"Come, get up. Let us do something."

Thanatos did not even stir, and Henry groaned. He crossed his arms, and his gaze found the wall of the cave next to where he slept. He knew exactly how many tally marks there were; he counted them daily. Earlier, he had used the small piece of chalk he had found during one of his expeditions to make the twenty-ninth.

Henry whipped around and away from the wall. He was restless. He seldom was not, in recent times. Usually, he did not act on the vexation; he had quickly learned to control himself, and the words "tantrums will not help you in any capacity" had become his mantra, his one source of self-restraint. But even this rule became harder to follow with each day that passed . . . monotonously.

Henry stared at Thanatos, who had still not moved from his spot in the corner of the sizable cave and rolled his eyes. Twenty-nine days he'd now spent here, pining away in this damp hole, somewhere in the Dead Land. And what had happened? Nothing.

Henry vividly remembered the day Thanatos had taken him here after leaving the rat's land behind. He had explained that he'd stayed here in the past at some point, before—for whatever reason was still a mystery to Henry—he had come to the land of the rats. He had asked, and the flier had not given him a definitive answer. Well, it wasn't like it made much of a difference.

Henry yawned and stretched theatrically; his body had still not entirely adjusted to the whole sleeping on the floor thing, and he was in constant discomfort from sore muscles or stiff joints. Was that the gain he was supposed to be reaping from being here? Or maybe this was just what it felt like to get used to it. If it was, it was certainly not as relieving as he had hoped.

He had no idea what exactly he had expected out of outcast life. Henry stared at the cave wall; it danced with ghastly patterns from the light of the nearby river. He had never realized nearly all natural water bodies seemed to harbor glowing algae, yet he found himself grateful for it now.

Had he gone in with any expectations?

To live, Henry thought and almost scoffed. No. Not live. Survive. And, well . . . he had done that. Not much else, though, and spending his time on nothing but surviving was slowly but surely driving him insane.

He didn't want to survive anymore. Henry gritted his teeth and glared around at the cave like it was solely responsible for all his troubles. Like it wasn't the place that had harbored him for the last month. There was fresh water, light, and fish in the river. And Henry thought he had never hated anything more ferociously than the sight of it.

Today was day twenty-nine. Henry stared at the wall with the tally with livid contempt. Another fantastic day to die. If he died today, at least something other than waking up and spending his time idly pining away in this miserable hole would happen.

Henry shook his head to get the pecking thoughts to quiet down. He stepped out of the cave and sat by the river. He stared at the streaming water and, as he did on most days, contemplated whether it was worth throwing himself in and finding out where it would carry him.

Henry didn't know what to do. This truth was there, constantly on his mind, and he found it suffocating. He didn't know what he had expected or what he wanted to do to alleviate his restlessness. He didn't want to go out there by himself, but he didn't want to sit idle either. He wanted something to happen, but he didn't want to put himself in unnecessary danger. He didn't want to survive anymore, but he didn't want to die either.

With as much force as he could muster, he tossed a pebble into the bubbling stream. Then another, and another. Then something hit his leg and he looked up.

"And what was it that you had in mind for us to do?" asked Thanatos, looking at him with half-closed eyes that told Henry that he was perfectly fine with going back to hang and rest for the remaining day. And who knew how many after that?

Henry picked up the fish, tempted to throw it at the flier's head. "You have no life," he hissed. "Or any idea as to how living even works."

Thanatos stared at him for a moment, and Henry once more found it difficult to believe that he was the same flier with whom he had flown so expertly over the cliff. Who had challenged and forced him to confront his fear.

"It is not a life," Thanatos said. "How many times must I tell you that there is no glory or excitement to be gained out of being an outcast? We are the forgotten, the ones who have lost their privilege to live. And so we pine."

"And how many times must I tell you?" Henry jumped to his feet. "That I refuse to exist like that?!" He kicked another pebble into the water. "I am not—" And another. "Done yet—" And another. "I refuse to let anyone tell me when to stop living! I am not some pathetic weakling who will keep his head down just because others have deemed that it is what he should do!"

"You should mind your tone," Thanatos growled quietly. "And watch whom you call a weakling."

"Then stop acting like one!" Henry yelled. "You have the skill and knowledge to survive out here, and what do you do with it? You pretend like your life is over! A skill or talent does not make you strong—what you do with it does. And what you do is nothing."

When Thanatos did not reply, Henry scoffed and plopped down by the riverbank to eat his breakfast. Over the course of the weeks, he'd gotten so used to the taste of raw fish that it did not faze him in the slightest. It honestly just tasted like nothing. Was that something he could be proud of? Henry stared at the fish in dismay. Well, there was little else he had to be proud of right now.

How desperate am I growing? He thought and clenched his teeth. Far more desperate than he ever thought he could. But the few things that had occurred during the weeks here that had not been empty boredom had been disappointments. Like Gorger's tooth. Henry made a face when he recalled his own failed attempts to make anything useful out of it. He'd washed and dried it, but he hadn't wanted to risk breaking it by working on it with his sword. Now it lay somewhere in the cave, representing yet another disappointment. Another failure. At least Henry could delude himself that, if nothing else, it could be a trophy.

Disappointment. Honestly, the entire outcast experience could be summed up with that word so far, and Henry still didn't even know exactly what expectations it had disappointed.

"Let's go do something," he said after he had finished up his meal and drank the contents of his water bag. "If you do not come, I will go alone."

His mind reeled back to the few days that he had actually gotten the flier to leave the cave. During the first week here, he'd had the excuse of wanting to learn the lay of the land, so Thanatos and he had spent a few days in a row embarking on day trips to explore the surrounding Dead Land.

Those days . . . Henry stared back in the direction of his tally and pictured the large, bold marks that he had made on those days. Each was brimming with excitement and new experiences. Back then, he had actually been excited about the tally. Henry scoffed. Even the bold, big marks had bleached out over time.

Eventually, he had run out of excuses to go anywhere. It wasn't like there was much to explore here. The land was as dead as the name suggested. So, even though he had eventually learned to orient himself so well that he occasionally dared to venture out alone, it had never been too far. And what for, even? Besides the close border to the rat's land, they had encountered only some shiners and crawlers, neither of which he had deemed worth his time interacting with.

"Let's go . . . somewhere new," he said eventually, staring into the fast-streaming river. The surface was as restless as his innards; he saw the reflection of his head only as a murky silhouette. Perhaps it was better that way. He didn't want to think about what or who he was now, and if he had any means to see himself, he thought he would no longer be able to avoid it.

Henry didn't want to think. He didn't want to linger for too long because if he did, all his fears and failures would catch up with him as they did in his dreams. He did not allow himself to dwell on the images from his persistent nightmares—falling into a dark abyss or wading through an endless sea of blood. Crying for help, but nobody came.

He had been an outcast for a month now. Henry clenched his fists. And? What had he achieved? There had to be something he had achieved that was not related to raw fish. He had . . . he had . . . made his peace with the concept of practicality.

There were no standards to be upheld here, so much he had quickly discerned. It wasn't just the raw fish. It was that he could differentiate between practical and impractical now and live by that.

He was an outcast. Henry forced himself to linger over the term. He had been a prince—virtually at the top of his society's hierarchy. Was he still a prince, even though he wore no crown anymore? Even though he was here, in this no-man's land, at the very bottom?

Henry made a face, thinking that he certainly didn't feel like a prince. He had not properly bathed once since coming here. The water was icy, and he could not risk catching a cold and dying from the lack of proper treatment. He had not shaved or washed his hair either. There were no spare clothes, and most of the time, he could not be bothered to wash the one set he owned. The one time he had attempted it, it had taken over a day to dry, and he had been forced to wear a makeshift towel made from the fabrics in his backpack.

With all that, no one would believe that he had ever been a prince if he showed them his crown. Henry smacked the murky image of his reflection with his palm, then leaped to his feet. "Come on, if nothing else, we could try to determine if the gnawers have yet recovered from Gorger's demise. It had to have had an effect on them that their king died unexpectedly."

"And what will that knowledge do for us?" Thanatos asked, and Henry barely suppressed a scream.

"Do you not understand that I am sick of sitting around here?!" he yelled. "I don't care what, but it ought to do more for us than staying here!" He glared at the flier, who, over the course of the last few weeks, had become so familiar and yet had remained a stranger in many ways. He had now recovered from his injuries—they had removed the last bandages and the stitch a while ago.

On one hand, Henry could not deny that, in a lot of ways, Thanatos was the only reason he was still alive. Had he not brought him here, had he not shown him around and let him stay, he would have likely been killed long ago.

On the other hand . . . Henry ran a hand through his tacky hair when Thanatos did not reply immediately. He had turned out not quite as Henry had thought he was. The flier's persistent apathy and refusal to occupy himself with anything other than being here frustrated Henry more and more until he thought he could almost not bear it. He had always hated the apathetic, the ambitionless. He had mocked and belittled them. Those without drive were weak. They were wasters of potential and opportunities, and they were good for nothing.

When they had first met, Henry had thought Thanatos to be many things . . . but not one of that kind.

What frustrated him even more was how little the flier seemed to care about his complaints. It made him feel even less like he could make any sort of difference or have any kind of agency. Yelling at Thanatos was as useful as yelling at a brick wall, as Henry had found.

He thought that, with as little as he seemed to care, the flier had to hate having Henry around too. If all he wanted to do was hang in one spot, Henry's presence had to drive him insane as much as it did the other way around. The curious thing was that he had not suggested they part ways yet, and more often than he liked to admit, Henry found himself wondering why.

"Fine."

Henry froze and then whipped around. "What?"

Thanatos glared back at him as though the question offended him. "I said fine," he repeated. "It will not make any difference either way, but I cannot take one more second of your nagging."

Henry's heart skipped a joyous beat. He nearly tripped into the river from excitement as he leaped across and bolted toward the cave. "I am getting my backpack!" he exclaimed, and behind him, he could have sworn that Thanatos groaned.

Henry yanked up his jacket, which he usually took off for the night, and paused, then also grabbed one of the portions of dried fish he'd prepared earlier. This was something Henry found himself eternally grateful for after arriving here: that he had watched other people prepare food as much as he had, on their quest and on other trips in the past. It had still taken him a while to get it right, as he had never prepared food with his own hands. But now it was making food or starving, and in the end, he had figured it out. Well . . . somewhat.

He wrapped the food in a cloth and stuffed it into his backpack, together with the water bag. The backpack was on its last leg; he held it in his arms as opposed to shouldering it in fear that the last strap might rip. With his other hand, he grabbed his sword and flung it onto his back.

"Do not be too disappointed if there is indeed nothing to be found out there," Thanatos greeted him when he stepped out of the cave again.

"I have not felt much besides disappointment since we came here," Henry fired back and mounted up. "At least it will be a different type."

Thanatos did not reply; he leaped in the air and shot out of the cave into the narrow tunnel that led toward the rat's land. There was flying, Henry thought. There it was—the wind in his hair, the freedom. For a moment, he allowed the glorious feeling to drown him. Even if it did not amount to anything, this feeling already made the trip worth it.

***

Henry couldn't tell how long they flew in total. From what he recalled, they made their way along the border of the rat's land, although they did not encounter any.

"It is better that we scout and don't encounter them than that we don't and they encounter us," he claimed when Thanatos reminded him that the trip was useless.

They had stopped at a lake that Henry vaguely recalled was where the river outside their cave led, and he spread his arms, gazing out onto the restless surface. "Besides, how can you not relish the sight of something that is not that cave for the first time in a month?"

The sight was new, and it felt like the novelty brought saturation. Henry saw the lake and knew it did not glow differently from the river, but it felt different. Brighter, better, more exciting.

"I do not understand you." Thanatos shook himself.

"Nor do I you, but what else is new?" Henry fired back without looking at the flier and approached the lake. "What if we stay awhile?" He knelt to feel the water and, to his surprise, found it a few degrees warmer than the river. "Maybe here I could bathe and—"

Before he could finish the sentence, Henry was yanked back by his collar and in the air. He cried in shock and almost dropped his backpack before Thanatos released him onto a ledge, some thirty feet above the ground.

"What—?"

"Be still!" hissed Thanatos. "And hide."

Henry ducked instinctively, although he heard nothing. He must have cowered there silently for at least a minute before Henry finally heard the cries of . . . gnawers. Five or so emerged from the same tunnel he and Thanatos had come from, and when Henry looked closer, he realized they were not just running—they were hunting.

It was only then that Henry made out a pair of crawlers; they skittered along the wall and weaved. One seemed to be missing two legs; the other practically dragged it along.

Henry frowned. "Why would the gnawers stoop so low as to pursue crawlers?" he asked and watched the two, in their ignorance, leap into the water. Did they seriously believe they could outswim the gnawers?

Apparently, the rats did not think so either. They howled and laughed and followed the crawlers into the lake without hesitation.

"Well, I suppose I shall hand this one to you. Please save your gloating for later, though."

Henry whipped around to Thanatos, who seemed to be readying himself for liftoff. "What are you talking about?"

The flier beat the air with his wings impatiently. "I meant that you were right, and this trip was not useless. But now, let us—"

"What the hell do you mean, not useless?" Henry frowned. From the corner of his eye, he made out that the gnawers had now closed in on and encircled the desperately paddling crawlers. One rat spread its jaws and dove for the weaker one.

"No!" hissed Thanatos, and dug his claws into the rock. "See what you have done? We could have saved them!"

Henry watched, transfixed, as the crawlers were torn to pieces. The rats threw one in the air and caught it between their jaws, cracking the shell. Then they bit the other's head off, laughing maniacally.

Still with the half-devoured crawlers in their jaws, the gnawers left the way they had come. They bickered between themselves; Henry did not pay their words any mind. Instead, he stared into the angrily squinted eyes of Thanatos.

"Saved them?" Only then did he process what the flier was so agitated about. "You would have gone out there and fought five gnawers for some crawlers?" He scoffed. "If that is what you do, it surprises me greatly to find you alive. But I suppose you hang around idly more than you go and risk your life needlessly. You should consider finding some more entertaining past-times."

"Needlessly."

Henry whipped around when he took in the tone of Thanatos' voice. He had never heard the flier speak like that. He sounded like he was moments away from tearing him to shreds.

"And what if we could have saved them?" Henry crossed his arms, trying not to let the livid tone get to him. "What would we have gotten out of that? What you do is your business, but I have promised myself that I will survive," he said emphatically. "I will not risk that for some crawlers."

The flier didn't reply, and Henry shrugged. "Then again, it honestly does make sense. You have forgotten how to live, so now you seek to throw your life away, even though yours is so much more precious than theirs." He waved toward the lake. "For all the skills and strengths you possess, you are a disgrace."

Henry had already readied himself to climb down from the ledge when he was yanked up by his collar again. He cried, then his back slammed into the ground, and he gasped for air.

"Do you ever listen to yourself speak?"

Thanatos was above him, claws digging into the front of his jacket. Henry twisted and fought, but he couldn't shake the flier.

"I am not the disgrace here," the flier hissed. "I am not the one who quantifies life; based on what? On strength?"

Henry screamed when Thanatos tightened his grip.

"You call me a disgrace for my willingness to risk my life for others? Even for your own?"

For a moment, Henry actually stopped struggling. It was true, he realized. Thanatos' willingness to put himself at risk for others' sake was the only reason he was still alive. "That was—"

"What? An exception?" Thanatos held him for a moment longer, then released him. Henry coughed violently, struggling to rise. "You will accept the sacrifices of others but not sacrifice anything of your own for anyone else. Is that how it is?"

"I am not a fool!" Henry dragged himself to his feet. "I will not be killed for someone else's sake!"

"You are a fool."

"You have no right to judge me!" Henry yelled and raised a finger to point. "If you want to sacrifice your life to protect the weak, that is your business. I will not be judged! Not by you, and not by anyone!" He cursed his cracking voice. His chest still ached and he could barely breathe, so livid with fury was he.

"Oh, you will be judged," hissed Thanatos. "Tell me honestly, have you not been judged all your life?"

"That is none of your concern!"

"You are right." Thanatos paused. "When I first met you, I thought you to be spoiled and a little entitled, but in truth, you are delusional. You claim you do not judge me, but you do. You judge everyone and give commands like that is still your right, but never turn that scrutiny inward. I have no right to judge you!" he aped. "My judgment ends when yours does!"

"I have tried not to judge you," Henry spat back. "But when I first met you, I thought you to be competent and knowledgeable, not a dead weight. You call me delusional?" He scoffed. "However realistic they may be, at least I still have ambitions! I have drive and hope, and you would do well to obtain some for yourself before it truly kills you."

They stood there, across each other, glaring with all the frustration and contempt Henry realized they must have both built up over the course of the last month: the great black flier with the white face, wings menacingly spread, and the teenage prince, who hadn't taken kindly to the weeks without changing clothes, bathing, or shaving.

"I am a dead weight?" Thanatos eventually said, drawing in his wings. "Fine. So be it. I will no longer burden you with myself. Let us see how long your drive and hope keep you alive out there."

It was only then that Henry understood what was at stake. To be left alone . . . He glanced around and for as unbearable as he found the flier's company . . . As long as they were together, he was safe.

"You cannot leave!" he yelled. "We had a deal! You shall not leave!"

"Hear! Hear! Is that all you are good at?" Thanatos scoffed. "Barking orders, bragging, and taking the kindness of others for granted?"

"No—" Something lumped in Henry's throat. "No, I'm good for—" His head screamed. He was good at so many things. He would not let anyone tell him otherwise. But when Henry attempted to finish the sentence, his mind was blank.

"For nothing." Thanatos finished it for him. "You may have been good for something in Regalia, where they had to treat you as a prince, but out here, you are good for nothing. And unless you accept that and learn to act in accordance with your new place, that will not change either."

Henry opened his mouth but he had no response. It was not true. The words banged against his mind. He was not nothing. He had never been nothing before. He would not be—

"You speak of strength and competence," Thanatos resumed. "And in the same breath, you pass up an opportunity to gain the goodwill of a species just because they are not physically strong. An opportunity to save lives!" Thanatos cowered down, readying himself for liftoff. "I once said that you are not a villain for villainy's sake, but perhaps I was wrong. I almost hope you live long enough to learn your lesson."

Henry was dazed, dizzy from anger and desperation, when he processed what was happening. Thanatos was leaving, and he had no means of stopping him. Panic lumped his throat; the screaming feeling of helplessness overpowered and choked him until he couldn't breathe.

But then . . . Thanatos did not lift off. He leaped in the air and was yanked back down, smashed against the ground, and restrained by . . . gnawers. Two of them.

There was no time to draw his sword or even move a muscle. Before Henry could even properly panic, something knocked him over the head, and sharp pain speared his skull. He dropped to the floor and heard the distant cackle of gnawers.

The last thought Henry managed to conceive was that the gnawers from earlier must have been too close, and they too loud. Then he thought nothing anymore.