Complete darkness encompassed Henry as he shot up on his sheet. He gasped for air, the sound of his own breaths resonating in his ears, casting a tumultuous and discordant array of colors across the walls of Kismet's cave.

Henry struggled to compose himself, wiping the sweat from his forehead and taking deep breaths. In and out. This skill is one of the mind, Kismet said in his head, so it will be affected by your mental state. Your perception may differ based on your emotions and moods. In and out.

With his third inhale, the static in Henry's mind began to retreat. The cave was unchanged, save for the fact that he was not viewing it with his eye. He focused briefly and, as anticipated, found it devoid of any presence.

Fixing his perception on the wall next to him, Henry envisioned the tally marks etched into it. He needn't count them to know exactly how many there were. Without hesitation, his hand sought out his piece of chalk, and he added another mark, making it one hundred and thirty-three.

Minutes went by as Henry sat still in darkness. It did not frighten him, but he still disliked it. The darkness was not limiting anymore, but it was lonely. He pulled his legs to his chest, shoving aside the memory of his nightmare—the first nightmare in . . . longer than he could remember. Why did he have nightmares again? It had not been like before. This time he had been running and flailing in utter darkness—the kind that was not only dark but also silent. Screaming for help but nobody came. Whom had he expected to come?

Henry deliberately turned from the wall with his tally. He did not linger on the spot where he remembered the sixty-fifth mark—the bold one. The one he would have loved to scratch from the wall because its sight was unbearable.

We will fly together.

His body became tense as the words echoed in his mind. Henry attempted to take himself back to it, back to . . . Yet to his horror, the memory was so faint that he could no longer envision it. To fly, he clenched his jaw. The memory of . . . flying.

He is not coming back.

Henry angrily brushed away the tears that formed as he thought about the words. He is not . . .

Sixty-eight days. One more than yesterday's sixty-seven. Yesterday had been a good day; Kismet had chased him through a challenge course three times in a row, then some focus exercises. Aiming with the slingshot and with Mys, a bit of sword handling, and of course the daily control exercises. Despite Kismet's praise for his improvement in controlling this new "sense," Henry continued to grapple with the recurring feeling of no control.

Kismet said he was pushing himself too hard. But to make progress, he had to. It was because neither he nor Kismet shied away from pushing him that he had made considerable progress since he had crossed the threshold. He rarely experienced sensory overload anymore and could now differentiate between background and foreground sounds, turning echolocation into something like an applicable and invaluable new sense, indeed. Kismet assured him that he would soon be able to actively employ it in battle, accurately assessing distance, depth, speed, and attack angles that were no longer perceivable by his vision.

Henry tightened his jaw and stood. If Kismet wasn't ready yet, he would go practice by himself. The more he practiced, the closer he would get to mastery, and it was miles better than sitting here, idle. The creeping thought that he had nowhere to rush himself because he had nowhere to go even if he became a master, even if he became the greatest warrior of all time, Henry shoved aside.

Perhaps his next lesson would have to be to take his time. His head swiveled back toward the tally. Maybe he should discontinue it. He did not want to document the passage of time; he wanted to let it all meld into an unending cycle. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Let it all meld, and let me lose myself in oblivion.

Silently, Henry slipped out of the cave and made his way down the cliff. He willed himself to smile, anticipating another peaceful day ahead. No distractions, nothing to concern himself with, nothing to—

"Henry!"

Kismet's voice, in a tone unlike any he had ever heard from her, made him flinch and assume a defensive position. His hand flew to the handle of Mys.

"Henry, you must come!" Her shrill voice painted her contours as Kismet vaulted toward him from the direction of the cave with the creek. "It is about your flier!"

The rat tooth dagger he had drawn preemptively slipped from Henry's hand. "My . . ."

"Your flier," heaved Kismet as she came up in front of him. "He was attacked." She pushed him forward, though not before she had shoved Mys back into his hand. "He says he has run into gnawers in the vicinity—gnawers! Here!"

Henry nodded absentmindedly, but he had a hard time focusing. He had to focus, thought Henry. Only because focusing had become almost second nature to him did he muster the mental capacity to snap out of the strange daze that threatened him and listen to Kismet's tale. They had cut off his way back and injured him when he had made a run for it now.

It was not until a sound reached Henry's ears . . . a sound unlike any other—and a shape darted out of the tunnel ahead that he properly understood. This sound—the beating of wings—painted such a clear image of his surroundings that Henry thought barely any natural sound had ever worked so well. Henry blinked, watching him dash down and land directly in front of him.

"Hey!" snarled Kismet. "I told you that you should not fly in—"

"It is but a scratch; don't bother."

The hoarse voice reverberated in Henry's ears, causing his heartbeat to accelerate further. He sounded so . . . so . . . "You had no one to engage in conversation with in a while, did you?" His face lit up with a wide, uncontainable grin.

"No," replied Thanatos, fixing his gaze on him. "But I have much to tell you."

"I too!" exclaimed Henry, suddenly feeling like breaking into tears. He dug deep within himself but could not recall the last time he had felt as alive as he did when looking into that face. "So, so much."

***

Henry didn't know when exactly he had known that he would leave. Whether it had been the prospect of exploring the incredible discovery Thanatos had made below the waterway . . . or whether he had known the moment the flier had reappeared.

They had just finished attending to Thanatos' injuries in Kismet's cave while he had recounted his tale, and Henry repeatedly checked his tally. It was all almost . . . too good to be true. Thanatos returned with a reasonable explanation for his absence and an incredible adventure to be undertaken. This was finally it; this was his path, the one he had almost not believed existed anymore. And so, there was hardly a more suitable time to leave.

But then Henry's gaze found Kismet.

"Oh, what are you looking at me for?" she snarled. "You should cease sitting around on your hide and apply my teachings in practice. It astounds me greatly that he has not shoved it in your face the moment you appeared here," she said to Thanatos. "But he has crossed the threshold over a month ago. He is far from a liability anymore."

"You have?" Thanatos stared at Henry with wide eyes.

"You must witness my skill soon!" exclaimed Henry, springing to his feet. "It is incredible. I am—" He cut himself off, suddenly feeling some of his excitement drain. "I am satisfied. Greatly."

"You are? So, your contract ends." Thanatos inspected the contract that glared on the cave wall. If Henry didn't know better, he would have thought his voice held a tinge of resignation. "I honestly expected this to take years."

"Aren't you glad that it didn't?"

"You should be satisfied," said someone else before Thanatos could reply. When Henry whipped around, he found Kismet on her haunches, extending his sword toward him. "Your life calls; I can see it in your eye. So, go and seize it." She looked at him with an unreadable gaze that, for some reason, suddenly drove tears into his eye. "Do not neglect to practice on your own, though," she heeded. "You have accomplished it, but you have not capped this skill out. When I see you again, I expect to witness that you have."

"I shall," he replied, finding himself overwhelmed with a torrent of emotions, their strength far surpassing anything he had been able to feel in recent times. This was it . . . his life was calling. He would be back there soon, back amid adventures and perils. Back in the real world. Back . . . his eye found Thanatos. Back to the way it had been before . . . The way it should be.

This thought invigorated him like no other. Brimming with anticipation, Henry gathered his scattered belongings in a matter of minutes. As he shouldered his backpack and turned, Kismet stood in front of him.

"Are you not forgetting something?" She still held out his sword, and Henry grasped the hilt, then allowed himself to be engulfed in the imminent wave of melancholy. Only sparsely illuminated by the flickering torchlight, the cave took on a new life as his mind filled it with vibrant details. It had been almost four months since he had arrived here, a time filled with laughter, screams, tears, battles, and unyielding challenges. And now?

"I am," said Henry, sheathing his sword, then locked Kismet in a tight hug.

Kismet screeched instantly, but Henry perceived a momentary hesitation before she dragged him off herself. "I meant to say there is also this that you are forgetting." She put him on his feet and brandished a tattered leather book.

"My notebook!" Henry snatched it from her with a wide grin.

"I am returning it, now that our contract has been fulfilled," she said sourly. "Although, if you ever so much as attempt to embrace me again, I will claw your other eye out too."

"That may be worth it," said Henry in a sing-song voice. "That threat no longer carries the same level of intimidation now."

"Oh no, have you actually come to like each other?" asked Thanatos, bemused.

"You must beware, pup." Kismet shoved Henry toward Thanatos, ignoring his question. "What careless offers and words you allow to slip past your lips."

"Death, we must visit her again," pleaded Henry. "Lest she forgets me!"

"As if you could ever be forgotten," hissed Kismet. "You are not one to be forgotten," she repeated more quietly. "You really must beware. Do not make the mistake of presuming yourself invincible now. Strong you are, but you still have a long way to go."

Henry rolled his eye. "I shall—"

"And have you enough supplies?" Kismet poked his backpack. "Or a warm coat? Where you are headed, you may be in need of—"

"Oh, take ease!" Henry cut her off. "I am not a child. Did you not tell me yourself that I would be fine? When we first met, was that not what you said? That I am a survivor. A survivor who . . . must leave, lest you forget that battle is an art and make it messy!"

Kismet broke with laughter. "I cannot believe you recall that," she snarled. "But it is not your abilities that make me worry; it is that grating optimism. Who knows what troubles it will cause you next?"

"None that it cannot get me out of again."

"Henry, I mean it." He whipped around to her when she suddenly sounded serious. "You must promise that you will take care. You both."

Henry found no words. He recalled how firmly she had once rejected the idea of letting him stay, even less teaching him. And now . . . Henry attempted to discreetly wipe his face, but his sniff gave him away.

"We will take care," said Thanatos in his stead. "But so must you."

"And we will visit!" cried Henry, mounting up. "You cannot stop us. As soon as I have something new to impress you with, I shall visit! So, run like the river!" He felt an unmatched rush when Thanatos at last leaped into the air. "Run like the river, Kismet!"

The flier had already completed his honorary round above the cliff and was poised to descend into the tunnel that led to the cave with the flowing creek, for there awaited the exit, when Henry at last heard her reply: "Fly you high, Achilles! But not too high; you do not want to end like Icarus after all!"

"Who is—"

"Do not ask; I have no clue," Henry cut Thanatos off. "They are names she's been calling me throughout my stay. They are all characters from a collection of ancient Overland legends that she fancies." Suddenly, a grin spread on Henry's face. "I may tell you the few she shared."

"Nothing will stop you either way, yes?"

"Please, why would anyone stop me?" Henry stretched his arms out and consciously felt the rush of wind on his face that felt like it belonged to a different lifetime. He thought about the overconfident Sisyphus and the adventurer Odysseus and suddenly wondered whether he would ever hear the rest of these tales anymore. The notion that he might not overwhelmed him with profound sorrow.

***

The sensation of flight was surreal to Henry. He soon extinguished his torch and shut his eye, allowing the steady beat of Thanatos' wings to illuminate his surroundings. A surge of euphoria coursed through him as he felt the wind rush through his hair and brush against his face. How could he have gone so long without flying?

With a smile, Henry pushed aside the memory of his nightmare from before. He refused to let it dampen his spirits; instead, he would embrace the boundless possibilities that awaited him. In an instant, it was as though Henry's sense of weakness, which had bound him, suffocated him, and left him utterly helpless for what felt like an eternity shattered. He was . . . free.

"So, you truly discovered a tunnel system made up of ice below the waterway that connects to the Dead Land?" Henry asked. "And there were gnawers in it?"

"That is how they came here," said Thanatos. "Kismet may be right when she claims that it was likely sealed until recently. Has there been a lot of seismic activity?"

"Some," replied Henry. "There was also a volcanic eruption nearby."

"And so we shall venture in and uncover what secrets it holds!" Henry exclaimed. "And fetch that . . . what did you say you discovered there?"

"Some kind of metal deposit," replied Thanatos. "Although I cannot say what it is yet. But I wager Teslas will be elated if we bring him such a unique material."

"He shall overflow with excitement." Henry grinned. "And afterward? What do we do then?" It will be like before, Henry thought, flashing back to the time after he had rescued Thanatos from the spinners. It would finally be like—

"I am not certain." The flier shot into the cave with the lake and the waterfall. Henry marveled at his reflection, cast in deep black against the gleaming water, until they entered an elevated tunnel in the distance.

"We may simply go back to the Dead Land," suggested Henry, turning his head to catch a last glimpse of the orange glow that had become synonymous with comfort. It was hard to believe that he would probably not see it again for a long while. "I wager the plague is long defeated." He forced himself to face forward. "They may need mercenaries again now."

"I am not certain if it would have gone so smoothly," pondered Thanatos. "Many lives were lost to the plague. The entire Underland has whispered dreadful tales and warnings about it. I cannot say whether—"

"Or perhaps—" Henry's eye widened as an idea surfaced in his mind that was so utterly wild and reckless that he fell in love with it on the spot. "You remember that arena, no? The one where we killed Sizzleblood?"

"Yes. What of it?"

Henry's grin widened. "Do you presume that the gnawer who runs it . . . Splintleg was it? Might he take applications?"

"Henry!" Thanatos veered, beating the air with his wings agitatedly. "You cannot be serious!"

"But I am," said Henry, without losing his grin. "I am an excellent warrior once again. All that remains is to find somewhere to do battle. And would it not be a tremendous achievement to become the first human champion in a gnawer arena?"

"You are serious," concluded Thanatos. "Have you considered that, even disregarding that this might be your most preposterous idea to date, it may be prudent to take it easy for a while? You have not even tested this technique in the field yet. How can you be certain that it has truly restored your prowess as a warrior?"

Henry's grin fell at once. His glee subsided, making room for frustration, and he scowled, wrapping his arms around himself. "Cease being so overprotective," he hissed. "I have come here and endured this training specifically so that you shall have no grounds upon which to be overprotective anymore."

"I am not overprotective," Thanatos asserted with a chilling tone. "I am sharing with you my opinion. Unless that is not something you care—"

"I'm freezing to the bone!" exclaimed Henry, blowing warm air onto his hands and shivering. "So, does that mean we are close?"

For a heartbeat, Thanatos said nothing. "We are." He dipped into a tunnel that coiled downward, and Henry hugged himself tightly, his attention captivated by the wispy clouds formed by each exhale. He quickly fetched his coat, yet the further they descended, the more permeating the frigidness became.

After ten minutes of steep descent, the tunnel widened, and Henry retrieved his torch, lighting it despite his scarce fuel supply. The flickering flame provided a small respite from the cold, but as soon as the torch came to life, Thanatos made a sudden landing.

"We must make our way through this part on foot, as I cannot fly here," he said, pointing at a narrow, vertical crack in the wall. Yet Henry found himself distracted by the stone's radiant shimmer when meeting his torchlight. He cautiously reached out to touch it, only to recoil in surprise. "Whoa, that's . . . icy!"

Thanatos simply rolled his eyes and continued on through the crack in the rock. Henry lingered for another moment, discovering that the stone was covered in a barely discernible film of ice. Frozen water, he reminded himself of what the glittering substance that he had heard about but never seen truly was, and smiled before following Thanatos through the crack. When he emerged on the other side, his jaw dropped. "Incredible!"

"It is quite the sight," said Thanatos on his right. "Yet we should not linger. There are still gnawers here."

Henry found it difficult to tear his eye away from the stunning, sparkling white stones that encompassed them, and he almost slipped on his way toward Thanatos. The sound of his shout reverberated throughout the cave, amplified by the icy walls, and Henry cursed.

"Be still."

"I know," mumbled Henry, mounting up. The flier's claws scraped against the strange substance as he took off. "It is so . . ." So cold, and smooth, and glistening, Henry smiled. Like . . . Suddenly, an image swam up in his mind, triggering an unease that he forcefully shoved aside. It couldn't have been ice in his dream. He had barely known it existed back then.

Still, he failed to rid himself of that image anymore. He saw the . . . white ice and his red hand pressed against it. He saw empty amber.

No. Henry berated himself at once, forcibly quenching the images. He wouldn't linger on that nonsense now. He would do what he had set out to do . . . respond to life's call. Live again. He would go back to a time when things had been easier. Less defined, less constraining. To forget all that had happened after . . . It will not change that he does not care for me. The words that he had nearly forgotten reappeared in his mind, unprompted. That he remains with me for his own convenience . . . Or who knows why. I do not even want to know.

Why do you not want to know? Henry thought defiantly. Why do you not want to ask me instead of assuming? Do you not want me to say that I do care about you? Henry suddenly wanted to say it without being prompted, just to eradicate this ridiculous misconception that hovered between them. But the words lodged in his throat. He had no words because, no matter how he put it, such an admission would expose him to vulnerability, to weakness. Was that not what he had worked so hard to erase within himself?

Vulnerability. The word filled him with deep revulsion, and it terrified him more than anything ever had. He needed no vulnerability. He needed to be out of here and back in the Dead Land. Back in some sort of routine . . . a routine that they did not have. A life that did not exist. His mouth, which he had opened to ask how far it still was, snapped shut. Because he longed for a life that Thanatos did not even want to rebuild.

Have you considered that it may be prudent to take it easy for a while?

Henry gritted his teeth. He had "taken it easy" since he had lost his eye. He was through with taking it easy. Had he not done everything that he needed?

Perhaps you are . . . taking it a little too far this time, do you not think?

Henry's eye flew open.

It is not for your own benefit either to give them all a reason to hate you. What do you gain from the trouble all this is going to create?

Right. It had always gone like this. For each and every idea he had ever presented to Ares, the flier had either cautiously protested or silently obliged, always with that particular . . . disapproving look. Like he had not cared about what Henry wanted. About what he needed. All he has ever done was hold me back, thought Henry with a scowl, picking at the hilt of his torch.

But why was Thanatos protesting now? Why could he not understand what Henry needed? Was it not what bonds did? Together, Henry clenched his fist, together in life and death and war and strife. Together. He had tried so hard to regain this together. He had done everything Thanatos had asked. When the flier had accused him of not attempting to find a solution, he had gone out and found one. But Thanatos had not been happy; he had not supported him in its pursuit.

And now? Now that Henry had achieved it . . . Nothing had changed. He was still not good enough. Images flashed before his inner eye that he had sometimes allowed himself to indulge in—of Thanatos returning and being overjoyed. Being proud of him. Was he not the least bit proud of him?

Henry squinted and gritted his teeth until they hurt. What was he doing wrong? What was he still missing?

"Here it is."

As Thanatos soared through the expansive cave, Henry's attention was drawn to an object lodged in the center of the floor. Upon the flier's landing, he approached it with caution and was awestruck; the ground around it sloped downward, reminiscent of a prehistoric impact site.

Slowly, Henry descended and crouched beside the mysterious object. As he gingerly reached out to touch it, he jerked back at the icy temperature. The object was roughly eight or nine inches wide and composed of a dark, glossy material unlike any he had ever encountered. "Astounding," he mumbled, feeling a renewed sense of curiosity. "What is this thing?"

"I have no idea," replied Thanatos behind him.

"Teslas may know," said Henry, standing up and drawing his sword. He thrust the blade into the ice below the object, spending a solid five minutes excavating it. By the time he finished, his hands were numb, and he cursed himself for not bringing gloves. Then again, who could have foreseen his ending up here, in . . . the Ice System?

"It is light!" exclaimed Henry upon heaving the object out with a piece of fabric. He tossed it in the air and caught it a few times, surprised to find that it weighed only about as much as his sword. "I simply must discover its true nature," Henry said as he made room for it in his backpack. "But may we get out of here now?" Henry struggled to stuff his stash of fabrics back into his suddenly crammed backpack. "I did not bring suitable clothing for an environment such as this. We may get out the way you came, yes? Which way did you come?"

Thanatos twitched. "I . . . We must take a different path," he said after a moment's hesitation. "It is a detour of maybe ten minutes."

Henry nodded and slung his backpack over his shoulder, taking a step toward the torch that he had stood up while he had worked. Yet before he could reach it, he froze in his tracks. "Wait . . . Didn't you mention earlier that you stumbled upon this while returning from the Dead Land? So how does it become a detour?"

Thanatos' head whipped around. "I must have misspoken. I meant to say that I stumbled upon this dead end while escaping from the gnawers chasing me."

"You . . . successfully escaped from here as gnawers were chasing you?" Henry pointed at the narrow entrance, which was barely wide enough for Thanatos to slip through without landing, and his frown deepened. "Were those gnawers less clever than the ones we typically encounter, or was there a reason they did not simply obstruct the entrance?"

Thanatos' claws dug so hard into the ground that the ice beneath began to fracture. "They were . . ."

"You did not discover this on your way back at all, did you?" Henry wrung the sizable piece of fabric that he had used to pull the material out of the hole, as it was too cumbersome to fit into his backpack. "Did you . . . lie to me?"

At that moment, Henry craved to be proven wrong more than anything. To be shown the logical flaw he was missing. To be called an utter fool. If only . . . Yet all that followed his accusation was a deathly hush.

"You—"

His hands trembled, digging into the piece of fabric. What had even gotten into Thanatos? He had never been dishonest. Not once. But he was silent. It was—

"Why did you lie to me?" exclaimed Henry. "What are you hiding this time? Bonds may not lie to each other. Or is that notion so worthless to you that you neglected to consider it?" Henry gritted his teeth, taking one step toward him.

Without warning, a pain he had only felt once before surged through him, and blind panic speared him instantly. "Is that what you are intending?" he forced out of his mouth. "Are you intending to betray me?"

"Oh, I am not the traitor here."

Henry stopped so abruptly that he almost tripped. "I have not betrayed you," he said numbly, struggling to swallow the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. Why had he said anything at all? Suddenly, a desire overwhelmed him to turn back time and not say anything, just pretend he hadn't noticed. Then everything would be as before. Then he could . . . keep lying to himself a little longer. "Never mind," he said quickly, unable to suppress the tremor in his voice. "Let us just get out of here. I am cold." He wrapped his arms around himself, "I want—"

"You want." Thanatos' voice was colder than the tons of frozen water that encompassed them. "You want," he repeated. "You always want. And you speak of being bonds like you have any right to . . ." He broke off and shook his head, eyes narrowing to slits. "Fine," he said. "Fine, we shall talk about this now. There is no reason for any more delay."

"Talk about what?" Henry exclaimed, twisting the fabric so rigidly that it cut into his icy skin. He desperately fought the uprising panic, but it strangled him, making it difficult to breathe.

"About what I came back to talk about." The flier sat up and stared intently at him. The pit that had once contained the strange black substance now lay gaping between them. "You are correct. I did not come across this object during my return journey. Similarly, I was not en route back when I encountered the attack. Perhaps I should have put more thought into constructing this narrative, but ultimately, it holds no real significance."

"Constructing . . ." Henry stared at him, mouth agape. He did his best not to be mangled beneath the unbearable truths that crashed down upon him at that moment, one after another. "You stayed away purposefully," he concluded. "And you returned only to do what? To talk?"

He wanted not to say any of the things he had and was about to say, but it was far too late. And he had pushed all of this down for so long that he suddenly felt like he couldn't contain it for a second longer.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about so desperately that you felt the need to return?" spat Henry. "Did you mean to explain why you treat me as a helpless imbecile and believe you have the right? Or why you have no regard for what I want or what makes me happy? You smother me!" he screamed. His voice reverberated through the air; at the back of his consciousness, Henry registered a cacophony of shrill colors, illuminating every crack and nook of the ice. Thanatos' talons dug into it so hard that Henry's echolocation registered the exhibited force as a potential threat.

"I smother you?" Thanatos sounded so unbelieving that Henry's next words lodged in his throat. "Am I hearing this right? Are you honestly accusing me of being the inconsiderate one here?"

"I have done everything that you—"

But Thanatos cut him off. "If you are speaking honestly, then you have even less regard for the harm you cause others than I thought."

"Harm—?" The piece of fabric almost slipped from Henry's grasp as his eyes widened in disbelief. He fought the urge to retreat further. "When have I ever caused you—" I just feel like . . . some time away from him would do me good sometimes, you know? The voice was still that of Ares . . . or was it? Suddenly, Henry was no longer sure. "It is you who do not care," he hissed. "You sought to stay away from me!"

"I do not—" Thanatos sat straighter, his eyes narrowing to gleaming amber slits. "I cared far too much," he said resolutely. "And see where it has gotten me? My care for you was so great that I deemed it justifiable for everything to revolve around you. Because that is how you think. Because in your mind, everything does revolve around you. And so you take, and take, and take, and I give, because it is all I can do. Because I have no choice. Because I have shackled myself to you!"

Every word he shouted echoed and bounced off the ice like a fresh dagger to the heart.

"Out of all who could have fallen that day, out of all I could have saved . . . For what did the world mean to punish me when it sent me you?"

Something was not right here; Henry clutched the fabric with both hands. Something must have gone wrong somewhere. Where had they gone wrong?

"I am your punishment?!" he screamed. If Henry did not scream, he would break into tears. And he would sooner stab his sword into his own chest. "I am all that you have!" His voice cracked, and he pressed a breath out of his lungs. "I am all that you have." Briefly, it flashed in his mind that he had said that wrong. He had actually meant the inverse. "You are—" all that I have. "You said to Hamnet that I am!" he yelled. "If that was a lie too, why did you not stay with him?! Is it not a profound tragedy that he has not lived to repeat his offer?"

"You overheard that?" asked Thanatos in a frigid tone, pausing momentarily. "You . . . Well, I suppose it hardly matters anymore. Hamnet was right," the flier said with so much sorrow that it seared Henry's heart like acid. "If only I had listened to him. But I was blind . . . until I had found myself all this time away from you. And then . . . You were not the only one who learned something during this time. Would you like to know what it was that I learned?"

"Why do you not at least tell me what I have done wrong?" Henry screamed, valiantly battling the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. The edge of his voice sliced the air and stabbed into his ears. "Please tell me!" he pleaded. "Just tell me!"

But Thanatos ignored him. "What I learned was that I would rather pine in loneliness again than devote myself to a . . . a . . ." The ice began to yield under the pressure of his talons. "Let us put it this way: I always wondered, but now I realize why your former bond let you fall. If only I would have the strength to do it too."

Henry stood completely immobile. Suddenly, it was as though the ice around him came alive; its strained heaving drew closer, expanding as though it sought to encompass him.

"I will no longer devote myself to a parasite!" Thanatos hissed. "You are a parasite who has attached itself to me, draining every last bit of what I have to give, every ounce of life that I still have, and will not let go! Will not allow me to let it go! Why will you not let me go?!"

The fabric between Henry's fingers ripped apart. The sound stabbed into his ears like a knife . . . or had it actually stabbed into his chest? His gaze shifted down, and he found himself taken aback by the absence of blood.

"That is not true," he pressed out of his clogged throat, desperately blinking. "Why would you say that?" Every effort to avoid sounding desperate was forgotten. A strange cacophony of sounds that he typically didn't acknowledge threatened to overpower him. The creaking of ice. The crackle of his torch. The frenzied pounding of his heart. "Death . . ."

Yet the flier . . . his flier undauntedly carried on speaking with no regard for his plea. "If only I could have listened to Hamnet. If only I had had the strength to see . . . what you were from the get-go. Before I chained us to each other. Before it was . . . too late."

"Too . . . late?"

"Too late for you, certainly!" Both flier and boy jumped when a third voice suddenly snarled behind them, and it took Henry a full second to register that he was staring at one of at least a dozen gnawers. They had streamed in through the sole entrance and, of course, blocked it spitefully.

His gaze flew toward Thanatos. Neither of them had—

"Oh, would you look at that?" the rat who had spoken earlier continued. "It is the flier who slipped through our claws last time. Longclaw will be delighted to see you! He says it's been quite a while!"

Deep down, Henry knew that he should come up with an escape plan—unsheathe his sword and slit their throats with the skill of Kismet's training. But he was paralyzed. Even as two rats seized his arms and ushered him toward the exit, he remained still as stone. Still as ice. He desperately battled against the overwhelming sounds bombarding him from all directions. Squinting in a desperate effort to shut it all out, Henry suddenly cursed himself for even pushing to cross the dreadful threshold.

Amidst the ringing in his ears, Henry barely noticed the change in the rats' behavior until they had already left the cave. Something clearly unsettled them. Something like . . . "You all hear that, right?"

"I thought the water was supposed to leave, not enter!"

"That is what he said when—"

A sudden and ominous rushing sound interrupted the gnawers. Before Henry could fully comprehend what was happening, he noticed a faint glow in the distance. Next to him, Thanatos wrung his wings out of a rat's grip. The last thing Henry saw was the visceral panic in his eyes before the swell of icy water hit.

His senses failed Henry; his vision went black, and he feared drowning in the agonizing deluge of noises more than the water. It consumed him, dragging him along like a weightless paper boat. Henry curled into a ball, squeezed his eye shut, and cried as he collided with an obstacle, swallowing water.

Sparks of light flickered in front of his eye as he narrowly evaded the rats' claws, searching for . . . Henry cautiously extended his arm to navigate, propelling forward until he crashed into Thanatos and tightly clung to his neck.

His wings were firmly folded, and Henry knew not whether the flier even sensed him; all he knew was that he would not let go. When their heads broke the surface together, Henry gasped for air. He violently retched, attempting to expel all the water he had swallowed, yet his grip on his flier's neck remained firm. His cheek pressed into the damp fur.

Henry would not have been able to tell for how long the raging flood dragged them along. What may have unleashed such tremendous power down in the Ice System that it was potent enough to consistently push them upward?

The tunnel repeatedly divided, progressively becoming narrower, but Henry held his eye shut. He was taken up by not succumbing to the deafening roars of his perception and by holding onto Thanatos' neck. The flier trembled alongside him, and Henry once more vowed to himself that he would not let go.

His heart pounded in his ears, and only when he strained himself did Henry make out Thanatos' heartbeat next to his own. Next to . . . An agonized scream ripped out of his throat as a piece of debris struck the back of his head, and he nearly released Thanatos. Only at the last moment did he prevent the damp fur from slipping out of his grasp.

Moments later, Henry's back nearly grazed the wall, and only then did he register just how narrow the tunnel had become. It had shrunk to a mere three or four feet wide, and as he looked ahead to check whether it would remain high enough to breathe, his heart clumped with panic.

"Water . . . fall . . ."

Henry's scream was stifled as he peered into the abyss, which voraciously consumed everything in its path and would swallow them also. It was too late; his eye squeezed shut. Then, a violent collision knocked the breath out of him and sent a jolt of agony through his abdomen.

His arm somehow found its way around the solid rock standing its ground amidst the surging water, barely visible above the surface. Yet to grasp it, he had to ease his grip on Thanatos.

"No!" Henry helplessly watched the wet fur slip through his fingers, and for a second, a swell of panic dug its fangs into his batted heart. It numbed his senses, and only the feel of Thanatos' claw locking around his hand jerked him back into reality.

There was a violent surge of pain; for a second, Henry thought his arm would dislocate as he found himself hanging on, with Thanatos' weight tugging him into the black abyss. Something other than the ever-rushing water ran down his tightly shut fist.

"Don't . . . let . . . go," Henry squeezed out, and then he screamed again. His jaw tightened with agony as he watched Thanatos' claws dig into his flesh, forcing out blood. It trickled into the abyss below, seeming almost black in the faint glow of the water. But he wouldn't let go. Sooner, Henry would let his flier rip his arm off. "Don't . . ."

"Let . . . go."

Henry's eye widened as he stared into dull, amber slits. "You—!"

"Let . . . go."

The words thrust into Henry's heart like blades . . . like claws. Each breath ripped out another piece.

"No!" he sobbed and tightened his grip, uncaring about how his shoulder burned more with each second. "Don't . . . do this," he pleaded.

But the amber was empty.

No, the word pounded in his skull; not like this. Not like . . .

You are a parasite.

Tears relentlessly streamed down his cheeks.

A parasite who has attached itself to me, draining every last bit of what I have to give, every ounce of life that I still have, and will not let go!

Will not allow me to let it go!

Let go.

Let . . . go . . .

Let . . . go.

"You just don't get it, do you?"

Thanatos swayed, and Henry looked down at his hand, now coated in a deep red of blood, knowing that he couldn't hold on for much longer. No, he desperately tightened his fingers. He would not watch him fall. Watch him die. Watch him . . . Henry stared at his flier with wide eyes.

But then he was numbed with panic when he understood it was what he wanted . . . He had never asked . . . why had he never asked what he wanted?

An image flashed before his inner eye, and he was consumed by anguish when he at last understood. The one responsible for thrusting a blade into his heart earlier wasn't his flier, but himself all along.

"Let . . . me . . . go—!"

Tears streamed down Henry's cheeks as his grasp threatened to slip.

"Please—!"

No. His head screamed. No. No. N o. N o . . .

All Henry could see were his eyes—his amber eyes that were so void of life that the sensation wrapped itself around his neck like a rope, squeezing tighter and tighter until he had no life to give anymore . . . he was begging.

"Please . . . just let—me—go!"

For a moment, it crossed his mind that it may be the selfless . . . the right thing to do. That if he cared, he would . . .

Then something struck his back—another piece of debris. A jolt of pain shot through his shoulder, and Henry let out a jagged scream as his hand reflexively opened. Thanatos' talons tore his skin as his grasp slipped.

His vision sparked, and his voice remained trapped in his throat as he caught a last glance into Thanatos' eyes. Then his flier was swallowed by the gaping abyss, leaving Henry to cling to the rock and disbelievingly stare after him . . .

. . . Alone.