After sunset, the temperature dropped fast. We turned back toward the ship to leave—but as we passed a strip of beach, Mesha stopped and stared at the water.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Mesha said, smiling faintly. “It’s just… beautiful.”
The horizon wore a thin edge of gold, and the waves glittered like scattered coins. She wasn’t wrong.
“I’ve forgotten the last time I saw a view like this,” Mesha said softly. “Maybe when I was about Linneya’s age.”
“People back then were lucky,” Layla sighed. She’d been born in Edean and had never seen a real ocean or a real sunset.
“Only when there’s no war,” Mesha said. Then she pointed down the sloped beach. “How about we camp here tonight?”
“Camping?” Linneya’s eyes lit up.
“Yes!” Little White cheered. “Then we can watch sunrise tomorrow!”
“I need pictures!” Linneya shouted. “This is historic!”
Once the girls decided, nobody wanted to leave. We used the last of the twilight to set up a huge inflatable tent—basically a scaled-down Bubble Farm. We installed an oxygen electrolyzer and a heater. After a short wait, the air and temperature stabilized.
They ripped off their thermal suits and oxygen masks and sprinted inside.
“I feel like I went back in time!” Mesha laughed, spinning in circles. “Linneya—have you ever camped by the sea?”
“Hmph. I camped every day—” Linneya caught herself, then grinned. “My old home was right by the sea.”
Layla kicked off her boots and walked barefoot through the sand, giggling.
“Wow… it’s so soft. Liam, you’ve to try this.”
Night settled fully. The moon blinked in and out behind clouds, turning sea and land hazy and strange. Thinking of the flying drakes we’d seen earlier, I worried monsters might roam nearby. I climbed to higher ground and sat where I could watch the beach.
Below, laughter carried through the cold air. The inflatable tent was fully transparent and lit bright from within. Somehow, Little White found a floating sonar buoy and turned it into a toy, playing with the girls on the sand like she was the same age.
Watching their excitement, I started to wonder if tomorrow would be delayed too.
That was when I felt it—a faint cut through the air behind me.
Tiny, but to my sensors it was a siren.
I rolled forward instantly, dodging two body-lengths. My arm shield snapped open at the same time—just in time to block the second and third strikes.
Cold steel.
The attacks came like surf: one wave after another, each faster than the last. I couldn’t even draw the 2D Blade. The seventh slash came from the left; the eighth arrived from the right almost simultaneously—like scissors.
After blocking the eighth, I knew retreat was death. If I couldn’t draw, I had to close.
I angled off the ninth slash and drove an elbow toward the attacker, trying to steal momentum and seize initiative.
I had follow-ups prepared—except I never got to use them.
Halfway through my elbow strike, something slammed into my head. I fired a shield bash with my left—missed. Then a force yanked me forward. I resisted—only to find the pull vanish, and my balance with it.
I hit the ground hard.
If my opponent wanted me dead, I was dead.
A complete defeat.
But at least I knew who it was now.
“Stop,” I said, swallowing pride. “Lord Blin. I concede.”
“Cha-cha-cha!” Blin tossed aside the shovel he’d been holding and sighed dramatically. “Thick-skinned, aren’t you? Can’t win, so you surrender.”
Then he started scolding like a storm:
“Do you elbow-strike without protecting your face? You block with your face again? Is your face a shield? And your shield bash—no center control at all. Just because you’re strong—”
My core ran hot the way it always did around him. Fortunately, he ended with a line of praise.
“But you’re not terrible. Ambushed, and you still blocked nine cuts.”
He tilted his chin. “Draw your blade. Let me see how you do when you’re ready.”
A lesson from Blin was rare. I didn’t waste it.
I drew the 2D Blade, saluted, and we fought.
Soon Bit heard the noise and joined. A little later Big Blue and Dancer arrived too.
The night went fast. Before we’d had enough, dawn was already smudging the horizon. The people inside the tent woke up. Together we watched the sunrise and took a ridiculous number of pictures and videos.
Just after midday, we reached Sleep Harbor.
It sat on a much smaller island than Cello. Judging from the ruins, it couldn’t have held many people. Merc confirmed it: Sleep Harbor had once been a quiet, remote town, surrounded by uninhabited islands. People who hated noise would’ve loved it.
We chose a location and repeated yesterday’s process: dig, cut stone, bury, fill.
Merc carved the epitaph carefully:
“A genius died too young because his servant failed to protect him. The servant learned his skills and carried his name. From this day onward, all glory belongs to Merc Owarhog—but the sins belong to Asa.” —Asa Merc
Linneya and Little White placed flowers at the headstone. We stood silent for ten minutes.
With the funeral complete, the purpose of the trip was fulfilled. Now it was just travel.
Little White suggested a destination.
“Do you remember Oden Gepluo?” she asked. “I told you about him.”
It took me a few seconds. “The crewman who surrendered from the Graham?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” I understood. “You mean the ‘Swimming Giant’ statue?”
“Exactly,” Little White said, grinning. “Don’t you want to see what that Awakened did to the sculpture? We might even run into him.”
Curiosity spread like fire. Everyone wanted to see it.
So we turned northwest, toward the Flores Islands in the South Silent Ocean.
By noon the next day, we reached the southern waters of the archipelago. From far away we could already see the massive arm rising out of the sea.
“It doesn’t look changed… wait. No.” As we got closer, I frowned. “Why are there two?”
Little White stared, jaw dropping—and then burst into laughter.
“He changed it! Oh my god—this is… this is perfect.”
Up close, we saw the whole thing:
The original arm had been mid-stroke, about to sweep down through the water, and war damage had taken its fingers and half its palm. Now the hand was restored—but the gesture had changed. The thumb was raised straight up.
And the human head that had once been half-submerged had been lifted. It stared forward with a faint smile.
Even better: across the water, a robot head now floated as well. It faced the human statue and raised a mechanical arm, giving the same thumbs-up.
The proportions were a little awkward. The finish was rough. It was almost comical.
But the message was unmistakable:
A human and a robot, praising each other across the sea.
“It’s good,” I said quietly. “May friendship between machines and humans endure.”