"I was wondering for how long I'd be rid of you."

Henry had not reached the steep wall yet when he heard the voice from the shade. "I have your payment," he said, watching her creep into sight.

"And what is it that you have concocted?" she asked bemusedly.

"See for yourself." Henry reached into his pocket and extended his wrapped payment toward her.

Kismet hesitated only for a heartbeat, then grasped and unwrapped it. As soon as she understood what it was, her eye widened. She hooked her claw into the loop at the bottom of the twisted handle, cautiously raising the round, see-through lens.

Henry delighted in the mesmerizing play of his torch's flickering light on the glass, distorting her eye. And then he took in that she . . . was actually looking at him. Not passively staring into the distance or squinting to barely make something out. Her gaze was on him, and for the first time, it was crystal clear.

Kismet stared at him for half a minute without breaking eye contact before she finally turned. Henry watched contentedly as she inspected her surroundings and raised his torch higher. But as fascinating as her indulgence in his payment was, with every passing second, Henry's impatience grew. He had to know if it was working as well as it should, whether it sufficed, and . . . whether she was happy with it.

When he finally opened his mouth, Kismet lowered the lens with a trembling claw and spoke first: "How did you acquire this?"

"I have a friend who is talented at building things. I asked him for advice on what you may delight in and for help in making it." She didn't respond, and Henry could practically watch her battle to retain her composure. "Is it strong enough?" he asked. "Or too strong? We had no reference for that, so it may not be perfect."

"It is not perfect," she said. "But it is . . . better than nothing. A lot."

"In that case, do you accept my payment?"

For the first time since he had presented her with the lens, something like agitation entered her gaze. "I cannot."

"What?!" exclaimed Henry. "What more do you want? A diamond the size of my palm? A golden apple from the Garden of the Hesperides?" He barely registered her head twitching at the mention. "King Gorger's tooth, perhaps?" Henry froze; his hand darted to the back of his hip and Mys. "Never mind that last one," he mumbled. "But my point is—"

"I've gotten your point," she cut him off. "Yet you are still missing mine."

"How so?"

"My point is . . ." She inhaled. "Not about whether this payment is adequate. Not about you fulfilling your end of this non-existent deal. My point is that I may not be able to fulfill mine."

"But Ripred said—"

"Ripred doesn't know what he is talking about," Kismet scoffed. "What he is . . . asking." She retreated a few steps, twisting the handle of the vision aid. Her stance and expression conveyed an unwillingness to give it up again.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—" She twitched. "Pup, I understand that you are determined. That you had your reasons to ask for Ripred's aid and to seek me out, against all odds. I understand it well." Before Henry could ask how, she continued: "You feel inept and weak. You are unsatisfied with your current skill because you know that you can be better. More. Is it not what drives you, pup? Is it not what fuels you? You long for it; I see it in your expression and your stance. I hear it in your every word. And you believe I am your key to improvement."

"Then you understand!" Henry exclaimed. "You have to—!"

"I do not "have to" anything," snarled Kismet. "I understand that you have your reasons to come here, yet you must also understand that I have my reasons to refuse, despite it all."

Henry frowned. He understood nothing, and apparently, Kismet sensed this. "Let me rephrase so that even you may understand." Before Henry could interject, she continued: "Like you, I have my reasons to be here. Here, where there is not a soul to bother me. And," she drew closer. "I am a researcher, not a teacher. I am not interested in a change of career, not even for . . . you." She eyed the vision aid.

"So you are not up to the challenge?"

Kismet stared at him, almost offended. "That is the oldest trick in the book."

"But you are not up for it," Henry taunted her undauntedly. "You are unworthy of the high praise Ripred sang about you. Give me my payment back." He stretched out his hand. "And so I shall go back and rectify his misbelief about your capability in great detail."

"You may wipe that smug grin off your face, pup," hissed Kismet.

"Only if you admit that this oldest trick in the book is working."

Kismet stared at him as though she wanted nothing more than to facepalm.

"By the way, my name is Henry," he rectified the other thing he had told himself he would during the fight here. "Henry. Not "pup"."

"Hen . . . ry," said Kismet, tearing the name into its individual syllables. "I think I prefer "pup"."

Henry made a face. "Fine," he said. "But only if you agree to my terms."

Kismet broke into laughter. "You would even let me call you "pup"?"

"I already said I would do whatever it takes!"

"Your will is remarkably strong," she finally admitted. "But as strong as your will is, you still have not the slightest clue as to what exactly you are committing to."

"Perhaps." Thanatos' words flashed in his mind, and Henry tensed. "But—"

"But you still practically burst with confidence and pride," snarled Kismet. "You think being an outcast has steeled you against anything, no? Certainly, this old, tattered rat has nothing new to throw at you?" She laughed. "You feel like Heracles, making off to capture the Hellhound, yet in truth you are Icarus, rising higher and higher, nearing your destined fall."

Henry frowned, but before he could ask about the odd names, Kismet continued: "Though I may not know your history, I see that life has not yet defeated you." She paused. "And before you say nothing can defeat you, Icarus, you should know everyone can be broken. The strong, the weak, the smart, the feeble. All that is needed is a breaking point."

Henry swallowed hard as a shiver ran down his spine. It was obvious that she wasn't referring to teaching him anymore, and the way she spoke left him feeling uneasy.

"Take it from someone who had the same arrogance in her youth," she added after a pause, "and who had to learn her lesson the hard way."

They held each other's gaze silently for a while. "Am I not here to learn a lesson?" asked Henry after a while. "Is that not why I came here?"

"I suppose so," she said, staring down at the vision aid atop her claw. "Your mind is made up, and nothing will sway it because you believe you have nothing to lose. And so, I have no choice but to concede."

"You—"

"You may stay, pup," said Kismet, and Henry barely believed his ears.

"I can—"

"Refrain from celebrating," she hissed. "I have not finished."

Henry's mouth, which had opened for a wide smile, shut.

"You may stay . . . if you accept my terms."

"Name them."

"You do not have yourself a deal yet," she snarled, beginning to pace. "You may stay, for the time being, and be put on trial. Does this not satisfy your desire to be trialed?" she mocked, and Henry made a face. "On trial . . . for a week. So that I may assess how much I can expect out of you and whether you are even worth my time." She came to a halt in front of Henry. "We will be evaluating, first and foremost, how serious you truly are. Is that understood?"

"In other words, you will do anything in your power to make me quit, and I can only oblige or leave?"

"At least you are quick on the uptake."

Henry swallowed. He already knew Kismet well enough to know that she was capable of making this week into a living hell for him. But he had no choice. He had to do this to get what he wanted.

"So will be the terms of our contract then," he said, staring her in the eye resolutely.

"So is paragraph one," she cut him off. "That I put you on trial for one week—seven times going to bed, seven times waking up. Paragraph two says that if you have not quit by then, I will consider teaching you. But if you do quit, you quit for good."

Henry frowned. "I have some concerns about paragraph two."

"What concerns?"

"It will not be that you consider teaching me," he said, crossing his arms. "During this week, I will fulfill all your demands and endure any form of torment you choose to inflict upon me. However, I require a guarantee in paragraph two that you will teach me if I do not quit. And—" Henry continued before she could say anything. "And so, the contract will become binding until . . . as stated in paragraph three, not you, but I am satisfied with the result."

Kismet stared at him with a mix of amusement and intrigue. "I should have known that you are not one to do things halfway," she snarled. "Fine. We have ourselves a service contract. Per paragraph one, I may subject you to a one-week trial. Per paragraph two, if you quit, it is permanent, and if you persist, I . . . am bound to teach you. Until, per paragraph three, you are satisfied. So are our terms?"

"So they are," concurred Henry.

"Someone should really write this down," she mumbled. "And don't look so delighted! This is where your hardships begin." She drew closer until she was inches away from his face. "You may have come this far, but when I'm through with you, you will wish you had never come here."

Henry retreated not an inch; he stared right back at her. "You're on."

An indeterminable amount of time elapsed. "Then go and tell your flier and make it quick." She finally turned away from him. "We have trialing to be done."

Henry's jaw clenched. "He already knows. He is waiting for me . . . elsewhere."

"Good call on his end," she snarled. "Wherever he is, he will have a better time than you. Now move along." She fell onto all fours and slipped away, in the direction of the wall. In front of it, Kismet did not halt; she climbed up undauntedly, and Henry stared after her, then at his torch. He could not climb if he had to carry it.

As if she had read his mind, her head peered over the edge. "Extinguish that."

Henry sighed and killed his light. It was a hassle to climb in the dark, but he managed to feel himself upward inch by inch, snapping his fingers periodically. The wall was only around twenty feet tall, and yet after five minutes, he had still not reached the summit. It didn't help that with every inch up, the air grew hotter and dryer, and before long, he was drenched in sweat.

"Over here," called Kismet. She sounded close, but to his left. Henry inched in that direction and cried when her tail wrapped around his waist, pulling him over the edge.

Click. Click.

In front of him lay a cave that appeared to be more than ten feet in width, extending far into the distance.

"At least you did not fall," said Kismet.

Henry listlessly reignited his torch. "When will we be there?"

"We already are."

Henry frowned. At first glance, this looked just like any empty cave, but as he followed on her heel, it didn't take Henry long to spot the first mark. He approached the wall and realized it was some kind of text. A shorthand like the one Teslas used? He opened his mouth to ask Kismet when his gaze met the walls further in and his jaw dropped.

Hundreds of scratched-in letters covered the walls and floor. Just like Teslas', they varied in shape and size, but they were unfamiliar. "Are they yours?"

"I have to document my research," said Kismet. "And walls may not be lost or destroyed. They will remain here for all eternity. They and the rest." She smirked. "Maybe one day, I'll show you."

"What do you research?" asked Henry, his eye still on the walls.

"My research is not the reason you are here," replied Kismet curtly, positioning herself directly in front of him. "So, let us begin. Relinquish your weapons."

"What?"

"Go on." She waved in his direction. "You have no need for them here."

Henry's hand tightened around the hilt of Mys. He could have seen this coming. Slowly, he began unbuckling his sword belt and dropped it in front of Kismet, together with his slingshot. Honestly, she was right, he thought grimly. He had no use for his weapons here.

"And the dagger."

"But that is a tool," Henry attempted to argue. Relinquishing his sword was one thing, but relinquishing Mys . . . He could not even remember the last time he had taken the rat tooth dagger out of his belt.

"A tool that you have no need for right now," said Kismet in a tone that left no room for argument. "Do not concern yourself. I will return it should you actually require it. And now give it here or go right back to where you came from."

Henry gritted his teeth. For one moment, he held her stare, then yanked the dagger out and tossed it at her feet. The sheath burned empty at the back of his hip.

"Good," said Kismet. "That was the easy part."

"If you are trying to make me feel even weaker, you are succeeding," he grumbled, wondering if it was wise to make an admission such as this.

"Pup, answer me this," she replied. "Of what use are weapons to one who cannot use them in the dark?"

"In the dark?" Henry froze with his torch in hand; he had been searching for a suitable crevice to place it in.

"In the dark," repeated Kismet. "Is that not what you came here to learn?"

"I came to learn echolocation."

"As in . . . to perceive without relying on your eyesight?"

Henry nodded absentmindedly, as he had finally found somewhere to leave his torch until he could fetch Teslas' device.

"Very well." When Henry rose back up, he found her directly in front of him, and something about the way she looked at him through the raised vision aid unsettled Henry. "Then let us get to it."

"To what?"

"To cover that up." She waved at his face. "You certainly have something suitable for that purpose in one of your fancy pockets, no?"

"What?!" Henry stared at her, wide-eyed. "I must relinquish my weapons, and then . . . what is left of my eyesight as well?"

"Are you not the one human capable of using echolocation?" she said in a mocking voice.

"As a last resort!"

"Am I mistaken, or is that not precisely what you came here to change?" she asked. "To begin using echolocation as one of your primary senses instead of a secondary aid?"

"Surely this cannot be how I achieve the required proficiency."

"It is not," uttered Kismet. "But it is a start. And now chop, chop. Do as our unwritten contract demands of you."

Henry gritted his teeth. He'd be lying if he claimed the idea of being left completely without his eyesight didn't fill him with sickening dread.

"I said chop, chop!" She glared at him through the lens. "You came here to learn from me. You practically begged me to take you on. And yet, since I have agreed, you have done little but object. Don't tell me—after all that, this is all it takes to deter you."

Henry stared at her defiantly. He hated little more than being subjected to absolute authority, but . . . she was right. He had agreed to it, and he would not give in. He would merely have to learn to associate perseverance—success—with following her every command without question for a while. He gritted his teeth, then sat down and tore a strip of cloth into the perfect size. "The road to strength involves embracing your weakness," he said, slipping off his eyepatch and dropping it into his backpack. "Is that today's lesson?"

"The lesson is whatever you end up learning," said Kismet. But despite her dry tone, Henry thought that, for a heartbeat, she looked pleased.

"It is," replied Henry sourly, staring at the new blindfold in his hand. "And for how long am I to keep this on?"

"A few days . . . or the entire week, if I feel like it," said Kismet. "You will see. Or, you won't." She laughed, and Henry snorted, then sighed.

In the flickering light from his torch, he caught a final glimpse at Kismet over by the opposite wall, holding up the lens to inspect it, and then he condemned himself to see nothing anymore.

***

"This doesn't seem to be effective in sharpening my other senses, if that was the goal!" Henry barely prevented himself from running into a wall, cursing.

"It has only been an hour. If it had made any difference already, I would be exceedingly astounded," snarled Kismet somewhere ahead, and Henry snapped his hurting fingers for what felt like the hundredth time today to visualize her. "And besides." Her talon scraped the floor. "The idea of "sharpening" senses is a misconception. One may learn to utilize them better, but not increase their function. That's a fallacy that should be discarded from your thoughts."

"Whatever." Henry sat on the floor in front of her and tugged at the unfamiliar piece of fabric on his face. The echolocation was helpful, yet it was mentally straining to use it the entire time, and he was already exhausted. "Did you not mention something about dinner?"

"Be my guest." Stone scraped on stone, and then Kismet's teeth cracked something crunchy. Henry gingerly extended his hand until it grasped something oval-shaped and compact that seemed like it could be eaten. He could not discern what it was, but . . . did he even want to know?

Henry hesitated for only a heartbeat, then stuffed it into his mouth. It cracked between his teeth, and he made a face at the bitter, earthy taste. It wasn't the worst thing he had ever eaten, Henry decided. Nothing worse than raw fish.

He ate five more, and then he finally lost the battle against his curiosity and asked what it was.

"Firebeetles," said Kismet. "They are the only edible resource that dwells in this no-man's land."

Henry instantly began coughing and choked on the last bite of what he now knew was a beetle.

"Relax," she snickered. "They are entirely safe to eat, and they provide enough nutrients to keep someone alive . . . more or less. And they are not sentient either, if that was a concern of yours."

Henry slid backward until his back hit the nearest wall. "That is not my concern," he coughed out. "You have to have better food around here!" Where was his backpack with the water bag? Part of him felt taken back to his first time eating raw fish, and he hated the notion that he may one day become as accustomed to eating these beetles as he had the fish.

"I do not," said Kismet, crunching another shell between her teeth. "I do not need anything else. But if you do, you may always quit."

Henry sat with his back to the wall for a solid minute, waging a war against his own mind. Within the span of an hour, he had relinquished his weapons and the last of his eyesight. And now he was to eat beetles. He took a long sip of water and made a face. But was he not being overdramatic? It was not . . . that much worse than raw fish. And he had once sustained himself with rat meat. He could not let it be something pathetic like this that made him quit.

And so he scooted closer again, reaching for the plate in front of him. What had that old rule of his been? If you did not think about it too much, it was fine.

It still took Henry nearly half an hour to choke down enough Firebeetles to call it a meal. His stomach still growled furiously, but he thought he couldn't eat a single more. "I will sleep," he said, searching for a suitable corner to settle down. He had only just arrived, and he already felt more miserable than he had in a long time. Perhaps ever since his and Thanatos' first month in the Dead Land.

"That is an excellent idea," replied Kismet. "You should be rested for tomorrow."

"What do we do tomorrow?"

"You will see," was all she said, and underneath the blindfold, Henry rolled his eye. At least with it on, he could do that as many times as he wanted.

***

Even after losing an eye, Henry had never given much thought to the challenges of total blindness. If Kismet intended to emphasize his complete reliance on his eyesight, she was not missing her mark.

Being rudely awakened after no more than five hours of sleep was one thing, but being rudely awakened to complete darkness was another. Even his regular morning routine suddenly posed a significant challenge. It took Henry a few minutes of ungracious reeling around and eventually running over his standing but luckily not lit torch to remember he could use echolocation.

"Where can I find water?" he asked, recalling that he had emptied the contents of his last water bag yesterday. But no one replied, and when he snapped his fingers, Kismet was not in the cave with him.

Unease rose in Henry at once. If something happened now, he would be more helpless than ever. Even if he took off the blindfold, he had no weapons. Dejectedly, he stuffed the torch into his backpack—clearly, he would not require it any time soon—and set out to discover where Kismet had vanished. At least now he had an incentive to explore the rest of the cave.

It turned out not to be as big as it had seemed; in the rear, it mounded into a narrow tunnel, and Henry made out what seemed to be a staircase, etched into the stone, leading downward. Henry didn't snap his fingers in a while and just stood in front of the tunnel, contemplating if she was perhaps down there.

"Were you looking for me?"

He jumped and almost tumbled when she spoke directly in front of him.

"I need water," he said, snapping his fingers and perceiving a snapshot of her ascending the stairs.

"After breakfast," she snarled.

"Firebeetles?" asked Henry, dejectedly trotting after her.

"Naturally."

All while they ate, a single question pounded in Henry's mind: Why am I here? It hammered unrelentingly against the wall he had erected to steel himself against the torments of her trial. Henry was tired and miserable to the bone, and there was no apparent reason to expect change any time soon. He was here with this strange rat, doing her every bidding, for . . . what?

"Why am I here?"

Kismet laughed. "You tell me."

"No, I mean . . ." Henry cleared his throat. "Ripred said something about a higher form of echolocation. But how does that work, and why can it help me?"

"You came here not even knowing exactly what for?" She laughed some more.

"I didn't have very many options!"

"Naturally."

"So, tell me," he urged. "Why is this form of echolocation so special? What makes it different from the version I use . . . Is it anything like what all the other creatures do? The way they fight and orient themselves in darkness?"

Kismet hesitated, then crunched the shell of a Firebeetle between her teeth. "No," she said eventually. "I would like to claim that it is fundamentally different from any commonly used form."

"Why?"

"Because what you all so amateurishly refer to as "echolocation"—producing a sound to perceive your environment—is a mere fraction of what this sense could be if only anyone would dedicate time and effort to honing it beyond their natural inclination!" she exclaimed.

"I have done that."

Kismet paused. "You have," she admitted. "Which must have been a most astounding surprise to not only me."

"It was to Ripred." Henry tugged his blindfold into place. "He said I was the first human to utilize it. To . . ." He frowned. "Reach the first threshold?"

"Cross," amended Kismet, laughing. "I cannot believe he has kept my terminology."

"Yours?"

"Yes," said Kismet, crunching another beetle between her teeth. "You know that I am a researcher. And so, one of the things I study is the art of perception. In the past, I had made myself the first one to push the, back then undisputed, limits of perception, with a special focus on echolocation. I had a theory that I attempted to prove, and after many years, I succeeded."

"No one before you has tried this?" Henry frowned. "I thought all creatures besides humans use echolocation?"

"All creatures besides humans use their—dare I say, somewhat constrained—ability to emit rapid, high-pitched sounds and analyze them for data. A more efficient variant of what you do when you snap your fingers."

"Right," remarked Henry. "You did it without making sounds, said Thanatos."

"And this is what makes my discovery so special."

"Echolocation that works without making sounds?" She had briefly mentioned the concept when they had first met, but back then, it had seemed too improbable for him to indulge in it further. He suddenly wondered if she could somehow use external sounds for it.

"For the layman, the basic version suffices," said Kismet. "Before me, no one has ever bothered to look any deeper into it. Or at least not so much that they would have documented their research. It is called inertia; those born with a natural inclination for the skill did not care to improve it further, and those born without believed it to be unachievable anyway."

"Inertia . . ." Henry shoved the stone plate with the Firebeetles aside and stretched. "What is unmoving does not want to budge, and what is moving does not want to stop?"

"Aren't you full of surprises?"

"I have worked for an inventor for three months," mumbled Henry. "This is child's play. And it makes for a creative way to call someone lazy."

"Or to describe your own unwillingness to stop moving?"

"That too."

"A change of state is always difficult," said Kismet after a while, to Henry's surprise, not mockingly. "But if we accomplish it, we are rewarded with an entirely new perspective. One that we never knew existed in our formerly narrow minds."

"Alright, but . . ." Henry yawned. "What does this have to do with echolocation anymore?"

Kismet laughed. "Fine, fine, let us not stray off topic." She paused. "You said it was your flier who insisted you learned it?"

Henry nodded. "He dragged me out of bed an hour earlier every day for nearly eight weeks until I had that first . . ." Henry snapped his fingers again, not to see this time. "How do you call it? Breakthrough moment. When I first actually saw something."

"You could call it a breakthrough moment," said Kismet. "I have taken to calling it . . . a threshold."

Henry perked up. "So that is what you meant!"

"Yes," she replied. "You, as a human, had to work hard to cross even the first threshold, whereas it comes to most creatures more or less naturally. Eight weeks, you say?" She pondered. "That is not bad. I have heard of humans trying for years without making any progress. I've my theories about why it is easier for some, yet that's a conversation topic for another day."

"None of them ever succeeded?"

"You would have certainly heard about it if they had."

Henry nodded. "But you say there is a second threshold. Is there a third too?"

"No." Henry heard Kismet's claws scraping against the stone floor to his right. "Upon crossing the second threshold, the boundaries of what can be perceived in the physical realm are attained. But what else may be practiced are methods to enhance the effectiveness of using perceived information."

Henry frowned, confused, and even though she could not see it, Kismet sighed. "I wager all of this is far too abstract for you at the moment. I will explain in more detail once you have passed the trial. For now, perhaps we should focus on that."

Henry cried when she pulled him up by his collar and put him on his feet. "Up you go; you've sat idly for long enough. It is time to work. You said something about water, did you not?"

Kismet guided Henry toward the rear of her cavern, where she turned right and led him up a narrow path. As they ascended, Henry could hear the unmistakable sound of water bubbling. But it didn't sound like a creek or a spring, more like . . .

"These are hot springs," said Kismet. "They produce boiling water heated by the magma beneath us."

It was then that Henry remembered the crawlers mentioning that she lived on an inactive volcano. "And the water is fresh?"

"I've been drinking it for . . ." She hesitated. "For as long as I've lived here, and it has not killed me, so it will not kill you either." She moved past him, and he snapped his fingers to perceive her next to a large boulder. "I usually collect it in this hollow to let it cool, but I presume you have some sort of vessel to carry water of your own."

Henry nodded, then veered and sprinted toward the path to the main cave . . . and slammed head-first into the wall. Apparently, the opening was a foot to the left. He screamed and sank to the ground, clutching his throbbing head. Behind him, Kismet laughed.

"Not funny!" He yelled, attempting not to begin crying. "What if I had broken my nose?" He touched it and winced. It ached, but it seemed to be intact.

"Come on, over here." She pulled the halfheartedly protesting Henry up and dragged him along. "If you wish to ensure the survival of your nose this week, you'll need to up your game."

Henry spent a few minutes collecting his belongings and navigating his way back up to replenish both his water bags with cooled water, freshen up by washing his face, drink, and fill the bags again.

By the time he was done, the water that Kismet had gathered in the hollow was running low, so he pushed aside the boulder to allow fresh water to replenish it. A distinct sizzle filled the air as the new water met the cooler remnants in the hollow. After a few moments, Henry sealed the opening again, unsure if the hollow had refilled but unwilling to risk checking with his unprotected hands.

Kismet was already waiting for him in the main cave when Henry rejoined her. His eye widened beneath the blindfold as she revealed what she had in store for him now.

"We would not want you to grow fat and lazy, would we?" She led him down the same wall they had ascended the previous night and through a series of tunnels that eventually brought them back to the cliff. Along the way lay an obstacle course that tested abilities such as sprinting, climbing, crawling, and navigating through an array of different terrains.

"Whenever did you set this up?" Henry asked with a wide grin. If she thought exercise was a type of punishment for him, she could not know him as well as she thought she did. This was the first honestly exciting thing he had encountered here.

"I did not set anything up," she replied a little too quickly. "It naturally existed in the environment. I merely decided that it should be an obstacle course from now on."

"Whatever you say!" Henry's grin widened. He didn't argue; instead, he stretched his aching back. Every inch of his being eagerly anticipated the long-overdue exercise.

"You don't seem too unhappy," observed Kismet.

"Oh, why would I be?" Henry put his hands on his hips. "Please tell me I can run as many laps as I desire. I am in great shape, you know?"

"You will run five laps," said Kismet sourly. "The climb up the wall is part of the parkour; poke your head in here every time you pass by."

Henry immediately darted toward the corner where he had slept and finally stripped off some of his now obsolete belts and bags. "I would like to change first," he said, pulling out a silk shirt as opposed to the sleeveless leather vest he had worn in the jungle.

And so, for the first time since he had arrived here, Henry's misery and gloom dissipated, allowing confidence to take hold as he took to the obstacle course. Navigating it blindly proved to be far from effortless, and he dedicated his first lap to figuring out the most effective strategy. Yet, by the third and fourth laps, he had committed it to memory so thoroughly that he hardly needed to snap his fingers anymore. And on the fifth lap, a surge of pride washed over him as he returned to the cliff, having completed the entire round without resorting to echolocation.

"Can I do five more laps after lunch?" he asked, dragging himself over the edge into the cave, panting happily.

Somewhere ahead, Kismet laughed. "Why does it even surprise me that you're into exercising? Fine," she said, drawing closer. "But then we must counterbalance it with a little ritual prior to bedtime that you might not enjoy as much."

Henry shrugged as he made his way over to his backpack to put on the shirt he had ditched and tossed into the cave after his first round. Mentally, he was already back on the obstacle course. Like that, even the Firebeetles tasted better, and a mere fifteen minutes later, Henry practically flew back down to see if he could perform even better. Perhaps, he pondered while leaping the final few feet to the ground, he could eventually install a stopwatch here too.

***

"So, how did it go?"

Henry raised his head from where he had leaned it on the wall and smiled proudly. "I'm contemplating expanding the parkour course some more; there's this one cave that I could possibly integrate and add an additional element to it."

Henry would have bet a lot Kismet grinned. "Is that so?"

He nodded. "But I'm incredibly hungry," said Henry with a sigh, placing a hand on top of his growling stomach. "Those beetles aren't just horrendous, but they also do not offer any sense of fulfillment."

"Fulfillment . . ." Kismet laughed. "Such feats are a luxury. And luxury is not something to be found here."

Henry's only reply was a groan.

"You will get used to it," said Kismet after a while, and so Henry picked himself up from the wall and dragged himself over to where he sensed the stack of beetles. Despite forcing himself to consume ten of them, his hunger remained largely unfulfilled. He yearned for a meal of grilled fish or a fresh mushroom salad . . . and fruit juice. The mere thought of it made his mouth water.

"I am going to sleep," Henry announced and yawned, then stretched his satisfyingly sore limbs.

"Not so fast." Before he knew it, Kismet had him by the collar. "Remember, I granted you additional parkour practice time on the condition that we perform a little pre-bedtime ritual."

"But I—"

"Come, sit here." She ignored his complaint, and Henry followed her over to his backpack reluctantly.

"What do you—"

"Sit," was all she said, and he sat where she indicated, with his legs crossed, frowning beneath the blindfold. "Right. And now?"

"Now, you sit still."

Henry's frown deepened. "I—what?"

"You sit still," she repeated, and he detected a smirk in her tone. "After all that exercise, you require balance. You put in a good three, maybe four, hours on that parkour course, so surely you can manage to sit still for just ten minutes."

"Ten minutes—"

"I mean silently," Kismet cut him off. Something clanked, like stone on stone. "I have here an hourglass. The sand takes five minutes to trickle through, so once you hear its second turn, you may move. But beware; any noise on your part will have consequences. Come tomorrow, you'll regret it."

Henry swallowed. Ten minutes, he thought and despaired. Ten whole minutes of . . . what? He blinked restlessly into the blindfold, feeling uneasy. How was he supposed to entertain himself? Unable to see or move, he was left wondering what else there was to do.

A scraping sound caught his attention, causing him to twitch. He wanted to ask Kismet what she was doing but quickly suppressed the urge and stayed silent.

The lack of awareness about his surroundings was the most difficult part for Henry. The urge to snap his fingers and take a peek was overwhelming, but he restrained himself by sitting on his hands. He was unable to move, look, or sense anything, and it drove him crazier with each passing second. His only remaining sense was his hearing, so he focused on it intently, pressing his lips together in an attempt to pick up any sound.

Out of nowhere, a jarring crash shattered the quiet, and his startled cry echoed through the room.

"That is your first strike," said Kismet, and Henry clenched his fist.

"You did that on purpose!"

"Strike two!" was all she said in response. Henry's mouth shut at once. Who knew what she would have him do for all of these strikes tomorrow?

As he reached the brink of endurance, he contemplated whether it was worth taking another strike to ask about the remaining time. The clanking noise that he had heard earlier was reminiscent of the sound when the hourglass had first been placed, and he had to have already endured more than half of the allotted time. Henry felt as though he had been sitting there for ten hours, not ten minutes.

"How much time is left?" he said when he could not bear it for a second longer.

Kismet laughed. "Oh no, did you really just do that? It has been a mere four minutes, if at all."

"Four—"

"Strike three, and strike four," snarled Kismet. "Ensure that you are exceptionally quiet for the remaining six minutes."

In that instant, Henry more sincerely than ever before wished that the ground would split apart and swallow him up entirely.