When Gregor awoke the next morning, he had almost forgotten the events of the previous night. It all came rushing back to him. He smiled.

Gregor reached into his backpack. There was something he had been thinking about a lot. His fingertips touched the parchment scroll tucked in a side pocket of his backpack. He pulled it out.

Gregor slowly read through the prophecy, line by line. He hadn't had a chance to look at it since leaving."When the last battle has been won, "Okay, that happened," thought Gregor. "Easy enough."

And time is turning back where once begun. "Sure.."

The Underlander requires more to thrive.

In the darkness, secrets hide. "I guess there's a secret then."

A sign of peace, a tool of war.

A grave and then a dove once more. "Okay, I guess some people die and then there's peace? Though we are going to a grave so maybe it's more literal."

Scars left by battle, now all you know. "Speaking of scars— he had plenty.

For hope to soar it first must grow.

To save all from an endless night, "Of course," thought Gregor, "It wouldn't be a good prophecy without the threat of mass death."

Call the one who brings us light. "Let me guess—" thought Gregor gloomily.

The coming years will prove and test. "So no quick answers then?"

And to pass he must lead a quest. "(Yippee!)"

To gather light and ascend the tower,

A mission accomplished by those in power.

Will he bring back life to all?

"Did these people ever write something cheerful? Something with a bunch of little pink bunnies and then a good old happy ending? Probably not."

Or will the Underlander all fall? "Of course, you decide to end it on a question," thought Gregor. The whole thing was maddening. They could have made it a little more specific. "She," thought Gregor; it was written by Nerissa... Whatever.

Gregor kept looking at Luxa for the rest of that day; all through making plans for the next day; eating lunch of beef stew; then preparing to leave the next day. He was watching her, thinking about her. He wanted to talk, but there seemed to be an inexplicable distance between them, and Gregor didn't know how to break the barrier and start a conversation.

Ripred had wanted to leave right away but the bats had been exhausted from their flight and needed to rest before flying again.

They took two-hour guard duty while the others slept. Temp and a spider named Revex took the first watch.

With so many people in the cave, it was quite tight quarters. Gregor spent most of the night jammed into Ripred's back. The rat did not smell good.

Come morning, Gregor was still exhausted, extremely sore, and desperately wishing to take a shower. His left arm was numb; he had let Boots sleep on it last night. It began to tingle unpleasantly as blood began flowing through it again.

Everyone began slowly loading the bats up with supplies, still groggy from the early morning.

It didn't take long to get the bats loaded. Once the bats had all the supplies, every single person, spider, cockroach, and rat began scrambling up their sides, trying to find a seat.

Gregor grabbed Boots by the back of her shirt and dashed towards the nearest bat—a small, fluffy gray bat named Hera.

They flew for most of the day. Gregor sat and entertained Boots while she chatted with Temp. He gave her the few remaining cookies that Dulcet had packed and gave her the beautiful, hand-made doll for her to play with.

Ripred called the bats to land and they coasted down lightly. The ground was covered in a pale green moss-like substance. Gregor looked warily at it. It looked harmless enough but after his time in the jungle, he knew not to be too trusting of anything with roots. Did moss have roots? Gregor couldn't remember; he felt like his dad had said something about Rhizoids or something to that effect. The air here was much damper than the desert-like environment of before. It was clearly humid here. Within a minute, Gregor's skin was damp. It was like sitting in a pot of soup. The air here seemed to hover somewhere between gas and liquid.

The underlanders set up camp, pitching small animal skin tents held up with some kind of fish bones.

"We're almost there," said Ripred, sauntering over to him. "We should be there sometime tomorrow."

"Where?" asked Gregor.

"Sandwich's grave." The rat eyed him doubtfully. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head?" He was mocking him. Gregor wasn't quite sure how to respond to something like that. He decided just to ignore it.

Gregor was exhausted and fell asleep the moment he lay down that night. Boots snuggled up against him.

Ripred roused them all early the next morning. Gregor drowsily moved away from Boot's warm form snuggled against him. He grabbed his backpack and tossed it onto his back. He slid his sword into its sheath. The entire party mounted up in near silence. Gregor carefully lifted Boots off the ground and onto his shoulder—his bad shoulder. He winced but didn't move her away.

"So why is Sandwich's grave in The Dead Land?" asked Gregor of Ripred. The rat was snoozing behind him. Ripred sighed and stretched before answering.

"How should I know? He was a crazy old man from a few hundred years ago. I don't even know why we're going to this godforsaken place."

The rat didn't sound happy, so Gregor decided not to pursue the subject.

But now that Ripred had mentioned it, why were they going? Had this been one of Sandwich's prophecies, Gregor would have refused to go but as it was Nerissa he had agreed. He had witnessed her visions first-hand. The whole thing still sounded ridiculous to him. Gregor's neck was tensed up with worry. What with most of his family in the Underland, Angelina missing and probably dead, and Luxa still mad at him, he had quite a lot to stress about.

Ripred suddenly sat up, nose twitching furiously.

"What?" asked Gregor, feeling panicky. Ripred normally only did that when he sensed danger.

"Nothing." said Ripred, "I thought I smelled—nothing... never mind."

"What?" asked Gregor.

"Just forget it," said Ripred, lying back down. The rat gazed absentmindedly over the side of their bat, a confused and (was it fearful?) expression on his face. The group traveled on for about two hours more before they were called to stop.

"Alright," said Ripred, pacing back and forth. "We should be there in about half an hour." He continued his pacing, occasionally stopping to scratch his nose with his hind leg.

"Once we make it to the tower—"

"Wait—what tower?" asked Gregor.

"The tower of Sandwich."

"What?" asked Gregor in disbelieve. "He had a tower named after him?"

"Yes," said the rat, shooting him an annoyed glance, "It was mentioned in the prophecy."

"To gather light and ascend the tower," thought Gregor, "So there was a tower... Looks like this prophecy is a lot more mundane than usual."

"Okay," said Gregor. —behind him Ripred started pacing again— "So what do we need to do?" said Gregor.

"We need to ascend—that is, climb— the tower," said Ripred, now speaking to the full group.

"His grave is at the top," said Ripred.

"His grave?" burst out Gregor. "What kind of mad man has a grave at the top of a tower?"

"Sandwich," said Ripred. "Obviously, or are you too stupid to remember that— rager boy?" taunted Ripred.

"So anyway, he," —Ripred jerked a claw in Gregor's general direction— "Will climb up and grab it."

"Grab it!" Though Gregor in disbelief. This entire thing was getting completely out of hand. He was supposed to climb up a tower and bring down some old guy's grave?

"Why?" asked Gregor, looking for an excuse not to have to do it.

"What do we want with his grave?"

"Vikus and Nerissa have proposed the theory that by life the prophecy means death."

"But that doesn't make any sense! And shouldn't Nerissa know what the prophecy means? I mean she wrote it!" Gregor almost shouted at Ripred.

"Nerissa claims to have no recollection of it," said Ripred, clearly frustrated by the argument.

"Fine," said Gregor, "Let's go."

They mounted back up and flew for about half an hour, before landing on an expansive field. Gregor couldn't see very far so he pulled a flashlight out of his bag and switched it on. The bright beam swept across the field illuminating a large stretch of ground.

Gregor glanced around, looking for the tower. He found it. It was probably almost a hundred feet tall and completely made of crumbling, pale-blue stone. Gregor had no clue how was supposed to get to the top. Maybe a bat would fly him.

"Here, are you, at last," spoke a voice that Gregor couldn't see. His head whipped around.