When Gregor came to, he lay face down on what appeared to be a large rock, with his chin dangling over the sharp edge. He jerked up and was immediately racked by coughing. Ash showered from his body, forming a dense cloud that made it even more difficult to breathe. After pulling himself to his feet and staggering forward, he tumbled off the rock and plunged into a mound of ash at least four feet deep.

Struggling back to his feet, he began to wade through the stuff, waving his hands blindly so as not to run into any obstacles. His head pounded so badly that he thought it might split in two.

Making it to a wall, Gregor braced himself and vomited until he tasted bile. Trembling and disoriented, he leaned against the wall, trying to contain the rising panic and clear his thoughts . . . What had happened? The volcano! They had been flying away from . . .

A vision of the mice surfaced in his mind, glowing in the red light—light! He needed light. Because he could not use echolocation, thought Gregor, dazed. It was then that he wished, for the first time in an eternity, that he could use echolocation.

Instead, Gregor dragged the flashlight out of his belt and found the switch. Yet when he flicked it on, it remained dark. It took him a few moments to process that ash obscured the plastic face. He knocked the flashlight against the wall and wiped it as best as he could on the inside of his shirt.

The light uncovered a large tunnel draped in thick gray ash that had formed deep banks like snow in some places and a lighter covering in others. Gregor waded through to find a relatively clear area to assess his surroundings, musing that he must've lost consciousness and slipped off Nike's back at some point. But then, where was Boots? She had been in his arms. Where were Luxa and Ares? Where were the others?

"Gregor!"

He jerked around when the voice called out and caught a figure in his flashlight beam, rushing out of the tunnel's mound. "H-Henry?"

"Make a little more noise next time, will you?" Henry halted in front of him, whirling up ash and panting heavily. The moment Gregor could make out his face, an immense weight lifted off his chest.

Gregor pointed at his bandaged head. "You don't have to run."

"I am not the concern." Shaking his head, Henry pivoted back and swiped his hand across his face to remove some clinging ash.

Gregor raised his own hand instinctively to do the same. Suddenly, every inch of him, inside and out, seemed coated in a layer of ash. "Where are the others?" he asked weakly. "Where is Boots? Did anyone else fall off?" He tried to scan their surroundings, but it was difficult with so much ash everywhere.

"No one else's heart beats here," Henry replied. "The others gather further down the tunnel. Come on." He led Gregor toward where he had emerged from. "Boots is there. She waits for you."

The smooth surface of the ash was broken only by Henry's earlier footprints. It muffled their steps, making them barely audible to Gregor's still-ringing ears. After a while, he couldn't help but reach for Henry and grab onto his vest, feeling as though he would lose himself without something to anchor him.

Gregor took one shaky breath after another, feeling his teeth rattle. His chest ached, and so did his head. "I . . ."

"Be not afraid." Henry wrapped an arm tightly around his shoulder, and Gregor clung to him as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did, thought Gregor. Maybe if Henry weren't here, his legs would have given way, and he would have plunged into the heaps of ash, never to resurface.

"Where are the others?" whispered Gregor. "Where are the others?" over and over, Cartesian's desperate voice in his ear.

"Not far," soothed Henry. Although, at that moment, Gregor registered that he was also trembling, if only slightly. "A little further. A little . . ." If Gregor hadn't known better, he'd have thought to hear an undertone almost like . . . despair in Henry's voice.

But Henry couldn't despair, thought Gregor, as he let himself be ushered along. Henry was . . . undefeatable. Not physically, but in the sense that he didn't despair. Didn't give up. Wasn't he undefeatable? Wasn't that what he had made himself into?

The tunnel remained unchanged, making it impossible to gauge how much time was passing. Gregor's breath came in short, ragged gasps. "Can I have a sip of water?" he asked eventually, and Henry reached into his backpack, handing him his packed bottle. The first mouthful he just swished around his mouth, rinsing the grit from his teeth. Then he took a long, deep drink.

Only when his eyes met Henry did he stop. He wiped the bottle's mouth on his shirt, then extended it. "Want some too?"

Henry accepted with a faint smile, rinsed his mouth as well, and then downed the rest. "We may have more water when we reunite with the others."

Gregor exhaled gratefully when Henry once again put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him forward. Eventually, he became aware of a faint breeze on his face and stiffened up. "Are the currents still going?" he asked.

Henry shook his head. "Relish the air," he said, and when Gregor realized that the breeze remained gentle and carried air that was definitely sweeter than what he'd been breathing, he did just that. It eased the pain in his chest and the ache in his temples.

"The others."

At first, Gregor didn't know what Henry meant, but then he spotted the twinkle of light in the distance. It seemed like a reflection of his flashlight at first, but . . . "There?"

Henry nodded, quickening his pace and causing more dust to rise. "I found him!" he called, but his voice remained barely audible against the stifling ash. "I have him!"

Then Gregor could make out a figure as ghostly and gray as his surroundings. He caught glimpses of the light again, brighter now. "Thank goodness."

"Howard!" coughed Gregor, breaking into a haphazard run—more like a clumsy gallop, really, because he had hurt his knee when he had stepped off the rock—and he nearly ran Howard over. "You're all okay?"

"How fare the others?" asked Henry behind him, but Gregor's gaze was transfixed by Howard's face . . . because the look on it made his blood freeze in his veins. No, they weren't okay. Someone was dead, thought Gregor. Hadn't Howard caught and steadied him, he might have toppled.

"Who is it?" asked Gregor, his heart slamming against his chest. "Not Boots?"

"What mean you?" asked Henry, coming up behind him; Temp was by his side and there was Boots in his arms. She seemed sleepy, her head resting against Henry's cheek, but she held in her hand her scepter with its tiny light and moved her other arm to pat his soft collar. She lived.

Gregor pivoted back to Howard, nearly slipping. "Who?" he begged.

Howard stepped aside wordlessly, revealing the sight of more gray figures behind him. At first glance, everyone looked alright. Ripred over by unconscious but breathing Teslas and Cartesian, Luxa with Hazard, and the cluster of five bats. But . . . Gregor squinted. He had miscounted. Only four bats huddled together. Lying on the floor, almost obscured by the dust, her head cradled in Hazard's lap, was . . . Thalia.

One moment of unbroken, stifling silence passed. "Oh . . . not Thalia," mumbled Gregor, suddenly having to fight hard to not hyperventilate.

"Thalia?" asked Henry behind him, and only then did he seem to process. "But she was . . . You had her, did you not say?" He sounded like he was asking a question.

"Who had who?" asked Boots.

Yet Gregor couldn't bring himself to even comfort her. He couldn't look away from . . . Thanatos hunched over Hazard and Thalia; he beat his gigantic wings, whirling up ash, as Hazard wept inconsolably. Only then did Gregor see that Ripred's ears were twitching and wondered if Thanatos was crying too . . . beyond any frequency that humans could hear.

"Death!" Henry handed Boots to Temp and sprinted over to his bond. Nike came up on his other side, and they all huddled around Thalia . . .

Silly, laughing little bat, thought Gregor, unable to move. But brave, too. Saving Hazard, trying so hard to keep up with the adults—still trying after the flood, the scorpions, and the nightmarish currents. She had been barely more than a baby, really. Now, she looked so tiny, with her wings folded against her. Without that bright, bubbly thing that was Thalia radiating from inside her.

"Death, cease!" begged Henry. "She cannot hear. She cannot hear."

He must really be making sounds, thought Gregor, but he could still not move. Could only watch as Thanatos buried his face in her chest, brushing away some of the ash and revealing a small patch of peach-colored fur.

Hazard's tears rained down on Thalia's face, his arms tightly locked around the neck of his . . . his bond, thought Gregor. But he suddenly knew that even if they hadn't been permitted to bond, Hazard wouldn't be hurting any less.

"It was the mark," he wept. "The mark of secret. It took my mother, and now it took her. Are we not bonds, Thalia? Are we not one? She mustn't die before me. Is that not how it goes? Is that not how it should go?"

"It was my fault," mumbled a deathly Luxa. "I should never have allowed any of them to come on the picnic."

"The picnic was not the danger, Cousin," said Howard. "I was the one who insisted on trying the Swag, and it was there that our troubles began."

"No, I did not fly fast enough," interjected Ares, his face poking out from behind Aurora. The ash was so thick on both of them that her formerly golden coat was indistinguishable from that of Ares'. "I had her, but I did not fly fast enough."

"Cease!" yelled Henry, suddenly springing to his feet and making them all jump. "I say cease!" His voice broke, and Gregor twitched when his fist smashed into the wall. "None of you have done wrong—!" His mouth remained open, as though he hadn't said everything he wanted to say yet.

"What the lad says," interjected Ripred. "She died from poisonous fumes, not by any of your hands. She was flying, so she breathed deeper. She is small, so she succumbed more quickly. None of you are to blame."

"Easy for you to say," hissed Henry through clenched teeth, pivoting to Ripred. "You were the least responsible. They did not ask you to lead them. No one will even know that you were here at all if we say nothing." He pointed a trembling finger at Ripred. "You must not speak, for you are only concerned about your own skin. As soon as things get tough, you flee, like a feeble coward who cannot bear the thought of facing any consequences!"

Ripred stared at Henry, taken aback, as did the rest of them. But before anyone could speak, a tiny voice interjected: "Shh!" Everyone whipped around when Boots waddled forward, planting herself between Henry and Ripred. "Too loud! Thalia sleeps. You are too loud!"

"No, Boots—!" Gregor caught her hand, but Ripred's tail whipped the air, silencing everyone. His gaze was still on Henry, but he didn't look hostile; instead, he seemed sorrowful.

". . . I merely meant to say that blaming ourselves isn't going to help anyone," said Ripred slowly.

Henry didn't reply. For a while, the silence was broken only by Hazard's sobs. "Why isn't Thalia waking up, Gre-go?" asked Boots, tugging at Gregor's leg. "Hazard is crying. When does she wake up?"

Gregor whipped away from the scene. Words lodged in his throat that he should probably say to her, but his head was a single, buzzing, hurting hearth. "Soon," he said numbly. "Soon, Boots."

Suddenly, the lie tasted almost unbearably sour, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her the truth yet. She was getting older . . . but he wanted to keep her young. Why would he inflict upon her pain if he may as well spare her?

In his heart, Gregor knew that he was only prolonging the inevitable. But when he looked down at Boots, who stared up at him with thoughtful, round eyes, he couldn't find strength within himself to hurt her—not even with the truth.

He only realized that tears had risen in his eyes when the first one rolled down his cheek. He stared at Hazard, clinging to Thalia, hearing Ripred's words that they should do something with her body. And it was all suddenly so . . . unreal.

Maybe she wasn't really dead after all, thought Gregor, as tears streamed down his face. Maybe, in a short time, Thalia would be back with them, laughing and happy. Maybe . . . Gregor sobbed. Maybe, by keeping the truth from her, he didn't just want to keep Boots young, but himself too.

A ceaseless time passed, and then Thanatos perked up. "I will take her," he said.

"Hazard, you must say goodbye now." Luxa gingerly pulled his arm.

"No!" cried Hazard. "No! You can't take her! I won't let you!"

The scene that followed broke Gregor's already battered heart. Luxa and Henry dragged a twining, sobbing Hazard away from Thalia. "She must sleep, Hazard," said Henry over and over. "Lay her to rest. Lay her to sleep."

But there was no comforting Hazard. His cries didn't cease even when Thanatos took Thalia's body away—to where, Gregor did not know.

"Why is Hazard still sad?" asked Boots.

Gregor pressed his lips together. "He's hurt," he forced himself to say. "Hazard is . . . very hurt."

"Oh," mumbled Boots. "Can we do something?"

Gregor shook his head.

"You say he can help the sick." Boots pointed at Howard. "Can't he?"

Numbly, Gregor watched Howard finally get a dose of sedative down Hazard's throat between wails. Only then did his sobs quiet, and despite feeling horrible for it, Gregor immediately felt relief wash over him.

Yet, even with the sedative, Hazard still looked and reached around. "Where is Thalia?" he asked over and over, in a sleepy voice. "Where is she?"

Howard caught him in his arms, cradling and rocking him back and forth. "You know, I lost my bond, too," he said in a stale voice. "Pandora was her name."

And when Hazard asked, Howard recounted Pandora's tale. But not only her tale. He spoke about her—not only the way she had died but the way she had been. He spoke so passionately that Gregor nearly began crying again.

They were so lucky that Howard was there, he thought. Howard was watching over Hazard; Gregor recalled his own words to Luxa. Watching over . . . them all—everyone who became unwell. Howard was the healer as much as Henry was the protector. But even those two couldn't do anything of significance now.

"You're not crying about her now," said Hazard when Howard finished speaking.

"No," said Howard. "I have become used to carrying her in my heart."

"My heart is so crowded already," whispered Hazard. "But I'm sure the others will make room for Thalia. She is not a very big bat." And with that, he drifted off to sleep, leaving Gregor to muse about all the others Hazard had lost—his mother, his father, Frill . . . and now Thalia had gone to join them.

"It's not fair," whispered Gregor into the stifling silence. "Why is this happening?"

"Because, apparently, the nibblers failed to satisfy the day's thirst for death," said Henry, blowing out an unsteady breath, and only then did the memory smash into Gregor: it wasn't just Thalia who had died.

"So it would seem," said Ripred.

As he surveyed their battered, sunken, beaten group, images of the mice and their cries echoed in Gregor's ears, clustering and making his mind overflow, making him shudder. He watched Howard give more sedatives to Cartesian and Teslas when they stirred, watched Hazard twine in his induced sleep, and thought, why were any of them here if they couldn't prevent all the deaths?

Not . . . not enough death yet. Gregor squinted, looking around for a grown-up—anyone to be a grown-up—so that it didn't have to be him. He wasn't a grown-up, thought Gregor, sobbing. And he couldn't remember the last time he had been so terrified of having to act tough or have a solution. All he wanted, then and there, was to throw himself into the arms of his mom or his dad—or really any grown-up—and cry the way that Hazard had cried.

Finally, he tugged on Henry's sleeve. "It's not fair," he whispered. "Didn't you say that we can't let bad things out of our control affect us? But how can we not be affected?" he begged, only in retrospect realizing that he had been counting on Henry's infallible optimism to reassure him and confirm that this didn't have to be the end. That there was still hope . . . somewhere, even if they couldn't see it right now. Wasn't that what Henry always did?

"Be still, Gregor," hissed Luxa all of a sudden, dusting ash off her pants. "You know nothing about the ways in which the world is unfair. Perhaps next time, don't expect it to be in the first place."

For a moment, Gregor found himself hurt by her cold voice, but then he realized that she was trembling miserably. Her braid had come undone, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Although laced with ice, Gregor heard perfectly well that her voice was almost breaking.

Then Luxa pivoted to Henry. "You told us that we hadn't lost yet!" she screamed, and Henry winced. "You told us that there was hope. Where is your precious hope now? Have you finally lost it? Is this finally enough now?"

"Luxa . . ."

But she shoved Gregor's arm away. "He must say that he was wrong!" she cried. "He must admit that we sat there, idly, as they all died. They died!" she spat. "They pleaded with me for help, and I did nothing."

"Didn't we say earlier that blaming each other isn't the solution?" Ripred chimed in, but Henry stared only at Luxa.

There was a long pause. Then he said, "We have lost," and Luxa's mouth remained hanging open. "We have . . . lost," repeated Henry with so much bitterness that Gregor felt an uncomfortable shiver.

"At least you admit it," said Howard, his tone as grave as Luxa's.

"Perhaps if we hadn't wasted so much time along the way!" called Luxa.

"We were not fast enough," mumbled Ares.

"Guys—" Gregor tried to step forward, but no one paid attention to him. "It was no one's fault!" He insisted. "No one's!"

But Henry didn't seem like he could even hear him. With his hair coming undone and the bandage around his head crusted with blood and ash, he stared at them all in a way that terrified Gregor . . . because he had never seen it yet. Not even back in Longclaw's prison. Even there, Henry hadn't let them quit. And when all hope had been lost, he had comforted them. He had never yet let anyone hurt on their own.

But now, that same Death Rider—that same Henry—jerked the back of his hand up toward his face and . . . sobbed. "Forgive me," he said, then pivoted away, slamming the palms of his hands into the wall. "I know I did nothing. I know that we have lost, and I did nothing!" he yelled. "I know that we wasted time. That we were not fast enough. That I was not—"

His voice broke, and his legs gave way. And then Henry—the unshakable optimist, the veteran, the protector—kneeled on the floor, his face buried in the palms of his hands, and . . . wept inconsolably.

For one heartbeat, an eerie silence gripped everyone else. Then, before Luxa could move or Gregor could realize that fresh tears were streaming down his cheeks too, Boots scooted over to Henry's side. "Don't cry." She wrapped her little arms around him. "It's okay."

It took Luxa only another heartbeat to drop to the floor in front of him. "I did not mean to blame you," she mumbled. "I did not mean . . . I didn't mean that. I merely—I feel . . . I—"

Gregor couldn't recall the last time he had seen her this genuinely lost. This vulnerable. But they were all vulnerable, he thought, as he kneeled beside her. "You did all that you could," he insisted. "You didn't do anything wrong. None of us did."

"None of us did, lad," echoed Ripred from the shade. "What say you always? Accept the past as it is? Or something sickeningly optimistic like that."

"I did not mean to invalidate your aid," said Howard in a grave voice.

"We wouldn't have come so far without you," said Nike.

"But it was all useless!" shouted Henry, shoving away Luxa's hand. "It was useless. Of what use is all this power I have if I cannot save anyone?"

"None of us could save anyone today," said Luxa gravely.

"But we can't let that beat us down," mumbled Gregor. "Isn't that what you said?"

Henry shook his head, and in reply, Luxa put her arms around him. This time he did not shove her away, and when she buried her face in his collar, Gregor wondered if she was trying to comfort not only him but herself too.

"Sometimes we lose without doing anything wrong," mumbled Howard, and even in his voice, Gregor heard the uncried tears. "We cannot make loss the measure of our worth."

Gregor scooted closer and wrapped one arm around Boots and Luxa, the other around Henry. His mouth opened but then closed again. He envisioned the mice and their horrendous deaths, and he couldn't bring himself to say that all would be okay or anything along those lines. "It doesn't always have to be okay," he whispered instead. "Sometimes it's just not okay."

No one felt like they needed to add to that. Gregor cried, and Luxa's trembling shoulders gave away that she did too. And it was okay, thought Gregor. It was okay . . . that it was not okay.

Gregor had no idea for how long they sat there, huddled, grieving together. After some time, Aurora, Nike, and Ares gathered around them in a circle. Even Howard, still cradling a now-sleeping Hazard, sat close by.

"Someone ought to scout ahead," mumbled Ripred eventually. "We can't stay here indefinitely, no matter how heavy our hearts are. We don't want today to claim even more deaths, do we?"

Upon his request, Aurora and Ares flew ahead to scout for a less toxic area. While they were gone, the rest of them continued to sit huddled together, and suddenly it hit Gregor that then and there, in this moment of grief, of pain, of discomfort, and of ache, he also felt more belonging than he had in a long time.

"I cannot bear the thought of just leaving," whispered Luxa after a while. "Of doing nothing for them."

"But we cannot do anything," mumbled Howard.

One moment of unbroken, heavy silence passed. Then Gregor perked up as a lone voice began to sing a familiar melody, this time low and somberly. However, when Henry began what should have been a familiar first verse, a chill crept down Gregor's spine . . .

"Laying still in firelight / See the queen who smothered light / Shining gold yet still as night."

Luxa stiffened up, and even Boots raised her head.

"Father, mother, sister, brother, lay to sleep / We must not weep / At least they found another."

Like all words, these were fleeting by nature; they echoed through the ashen halls, leaving behind no trace that they had ever existed. And yet, as Henry repeated the stanza of his lullaby turned prophecy turned requiem and Luxa joined in for the chorus, Gregor couldn't help but think that it might find the mice, wherever they were now. And even though they sang about not weeping, it only served to make Gregor weep more.

Gregor had just collected himself enough to join in for the chorus when the rest of them ceased singing. "Although they are so somber, your words are comforting," said Thanatos, landing beside his bond.

"The rhyme is a lullaby and a prophecy, the rhyme is," mumbled Temp, and for the first time, Gregor thought that being turned into a song might not have necessarily been against this prophecy's nature. Sure, it wasn't a children's song, but . . . a lullaby? Father, mother, sister, brother, lay to sleep, thought Gregor, shuddering again. Yeah, that seemed about right.

"Quite the talented wordsmith is the lad, it seems," said Ripred. "Not a bad parting gift at all."

"Where did you take Thalia?" asked Howard, rising carefully so as not to disturb Hazard's sleep.

"Back to the queen. So she might lie with the nibblers and not alone," said Thanatos. "The lava will claim them all soon. Half were already covered."

"Yes. The Bane does not only want to kill them. He wants them to disappear without a trace," said Ripred. "But "at least they found another", eh?"

Before anyone could reply, Aurora and Ares fluttered back into the cave, claiming that they had discovered a passage that led upward to cleaner air. Only then did Luxa, Gregor, Henry, and Boots release each other, rising from the ashes and dusting themselves off. Ripred ushered them toward their bats, and Gregor stifled a cough, thinking that it was about time to get out of all this ash.

"What did we miss?" asked Ares as Gregor fetched Boots and Temp and mounted up. On the short flight to the passage, Gregor sang to Ares Henry's modified song, and his bond grew very still.

"The words sound sad now," remarked Boots.

"Yeah, but even sad songs can be nice," replied Gregor.

"These words are very meaningful," said Ares. "I wish I had been there to sing along."