Thanatos touched down in front of the tunnel that led to the prison from the desolate Plain of Tartarus. Henry's senses were on high alert, attuned to the faintest of sounds, yet there was no sign of life within the cavern. However, down the tunnel that Kismet was looking into, there was unmistakable activity.

Henry exchanged a glance with her. "They assigned a single guard, from what I can hear," he whispered.

She nodded. "Well perceived. I suppose it would seem superfluous to waste guards on prisoners kept in an inescapable pit."

Henry strapped on his extendable fur soles before following Kismet into the tunnel. They walked the path for maybe a minute, and since there was only one guard, Henry had only his dagger drawn. When they finally saw a glimpse of light in what appeared to be the cave with the prison pit, he also spotted the guard, who crouched with his back to them, facing the pit. Henry exchanged a glance with Kismet, and they took one side each.

The guard cried in surprise when Kismet pulled him back by his ear, and Henry raised Mys to thrust it into his exposed neck . . . only to freeze when he saw her expression shift.

"Splintleg—?"

Upon the name, Henry took one moment to inspect the guard closer, and on second glance, he recognized the dark gray fur and the torn ear. "Oh, Splintleg," he echoed, and the former arena master shifted his irritated, orange gaze toward him.

". . . Death Rider?"

They held each other's stares, unsure what to make of the other's unexpected presence here. Henry hadn't seen Splintleg since before they had embarked on the quest to follow the nibblers.

An awkward moment of silence went by, then Kismet surprisingly released Splintleg and took one step back. "I see you two are acquainted." Splintleg whipped around to her, yet she continued undauntedly, "And here I was, clinging to the evidently false notion that you had retained your shred of honor since Gorger's fall. Instead, I find you associating with the likes of Bonebreak and the Bane. What a disgrace."

"Wait—hang on!" Splintleg shook himself, baring his teeth. "I am not here because I want to be here. What was I supposed to do if that Bane shows up in my arena and declares that it's his property and that my associates and I are a part of his army? Fight him?" He snorted. "I plan to live longer than those poor souls in that pit, you—" Unexpectedly, he cut himself off, staring at Kismet with widened eyes. "But . . . it can't be! I thought my nose was deceiving me earlier. You—"

Before he could finish, Kismet brushed past him and hooked a claw into the wall of the prison pit, skillfully maneuvering down what had to be a thirty-foot drop.

Henry returned Splintleg's bewildered gaze and shrugged. "Go," said Thanatos as he finally appeared beside him. "I may watch that he does not run off."

"I'm not running off," hissed Splintleg, but immediately after dropping Henry into the pit from a safe distance, Thanatos veered back to keep an eye on him.

The impact of his own feet on the floor of the pit caused Henry's peaked ears to vibrate. He felt more than saw three rodents, all hunched near the opposite side of the wall, and then Kismet on his right.

Henry had expected Lapblood to confront them first, yet then another voice spoke: "I-It has been . . . a while," said the one they had come for, taking a hesitant step toward him. Her voice was slightly distorted, likely from the injury she had sustained, but Henry recognized her all the same. "It i-is you, Death Rider. Isn't it? Or will you tell us your real name this time?"

Henry straightened out his back and stared incredulously at the haggard shape in front of him, with the crushed nose and the tail stump twitching on the floor. She was in miserable shape, and yet she did her best to stand as tall as he did.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Twitchtip," he said, managing a smile. "And my name is Henry. Although you are more than welcome to keep saying Death Rider."

Twitchtip gave a hoarse laugh before she keeled over onto all fours, retching. Another gnawer sprang to her side and helped her keep herself upright, stroking her side. "Death Rider," said Lapblood, slowly releasing Twitchtip and turning to him. "What brings you into this land? You couldn't have possibly been dispatched for our rescue."

"Not dispatched, yet that is why we came," said Henry. "We heard of your conundrum while spying on the Bane. Now that the path is clear, my flier might carry you out."

"Might, yes?" Lapblood attempted to sound sour, yet her voice betrayed her fresh grief.

"Mother, why is a human coming to save us?" asked a new voice, and Henry spotted Lapblood's remaining pup coming up beside her.

"Has your mother not told you about me?" Henry addressed him. "I am the Death Rider. She met me in the jungle when questing for the supposed cure for the plague."

"Oh!" called the pup. "The human outcast with a mouth as untamed as Ripred's?"

Henry snorted. "I take this as a compliment."

"His mouth is untamed, yet s-so is his spirit," said Twitchtip, inhaling with strain. "And I believe w-we should be grateful if they are—"

"Hold on," Lapblood cut her off, stepping past her and her pup, closer toward Kismet, who had retreated to the back. Henry pivoted to her, bewildered as to why she was not speaking. "He did not come alone. Identify yourself, gnawer!"

"She is an ally," said Henry, yet Lapblood seemed as though she hadn't registered one word he had uttered.

"Of . . . Ripred's?" asked Twitchtip, inching forward. Only when the light from above illuminated her directly did Henry see what kind of condition she was in. The injuries from the Tankard were one thing, but her fur was not merely clumped—it was bleached out and thin, and large chunks of it were missing entirely; in their place glared old and fresh burn marks.

"They tortured you," he said in a quiet voice, and she nodded.

"They t-thought I knew more about the humans and Ripred than I actually did. B-But they did not believe me. I know nothing!" she screeched, pressing her ears down and shoving her shattered nose into the ground, despite how she could no longer be overwhelmed by smells. "Nothing! Nothing! Nothing . . ."

Lapblood's pup came up beside her, pressing against her side. "No one is hurting you," he whispered. "Not anymore. They came to save us!"

Twitchtip whimpered, and Henry felt a fresh surge of determination course through him upon her sight. She had not given him away back on the waterway . . . Now was the time to get even. "We did," he said with conviction. "Your suffering has not been in vain. And it is now over. We—"

"No—!" Lapblood's astonished cry cut him off. "No! I don't believe it!"

Henry whipped around, finding her in the flickering light, face-to-face with Kismet. They were approximately the same size, yet otherwise couldn't be more different—Lapblood's long, warm, peachy cream fur contrasted with Kismet's short, pale. Yet only when Henry took in the astonished look of . . . recognition in Lapblood's eyes did he realize that they might have a problem.

"I did not . . . recognize your scent," said Lapblood incredulously. "How could I? How could this be? But it is you! I am not so delusional yet as to conjure your presence up with my mind, am I?" She sat on her haunches, then gave a low, respectful bow. "Whitespur."

As soon as the name registered, everyone present stirred. "Whitespur?" asked Twitchtip, even raising her nose out of the ground. "Is it . . . Whitespur?" She took one unsteady step forward, whispering, "I have only seen you once when I was a pup. But you are impossible to forget."

"Mother, is it really her?" asked Lapblood's pup as he drew closer, his eyes widening in awe. "Your old general? But is she not dead?"

"I believed so," mumbled Lapblood. "We all believed so."

"And you all believed right." Everyone flinched when Kismet raised her voice for the first time. "I am not Whitespur. Whitespur is no longer."

One moment of unbearable silence passed, then Henry jumped as Thanatos dropped a miserable-looking Splintleg beside him before touching down. "What is taking so long?"

"She is Whitespur!" called Lapblood.

"I knew it!" exclaimed Splintleg. "I could never forget you. Although your scent has changed, I will never not recognize the general who has always had my loyalty."

"Oh, please," Lapblood hissed at Splintleg. "You have forfeited your loyalty the moment you pledged yourself to the Bane. You are only a miserable traitor."

"And you are as honorable as you've always been," Splintleg snapped back. "Honorable and as good as dead if this folk hadn't come. Have you considered that I only wanted to avoid a fate like yours when I made that pledge?"

Lapblood growled, falling on all fours, and Splintleg did the same, baring his teeth tauntingly. The two looked like they were moments from leaping at each other's throats.

"Oh, leave it be," a voice cut through the loaded air with unexpected authority. "In over a decade, one might think you two would have grown out of your antics."

Both Lapblood and Splintleg froze in their tracks, eyes on . . . Whitespur, thought Henry, staring at her perched between them. There she was. The sight of her standing tall between the two, who gaped at her in awe, elicited a smile.

"It is of no use to anyone if you waste your energy on pointless brawls," she said, sinking onto her haunches. "We must get out of here as soon as we can. Yet first, we ought to make a decision." She eyed Splintleg pensively. "Where does your allegiance truly lie?"

"With you, Whitespur," assured Splintleg without hesitation. "It has always been with you. Had I known you were alive . . . Believe me, Sizzleblood and I attempted to rescue you when the humans caught you—more than once. And then they announced that you had died. Had I only known . . ."

Henry had never cared for Splintleg beyond their professional relationship in the arena, yet then he wondered for the first time whether he may have underestimated him. His loyalty to Whitespur seemed genuine, and it wasn't as though they could afford to be picky with allies right now.

"Sizzleblood . . ." mumbled . . . Kismet. Gone was the imposing air of Whitespur at the mention of this name. "Sizzleblood, how fare she? Are you two still acquainted? Has she also pledged herself to the Bane?"

"How fare she?" snickered Splintleg. "Ask your great Death Rider there. It was he who finished her off in the arena—your little sister. It was at least an impressive battle."

"Sister?" Henry exclaimed, then recalled how they had reminded him of each other when he had first met Kismet. An image of the first champion he had ever slain in a gnawer arena flashed before his inner eye, and he tensed.

"We were pinned against her during our very first battle in Splintleg's arena," said Thanatos. "We had no choice."

One moment of awkward silence passed. Then, to Henry's surprise, Kismet voiced something like a laugh. "Killed in the arena . . . by a worthy opponent. At least Sister died, just as she had always wished to die." Noticing Henry's concerned face, she added, "Do not feel ashamed. I'm certain you did what you had to. And it is not a bad way to go—in the arena, that is."

"I know," said Henry, noticing the subtle pain in her eye despite her calm front.

She threw him one last "I wish you wouldn't have to know" look, then turned back to Splintleg. "If we took you with us, you would go against the Bane? You would fight him at our side?"

Splintleg hesitated for no longer than one heartbeat before he determinedly raised his gaze. "I'd follow you to the ends of this world, Whitespur."

"Not just he," said Lapblood. "We all."

"I have not fought for you in the past," mumbled Twitchtip behind her. "Yet if you wish to fight the Bane, I will help you as best I can. He is not the k-king we need or want. Not I, not any gnawer with a last rest of sanity."

In the ensuing silence, Henry and Thanatos exchanged glances. If only more rats had the courage to speak like this, thought Henry. Ripred and . . . Whitespur could have an army of their own.

***

It took less than five minutes to carry the imprisoned gnawers to freedom. Splintleg, Kismet, Lapblood, and her pup—who had introduced himself as Sixclaw—could run; only Twitchtip had to ride on Thanatos to the camp.

Their flight was uneventful; the Bane's forces must already have gathered where he had ordered them. Henry wondered if they had any chance of following behind covertly, yet before he could share his idea, Thanatos landed on the very same ledge where he had kept watch last night.

"I see you have returned." Howard rose to his feet from where he had sat nearly in the same spot, eyeing the entourage of gnawers with both suspicion and concern until he spotted Twitchtip. His eyes lit up at her sight. "Luxa! Luxa, come! Come greet her! Greet Twitchtip!"

It wasn't long until Howard called all the rats together for a medical check-up. Kismet's and Twitchtip's assurance that they were all on the same side convinced him surprisingly quickly. While he bandaged and cleaned wounds, made splints, and listened to their stories, Henry prepared dinner.

"I am deeply sorry for your loss." Henry overheard him say to Lapblood and Sixclaw.

"Nothing could have been done," said Lapblood in a stale voice. "At least he is now free from all suffering."

"Is he with Father and our siblings?" asked Sixclaw. "Do you really think they are free from suffering?"

"I do," said Lapblood, huddling with her son after Howard had finished tending to them. "We must no longer worry about them. Never again."

Henry watched, feeling the pungent sorrow emanating from them, until he noticed that Luxa was watching them too. She flinched when she noticed him, quickly moving to exchange words with Twitchtip, as did Aurora shortly thereafter.

"You are the queen." Lapblood recognized Luxa, as they had all gathered for a sparse dinner. "Our last time together was short, yet Ripred spoke surprisingly highly of you after we parted."

"It is good to see you again, Lapblood," said Luxa. "And . . . good to know that not all gnawers fight for the Bane."

"Queen Luxa, what an honor," snarled Splintleg. "I've always wanted to meet you. And—did you just say Ripred? Is that old sucker still around? Not that it would come as much of a surprise, really. After all, we were rescued by the one and only Whitespur today."

Both Luxa and Howard raised their gazes. "Who?" asked Howard promptly.

Kismet sighed. "Perhaps you pups ought to know," she said. "It is quite pointless to keep this a secret for any longer."

With that, she shoved her bowl of fish stew to the side and began talking. Kismet told them Whitespur's tale similarly to the way Henry had told it to Gregor. She spoke about Gorger's former general, who had been tasked with defending the Garden of the Hesperides and then been betrayed by her king—left to the humans after the battle had been lost.

When she mentioned Gorger's betrayal, Splintleg and Lapblood's eyes widened. Had they not known? Then again, the king had hardly been going around bragging about it.

"Ripred rescued me, yet I desired to stay out of the hairs of others," she said. "I left to settle in the Firelands and began calling myself . . . Kismet. I was at peace, until," her gaze locked on Henry, "a certain brat crashed into my life without so much as a warning, demanding I teach him. One thing—or should I say one scheme?—led to another, and now these pups seem to have convinced me to join their fight, their war. Although . . . the more I consider it, the more I see that this ought to be our war too." She looked around, sitting straighter, and once again Henry thought to glimpse Whitespur's spirit in her. "The humans fight the Bane because he killed the nibblers, yet we gnawers must also fight him—for condemning our species. It is a cause worth fighting for."

The end of her tale was met with a long silence. Luxa and Howard exchanged glances, and Henry wondered if her being a former general of Gorger's would change anything, but they said nothing.

"So," Splintleg broke the silence first. "You fight for the humans. And for Ripred."

"That is who I fight for."

Lapblood and Splintleg exchanged looks, but then Twitchtip raised her voice: "And you are asking us to join your cause?"

Kismet twitched, staring at them in disbelief. "If I asked, would you . . . follow me?"

"I already said that I would follow Whitespur anywhere," declared Splintleg. "You saved my life countless times. You saved us all. Do not think any of us forgot that you sent our warriors out to evacuate as many pups as we could before the dike broke. We could not save many, but not many are better than none."

Twitchtip's head flew up. "You did?"

"I did not trust the silence," said Kismet, and Henry saw and recognized the look in Twitchtip's eyes as . . . gratitude. It made him wonder if she had been there. If she had been saved.

"I have also said that I will follow you always, Whitespur," announced Lapblood. "I have fought by your side countless times in the past. And now . . ." She looked at Sixclaw. "Now, you are all I still have to fight for. Longclaw may have bragged about inheriting Gorger's crown, and the Bane might have claimed it now, yet it was an open secret that you were the one we gnawers wanted to be our queen. In my eyes, nothing has changed."

Lapblood's words did not miss their mark. All eyes were on Kismet instantly; even Luxa and Howard stared at her with newfound respect.

Seconds ticked by, and under the burning gazes, she did not reply for a long time. Henry was tempted to speak himself when Kismet finally stood up. "Your loyalty is admirable," she said, taking a shaky breath. "But it is mistaken. Because Whitespur is dead." With that, she disappeared into the tunnel, out of sight.

***

The others already lay sleeping, and yet, as he moved down the dark tunnel, Henry could still hear the echo of their distraught voices in his head. They could already be on their way back, he thought. If only Kismet . . . Whitespur had made a decision.

Yet she hadn't, and so—for the lack of alternatives—Howard had sent them to bed. Not Henry, though. Henry had gone after her because he knew he might be the only one to whom she would listen. And she needed to listen because—

"I presume you are looking for me?" Her voice greeted him from the darkness, and only then did Henry's echolocation pick up her shape, hunched in a corner.

"Yes." He stopped, crossing his arms. "We had worry for you. We must move out soon, lest the Bane beat us to Regalia again."

"You are certain that it is such a good idea to go back to Regalia now?"

Henry froze in his tracks. "Was that not our mission all along—bringing Luxa home?"

"It was."

When she did not continue immediately, Henry sat beside her. "What have you concluded?"

"That traitor," she said. "If they are in Regalia, and if their goal is to kill her, they would have an easier time if Luxa were in the city."

"That is a fair concern." Henry scowled. "And yet, we should also consider the topic of morale—the people must know that their queen is safe, lest they lose hope." He pondered. "Perhaps we may get a message to Ripred to keep an eye on her."

"You . . . have a point," she conceded. "I might be underestimating her influence—not only on the Regalians' spirits."

"Yes . . . Solovet is still in command, and she has already proven to not shy away from using inhumane means to achieve victory. Who else might stand a chance at stopping her if she tries it again?" added Henry. "Luxa may not officially be queen yet, but with her there, it might at least be more difficult for Solovet to reign as freely as she would like."

"Then, if Luxa is so desperately needed in Regalia, why are we not on our way yet?"

"Because of you," said Henry sourly, and she perked up. "We cannot continue until you make a decision about the gnawers who have pledged allegiance. For, they have pledged it to you—Whitespur."

The name from his mouth made her flinch. Henry had never called her Whitespur before, but he suddenly thought it was about time.

A prolonged silence followed his words. She was quiet for so long that Henry thought he would have to repeat the statement, but eventually she whispered, "I cannot. I am not . . . Whitespur. Not anymore."

"Look—" Henry blew out a breath. "I know what it is like to . . . desire to reinvent yourself far too well. But . . . your old "you" is not shameful. And you said it yourself: We fight for a worthy cause—a cause that needs Whitespur."

One moment passed, then she leaped to her feet. "Have you not listened, pup? I am not Whitespur! I am not like you. Yes, I desired to reinvent myself, but . . . I failed. Not like you—because you succeeded." Henry could not tell if she laughed or sobbed. "I know you need Whitespur. Everyone needs Whitespur. They loved her, they admired her, they needed her, and she . . . abandoned them. She was the only one who could never love herself. Whitespur . . . Oh, Whitespur! You have no idea how much I wish I could be her again. For you—for this cause. But . . ." She heaved. "I cannot."

Henry's mouth, which he had opened to say something, snapped shut.

"Every day, I wish you could have met her," she mumbled. "For it is just as Goldfang said: you are like her in far too many ways—in your ambition and your drive, in your cunning, in your strategic mind, and even in your natural leadership." Even with only his echolocation, Henry discerned that she was smiling wistfully. "Oh, Henry! You know not how much I wish that I could . . . do what you need me to do. Be her . . . Be Whitespur. One last time."

Henry crouched in front of her silently, trying his best not to tremble. We are not the same, he thought. We are two sides of the same coin. I would give anything to escape my old self, and she to return to it.

He wanted to say so many things—about how she wasn't one or the other. That she, for as long as she breathed, could lead and inspire, that she was Whitespur as much as she was Kismet . . . because he had seen Whitespur's spirit alive in her. But then he said something else instead: "What makes the difference between Whitespur and Kismet?"

"You know that, pup," she said. "Where Whitespur was ambitious, with goals and the means to achieve them, Kismet is aimless. Where Whitespur was loved, respected, and needed . . . Kismet is forgotten and alone. They do not want her." She spoke so quietly that Henry had to focus to understand her. "Not even Ripred wanted her. He wanted Whitespur. He loved . . . Whitespur. Kismet . . . she is loved by no one."

Then and there, Henry threw all inhibitions overboard and wrapped his arms around her tightly. "You're wrong," he mumbled, as she gasped in surprise. "You," he said emphatically, "are loved. And wanted. And capable. No matter what you call yourself, you have never ceased to be anything short of incredible. Kismet was no general, but she . . . you taught me. Talk about achieving the impossible! You saved me. Is that not enough?"

She said nothing, so Henry continued: "You are Kismet, but you are also still Whitespur. You have never ceased being her because they are the same. Because they are both . . . you. That is why the gnawers out there see you and pledge loyalty. They believe in you, and so do I. Do Luxa and Howard, I am certain."

"That is . . . what Ripred told me." She inhaled, but she did not push him away. "That I can never cease to be Whitespur. That we are the same. He suggested I revive her for the sake of this war, to challenge the Bane's claim to the crown. But . . . I am not sure if I can."

"You can," said Henry firmly. "I have seen her in you, you know? Her spirit. It is there when you pay no mind. Then I sometimes see her. She was the one speaking to Luxa about being a queen."

"But I—"

"Whitespur is not any more dead than you," urged Henry, tightening his hold on her. "And if that's what it takes, I will call you Whitespur as many times as I must. You cannot stop me!"

She snorted, then finally dug her claws into his fur collar as though she sought to embrace him back. "I have since learned my lesson about fighting your light."

"If Ripred told you that Whitespur is still in you, then does that not mean that he loves you the way you are now and not the way you have been?"

"Pup . . ."

"I have made a promise that I will bring you back to him. Back to the light."

"He told me."

"Then you also know that any resistance is pointless," said Henry. "I shall not concede. And I shall not let you run from yourself for a moment longer."

She didn't reply. All she did was lay still, letting Henry embrace her, for what could have been minutes or hours. When she finally spoke, the pain and insecurity had left her voice almost entirely: "I will do it."

"Yes?" Henry released her and sat up, finding her full of fresh determination.

"I . . . will try," she said in a strained voice. "Perhaps you are right—you and Ripred—when you say that Whitespur and Kismet cannot be distinguished from each other. That I have been . . . running from Whitespur in fear that she might disappoint or that I might make a fool of myself if I claim to still be her. But perhaps you are right that I, even as Kismet, have achieved great things. That I . . . can still achieve great things. That I haven't lost that part of me."

"As if you could ever lose that."

She groaned. "Can you believe that I once hated her—Whitespur? So much so that I aimed to reinvent myself. But then I realized that I could not love myself . . . without her."

"Now you shall have her back," said Henry. "Yet not in the sense of turning into someone else, but in the sense of becoming . . . complete."

"I have not been complete in such a long time . . ."

"Then it is about time," urged Henry. "You will be not the Whitespur of Old, but the Whitespur of New—she, who may claim both Kismet's and Whitespur's feats as her own. Is it not so?"

"I ought to be she, who . . . has finally made peace with herself."

"So you ought to. In that case, Henry looked up and smiled, then tipped an imaginary hat. "How nice it is to finally meet you, Whitespur."

She . . . Whitespur stared at him, perplexed. Then she laughed. "So it is," she said. "It seems as though I really cannot escape your belief in me. Kismet served her purpose . . . Now I suppose I no longer have any excuse to run from Whitespur or the daunting prospect of her purpose."

"Kismet's purpose is fulfilled." The words filled Henry with both melancholy and excitement.

"I hope Whitespur will not disappoint."

"Never," said Henry. "She is you. And you, in every way, are the opposite of disappointing."

Whitespur laughed again. "It must seem so absurd to you," she said after a while. "To hear about someone who claims to have failed at reinventing herself. Considering that you succeeded—and so outstandingly, for that. But you must understand that not many can so excellently change themselves—turn a misguided villain into a powerful hero. You know that, for this, I admire you, Henry. The Prince . . . not of Regalia." She paused, then said, "The Prince of Outcasts. You should be proud of yourself."

Whitespur raised her paw and dug her talons into the leather of his jacket, pulling him closer. "I am, you know? Proud . . . of you. Always. You are my magnum opus. My legacy. My . . . one true greatest warrior."

"I know," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her tighter, although tremendous joy swept over him upon actually hearing those words from her mouth. And . . . The Prince of Outcasts. The title resonated in his ears, and for some reason, it flooded him with fresh confidence.

But . . . he frowned; something about her compliment still felt wrong. He thought back to his doubts and said, "It is not as great as you think—having reinvented yourself. I cherish the new me; I am proud of him. Yet at the same time, my old self still seems to haunt me, as though I am still caught in his clutch. If only I could carve him out of myself entirely."

"But you cannot."

"No . . . " Henry hesitated, then released her and sat up. "I can. And I now know how."

Whitespur looked at him, and Henry stared down at his hands, still buried in her fur. "It is his guilt and his quest for atonement that weigh me down. I strived for it for two years, but it has gotten me nowhere." His gaze hardened. "Until now—because I have made a decision."

Whitespur nodded like she already knew.

"After this war is over, I will leave," he said. "Leave them all behind—everything that wants me to feel guilty, everything that ties me down. Even if, through some miracle, Luxa decides to pardon me, I will not return there. As you so fittingly said," he finally looked her in the eyes. "I am not of Regalia anymore; it is not where I belong. Never again shall I be anything other than . . . the Prince of Outcasts."