unnervingly calm throughout the entire ruckus. From such close proximity, Machi discovered then that his eyes had not been black. In fact, they were rich blue—like the colour of deep sapphire.

Suddenly, breaking Machi's train of thoughts was a phone call. With her eyes still fixed on the blond's face, Machi answered the call without bothering to check the caller's ID. When the voice from the other end of the receiver greeted her with its deep ocean-calm voice, Machi froze and her eyes widened ever so slightly.

What a frightening coincidence... she wondered, before she greeted back the person from the other end of the call line.

"Danchou."

The forest grew thicker and denser with every step that they took. At the same time, the further they went into the heart of the forest, the quieter the forest grew. The sounds of the insects and birds had thinned out considerably, leaving only faint whispery sounds at distance.

"Are you really fine with coming along with me for this one?" Kurapika asked her companion.

Una doesn't mind. Una has always been with you for every mission you take.

Kurapika frowned at Una's choice of words. The word 'mission' always reminded her of the Genei Ryodan, since they used that term often for the activities they took. Dismissing the insignificant thought, she turned her attention back to the black-horned Unicorn.

"They really won't hurt you, right?"

Una gave a short snort.

The Unicorn Tribe people do not care about renegade unicorns. Though...

Her step faltered slightly.

It is wise not to bring Meta along for this occasion, because Unicorn Tribe warriors are rather...harsh.

The word had scarcely left her mouth when suddenly a voice boomed in the quietness of the forest.

"HALT!"

The authoritative voice rang in the woods and at the same time one arrow landed right in front of Kurapika's feet. Kurapika took one step back warily. There were movements ahead of her, on top of the hill. When Kurapika looked up, she was greeted by a lone figure.

It was a girl, or a young woman who had barely passed her teenage life. She had wild auburn hair that spiked towards all directions despite being braided. She wore a kind of tribal hunting outfit; with all the leathers and weapons attached to her. Her skin was moderately sun-tanned and her muscles were just finely defined. Protruding from her forehead and from the bushes of her wild hair was an ivory white horn. Her eyes were the colour of chrome diopside, and there were fierce green flames in those orbs; providing a stark contrast with her darker hair and skin colour. In her hands were a monstrous-sized bow, while strapped across her back was a quiver full of sturdy arrows.

Kurapika frowned when she saw the young woman, especially when she noted her horn. She felt like she had seen it somewhere before, not referring to Una.

Yorn, the daughter of the Chieftain of the Unicorn Tribe, announced Una with soft, nervous voice.

"This is the sacred ground of the Unicorn Tribe! You are not allowed to advance any further!" The young woman shouted from the top of the hill, with her chin held high proudly.

When her fierce eyes landed on Una, she frowned deeply. Then, her expression turned sour and displeased.

"Una, daughter of Bara." She said with slow, deliberately flat voice that was devoid of any emotions. "What are you doing here? And with a human, nonetheless! And look at your horn! You really are the daughter of your father."

One might say that she sounded derisive and contemptuous, but Kurapika could detect the slight forcedness behind those words. She even detected a hint of disappointment. Her words were not entirely heartfelt. So why was she saying such mean words if she did not really mean it?

"State your business!" Yorn announced again, this time impatiently.

Warily, Kurapika answered her: "My name is Kurapika. I come here as the representative of the Hunters Organiza—"

Kurapika had not even finished her sentence yet when Yorn's eyes were set ablaze with what might be described as uncontained hatred.

"Hunters!" She hissed hatefully, her voice dripping with venomous contempt.

Without any prior warnings whatsoever and with a speed that startled even Kurapika, the young woman already had several arrows notched to her bow at the same time and released them. A torrent of arrows showered Kurapika, and out of reflex she summoned her Nen chains. With trained movements of her arms and wrists, she managed to deflect most of the arrows. The problem was that Una could not evade them due to her size, so Kurapika had to protect both of them.

"Wait! I intend no harms!"

"Lies!" The young woman screeched, and she released yet another wave of arrows.

This time, the torrent was more intense than previously. Inevitably, one of the arrows grazed her arm but that was all. Thinking that it was alright to get one or two scratch, Kurapika ignored it and did not bother to check the shallow cut. Instead, she focused on the young woman called Yorn.

Yorn had a wild look in her face. With her wild hair, she looked like an angered lion ready to pounce and tear everything with her canine. She gritted her teeth with so much strength that she might be able to crush steel with her jaw's strength alone.

"My fiancé was killed by a Hunter!" She yelled in rage. "A shameless woman, who charmed him with her disgusting Nen skill, beheaded him and skinned his head!"

Kurapika's blood turned cold.

Vaise...

Kurapika remembered. Back then, during the test to apply to be Neon Nostrad's bodyguard, one of the artefacts that they had to get was the skull of a member of the Unicorn Tribe. That sexually promiscuous woman with horrendous Nen skill—'Instant Lover' was definitely horrible—had been the one to acquire it. Kurapika never imagined that the woman would go as far as killing one and skinning the head to get the skull. Such atrocity! It made her sick.

She had been so distracted by her thoughts that she only noticed the next coming torrent of arrows very belatedly. Hastily she summoned and manoeuvred her Nen chains but one lone arrow managed to zoom past her defence. Time seemed to have slowed down when the arrow made its straight way towards her face. Just as it was a metre away from her face, a strange occurrence happened: the arrow combusted and was reduced into ashes.

Eyes bulging out in shock and surprise, Kurapika turned to regard Yorn. The Unicorn Tribe warrior had the same astonished expression on her face, but she quickly regained her equilibrium. Just as she grabbed another set of arrows from her quiver and was about to set them to her gigantic bow, another voice rang in the disturbed forest.

"Enough, Yorn!"

With a slight rustles of leaves and soft thud of something landing on the hard ground of the hill, another warrior appeared. He was clearly a much older and experienced warrior than Yorn was, as Kurapika judged from the way he carried himself and the many old scars that adorned his tanned skin. Curiously, the man's skin was much fairer than the girl's. She put a decisive conclusion when she noted the way Yorn obediently followed the sharp instruction by the man, though most unwillingly.

"But, Lazmorgh! She—" She started, but was cut off abruptly by this man called Lazmorgh.

"She is the survivor of the Kuruta massacre." He told her gruffly. "Evidently, there really is a survivor. The Druid wants to see her."

Apparently, his answer satisfied Yorn for she quickly tucked her arrows back into her quiver and lowered her bow to her side. However, she declared that she was not convinced yet that Kurapika was truly a Kuruta. To back up the man's claim, Kurapika willed her eyes to turn scarlet. Upon seeing her eyes, only then Yorn gave up with her insistence to chase Kurapika away. Grudgingly, she turned to Kurapika and apologised crudely for her earlier rudeness.

"Since the Druid seeks audience with you, then we are to treat you as our guest. Come along." She said flatly, before she spun on her heels and stormed out of Kurapika's sight, obscured by the hill.

Lazmorgh; the man with short, dark golden, curly hair and jade eyes, regarded Kurapika with even look before he, too, invited her to come into the hidden village of the Unicorn Tribe.

"If you manage to go this far, it only means that you are welcomed by the forest. Come, girl. The Unicorn Tribe welcomes you." He said politely, but turned to Una to give her a stern look. "But she stays away."

Kurapika was about to protest, but Una stopped her.

It's okay. Una understands. This is as far as Una can accompany you. Una will wait here. She said softly, though there was a hurt tone in her voice.

Unhappily; because she had to leave the Unicorn behind, Kurapika followed Lazmorgh's lead towards the village.

In agreeable silence Lazmorgh led Kurapika across the settlement of the tribe. It was a quite village, but she could virtually taste wariness and fear towards her emitting from the villagers. She could understand that. Living secretively in hiding and in a remote place was not a pleasant thing—she had done that. She understood their fears and wariness—she had been living with those negative sentiments. As such, she did her best to ignore those restless eyes directed to her.

Lazmorgh stopped when they had reached a certain house. Actually, the word 'house' was not the best word to describe it as it looked nowhere near the typical houses she used to see in other villages, towns, and cities. It resembled a hut, but was definitely in a very much better condition than huts in slums. It looked like a house built in an old Celtic fashion—the roof was still covered in straws and the wall was made of blocks of thick, sturdy woods and stones.

Seeing the outfits that the villagers wore and from the studies she had done about the Unicorn Tribe, Kurapika drew the conclusion that the houses there had been built traditionally.

Kurapika shrugged off the matter from her minds. It was irrelevant as she knew well their desire to preserve and live in their traditions. Given the choice, Kurapika would have chosen to wear her tribal outfits—just like these Unicorn Tribe people did—but unfortunately she could no longer do that.

Dismissing the old issue, Kurapika straightened up as Lazmorgh gestured at her to enter the grandest hut—obviously belonging to the Chief of the Tribe. She was there to do her job as a Hunter, not to contemplate on her loss regarding her own tribe. She had known the pain of the extinction of a tribe. She was not going to let others experience the same tragedy.

One victim was already enough.

Meta could hardly comprehend it. The big sister with dark blue, funny-spiky hair had just answered a call, but the only thing she said was one word: "Danchou", and she remained silent for the rest of it. It could not even qualify to be a conversation, and so Meta did not understand why she even bothered to answer the call if she was not going to talk at all?

Every now and then the big sister with sharp eyes would look at him with this strange expression in her eyes. She seemed restless around him, and Meta knew it. He could literally see the wariness in the air surrounding her as if it was tangible.

Meta was dead bored. He wanted to go after the other children and escape from the spooky place, but for the sake of politeness he had to stay until the big sister was done with her call and only then he could properly excused himself out of her presence. Good manners had been something drilled into his head by his mother since the day he could walk and talk. Having nothing else to do, Meta started fidgeting with whatever he could fidget with—his hair, his fingers, his toes, his shoes, his outfit, and the list went on.

Machi observed the little boy in silence from the corner of her eyes as she listened intently to what her Danchou had to say to her.

[We'll be meeting in Yorkshin again in two days time. The others have been informed.]

She had not bothered asking him of what the purpose of the meeting was. Machi did not question her Danchou's order and decision, but it was just humane to ask for the purpose of an activity and she would sometimes, if she felt like it, ask Kuroro. However, this time round she was so distracted by the 'little demon boy' that she only paid attention to the important details: meeting, two days, Yorkshin. That was all that mattered.

It was even more distracting now that the boy started talking to nobody in particular. He did not seem to be talking to himself, because his manner of speaking indicated that he was holding a proper conversation with something.

"They are taking a truck?" Meta exclaimed as his eyes grew in size.

He cocked his head sideways as if listening to something.

"Can they operate it?" A pause, before he continued, "She can drive trucks? Cool!"

Machi frowned. For a four-years-old, his speech was extraordinarily fluent, but most importantly, what was the boy talking about? And with who? By then, the boy was already having his back towards her while his eyes were trained to something else that she could not pinpoint.

"They aren't leaving me, right?" Meta said again with horrified voice, his eyes as wide as a saucer. Then he seemed to calm down a bit. "Really? They are coming for me? Good!"

Meta turned around to face Machi, but he found himself staring at empty space where the big sister had been standing just a minute ago. His face looked greatly disappointed and his shoulders sagged.

"Aw, where did she go? She didn't say goodbye…" He whined while he went his way. "And I was just about to ask her to come along."

As much as she wanted to follow the boy and as much as she was intrigued by him, Machi decided that the matter was not hers to meddle with—at least not hers alone. She would have to discuss with the others first.

"Wait."

Kurapika obediently stopped in her tracks and turned her head to regard the person who had just called out to her: the hot headed Unicorn warrior, Yorn. She was standing at the entrance to the hut that they had just exited; the hut of the Chieftain of the Unicorn Tribe. Next to her was Lazmorgh, who was looking at the younger warrior from the corner of his eyes.

The Kuruta girl had just finished her duty as the Hunter Association's ambassador of forming a deal with the Unicorn Tribe. Luckily for her, the Chief had been more than willing to be taken under the protective wing of the Hunter Association. Logically, there was no harm in taking the offer since the Unicorn Tribe was really in danger of extinction. However, had the Chief been a proud man, the negotiation would have been very much harder. By agreeing with the deal, the Unicorn Tribe was now practically the property of the Hunter Associaton in a way. Apparently, it was of no concern to the Chief so long as his tribe could avoid the imminent extinction.

He had been very wise, in her opinion.

Yorn had a look of distraught curiosity on her face. Kurapika could sense that Yorn had a question or two that she wanted to ask, but she was keeping them at the edge of her tongue for a reason. Hesitance, perhaps. Being patient and polite, Kurapika waited until the female warrior was ready to ask her question.

"That shoulder," Yorn finally said while pointing at Kurapika's shoulder that had a shallow cut on it. "That cut was from my arrow, correct?"

Kurapika looked at the shallow cut and recalled the torrents of arrows that Yorn had showered her with the moment the Unicorn girl had discovered her job as a Hunter. Kurapika nodded in confirmation. Yorn then frowned deeply.

"My arrows are treated with special poisons that can break through any Nen defences," she began with slow voice.

Yes. She began making those arrows since the day that her fiancé was brutally murdered by Vaise. She was aware that there were Hunters out there with Nen skills to produce cure-all antidotes, and so she persevered with vengeance in making a poison that was immune to any form of Nen. Aside from it immunity against Nen, the poison itself was lethal enough to be able to kill a person in less than two hours when administered directly through injection or oral consumption, while the slightest cut made by any of that poison-treated weapon was enough to completely paralyze a grown-up.

"No Nen healing abilities are able to purge the poison out of the system—except you. What are you? I know the Kuruta is famous for their Scarlet Eyes, but this? I doubt that this is one of the wonders of the Kuruta tribe." Yorn said not-scathingly.

"I..."

Kurapika knew the answer, but she could not say it—it was Ishtar's essence flowing within her system, giving her extraordinary powers that were beyond even Nen. She herself was not sure on how to respond to that question. Indeed, what manner of a being was she? A normal human? A Nen user? A witch? A magician? She did not fall into any of those categories. So what was she?

Was she a monster? Was she a freak of nature?

Perhaps.

"Do not let the foolish girl's words confuse you, young woman." A soft, gentle voice suddenly said to her.

Kurapika turned her head to spot a lanky old man with snow white long beard hanging from his chin down to his waist. He reminded her so much of Hatsubaba from Ryuusei-gai, only this one had a docile impression on his face, while the wizened old woman had a sharp witch-like impression all over her. Also, the old man was twig thin and tall while Hatsubaba was short and 'plump'. The old man's approached them in peace, his staff secured in the seemingly fragile grip of his almost withered hand.

"Druid Olaf, greetings." Yorn acknowledge his presence with a slight bow of her head.

The old Druid nodded back in response to her greetings.

"Yorn, do not concern yourself with matters that are irrelevant." He reminded the young Unicorn warrior. "The nature of her being is just as natural as yours is."

"The natural order of things?" Yorn asked rather sceptically.

"As fate dictates it." The wise man nodded solemnly. "And speaking of that..."

Druid Olaf turned to gaze at Kurapika's stony face—she had no definite expression on her visage. She did not know what to feel as she was too confused with the flow of the conversations among those Unicorn Tribe people. She did understand, though, that the Druid was trying to say that her current state was not something abominable as to oppose the nature of the world. She felt an oddly immense relief in her heart.

"If I were you, my dear," continued the Druid with softer voice, "I would have rushed to my kin's aid."

Kurapika's eyes widened exponentially while Yorn regarded the Druid as if he was a senile old man. Lazmorgh had to elbow her so that she dropped that expression off her face—and it was not a light elbow. She rubbed her sore side while asking the Druid with annoyed tone.

"What? I thought she's the last Kuruta?"

"No. Not anymore." The Druid said with his eyes still fixed on Kurapika's face—which by then had turned ashen white in horror as realization dawned to her.

"She's the only survivor of the massacre, but she's no longer the last Kuruta alive." Lazmorgh elaborated for Yorn, but the girl only gave him a dumb expression.

The older male hunter started murmuring something along the line "dumbly clueless", and Yorn started yelling at Lazmorgh. Kurapika was not paying attention to what they were saying anymore—she did not even pay a heed to Yorn's colourful combination of words that even made the Druid cringe. There was only one concern in her mind; one that the Druid had generously offered to hint to her. After a while, only then she was able to put it into words tinged with a sense of horror:

"Meta."

Leorio grabbed his ringing cell phone as he kept his eyes glued to the TV screen, searching for a clue on what was really going on in Yorkshin City with all the children gathering at the outskirt of the city. The police had soon taken custody of them, but Leorio could not find Meta among the children. That was a very bad thing.

"Killua? Just perfect! Have you watched the news?" Leorio said to his phone as he grappled with his coffee stained shirt, trying to take it off. The coffee stain was actually still steaming.

[Dummy. We got a call from Fino. Meta disappeared three days ago. She tried looking for him, but couldn't find him anywhere around the town and the forest.] Killua replied through the phone.

"He's in Yorkshin! For some reasons, he's with other 'stray' kids. Who knows what troubles he's got himself involved this time round." Leorio grumbled while he tried to put on his socks as he skipped his way to the entrance door of his apartment.

[Yorkshin, huh? Got it. Gon and I will take the first blimp heading there. Meet you there?]

"Yeah. See you in the airport." Leorio said before he hung up, grabbed his handy-all-the-time suitcase and ran for the door. His breakfast and the coffee-mess in the living room were totally forgotten as he focused entirely on getting a certain blond boy out of troubles.

Author's Note: Hi, guys. We meet again here ^^ I hope you are not confused with the paragraphs and the segments of the story coz because the timeline is sometimes fast-forwarded. If you notice the part with Hatsubaba wondering why Kuroro's been setting up distance between him and the world surrounding him, remember the Half Empty Glass (the bonus story)? It has something to do with his decision regarding the Solomon Ring. So those who haven't read the Half Empty Glass, go and read and REVIEW. Don't forget to review this one as well, so I can get a bearing on how you readers think of this sequel. By the by, I think you ought to know Meta's real identity by now hehehehe =P

And also, take note that now I'm entering my university life, and I'm taking Arts here. So, for those who haven't noticed, Arts is actually a demanding course that takes a lot of my waking hours drawing and drawing and honing my skills. So I'll try my best to update once a week, but maybe not as regularly as before, i.e. not in the same particular day.

Next: Everything seemed to revolve around this little boy called Meta. Who was he really? Machi intended to discuss it with the other Spiders, but what would really come out of it? Kuroro seemed to be none the wiser about the issue, but that would not last long. Everything seemed to go back to the place of beginning of everything: Yorkshin.