"We only go to scout out what is happening; no needless risks, you hear?"

Henry groaned as Thanatos repeated the phrase for what felt like the hundredth time. "Didn't you say something about running into certain death together?" He whined, squinting into the absolute darkness ahead.

"What I said is up for interpretation."

They had departed immediately after the flier had gotten some rest, stopping only briefly to wash off the sulfur, but the trek to Regalia had turned out longer than Henry had anticipated. They had to take lengthy detours to avoid narrow tunnels and the land of the fliers that lay on the way. They may have been in the air for around twelve hours now, and with each passing minute, Henry worried more about arriving too late.

Just as Henry, for the hundredth time, attempted to calculate how great Ripred's headstart had been and how much faster he and Twitchtip would be due to their smaller size, Thanatos shot out of a long, winding tunnel into a vast cave, and the sight ahead struck Henry like a blow to the face.

There, in the distance, loomed a great wall, visible only by the evenly spaced braziers on top. And the sight of it drove tears into his eyes. Henry stared ahead and suddenly felt like someone had reached into his chest and closed a hand around his heart, squeezing it dry of fluids.

Henry angrily blinked the tears away and averted his gaze. He could not afford to get sentimental now. Then again, hadn't he agreed to come here specifically because of his own wretched sentimentality?

Then he forced himself to look again. Whether to punish himself or because he really wanted to see, despite everything, Henry couldn't tell.

He couldn't even see much from here. Only the wall, but even that had his throat lump and his heart ache. He could not see the city of his childhood with his eyes, so his imagination painted it for him. Sparkling and gleaming, brimming with the comfort and security of light. Of home. But . . . he tore his gaze away forcefully. This wasn't a homecoming. This . . . wasn't home. No matter that every fiber of his body screamed that it had to be. Why wasn't this home?

Henry wiped his face on his sleeve, swallowing repeatedly. He didn't want to feel miserable about this view. He wanted to feel like he was coming home. Like he always had in the past.

But it wasn't home . . . because he had thrown it away. He had left his city on that day . . . on the back of a different flier and as a . . . different person? Was he still the same Henry he had been on that day? Was he still Henry the Prince, who had left his city to go on a quest that he had known would end with his own betrayal? Or was he different now?

Before he could get lost in the honestly quite terrifying question, he was spared more misery because Thanatos veered and disappeared into a tunnel, out of sight of the city. Only gradually did Henry's anxiety subside, and he began to wonder if perhaps coming here had not been such a good idea after all. He had told himself that he would confront his past, but . . . the sight of only the wall made all his strength and confidence that he had accumulated over the last half a year in exile crumble.

Henry crossly tugged at his sword belt. This was not the time to change his mind. It had been his own damn decision to come, and he would not go back on it. He had decided where he wanted to stand . . . whatever it would take. And so what if that included a bit of heartache?

When Thanatos finally landed, it was in a cave some fifty feet above a fast-streaming—and awfully familiar—river. "How about you stay here and I go and scout a little?" said the flier. "It's dangerous for you to come any closer to the city."

"At least catch me something to eat then," said Henry, dismounting. "I can hardly do it myself from up here."

Moments later, Thanatos had dived and flung a fish at Henry's face without bothering to land.

"Don't take too long!" cried Henry when Thanatos was already making off toward the city. Toward . . . no, not home, he barely stopped himself from thinking it. Not anymore.

"Henry!"

He jerked up and stared into Thanatos' white face dazedly. When had he fallen asleep? He hadn't planned on it, but . . .

"It is not smart to sleep so close to the opening where you may have fallen out or been spotted," said the flier as he made his way deeper into the cave.

Henry scrambled to his feet. "What else am I to do if you leave for . . . what? Almost a day?"

"Half a day," amended Thanatos. "And at least I have news." He found a spot to hang further at the back of the cave and stretched his wings, watching Henry sit in front of him, cross-legged. "A flutterer with whom I am acquainted lives in a cave nearby. She knows the shiners they hired to accompany the quest, and so she told me they told her everything."

"Shiners? On a quest?" Henry snorted. "Are they mad?"

"The waterway does not glow in many places," said Thanatos. "And the shiners have light. Although I am inclined to agree with you, regardless."

"Wait." Henry frowned. "Why the waterway?"

"If you would just be still and let me tell it all coherently," hissed Thanatos, "you would understand. So." He ignored Henry's glare. "I have good and bad news. The bad is that they already departed, some half a day ago."

Henry blew out a breath. "Phenomenal. And what is the good?"

"The good news is that you won't have to feel conflicted about whether to follow them in secret," said Thanatos.

"How is that good?"

"They are taking boats across the waterway." Thanatos ignored him and yawned. "Apparently, the Bane is in the Labyrinth; you know, the part of the rats' land south of the Vineyard."

"So that is why they are bringing shiners . . ." Henry pondered. "Why does taking boats mean that I won't have to feel conflicted about whether to follow them?"

"Because they are traveling across the waterway," groaned Thanatos. "They are taking boats because this is the one trek that no flier can cross in one stretch. And last time I checked, you had no boat, even less one with which you could catch up to them."

"Yes, yes, except . . ." Henry perked up; his heart suddenly hammered. "You are wrong."

"Wrong?"

"You said, "No flier can cross the waterway in one stretch". Except that this is untrue. It would be correct to say, "No flier has crossed in one stretch yet"."

"No."

"Just because something has never been achieved before, that doesn't make it impossible," Henry spoke on undauntedly.

"Henry, no."

"But—"

"Henry, that is exactly the deal with impossible things!" exclaimed Thanatos. "They have all never been achieved!"

"All impossible things are unachieved," admitted Henry. "But not all unachieved things are impossible."

"Henry—"

When he turned to Thanatos with a wide grin, he saw that he had no response to that. "I had plans to try it, actually," said Henry without losing his grin. "Back with Ares. We even made some calculations regarding the approximate time and the ideal route. But then we never ended up trying it. Ares constantly claimed that he was up for it, but whenever I tried to schedule a date, he backed out. He always had some excuse . . ."

"Henry, you cannot be serious."

"Oh, come on!" exclaimed Henry, leaping to his feet. "You meant to try it yourself at one point!"

At the flier's baffled expression, Henry laughed. "How do I know? I know you. You have the most astounding endurance that I have ever seen, and beneath that obnoxious mask of apathy that you cling to for some reason, you have ambition too. Tell me the truth," Henry insisted. "How long has it been?"

Thanatos stared at him with an unreadable expression and finally averted his gaze. "Last . . . during my trek with the shiners," he admitted. "And, well, I may have considered it even prior to that." Before Henry could say a word, Thanatos continued, "But I cannot attempt this now. One day, maybe. But not today."

"Why not?"

"Because," Thanatos breathed in audibly, "I can only cross the waterway or I can hover around their boats, not both."

Henry's mouth snapped shut.

"And—"

"What if we fly ahead?" Henry perked up again. "We might wait for them on the other side, in the Labyrinth. Or we might rest there and fly back to meet them then."

"To do . . . what exactly?"

"To—" Henry crossed his arms and gritted his teeth. "Well . . . to take any opportunity that may arise to help. If I disguise myself, I will not be recognized, and . . . I just want to see them. One last time." For a moment, he considered the flood of emotions that seeing the wall earlier had evoked and wondered if he could even stand seeing faces. But he would. He had to.

Thanatos stared at the boy before him, at his hanging shoulders but also at his determinedly clenched fists, and he . . . to his own horror, found himself faltering. "You are willing to place your own life in my hands, just like that?"

Henry frowned up at him. "What?"

"Henry," said Thanatos with a smile. "You speak like this is not something unachieved. Something deemed impossible by most. Like there is no chance that I may run out of strength, and we both plummet into the water and drown."

"Run out of strength?" Henry snorted. "You? Run out of strength? Ha! Before that ever happens, the monsters from the depths will surface to carry us across."

Thanatos couldn't help but join in the boy's laughter. His unshakable belief in him was almost irresistible. It had been a while since anyone had believed in him like this . . . or at all. And it was dangerously inspiring.

To fly over the waterway . . . The flier allowed his mind to drift for a moment. How old was that dream? How long ago had the girl uttered it?

"You see," said Henry with another crooked grin. "I have learned to have faith in you. That is what you asked, no?"

Thanatos opened his mouth but said nothing.

"And we both know that if any flier is destined for it, it has to be you. The Crosser of the Waterway, they will say. With all my titles, is it not about time for you to gain one for yourself?"

"Who even would be around to—"

"Let us not wait!" exclaimed Henry. "No more waiting. Waiting is for the undecided. I will not allow you to miss this opportunity because you have decided to have no ambitions anymore. I will be your ambitions. If you do not know what drove you in the past, I will drive you in the present. This is your sign!" He waved a hand in front of Thanatos' face. "Wake up!"

I will drive you. Did the boy not realize that he had been doing that all along? Ever since they had first met? The boy had driven him . . . with that relentless resolve that seeped out of him and infected . . . inspired everything he touched. Then and there, Thanatos decided that it may be time to drop his last resistance. To, after a seven-year-long, self-induced slumber . . . wake up.

"Then share with me," Thanatos said after a ceaseless stretch of time. "Your research results. How long would it take? From where would we depart?"

The boy's eyes widened with such innocent joy that he thought he may as well have already committed. "You're doing it?!"

"No," amended Thanatos. "I said no such thing." He hoped urgently that Henry would not see through his lie. "I merely asked for your information. I will decide based on that."

Henry grinned up at the flier and decided to file that as a win anyway, no matter what he claimed. "Fine," he said, fishing for his backpack and his notebook. "Let us make a plan."

It took no more than five minutes to sketch an approximate map of the Underland, although Henry thought it may be a good idea to trade for a proper one soon. "It's some five days with the boat." Henry marked the delta of the river streaming below their cave with a cross and a spot on the outskirts of the rat's land, on the other side of the map, with another. "Flying usually divides the time of ground travel by approximately three, so one and a half days—more or less, depending on the strength of the currents and your own speed. Ares and I concluded that the best estimate is forty hours."

While Henry had sketched, Thanatos had dropped from his hanging spot and come up beside him. "You realize that I have never been in the air for more than a day, yes?"

"And did you feel at your limit?"

"No," Thanatos said hesitantly. "But forty, compared to twenty, is a big step."

"A no is a no . . . no?"

Thanatos snorted, but before he could object, Henry spoke again: "We must follow the river to the coast. There, you may want to rest and gather strength. If we fly, we can afford to take our time. If we depart, let's say, half a day from now, we may catch up to them . . ." Henry tapped his chin with his pencil. "What, well into their . . . third day? Should suffice."

Thanatos didn't reply, and only then did Henry notice that he was staring at the floor. "Hey?" His eyes trailed back to his notes, his grip on the pencil tightened, and he suddenly felt uncertain. "Look." Henry made a face. "As much as I know I need to do this—for myself—and as much as I would like for you to find your ambitions again—I know that I cannot force you. Technically, you would be risking your life for me again. And we had a rule about that, so—"

"Into their third day, you say?" Thanatos cut him off, looking up. "Should suffice, yes."

The flight to the border of the waterway took only half an hour, and soon Thanatos was flying above the open sea. He searched the steep cliff by the river delta for somewhere to land and found a suitable cave, almost a hundred feet above the foaming sea.

They ate dinner, and then Thanatos announced that he would rest. "Watch the algae in the water," he instructed Henry. "Should I not yet be awake by the fourth time it brightens—around nine hours—wake me. In doubt," he said, noticing Henry's skeptical face, "wait until you sense the currents have picked up."

With that, he disappeared deeper into the cave, and Henry sighed, attempting to make it as comfortable as he could for himself. Nine hours was an awfully long time to sit around idly, but what were nine hours of sleep against forty in the air?

Henry sighed and set out to handle the most critical task on his agenda that he had yet to finish. Sitting as close to the edge as he felt comfortable to watch the glow, he dug to the bottom of his backpack and pulled out the skull of a rat that he had found during their last trip to their land. The skeleton had lain around in one of the prison pits, and, on a whim, he had taken the skull along.

Henry turned it in his hand for a minute or so before he washed it to get rid of the faint yet unpleasant smell that clung to it. Then he fetched his sword and split it in half so that only the skeletal face remained. Any otherwise hindering or not aesthetically pleasing parts he removed using Mys; finally, he polished it with his wet stone.

It took him a few tries to get the size of the eye sockets right, but after what couldn't have been more than an hour, Henry pulled a quick string through the earholes and stared at the refined mask in his hand with pride.

He slipped it on, and it fit like a glove. There it was—his mask—that he had wished for, back at the spinners'. What would Thanatos say if he woke him up with it on? At least now, they matched.

Henry didn't lose his grin for a second. The mask wasn't just for the quest. It was so that he could look more intimidating in general. More like a hardened outcast mercenary and less like the sixteen—or was it seventeen already? year-old boy he was.

Henry frowned. Had his birthday come and gone yet? He knew only that it was around this time of year. It didn't matter; he decided for himself—by nothing but his own gut instinct—that from this day forward, he was seventeen.

The rest of the time Henry spent doodling—a first attempt at a design he had in mind for Thanatos, like a set of bags for him to strap on and carry, relieving Henry's own backpack and providing more space in general. Then he dozed off, for what he presumed had been a few hours. When he woke, the algae was dim, and he decided to let Thanatos sleep until it would brighten.

When Henry next leaned out of the cave to check the algae, he was nearly blown out of the cave by a strong wind. Henry stared at the brightly glowing water and thought there was hardly a better moment to wake Thanatos.

"Well, it looks like it's time."

Henry nearly fell out again when Thanatos appeared behind him on his own; they stared into the glowing waves together for a moment.

"It's time," said Henry, feeling a sudden surge of nervous excitement. "Let us eat breakfast, and then let us fly."

And so they did. Henry grilled fish on his torch, and Thanatos tested the currents, declaring that the conditions were ideal.

It couldn't have been more than ten minutes later that Henry sealed his backpack with all his things, including the mask. They'd be in the air for nearly two days, but Thanatos could catch fish for them to eat, and the waterway was fresh, so he worried not about supplies.

"Are you ready?" he said, mounting up.

"If you have faith in me," replied Thanatos, perched on the edge of the cave.

"Would you like me to prove it and jump?"

Thanatos laughed. "No need. I have faith in you too." He paused and left Henry to ponder the odd emotion the words evoked. "I suppose, in that case, I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Hopefully, I will feel better once I am in the air."

"You will be fine." Henry flicked at Thanatos' ear, and the flier twitched.

"If only my stamina could be replenished by your neverending faith," said Thanatos, and before Henry could respond, he vaulted out of the cave.

The moment he was out, a current caught and propelled him forward, and Henry flattened himself out on his back so as not to be blown off.

The initial minute of Thanatos' flight was marked by a brutal struggle against the unyielding winds, with wild and unpredictable movements that even Henry, an avid fan of stunt flying, found overwhelming. Eventually, the flier caught one good current that propelled him forward, out, and over the open sea. The wind carried him much faster than he would have been able to fly on his own, and when Henry felt Thanatos beneath him relax, he knew they were in the clear.

They were . . . flying, he thought, and finally sat upright, grinning. They would be for the next forty hours . . . and he had nothing to occupy himself with. He made a face.

Pausing momentarily, Henry wavered before a playful grin broke out on his face. Then, he reverted to an old habit and let himself fall backward until he lay on his back, with his feet casually hanging near the flier's face. He stared up at the distant ceiling that was obstructed by darkness and wondered how long it would take until even his passionately adored art of the aerial would inevitably bore him.