The first thing Henry noticed when he woke was the silence. His eyes flung open and met the river. Its glow had dimmed a little while he had slept; it likely varied in intensity over the course of the day.

The second thing was that Thanatos was gone.

He left me, was his first thought. He just upped and outed and left me here; he didn't even bother taking me to the Dead Land. Right after the thought crossed his mind, Henry decided it was unlikely. Why would he have even announced it if he hadn't been serious?

Henry cautiously stretched and attempted to reanimate his limbs. As soon as he heaved himself into a sitting position, his worries from before were confirmed; his body barely obeyed him. Everything ached, and he felt dirty, sore, and sticky.

With unprecedented desire, Henry thought back to the luxurious baths in Regalia and thought he would have traded anything for an hour or two in a steaming hot tub.

But it was all out of reach now. Henry shuddered and made himself aware that bathing had become a feat of incredible luxury.

He managed to get up and stretched until he could properly move again, then he quenched his thirst like he had last night. Only then did he acknowledge the emptiness of his stomach.

Henry hadn't eaten since the last breakfast with the quest, on the day they had found Gregor's father, and even then, it had only been a single sandwich. The fact that the dish had the same name as their founder still greatly amused Henry, but there was something bittersweet about it too, so he didn't dwell on it for long.

Henry placed a hand on top of his stomach, and it audibly growled. He swallowed. The sensation of hunger was new to him, and it added to his anxiety. He would have to find food as soon as possible.

But . . . Henry looked around. Where could he possibly find food in this no-man's land? His eyes found the river, and the streaming, glowing water gave him hope. Maybe it had fish?

When Henry moved closer to check, he indeed caught a glimpse of a silvery spine swiftly moving beneath the surface. He sighed in relief. Maybe this wasn't so bad? All he had to do now was catch it. But when Henry reached for the handle of his dagger, which he expected to find in his belt where he had left it, there was nothing.

A wave of anxiety hit him when he looked down to find the weapon gone. The dagger—his dagger—was gone. Henry swallowed, fighting a swell of not only fear but sorrow. It hadn't been just any dagger. It had been his—a gorgeous golden blade adorned with a red gem. The first weapon he had ever possessed.

Luxa's dead uncle Hamnet had given it to him on his fifth birthday, when he had started his training with arms, and ever since he had treasured it. And now? Now that he actually found himself in a situation where he may need to depend on it, he lost it.

Henry clenched his fists, and it suddenly dawned on him that, if his dagger was gone, this meant he had no weapon at all. Thanatos had torn off his sword, which he liked to carry on his back, along with his backpack. Both lay somewhere at the bottom of the cliff among hundreds of rat corpses.

Henry forced himself to take a deep breath. Yes, he was here, somewhere in the rat's land, alone—and completely unarmed. But he would survive. He gnashed his teeth, trying to force himself to think proactively.

Where was the dagger? He thought it may have fallen out somehow when he had climbed out of the rat pile or when Thanatos had carried him out by the leg. But that meant it was at the bottom of the cliff too . . . And how was he ever supposed to get any of his belongings back from there?

He breathed in and out again. Once, twice. Everything would be fine. He was not in imminent danger, and who said he couldn't go back to the cliff at some point? He would go and search for his sword and his backpack, which had cloths and a water bag. As little as Henry knew about survival, even he understood that those would be good to have.

Yes, he would certainly go back. He made a face. And then he would dig through the mountains of rat corpses on his own.

Annoyed with himself, Henry shook his head to clear it of the needless worries. He should focus on what he could do, not on what he couldn't. There was no point in panicking over things that were unimmediate. First and foremost, the priority was food.

Henry stood determinedly. There had to be something here he could eat without needing a blade. But there was nothing besides the fish in the water, and he couldn't catch those with his bare hands. Well . . . Henry's gaze met the tunnel opposite the river. In that case, he would have to go and find food somewhere else.

For a moment, he wondered if it was worth it to wait for Thanatos, but quickly decided that it was probably unwise to stay in one place any longer, regardless. Who knew for how long the blood, which had become dry and crusty overnight, would really cover his scent?

No. Henry straightened his jacket with a firm tug. He would go, and he would be successful. Or he would be mauled to death, trying. The one thing he wouldn't do was stay put. Satisfied with himself for having decided on a course of action, Henry raised his gaze to stare into the black void beyond the sole exit he could see and suppressed the fear of venturing out there into hostile, unknown territory with neither light nor a weapon.

He was desperate, yes, but this undertaking was one for the suicidal. And Henry was not suicidal anymore. He lowered his eyes. If this were ever to happen, he would need a better plan than just the decision to go. He would need something—anything—to defend himself.

Attempting to untangle the worst knots in his hair with his fingers, Henry contemplated what kinds of weapons he could improvise with just what he had. He had not much; he had his clothes and his belts, and that was about it. What could he even do with that?

Suddenly, an innocent day came to mind: some three years ago, he and Luxa had convinced the teachers they had come down with a cold to miss school lessons and snuck out to skip stones on the Spout. Then, Henry'd had the idea to make something more powerful to throw and fabricated a slingshot from an old leather belt. Back then, he had been a decent shot—at least for a thirteen-year-old.

A slingshot, Henry thought. That he could make with only what he had. And it could be most effective. He almost smiled when he recalled doing target practice on one of the palace walls, leaving dents that were still visible to this day. He had told Luxa that it had been worth the scolding because they were there now, and he could one day show the dents to his own children and grandchildren as proof.

The hint of a smile instantly faded, and Henry shook his head. Enough with the reminiscing. What even was going on? He wasn't usually this sentimental. The past was the past; it could not help him now. As opposed to the slingshot.

Henry inspected his attire for a suitable leather piece and thought all his belts were too narrow if he wanted to throw something larger than pebbles, and he needed the pockets on them to carry things, among which stones for the sling, as he had no proper bag.

After some consideration, he took off his jacket and, with the prong of a belt clasp, cut a sleeve off. He scratched off the dirt and blood and rinsed it with water, then took it up for a trial run.

From the littered riverbank, Henry picked up a stone around the size of his palm and loaded it, then hesitated. He hadn't used a slingshot in years. Haphazardly, he tried to aim and failed miserably the first few times.

But he wasn't about to give up. He tried over and over, and eventually, the muscle memory returned, and he hit his designated target—a little indent on the opposite wall—three times in a row. The last blow was so hard that it nearly doubled its size. That should at least knock a rat out if I can hit the head, he thought, and the hint of a smile returned.

Satisfied, he collected a bunch of stones and stuffed all his pockets with them, yet he could only fit eight shots. He'd have to keep an eye out for more along the way.

Henry had already taken a few steps back and prepared to leap across the river when a different thought crossed his mind: he had nothing for close-up combat. What if a rat grabbed him and he had no time to fire his slingshot?

After some consideration, he took the two shorter belts that had formerly held the sheath of his missing dagger and wrapped them around his hands, then stuck the buckle prongs out between his middle and ring fingers. If I ram that into an eye or a neck, it should buy me enough time to get away, he pondered, urgently hoping he'd never have to test it.

Equipped with such makeshift weapons, Henry at last felt confident enough to jump the river and make his way down the sole tunnel leading away from it. He held his slingshot ready at all times, making an effort to be as quiet as possible. Deep down, he still knew that, should he actually run into a pack of gnawers, he wouldn't stand a chance, especially without light. Still, not being completely unarmed at least gave him the illusion of competence.

***

Henry half-sneaked and half-hurried down the same tunnel without ever crossing over to the occasional side paths. That way, it was easier to remember how to get back, and it wasn't like he had a specific goal anyway.

He found it hard to tread without a light source at first, but he had never been scared of the dark, and he wasn't about to start now. His eyes soon adjusted to it, to the point where he could make out shapes, so he wouldn't run into anything, at least. Perhaps some light from the river or from somewhere else reached here somehow.

Around ten minutes must have passed when he first heard rats. He immediately dove into a tight niche in the tunnel wall, even though the rats were far ahead. Henry's heart pounded out of his chest, and he urgently hoped the blood from yesterday still sufficiently covered his scent.

It seemed so, as the rats didn't notice him. So, he carefully crept out of the niche to listen in on their conversation. Maybe whatever they said would help him get out of here, find food, or at least avoid the group they belonged to.

Henry trod as lightly as he could, but he still found himself lamenting that he had no shoes, the way Gox the spinner had made them during the quest, to silence his steps. When he had come close enough to understand the rats—they were two, a taller and a shorter silhouette—he pressed himself into a crevice and listened.

"Oh, you will want to see this, Clancer!" That was the voice of the tall gnawer, Henry thought. He wasn't entirely sure in the near-unbroken darkness.

"Bonebreak and Vessil finally caught him, you say?"

"Yes, yes, that flier who's been sneaking around on our territory like he owns it, Bonebreak plans to make an event of his death as an example." He sounded something like a dry laugh. "Says nobody treads on his territory and goes unpunished. Well, at least we'll get a show out of it."

Henry's hand clutched hard around the sling until the belt dug into his skin. It was shaking. They had to be talking about Thanatos. Only an outcast like he would spend any more time here than he absolutely had to.

So that's where he had disappeared to, Henry thought. He hadn't left him; he had been captured. And now Henry had to make a decision, and he had to make it fast, before the two rats disappeared out of sight: should he follow them and attempt to rescue Thanatos?

On one hand, Henry knew he was ill-equipped for a fight against more than a few rats, and "make an event of his death" sounded like there would be a lot more than a few. It would be so easy to simply turn and leave, as opposed to risking his life for someone he had only met yesterday.

On the other hand, he still owed Thanatos. When would he get even if not now? And there was also something else that had pounded at the back of his mind since yesterday—the flier was powerful and clearly a skilled survivor. An ally like he could significantly increase Henry's own chance of winning his challenge. Maybe if he saved his life now, he would let himself be swayed to team up, even if only temporarily.

Henry had his hope and his drive back, but he was no fool. He knew that, realistically, an experienced ally like the outcast flier was not only his best but his only real shot at surviving the next weeks and months, perhaps even years, out here.

Before the numbing fear that the sole idea of spending years out here brought with itself could overwhelm him, Henry forced his mind to focus on the present. In the present, he had already told himself that he would maximize his chances at survival—at all costs. That settled it.

He would rather die fighting than running anyway, so why not take his chances now? What was it—the odds were against him? Since when had that scared him before? Quite the contrary.

Henry pondered for a moment, then mentally noted a sub-challenge of his one to survive: to save a flier from some rats. Didn't that sound more like a party anyway? Like fun, he thought, biting his lip in an attempt to keep himself from shaking in fear.

As quietly as he could, he followed the gnawer named Clancer and his friend into a vast cave. Light seeped from a crack in the ceiling; it was not much, but it sufficed to make out that the cave had four tunnels leading out of it. The rats took the one on the very left, and once they had disappeared, Henry went after them.

A few paces into the tunnel, it took a turn and ended on a narrow ledge, beyond which he more sensed than saw another large cave. Henry remained parched on the ledge and inched forward as soon as he made out that the two rats he had followed had leaped down.

He squinted to make out what lay ahead and then froze in shock. In the cave squirmed and shifted the silhouettes of dozens of rats.

Henry pressed his back against the wall and inched back carefully. He couldn't fight anything in the given lighting conditions anyway. Just as he prepared to make his way back and think his plan over, a new gnawer came into view; he strolled out of a different entrance and carried the stuff of Henry's dreams—two lit braziers.

He positioned one on each side of the cave, and, as convenient as it was, Henry wondered what the gnawers actually needed the light for. Then he took his first actual look around the cave and discerned it: they wanted to see because they were here for an event worth witnessing—an execution.

Hidden well behind his ledge, Henry let his eyes wander and found Thanatos in the middle of the cave. He was held by two large gnawers, one light gray and the other pitch black.

Henry's spirits plunged at the miserable sight of the formerly so powerful flier; he was being forced on the floor, stomach-down, and his wings were restrained at a visibly uncomfortable angle.

Yet the most disheartening part was how he, who had demonstrated such excellent strength before, had now visibly given up struggling. His eyes were closed, and his ears were put on. The rip in his wing had grown, and a fresh wound on his lower body bled badly. Hadn't his chest been sinking and rising shallowly, Henry may have thought him dead.

The black rat who held Thanatos' left wing—Henry spotted a massive scar on his right shoulder—seemed to be the spokesman of the assembly. He glanced around bemusedly, and as soon as he saw Clancer and his friend enter, he raised his voice: "Greetings, greetings to all gnawers who decided to join today's fun time!" His words were received with howling and cheers.

Henry readied himself to listen until he had processed that this speech was his timer. They would likely rip Thanatos to pieces as soon as their leader was finished.

Henry stirred, then froze again. He still didn't know what to do. There were too many gnawers for him to fight; he needed a way to free the flier without getting his own head torn off. He scanned the cave itself this time and spotted a kind of ledge along the opposite wall; he estimated it to be some forty feet above ground.

Henry followed the ledge with his eyes, internally evaluating his options, and spotted a narrow tunnel, around five feet wide, that seemed to lead directly there. If he could get onto that ledge, they couldn't get to him so easily, and he would have a free line of fire for his sling. That was where he was going. Henry scrambled to his feet. It was perhaps the only chance he had.

As swiftly as he could without making too much noise, he fled the entryway. Back in the cave with the four tunnels, he began searching them one by one as quickly as he could, without light.

In the second one, he finally found a tiny side tunnel that led up in the correct direction. Henry struggled to climb and cursed as he nearly fell. His fine sandals weren't made for long or arduous trips on foot. The straps cut into his toes, and the soles slipped constantly on the smooth stone. But he could not get rid of them, or he might injure himself on the littered stone floor.

Sullenly, Henry pulled himself up and forward. He could complain when he had the time for it. When he reached the top, he instantly saw that he was in the correct spot; light seeped out of the entry to his target cave on the left. The tunnel seemed to continue ahead, but he focused on where he had to actually go. Standing before the shaft, Henry found himself faced with another problem: it was nearly vertical. Had he been allowed to make noise, Henry could have easily dropped, as it seemed only around eight feet deep, but he knew any landing sound would instantly alert all rats in the cave below.

Henry knelt in front of the shaft and heard that the speech below was still going, but for how much longer? Without further ado, Henry untied the longest belt he had and strapped it around a stalactite that rose beside the hole, then lowered himself in.

His belt wasn't long enough to reach the ledge, but he was low enough so that he dared to jump the last few feet. He managed to land softly, on all fours, and the gnawers, who focused on their leader and the flier, did not notice him.

Thanatos' own ears twitched up—that much he could make out. The flier's eyes opened and found him. Henry frantically tried to signal him to be still, and Thanatos seemed to understand so much that he averted his eyes toward the black rat who was still speaking.

Henry arranged himself on the ledge; it was narrower than he had thought, and he decided to kneel. He took a deep breath and steadied his hands before taking out the first of the eight stones he had. There were no loose rocks up here, so he would have to make each shot count.

Slingshot in hand, he turned his attention down to analyze the scene, and a plan formed in his head. If he shot both rats who held Thanatos quickly after another, the flier should be able to lift off. If he could fly, he could get out. And Henry with him.

It was then that Henry realized that the speech was finished. The gnawers below soon began cheering, and he knew this was his chance—they were more distracted than ever. He took a final, deep breath, counted, and shot.

The first stone struck the leader out of nowhere; it hit directly between his eyes, and he dropped like a rock. Henry used the moment of shocked silence that followed to drop the second rat as well.

As soon as his wings were free, Thanatos did exactly what Henry had hoped—faster than anyone should be able to in his condition, he leaped in the air and began to fly circles near the ceiling . . . which, to Henry's dismay, was still not high enough to escape the claws of the best jumpers among the gnawers.

As he used two more of his stones to prevent leaping rats from reaching him, Henry contemplated what he would do when he ran out of stones. The cave below had turned into a crazed sea of rats with one goal: to kill the flier and human who had ruined their fun.

A way out. He needed a way out. Henry desperately scanned the room, realizing he hadn't thought his plan through to this point. His belt hung too high to pull himself up the way he had come, and how else would he—

Henry was so focused on himself that he nearly fell off the ledge when Thanatos sped past him. He barely made out what the flier screamed, his voice distorted and drowning in the cries of the rats: "Jump!"