Kokoriko does not enter another gungi tournament. There is no room for one, not in the crowded, half-collasped streets of Meteor City. There are however, enough people who have heard the name of the game, for her to play against, people who have run far enough away from East Gorteau to not blink twice at her shape when she sits before them, on the other side of the board.

Youpi is still her faithful guard, her friend, though he will probably never admit to such. His biology prevents him, though his brain still shifts, and, on quiet evenings, she can encourage him to mingle with the crowds that gather at a run-down tavern comprised of broken church glass and the diagonal slant of a fallen skyscraper. There are no doors to enter, only groaning spaces where walls should have been, more than enough room for someone like him to step into and chug down a full gallon of whatever watered-down mead they can find. Alcohol, it seems, is now richer than gold.

Perhaps one day they will move, find another place to roam. She has heard rumours of a man who could be the twin of the late Supreme Leader Diego, out in the wavering grass of some far away country, his back carefully nestled by the crook of his rocking chair. Supposedly he plays a mean game.

And yet, here in this city, she does not always have the space for such a daydream. On occasion, she is pulled out of it by someone with enough ability to challenge her. It happens on one such evening when she plays against a man who wears his face in the shadows, keeping his hood high enough for his neck to sink completely into the black. And she finds herself engrossed, drawn into the game like a hypnotised rabbit, leaning forward enough to hear the quick slide and snick of a snake's tongue darting free of his mouth. So she does not lean in too closely.

To her surprise, she loses. So she sits up, and, abandoning all grace, stares hard into the golden eyes that twinkle out at her like a cat's.

'Thank you,' he says. 'This was all very illuminating.'

'You're the first chimera ant I've met who doesn't dive into servitude at the mere sight of me,' she replies dryly. 'It makes for a nice change. That and the, urgh, losing.'

He chuckles. 'Your species gave me a new lease of life. Afforded me a broader...vision if you will. I have much to be grateful for. But still, I must ask; to you intend to build a colony here?'

His tone has not changed, but, out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Youpi's head swivel round, the barrel he was drinking from already thumping to the floor.

'No,' she says. 'Motherhood has no appeal. Not without someone to share it with.'

He pauses, and though his face is still covered, Kokoriko swears she can feel something run over it, something silent and profound.

'That's very wise of you,' he murmurs. 'A child should not be brought out into this world without love to lean into. You could create a monster that way.'

She feels her lips part to bear a grin. And instinctively knows that he is doing the same. What are they, mirrors?

'My name is Kokoriko,' she tells him. 'I don't suppose you would tell me your own.'

He pauses. 'Gyro,' he says shortly, and then, with barely seconds to spare dives back into the swirl of people that are busy faking their own drunkenness. Kokoriko watches as the crowd swallows him up like a dragon, the tattered clothing and cracked glasses taking on the dull glint of scales, as their limbs flail out in jagged motions, much like the sawing heave of teeth.

She has the feeling that somehow, Gyro is more powerful than any dragon could hope to be.

Later that night, she has a dream. Two figures, heads bent over the gungi board as though they were nothing more than statues chiselled out of marble. But then one breathes, one moves. And a finger sneaks out to push a piece forwards. Kokoriko squints. Leans forwards. But she cannot get closer, cannot make out the lines of their faces.

'I feel...' A tail lashes across the floor, irritable and heavier than her own as the male speaks. 'This is foolishness, but still the feeling remains. The idea that you are familiar.'

The smaller, tail-less form opposite him pauses to digest this. And then she places a tile next to his own in a delicate diagonal sweep.

'I sometimes feel that way about a move I play,' she says, her words slurred, no, chipped with an accent Kokoriko thinks is unfamiliar. But it is an accent that nonetheless, causes the heartbeat within her dream to race. 'I think to myself, why have I never thought of this before! How could I have been so foolish, so dim-witted, to not have stumbled upon such a strategy? I feel impatient and horrified at myself when this happens. Because the game has been played for a million, no more...err...many, many times before. And perhaps someone has played the moves I invent before, perhaps they were only used once and never recorded. Perhaps they were truly invented by someone far less fortunate than myself, someone who never managed to be born in a time or place where they could travel to tournaments and reach fame. Perhaps I am simply stealing moments in time that existed before I came to them.'

The human (for what else can she be besides human!)frowns, unsure how to continue. She's played her move and he has yet to make his. But still, something must tug at her heart, and at her loose, desperate mouth because her tongues stumbles, her heart falling half into her throat as she continues. 'B-b-but whatever the truth...t-th-hey are mine now. I find these moves and I n-n-name them! And each one, each time I play them, ev-ev-even for the first time...it feels like coming home.'

The other player shoots her a quick glance, though she cannot feel the weight of it pressing in on her, his eyes narrow and calculating. What she can feel, what Kokoriko, watching, can feel, is his assessment of her, both quick and furtive. It burrows into her nerves with the silence that surrounds them, heavy and uncomfortable and despite herself, she fidgets, knees squirming against both the dirt and her skirt

Home,' says Meruem softly. 'The one place you have never been comfortable?'

The player pauses, her outstretched fingers catching on air. 'I am grateful for my family,' she answers quietly. 'Without them, I would not be here.'

'But they do not make you happy.'

There is no question in his voice, not this time.

She breathes in. 'No.'

It is a small word. Small but powerful. And ultimately, freeing.

And then both statues, both people, both parents, turn to Kokoriko.

'Find it,' says one.

'Please,' says the other.

And Kokoriko wakes.

'Youpi,' she will say later, 'it's time to move on.'

And, as always, he will agree.

Through deserts, valleys, across boats on seas, Kokoriko will stand and walk. And Youpi will keep pace with her, each stride easily worth two of her own. He will breathe and she will count, her hand pressing against his wrist whenever she fears his heartbeats will slow. She will there, always there, to catch him when he finally falls.

And then (and it may take years) she will be alone.

She rubs her stomach and smiles. Alone, but maybe not for long. At least, in this, she will have a choice. And for once, there will be no one's voice other than her own, telling her what to do.

For she will not obey Pouf and Hisoka, their desires lost to the past, but still ringing in her head. And she will not adhere to the wishes of Palm and Morrel, nice as they were. But she will remember Gon and Alluka, for allowing her a choice and being kind when they had no cause to be.

For that she will not carve out a hole in humanity. She will only, perhaps, allow a few eggs to ripen to maturity. And if she cannot stop laying more, well...perhaps she should start, while Youpi is around, so she can ask him to destroy the rest. Or maybe after laying a few she can sterilise herself. There are hunters, doctors she can track down, who she can cohere into stripping her of the all the parts they all fear.

Either way, she can create a family. After all, if it brought her mother and father happiness, who is to say it cannot gift her with the same?

But for now, she seeks the guideline of a dream. Home. Something, she guesses, where someone will decide to keep breathing beside her.

She glances up at Youpi with a grin, unaware of how his heavy shadow falls into her smile, to render it spooky, like a cloud dappling over the moon. And he grunts, unaware, as his breathing slips into the mirrored pattern of her own. And yet, his eyes glance over when she giggles, her feet already jumping into a mutated hopscotch between the marks his heavy toes behind. And unbidden, his heart races, all to match the tempo her increased pulse sets up, giving birth to a faster pace that matches her great dives across the sand.

This, Kokoriko realises, is perhaps what led her father into loving a human, all that time ago, back when he decided to let everything else slide away. And she can more than afford to do the same. This..'home', is something she has discovered for herself. Something she will keep. Swallow down. And force her into warmth.