The moment Thanatos took flight, Henry drifted off to sleep. He wasn't concerned with their destination, as all he craved was rest, and he trusted the flier to know where he was going.

As he stirred from his sleep again, he was oblivious to their location. He did not bother giving it too much thought either until they entered a tunnel that followed the path of a flowing river. Not long after, Thanatos shot out into a vast cave; the river broadened and Henry's eye widened. He suddenly knew exactly where they were—because up on the cliff's peak, overlooking the river below, hung the remains of a bridge.

"The bridge!" He even rose a little, staring up.

"Is it of importance?" Thanatos gained altitude and soared above the canyon that had once been spanned by the destroyed bridge.

"The gnawers attacked us here during the quest for the Prophecy of Gray," said Henry. "It was our doing to sever the ropes so that they would not follow us."

Thanatos hovered above the scape. "Where did you come from?"

"There." Henry directed the flier toward a tunnel ahead. "Why?"

"So that we may visit the spinners," said the flier, already closing in on the opening. "Did you not encounter them on your quest?"

Henry hummed in approval and lay back down as the flier left the oddly bittersweet sight of the bridge behind. Well, at least he knew where he was again, Henry thought. Not that it did much for the unease that had nestled in his stomach and that he suspected wouldn't go away for a while.

They flew another ten minutes until the tunnel mounded into a cave with a high ceiling. There, Thanatos landed. "Let us eat something," he said. "And let us not over-strain my wing yet."

Henry said nothing when he slid off his back and settled himself on the floor with his back against the wall. He pulled his legs up, valiantly battling his throbbing head. After a minute or so, he finally mustered the energy to shake his torch out of his backpack. He needed light if he was going to tend to his wound, and something told him he should do that every few hours.

When Henry had finally managed to light and fixate it in Teslas' device, he spotted Thanatos sitting in the middle. "This cave is decent," remarked the flier. "Did you make camp here when you came this way last time?"

"I don't know," shrugged Henry. "Did you expect me to memorize every cave that—" He froze in his tracks, nearly knocking over the torch. He may not have memorized every cave they had made camp in, but Henry would never forget this particular one.

You know, where I come from, we don't think much of someone who sneaks up and stabs a person in their sleep. The words Gregor had uttered after stepping in front of Ripred like an ignorant madman when Henry had tried exactly that.

His hand flew to his own right arm to trace the scar—one of the few that he had received before his exile. The one that would forever remind him of Ripred and how he had injured him in self-defense.

His gaze flew to the corner where it had happened all on its own, and he clenched his jaw, recalling the emotions of that night. Driven mad by a desire to prove himself to Gorger, he had thought . . . what? What had he thought would happen? Henry made a face. That Gorger would show up here to laud his handiwork? That, if he succeeded, they may not even need to go any further, and that he may be back in Regalia on time for the upcoming Airball championship after all? Henry gave a scoffing laugh.

"Can we not fly back to the river if we are to camp somewhere?" he asked, suddenly finding it hard to stand the sight of the cave.

"We are more sheltered here," replied Thanatos. "You said yourself that you were attacked by gnawers last time. I doubt they will come here anymore, but better safe than sorry."

"I do not like it here."

"Well." Thanatos came up in front of him. "That is unfortunate, but unless you give me something more tangible to be concerned about, we stay. If you don't mind, resting spots are chosen by the one who must fly with a broken wing."

As much as he wanted, there was little Henry could say to that.

"So, what is it that you don't like about this cave?"

Henry nibbled on his fish, trying to make himself swallow. He hadn't had a proper appetite since before the serpent battle. But he had to eat something, and the fish boasting enormous, sharp teeth that Thanatos had returned with after he had gone back to the river for food were actually quite delicious.

For a moment, he considered just brushing the question off. "Remember how I once told you that I attempted to kill Ripred in his sleep?"

"Was it here?"

Henry nodded. "There." He pointed toward the corner that he had barely been able to leave out of sight. "For some reason, Gregor woke just in time to prevent it. Had he not, there is a good chance that Ripred may be dead."

Thanatos laughed. "The chance is slimmer than you likely think. But—" The flier looked back at him. "What was it that you wanted him dead for so desperately that you would try to achieve it this way?"

Henry shrugged, suddenly ashamed that he could not even properly answer this question. "I had been told that he was an enemy of Gorger's," he mumbled. "It could have been an opportunity to prove—" He broke off, staring at the floor. "Honestly, it was foolish," he admitted after a pause. "Then again, everything I did for that sake was. At least I did not succeed and do that asshole, Gorger, a favor."

"So, you never quarreled with Ripred personally?"

"Oh, I quarreled with him personally!" cried Henry. "He was unbearably condescending and sardonic. But that was not why I attempted to kill him."

Thanatos laughed. "Ripred is seldom not condescending and sardonic."

"So he is." Henry shoved the last chunk of fish into his mouth. "And yet here I am, relieved that he is alive anyway."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Henry returned Thanatos' curious stare. "I did not offer him a fair fight. And if he lives, that means that, someday, I may."

Thanatos' ears twitched. "Henry, please tell me that I have misheard."

A crooked smile appeared on Henry's face. "If you have heard that I hereby declare my intent to one day challenge the asshole—I mean Ripred—to a fair rematch, you certainly have not."

"Henry." Thanatos shook his head. "No fight against Ripred will ever be fair. Do you not know that he is a rager?"

"A—" Henry jerked up from the wall. "What an outrage."

"He is the Raging Rat," said Thanatos.

"He is a dirty cheater," replied Henry sourly. "No wonder that being better than everyone else came so effortlessly to him! Well, no matter." He made a face. "I suppose the first step in this challenge will be to discover a way to make this fight fair, then."

"You cannot be serious . . ."

"The rat will eat his words!" Henry called. "If it is the last thing I do—rager or no rager—one day, I will be his match, and I will give him the battle of his life!"

Thanatos stared at him, perplexed, for a heartbeat. "Big words," he mumbled. "Especially for someone who has just lost his sense of depth perception."

"That is why this is a long-term challenge." With delight, Henry noted that the flier expressed less doubt in him than he initially thought.

Ripred would presume him dead, Henry suddenly thought, just like everyone else. And one day, they would all regret the day on which they had written him off. One day, he would find a solution. And then he would prove it to every individual who had ever doubted or mocked him—first and foremost, Ripred. Henry's hand flew up to his eye; he was not done yet.

"Fine then," said Thanatos, to Henry's surprise. "Honestly, I cannot wait to see you try. But now, you should finally tend to that bandage."

Henry, who was struck with another mind-numbing headache, did not react. He gritted his teeth and slouched on the floor.

"Oh, come on."

Henry twined weakly when Thanatos came up next to him and lifted him to sit. "Leave me . . ."

"I will not leave you," said the flier. "Is that not what you asked of me?"

Henry had no energy for a reply. He didn't even have it in himself to pretend to be offended or protest when the flier shoved his backpack toward him. His hand-eye coordination had become so lackluster that Henry nearly dropped the bottle with the disinfectant. He gritted his teeth in anguish and embarrassment, lamenting the loss of his once formidable reflexes and dexterity.

"So, what do you think happened to the . . . the others?" Henry asked after the daunting task was accomplished. During his lucid moments, he had fervently attempted to reconstruct as much missing time as possible and remembered the fate of the questers who had fought in the Tankard still hung in the open.

"I have no idea," Thanatos admitted. "I only thought of saving you, then. Although I do believe that Aurora, Ares, and Andromeda made it. I have not seen Pandora, though."

Henry made a face. "At all?"

"No, she was not . . . with them in the Tankard, I believe."

Henry had no reply because he had no explanation. She may be dead; it crossed his mind. "What of Howard?"

Thanatos laughed. "Are you suddenly worried about him? Him, whom you mocked so relentlessly the entire time?"

"Was he there?" asked Henry without acknowledging the taunts.

"I believe he was," said Thanatos after a while. "On Andromeda."

"What a relief." Henry dropped the disinfectant back into his waterproof container. "I do not wish to be robbed of any future opportunities to mock him further."

Thanatos broke into laughter, and hadn't his headache picked up again, Henry would have joined him. "At least Luxa lives." His hand darted up to his face. And despite the creeping intrusive thoughts that here was another thing she had robbed him of, Henry thought if Luxa lived, it would have been worth it.

"Hah!" He fumbled with the bottle. "I suppose the whole "be a mysterious outcast hero" idea is off now." He couldn't be a valiant hero in his current state. With surprise, he noted that he'd gotten attached to the idea of being an actual hero. Heroes were admired, he thought. They were praised and loved. He looked up at Thanatos. "Be honest, had this idea no chance of success from the outset?"

Thanatos, who seemed to be inspecting the cave for suitable hanging spots, turned back to him. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I am not fit to be a hero."

The flier stared at him for an eternal moment. "You say this after nearly dying in an attempt to save someone's life." He said it like an accusation.

Henry stared at him, not mustering the mental capacity to process the words.

"Look." Thanatos groaned. "If I have learned one thing from being in your company, it is that you accomplish whatever you set your mind to. So, if you want to be a hero, I have no doubts that you will achieve that too. And," he hesitated. "That would at least be a genuinely admirable goal, for once."

"You really think so?"

The flier shot him a look that screamed "obviously" and Henry suppressed laughter. But when he reached for his waterproof container to store it again, the hinges gave way, and its contents spilled out.

Henry let out a string of curses. He listlessly tossed the things within his reach back inside and watched Thanatos shove the bandage rolls and his pack of pencils, which had rolled away, toward him. That, and something else.

"What the hell?" Henry reached for the neatly tied leather scroll. Only then did he recognize it as the one that Gregor had given him . . . as the Death Rider. He had almost forgotten it existed.

"Let us finally look at it," he announced, suddenly filled with an odd restlessness. "Gregor said that my sister gave it to him for me. Well, for the Death Rider. But no matter." When Thanatos looked at him oddly, Henry explained that Nerissa had been burdened with obscure and oftentimes prophetic visions all her life. "If anyone back in Regalia knows that I shine as brightly as ever, it is her," he concluded, untying the ribbon around the scroll.

Thanatos came up beside him, and Henry unrolled the leather. Taking in the messy yet distinct hand of his sister, his eyes widened in surprise . . . because the scroll read a prophecy.

"The Death Rider," he read, shaking his head. "I never knew there was a prophecy about him!"

"Well, did you ever search for it?"

"Why did you not tell me, Nerissa?" he cried out, like she could actually hear him. "You never told me!"

"Maybe, if she is a prophet, she saw that now would be a more suitable time for you to learn."

Henry made a face but couldn't argue with that logic. "Fine," he said. "Fine, fine. I suppose it is only fair, as I never cared very much for prophecies. Obsessing over them in the way that most Regalians do is quite ridiculous. I mean, they are engravings on a wall; they cannot strangle you if you happen to not do exactly what they want."

"Prophecies are meant to guide and aid, not control us," said Thanatos pensively. "Even when looking at Sandwich's original intention behind writing them, it is always said to be about aid. Allowing those words to control your every move would really be ridiculous. Striving to understand can never hurt, but a line has to be drawn somewhere."

"Thank you!" Henry exclaimed and immediately jumped when pain speared his head. "Shit." He groaned. "To study and dissect them is one thing, but we mustn't chase after them like a lost flutterer would chase after light. Ha," he snorted. "Once, when I was a child, a council member was arrested for defacing the palace. He had smeared paint all over the High Hall and demolished several valuable pieces of furniture. Apparently, he had read in some prophecy that it was expected of him. Nerissa said later that it had likely been a metaphor to express that he was the weak link in the council, "defacing" it from within, and should be discharged. Guess what happened?"

"They discharged him?"

"They did." Henry shook his head. "And rightfully so. But do you see what I mean? The prophecy held true regardless, yet the damage unfolded only because a weak mind became overly determined to carry out its non-existent orders."

"So, will you read this one then?" asked Thanatos, nodding at the scroll.

"Yes, yes," whined Henry. "I mean, I am curious. Just do not expect me to let it dictate our lives."

"I would never."

Henry squinted at the scroll and groaned. "This is too much focusing on small letters for my head right now," he whined but brought the scroll up to his face nonetheless. The prophecy wasn't long, and he forced himself to read it in one stretch, even though it shook him to his very core.

"Bound to fall and then to rise,

Life reaped by Death, in darkness pines,

Disgraced soul, this is no end,

Decide where you want to stand.

Unchain yourself from self-made binds,

Your true face, this path unwinds,

Darkness, loneliness, and pain,

Endure it all and reap the gain.

Face the past, where you belong,

Concede, and you shan't be alone.

In heart and blade's bright flame, you run,

Condemner, savior has become."

Deafening silence followed the last line. Henry found it hard to control his shaking hands; his mind reeled with the odd familiarity of the unfamiliar words.

"Would you look at that?" Thanatos spoke first.

". . . The prophecy is about me."

Thanatos hummed, peeking over Henry's shoulder at the scroll. "The prophecy is speaking to a boy who was bound to fall and rise again, whose life was reaped by . . ." He paused.

"Death, who pined in darkness," snickered Henry. "Because he had no life."

"A disgraced soul," Thanatos cut him off again. "Who had to find that it was not his end and that he had to decide where he wanted to stand. Who had to unchain himself from self-made binds in the form of stubbornness and prejudice to find the path that unwound his true face. Who endured darkness, loneliness, and pain and reaped the gain in the end."

"Well, the gain part is—"

"If you now say that you don't feel like you gained anything out of exile, just because of this eye setback, I will carry you out and throw you into the river with the flesh-eating fish."

Henry laughed weakly.

". . . You faced your past when you ran after the quest, thinking it was where you belonged."

"Concede, and you shan't be alone," read Henry before the flier could continue. "Concede? What does it mean—concede? I shall not concede!"

Thanatos laughed. "Perhaps it means that you conceded when you realized that you needed them, not that they needed you." When Henry didn't say anything, he sighed. "I'm not saying that your paths must never cross again, but—"

"I get it." Henry groaned. "I acted rashly. I chased after a goal that was unattainable. I . . . concede."

"Conceding is not always bad," said Thanatos. "It may become an invaluable lesson."

Henry death glared at him until the flier finally turned and read the final lines. "Your heart and blade burn with different types of fires, but they do," he said. "And you, who attempted to condemn the warrior, have now saved him. Him and them all. Is it not so?"

"Have you not forgotten something?" Henry was dazed, but his eyes were still fixed on the one phrase the flier had not addressed. "It does not just say "concede", it says "concede, and you shan't be alone"."

"You are not alone."

There was a long pause.

"Back on that boat," said Henry after a while, "I thought to myself that pretending that I am the Death Rider is childish and that, no matter how similar I am to the image now, I wouldn't attempt to become even more like him."

"But you are him."

In an instant, Henry was overcome by a profound realization. "That image of Death!" he exclaimed. "Remember, I told you that, on the mural, there was an image of Death behind him that I could not quite recall."

He dropped the prophecy, got a hold of his mother's notebook, and flicked through until he found his sketch of the mural, then scattered all his things on the floor in search of a pencil. He sketched another looming figure behind the rider's back. "If my memory does not gravely betray me," he said, holding up the book. "The figure of Death behind him was—"

"—a flier," mumbled Thanatos.

"It did not strike me as very unusual since humans and fliers are often depicted in pairs, but . . ." Henry raised his pencil again. "I believe his face looked something like this."

"A skull."

"Like that of any deathly figure," said Henry, and suddenly found his heart hammering out of his chest. "But while a flier with a skull for a face may have only been an abstract image of Death to me when I was young . . ." He threw Thanatos a grin. "It is not anymore."

"This . . . is no coincidence."

"And even if, I do not care," exclaimed Henry. "This is you and I," he said with conviction, holding up the page. "I do not care if it is childish. I—" He lowered the book, suddenly struck by a wave of barely containable excitement. "I am the Death Rider—the only Death Rider who will ever exist in reality."

Thanatos stared at the sketch with an expression that Henry couldn't decipher. "I was prophesied to save you," he said. "And prophesied to stay by your side. Just as you were prophesied to end up in exile and decide where you wanted to stand. And . . . to find yourself as the true incarnation of a figure of legends."

"The legend was spun after the mural," Henry mumbled. "It must have come after the prophecy. Maybe the artist found the imagery inspiring. But at its core is this prophecy." Henry picked it up and twisted it in his hand. "A prophecy . . . about me. This is so mind-boggling," he exclaimed. "Usually, we study the prophecy before it occurs, yet this one . . . doesn't it lie in the past?"

But Thanatos shook his head. "Perhaps. But I'm uncertain. The more I think about it, the more I am considering whether parts of it are still outstanding. Have you truly unbound yourself from all your binds?"

Henry shrugged, knowing that the flier was likely right.

"You tried, but you have not faced your past," he said next.

"What does that even mean?" asked Henry, and the flier threw him a bemused look. "Maybe one day you will find out."

"Hey!" Henry crossed his arms, glaring. But then another line came to mind, and he stirred. "Am I . . . did I concede yet?"

"Well, you . . . are not alone."

Henry said nothing. As more memories surfaced from last night, he continued to have an image in his mind that refused to be suppressed. Maybe because, in truth, he wasn't trying his hardest to suppress it at all. "But I might be," he said. "There is only one way to guarantee that someone may never be alone."

"To bond?"

Henry startled; he hadn't actually expected the flier to say it so nonchalantly.

"And what happened to your "bonds are overrated" attitude?" mocked Thanatos. "Is that not what you said?"

"Perhaps," snapped Henry. "And perhaps I also had one or the other epiphany since I said that."

"Is that so?"

"And what about you?" Henry glared at him. "What happened to "not now and not ever"?"

Thanatos froze. "That—" He stared at the floor, then suddenly shifted, looking up. "Forget about that. But Henry, we cannot bond."

Henry stared at him, trying not to let the words dig into his heart like a blade. But no matter how much he fought, they inched forward undauntedly, cutting deeper and deeper into his flesh. His mouth opened.

"Because doing it twice is utterly futile," said Thanatos before he could speak. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Henry's mouth snapped shut again. His gaze met his own hand and the image that he hadn't been able to suppress. "I remember," he whispered.

"Look," said the flier, as though preparing for an extensive presentation. "You were being stubborn and unreasonable, and—"

"You don't have to justify—"

"And—" Thanatos didn't let Henry deter him. "You wanted me to give you a reason to keep fighting for your life, and so—"

He cut himself off, hissing, when Henry flicked his ear with the palm of his hand. He didn't trust his own lack of depth perception enough to do it only with his fingers.

"What—"

"What?" aped Henry. "What is the fact that, when I recounted last night's events as I remembered them, you did not tell me anything about this . . . minor detail!"

"Considering you discounted bonding as irrelevant not so long ago, I did not expect you to . . . make such a big deal of it," mumbled Thanatos.

"Are you kidding me?!" Henry blew out a breath. "This is a big deal!"

"Why?"

He stared at the flier helplessly, feeling frustrated that he had to explain this. "Since when is bonding not a big deal?!"

"Since you said so. I mean . . ." Thanatos looked at him oddly. "Technically, it changes nothing, does it?"

Henry stared at him, bewildered.

"We have been bonds since last night," said Thanatos conversationally. "Did you notice any changes?"

Henry made a face. "Fine," he groaned. "I did not. But—" He broke off, staring at the flier. "It's not meaningless," he said after a while.

"No," said Thanatos, stretching his wings. He lay next to Henry and closed his eyes. "But you and I are you and I—bonds or no bonds."

"Bonds."

Thanatos opened his eyes and froze when he found Henry sitting in front of him, smiling, with his hand outstretched.

"I say bonds," said Henry, "because this means that you shall have me on your back—literally and figuratively—for the rest of our lives now. Doesn't that sound like the best of all imaginable fates?"

Thanatos looked at him for an eternal silent moment, then grasped Henry's hand with his claw. "Perhaps it does."