On the eighteenth day, Famin came at the appointed time.
He walked around the house one last time, as if confirming his decision. Then he opened his bag, took out thirteen thousand, and handed them to Pablo without much talk.
Pablo took them and counted them.
"Complete."
Famin nodded.
"Good location. I will improve it."
Pablo looked at the room he had built and repaired for the last time.
Something he had built with his own hands in this world.
Then he turned and walked away.
On the same day, Pablo heard that the ship had arrived.
He headed toward the small port with steady steps.
In his pocket was fifty-seven thousand: thirty-six thousand one hundred he had gathered over the months, four thousand from Savia, thirteen thousand from Famin, and two thousand he had obtained in the last days.
Before he reached the port, he stopped at a small stall at the edge of the market.
A man selling simple tools.
Pablo looked at the knives on display.
He took one of medium size. Its blade was solid and its handle was comfortable.
He paid for it and put it under his clothes against his body.
This is a world ruled not by law but by power.
And he did not have power yet.
But a knife was better than nothing.
He arrived at the small port.
The ship was medium-sized, clearly commercial from its appearance. It carried goods and accepted passengers.
He found its owner, a man in his fifties with a face burned by the sun and eyes that had seen many seas.
"To where?"
"Naraka."
The man looked at him from head to toe.
"A child alone?"
"Yes."
"Fifty thousand. Includes a shared room and two meals a day."
Only fifty thousand.
Pablo's face did not move, but something small moved in his chest.
All that time, all that effort, all those risks, and the price was less than he expected.
"Alright."
He took out fifty thousand and handed them to the man.
He took them and nodded.
"We leave in two hours."
Pablo sat on the edge by the port and opened his hand.
Seven thousand Beli remained with him.
He looked at them.
Then he looked at the ship.
Then he smiled.
He did not remember when he had last smiled this way.
Not a smile of great happiness, but the smile of a man who had accomplished what he set out to accomplish.
Three months on an island no one knew, with no help and no clear plan in the beginning, and he had made it here.
Seven thousand in his pocket, a knife under his clothes, and a ship waiting for him.
Not the end, but a real beginning.
An hour later, he boarded the ship and deposited his simple belongings in the shared room.
The room was small and had four beds. Simple but relatively clean.
Much better than his room between the trees in the beginning.
He sat on his bed and looked around.
Other passengers were entering and arranging their luggage.
Pablo noticed a young man of seventeen or eighteen, large-bodied with a simple face and a big bag on his back.
He seemed excited and nervous at the same time.
When he placed his bag on the neighboring bed, he looked at Pablo.
"You're also going to Naraka?"
"Yes."
The young man sat down and let out a long breath.
"First time traveling far."
"Me too."
The young man looked at him.
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
His eyes opened wider.
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"Bold." He said it with genuine admiration. "I'm Marco. Eighteen and also alone."
"Pablo."
At night, when the movement on the ship had calmed and it began to move slowly out of the port, Pablo started the conversation he wanted.
"Do you know Naraka?"
"A little." Said Marco while lying down looking at the ceiling. "I heard the factories always need workers. The salary is between thirty and fifty thousand monthly depending on the work."
Thirty to fifty thousand monthly.
More than he used to gather in Verona in three months.
"And the nature of the work?"
"Fish factories mostly. Canning, drying, and preparation. Hard work but steady." He paused for a moment. "I also heard that the supervisors are harsh sometimes."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning don't be late and don't make too many mistakes." He looked at Pablo. "Not a quiet island like small villages. Lots of people from everywhere. Some of them are not nice."
Pablo nodded.
"And housing?"
"Usually provided by the factory. They deduct it from the salary." Then he added. "But I heard the provided housing is bad. Whoever saves money rents outside."
On the third day of the journey, an island appeared on the horizon.
One of the sailors told them it was a small island where they would stop for a few hours to unload some goods and load others.
Pablo went down with some passengers to stretch his legs on solid ground.
The island was smaller than Verona: a small port, some houses, and some shops.
Pablo wandered slowly, his eyes capturing everything.
A world much larger than Verona, even if only a little.
After three hours, the ship resumed its course.
On the eleventh day, Naraka appeared on the horizon.
Pablo stood on the ship's deck and looked at it.
An island much larger than Verona. Smoke coming out of massive buildings. A large port with many ships moving.
Noise and movement reached him even from this distance.
He looked at Verona in his memory.
A small, remote island with two thousand people and simple wooden houses.
Three months were his entire life there.
He learned there how to work in a new body, how to steal without being caught, how to sell, negotiate, and build.
He would never return to it.
Then he looked at Naraka approaching slowly.
He did not know what awaited him there in detail, but he knew one thing.
He would start from zero again.
But this time, not from a real zero.
He closed his eyes for a second and opened them again.
Naraka was approaching.