They might have been flying for less than five minutes, and Gregor was already frustrated with the dark again. He had switched his flashlight off to conserve the battery, but he hated seeing nothing. If he saw nothing with his eyes, he saw all that he had been trying not to think about before his inner eye.

"Henry?"

"What troubles you?"

Gregor breathed in. So many things troubled him—Solovet's reinstatement, the war, the prophecy, his yelling at Luxa, the promise to Dulcet that he'd broken after all, the fact that he wanted to let himself be a child but didn't feel like he could afford it. The fact that there, at the back of his mind, had recently been banging his old resolution: that he couldn't afford to hope or dream about the future . . . because he likely had no future at all. Henry would have things to say about that, thought Gregor.

But then he pictured Henry's tense expression and the way that Howard had screamed at him . . . and he clenched his mouth shut. Henry had enough problems as it was without Gregor unloading on him too.

With something like surprise, Gregor registered that he had subconsciously been yearning for this reunion for this very sake; something within him had thought, "If only Henry were here, and I could talk to him about all this, I'd feel better."

But now that Henry was actually here—now that he was out here again—he wished for nothing more than to just be back in Regalia instead. He just wanted to be home, thought Gregor. Home . . . where there was no fighting. With his family. But home was also war, he realized suddenly. If he were in Regalia now, he'd likely be sent into battle, and the prophecy might be fulfilled sooner rather than later. While his friends were all still mad at each other.

Gregor groaned, then asked one of the least daunting questions he'd had for Henry: "Remember how I asked you to help me learn echolocation a while ago?"

"Indeed," replied Henry. "If we have time, I shall do my best."

Gregor nodded, then remembered that it was dark. "Thanks," he said. "I . . . Part of me still thinks it's ridiculous. That I could never do it. But maybe . . ."

"Oh, we shall see," said Henry in an upbeat tone. "I have never yet been deterred by a seeming impossibility."

Gregor nodded again, and before he could once more translate his nod into words, Henry said, "I can sense your nodding, in case you did not realize. With . . . echolocation."

They laughed together, and another swell of frustration at Howard's behavior rose in Gregor. It was not fair to treat Henry the way Howard did now—of this he was certain without a doubt. Immediately, a fresh wave of guilt swept over Gregor when he also recalled that he had not dared defend him earlier.

Even though Ares had claimed that his neutrality toward Henry's betrayal made him an ideal judge of the situation, he didn't want to come across as telling all the others how to feel. It wasn't his place . . . was it? In the dark, Gregor strained to make out the shapes of his hands. Did this mean he couldn't speak his mind? In the back of his head, something kept urging him to do it, but his self-doubt had always been stronger these days.

Luxa's pale, almost lifeless, face reappeared in his mind, and for the hundredth time, he wondered how she must be feeling now. She acted strange, unlike Gregor had ever seen her, and while he understood she was under a lot of pressure, he also felt like it was . . . more than that.

Swallowing the frustration with himself and everyone else for piling on more problems, Gregor thought he might ask about Henry's earlier conversation with Ares next. Yet, unexpectedly, Henry spoke first: "I have not asked yet—have you read your prophecy at last?"

Gregor tensed, then shrugged. "Yeah. But they're just . . . pointless words, right?"

"Well, no," said Henry, to Gregor's surprise. "Perhaps I have phrased that wrong. I was referring to all that "ticking, clicking, rapping, tapping" nonsense. Or was I mistaken about that?"

Gregor's eyes widened. "Oh! No, that's there."

"Good, but what else?" asked Henry. "Did you also understand the parts of it that were not pointless? Have you gained what may be gained from it?"

Gregor frowned, then shrugged. "That I need this sword," he said after a while, pointing at the jeweled hilt in his belt. That there's war. That there will be some kind of code that has to be broken. That the "princess" will play a part in that."

"Is that not how the crawlers call your sister?"

Gregor nodded. "I have no idea how that's supposed to come into play, though. Anyway . . ." He looked up. "That's the gist."

"Are you certain?" asked Henry. "I mean, that sounds so straightforward."

"It honestly was."

"Prophecies are never straightforward," said Henry pensively.

"There, you almost sounded like your sister," Ares chimed in, and both Henry and Gregor laughed.

"I shall take this as a compliment," declared Henry. "And on that note, have you spoken to Nerissa about this prophecy?"

Gregor's eyes widened. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't see her. I meant to deliver your greeting, really. Just that . . . I didn't have that much time, and—"

"Take ease." Henry nudged him in the back gently, and Gregor felt a wave of an undefined emotion that had eluded him since he had returned to Regalia; it almost brought tears to his eyes.

"I am not my sister. I am no expert in prophecies," said Henry after a pause. "But since she is not here, you shall have to make do with me until you see her again. So, then, speak—what about all that nonsense? The words that seem pointless? Have they a point after all? Has . . . Know you why it is even named the Prophecy of Time?"

"Well . . . because it's about how precious time is," said Gregor. "Because it's running out. Because if we stand still, it will run out and won't turn back."

"Indeed," said Henry, and Gregor detected a genuine smile in his voice. "So, have you made your decision about what you do with your precious time, then?"

Gregor froze, then turned his head, even though he saw nothing. "That's what the decision is about?"

"What else?"

Gregor frowned, thinking about how his time, in general, may be limited now and whether that shouldn't influence his response. "Yeah," he said after concluding that it didn't. "I'm going to spend my time here with you all. Fighting together. Sometimes you just have to fight," he mumbled. "Right? Like, sometimes not fighting—sitting idly—is wrong. Isn't that why you made that vow with Luxa? Because fighting now is . . . right."

Henry hummed in approval. "One should never be the first to draw their sword. Yet only a fool stands idle when their opponent strikes first."

"Such diplomatic words from the mouth of such a skilled warrior," said Ares cautiously.

"I do not limit myself to one or the other," retorted Henry. "Diplomacy and combat both have their place and time, so I have taken to honing both."

"Oh no," said Ares. "Who are you, and what have you done with Henry?"

"The Henry of Old?" asked Henry. "That Henry is dead."

"Dead . . . in a pit with Gorger's gnawers," mumbled Ares. "I was correct."

"That's really amazing," mumbled Gregor. "It couldn't have been easy, and yet you managed to grow after all that. You're amazing."

"It is all a matter of mindset," said Henry, and in his voice, Gregor heard more joyous pride than he had in a while. The mental image of Henry's smile made him smile too. "A matter of a . . . change in perspective," continued Henry. "I have come to experience many instances that proved violence to be a lousy first response."

"It's like what Hamnet said," concluded Gregor. "About how most creatures don't want to fight."

"I suppose," grumbled Henry. "Just this once, it is as Hamnet said. Yet, back in Longclaw's prison, Death and I concluded that to sow peace, sometimes a little bloodshed is necessary. When Longclaw first harmed us, we left him alone. We gave him the chance to pursue peace. He did not take this chance . . . Is that not the same as what you did with the Bane? When you did not slay him as a pup?"

Gregor froze. "Y-You're right. I tried leaving him in peace. I brought him to Ripred."

"And yet he keeps causing more harm." Henry finished his sentence. "Now is the right time to fight."

Gregor smiled more brightly than before. "Thanks. I kind of needed to hear that. I'm going to fight," he declared. "But on my own terms. That's why I came with Luxa."

"Attaboy." Henry nudged him in the back again. "That is how you make me proud."

There was a pause that felt far less loaded than all the silence that had preceded it. "You . . ." Ares broke it first. "I mean no offense, but are you certain that you are . . . Henry?"

"I am only a little wiser. Yet I'm the same Henry who vouched for you after you crashed into the scaffolding near our old cave twice in a row, causing it to collapse," said Henry conversationally.

"I—" Ares stammered. "We . . . have vowed to never speak of this."

"But Gregor is your bond. You should not have secrets," teased Henry. "Oh, if we ever find ourselves with time, I have so many stories to tell you."

"No," said Ares, mortified.

"It's okay!" Gregor intervened quickly. "I . . . I'm fine."

There was a pause, then Ares concluded with a sigh, "You are Henry. Even if you are wiser and more heroic than you have ever been."

"I am," replied Henry. "And you are still a moody loner with a bad reputation that does not genuinely befit your soft and melancholic heart."

Gregor had to fight with all his might to suppress a snort of laughter.

"Oh, yes?" asked Ares with a cautious edge.

"Do not misunderstand," amended Henry. "I say this not as a bad thing. I say this because it indicates that the two of you fit with each other well. You have both suffered much, whereas you prefer peace. You have fearsome, grim reputations and titles that do not fit you because you are soft and kind of heart. What a warrior and his god of war! I say let us ensure that they may both preserve the kindness in their hearts. It is so awfully difficult to come across."

Gregor nodded with conviction. Briefly, he recalled the knight statue and the knight's numbness he had felt while reading the Prophecy of Time. But then and there, he realized that numbness wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to preserve his kindness and the life in his heart, thought Gregor defiantly. Sandwich could maybe foretell his death, but he couldn't force him to accept it just like that. Not like this, Gregor thought, feeling a shudder at the memory of the knight's blank stone face. Not like this!

"Henry?" He perked up again when he remembered that he still hadn't asked him about the Prophecy of Gray. But then Thanatos, who was leading the way with Ripred on his back, suddenly cried out and twisted left; Ares and Aurora followed on his heel.

Gregor could still barely see, so he heard them before he spotted them: There, in the water, clinging to what looked like rotting vines that must have drifted here from some jungle area, were the up-and-down-bobbing heads of two bats.

He sensed more than he saw Thanatos diving for them. Even with Ripred on his back, he managed to lift one of them out of the water and onto a ledge. Ares followed suit, instantly diving for the second one to do the same.

Only when all the bats had crammed onto the tiny ledge with the shaking, soaked bats they had saved and Gregor finally fetched his flashlight did he realize that he knew one of them. "Nike!" he exclaimed, staring incredulously at the drenched yet distinctly black and white bat pressing miserably into Thanatos' side.

One of her wings stood off at an unnatural angle, and Howard rushed over to her immediately, struggling to separate her and Thanatos—who apparently worried excessively—for a minute or so. While Howard attended to Nike, the rest of them assembled around the other bat, who, on second glance, also seemed familiar to Gregor.

She assured them that she was uninjured, lamenting, "I am unharmed. Tend to the princess! Tend to the princess!" over and over. Yet as soon as Nike was cared for, Howard turned to her. "Hera!" he exclaimed, and only then did Gregor remember the half-starved mother bat with the three pups they had met in Longclaw's prison. He eyed her, and even though she was soaked and trembling, she looked much healthier now.

"Oh, Howard!" Hera breathed out in relief when she recognized him. "You have helped her, yes? Will she be fine? The princess?"

"She will be fine," assured Howard, then insisted on checking Hera from top to bottom only to confirm that she was indeed unharmed. "But what seek you here?"

"We were with the army," said Hera. "And then we were caught in the flood. I know not what happened to the soldiers who were with us. I-I only remember saving myself onto a ledge, and then she washed by, and I fished her out—the princess! She could not fly, and I was too weak to carry her. But the water kept streaming, and it was not a steady ledge. It broke, and we were washed away. Had you not come . . ."

"You were amazing," said Howard, calmingly stroking her shoulder. "You saved her. And so the both of you will live." Will live, echoed in Gregor's head. If only he could be sure that they'd all live in times like these.

He was distracted from his gloomy thoughts by Thanatos' announcement that they had to switch up their seatings because he had to carry Nike, and Ares was the only other bat able to take Ripred. Henry and Gregor instead mounted Hera, who insisted she was fit to fly.

And so, only five minutes later, they were back in the air. Yet, however confident she had been, Hera began to fall back after about an hour of flying, necessitating a break.

The moment the bats touched down, Luxa began complaining about the slow pace of their flight, and Gregor watched her with growing concern. Luxa had never valued the mission over someone's well-being, and he didn't know how much longer he could suppress all the worry he felt for her. Regardless of whether she hated him, Gregor firmly promised himself he would talk to her soon—whether she liked it or not.

When they continued on, Gregor and Henry agreed to inform Hera about Henry's complicated relationships with essentially everyone present. They anticipated that she would find out eventually if she stayed with them, so they decided it was best to tell her the truth themselves.

Hera was shocked to learn of Henry's true identity as the supposedly deceased prince of Regalia, but it was the account of his conspiracy that surprised her more. "They never mentioned any of this," she said.

"They wanted not to tarnish the royals' reputation," concurred Henry with palpable disgust in his voice. "Dalia told me this as well."

Gregor didn't say anything. He had never given any thought to how the public had reacted to Henry's conspiracy. Back then, he had bonded to Ares and then immediately left the Underland. He didn't know how to feel about it . . . then again, why should he even bother? It didn't matter now; none of this did. None of this was his concern, and he was so tired of stressing himself over nothing.

"Guys, do you mind if I sleep a bit?" he asked, suddenly feeling his fatigue crash into him. When had he last gotten any sleep? His thoughts flew back; he had been unconscious during the flood, but that hardly counted. He did not remember sleeping a single second back in Regalia.

"Feel free," said Henry, scooting back to allow him to lie down, and Hera hummed approvingly. Only minutes later, Gregor was fast asleep.

Delete Created with Sketch.

A furious scream ripped Gregor out of his sleep. He jerked up from the solid ground he lay on, and his eyes found Luxa in the light of a torch someone had lit in the room. Luxa . . . who seemed moments from screaming again. Gregor stared at the glistening blade of her drawn sword; next to her stood Howard, also with his sword raised.

Were they being attacked? Where were they even? Still dazed, Gregor looked around for his own sword.

"Remain back!" Howard's cry had Gregor freeze in his tracks. His eyes flew up toward where they were all staring instead—the entryway to the room, cast in shadow.

Gregor finally tugged his sword free from under his backpack and dragged himself to his feet, staggering forward and looking at where the others looked. And then he finally saw there, hunched in the dark doorway arch, the shade of a rodent.

". . . Ripred?" Gregor couldn't help but ask because his first instinct told him that this could not be anyone but Ripred. But . . . He bit down on his lip. Luxa and Howard wouldn't raise their swords against Ripred.

"Not quite."

A pang of fear tightened Gregor's chest as he stared at the entrance from where the raspy voice came, followed by a dry laugh. And then, slowly, she inched closer, disregarding the raised swords entirely. Gregor could tell this rat was female by the voice. Shorter than Ripred and slimmer. And her fur . . . For a second, he was confused, thinking they had stumbled upon a second white rat. But no—the shade was so light it looked almost white in the sparse light, but it was not pearly, rather a pale, washed-out gray.

One more moment she hesitated, then she finally stepped into the light, and Gregor couldn't help but lower his sword, his mouth dropping open in shock. The entire right half of her face was one huge scar. Where the eye had been, there gaped an empty socket; no fur had grown on the scarred flesh for years, if not decades. It was the most gruesome scar Gregor had ever seen, even in the Underland.

From the corner of his eye, he saw that both Howard and Luxa stared at the strange rat with equally round eyes. A million questions reeled in Gregor's head—who was she? What was she doing here? Where even was "here"—were they at the crawler colony yet? And if so, what was a rat doing in a crawler colony? Was she a friendly one, like Ripred? She hadn't attacked them yet . . .

"Halt!" yelled Howard before Gregor could put any of his questions into words. He jerked his blade up and stepped forward. "What madness is this? Has . . . Henry set this up? Has he lured us into a trap?"

"Perhaps it would do you some good to learn from Hamnet and not reach for your sword on every occasion." Gregor winced when Henry emerged from behind the rat, carrying two full water bags and speaking with a mix of sarcasm and spite.

"Ah, so these pups are your friends," said the rat, turning to him. "I figured, as they carry a similar scent. The girl—the queen?—even in a way that goes blood-deep. I suppose you have not informed them that I am staying here because they have since figured out the truth about you?" She shot Howard one look that Gregor thought carried a mix of intrigue and judgment.

"So you are acquainted with this gnawer," said Howard icily.

She scrutinized first Howard, then Henry, then laughed again. "What are you so frightened of, pup?" she asked Henry with a side glance. "The obligatory rat jokes? Last time you saw me, you assured me that your spirit is unbreakable. Are you retracting this statement?"

"Get off my back," hissed Henry. "I cannot believe that I actually had worry for you."

"You had worry for me?" Despite the mocking tone, Gregor had a feeling that she was genuinely touched. Maybe it was the way she looked at Henry now, almost fondly.

He grimaced in her direction before carrying his water over to the torch. "Perhaps," he said, whipping back to her. "And yet, last time you saw me," he imitated her mocking tone perfectly, "you told me that "Kismet" is no longer. Yet, obviously, Kismet shall outlive us all—save perhaps her Prometheus. Yet he is naturally an exception."

"Would anyone, at last, explain what is going on here?" Howard cut in, irritated.

"You are not the brightest, are you?" asked the rat, and Henry snorted. Howard scowled, opening his mouth for a retort, yet Gregor was far more taken up with wondering how Henry knew her, considering how close they seemed. What had he called her . . . Kismet? The name rang a bell, yet Gregor couldn't put his finger on where he knew it from.

"So, tell me, have you changed your mind about keeping your identity a secret?" she asked, surveying the room. "No," she immediately answered her own question. "You wouldn't. Someone spilled your little secret for you."

"I wish not to talk about it," hissed Henry.

"But why not?" she mocked. "They seem like a fair bunch. She narrowed her eye at Howard before strolling toward him, tapping her claw on his sword. "You may put this down, you know? Had I any intention of harming you, I'd have long attacked."

Howard retreated one step. Yet before he could speak, she beat him to it: "You mean no honest harm, yet you are a little too obsessed with protecting your loved ones, aren't you? Even from threats that no longer exist. Because better safe than sorry, yes?"

Howard was so baffled that he actually lowered his sword.

"Because you are the responsible one," said the rat—Kismet?—dragging the word out. "You are used to carrying everyone's burdens, and you cannot seem to ever take ease. Battle is not your forte, yet you will fight until your dying breath for those whose burdens you have chosen to carry. Oh, Henry, is he the one who continuously tattles to the authorities whenever you wish to have fun?"

"He is the tattletale," said Henry, even mustering something like a smile. "I had almost forgotten how unsettling your ability to read others is."

"I will not—"

"You should really take ease once in a while," Kismet cut Howard off. "It'd do you good. Let yourself breathe."

Howard's mouth snapped shut. Without one further glance, Kismet turned to Luxa, who had long frozen in place, her sword rigidly clenched. Kismet's eye narrowed to a slit, leaving Gregor to wonder if she was shortsighted. "The picture in my book is a decade old, yet your scent is as unmistakable as your crown," she said. "What an honor, Princess . . . or is it Queen now?"

"I am Queen Luxa of Regalia," said Luxa in a stale voice. "Who wishes to know?"

"Me? Oh, I am no one. Although he there," she pointed at Henry, "still insists on calling me "Kismet"." She paused, then asked something that had the last bit of color vanish from Luxa's face: "And why is Queen Luxa of Regalia so frightened of him?"

Luxa flinched a step back. Her jaw was rigid, as was the hand around her sword.

"You are surrounded by people who would lay down their lives for you in a heartbeat, yet you allow yourself not to believe in a bright future. And now your light is flickering," said Kismet in a voice that caused a shiver to trickle down Gregor's back. "Because you have fear."

"Be still!" yelled Luxa, yanking her sword up. "You know nothing about me!"

"All gnawers smell fear, yet only those with the keenest senses among us distinguish different kinds of it," said Kismet without missing a beat. "And you fear everything all at once. You fear your own mind and your future. But your hope you fear the most."

"I fear nothing!" Luxa retreated another step, clutching her sword with both hands. Her breaking voice told Gregor that she was lying.

"Leave her be!" called Howard, stepping between the two.

"If you had taken ease for one moment, you'd have realized that I am not harming her," said Kismet with a scowl. "Fret not so much, pup." She turned back to Luxa. "Instead, look at all that you have in the present. Let it all not slip away because you have too much fear of losing it. Let this not be the cause for your light to extinguish."

The sword slipped from Luxa's hand, landing on the floor with a loud clank. Gregor's thoughts were in disarray—she hadn't met any of them before, except for Henry. How was she doing this?

"Hope is not something to fear—it is the only thing stronger. It is what saves us from fear." Gregor whipped around toward Henry, who stood by the back wall, staring at Luxa.

"What he says," concurred Kismet. "But then again, he knows how to instill hope so much better than I." With that, Kismet turned away, and heartbeats later, she stood in front of Gregor.

He staggered a step back, startled. His grip on his sword tightened on instinct, and he fought back the rager sensation that perked up in the back of his mind. She wasn't harming them, thought Gregor over and over. She wasn't a threat.

He forced himself to leave his sword to hang limp and look her straight in the eye, noticing that the one on her face was by far not the only scar she wore. They were almost as numerous as Ripred's.

"Oh no." She drew closer and sniffed. "An Overlander and a rager? A true one-in-a-million. What brings you to the Underland, pup?"

Gregor forced himself to calm down. He pushed back the last remains of the rager sensation and gritted his teeth. Then he opened his mouth . . . and closed it again because it occurred to him that he had no idea what to even say to that. This story was so much longer than any he wanted to tell right now.

Besides, even if she seemed nice, why should he tell this rat anything? The last unfamiliar rat who had spoken nicely to him had been Twirltongue, and she'd almost killed him. So, he just shrugged. "Things."

Kismet snorted with laughter. "What an eloquent answer . . . warrior."

"I'm—"

"You carry Sandwich's sword," she said, and Gregor's mouth shut again. "You have been down here enough to know how to act in the face of the gnawers," she deduced. "It was perhaps even the first thing you learned in the Underland—do not trust the rats." She paused. "And if my species has not fundamentally changed in the last decade, I wager you haven't experienced much good from our paws either."

Gregor swallowed. It was, and he didn't like how quickly she was seeing through them all. It reminded him too much of Twirltongue, and yet . . . He glanced her over. The way she carried herself resembled Ripred much more.

"Oh, well," She sat on her haunches, relaxing. "Will it elevate your opinion of me if I—"

"Nothing will elevate their opinion of rats, not even your charms," a new voice from the entrance cut her off. "Why, I've been trying for two years now, and they're still as thick-skulled as ever."

Kismet instantly went rigid and whipped around, falling into a defensive position . . . Gregor frowned, watching Ripred hunch in the doorway. Why would he elicit that kind of response from her?

"Know you this gnawer, Ripred?" asked Howard, pointing his sword at her.

"Know?" Ripred hesitated, and Gregor noticed that he was also tense. Ripred . . . was tense. This realization sufficed to make him go rigid with fear again. "Used to know, more like," said Ripred with a pungent bitterness as he crept into the room. "By all means, lower your swords, though. After all, the lad there says that we must gain her as an ally," he said in a superficially mocking voice, laced with something else that Gregor could not name.

"He says what now?" asked Kismet.

"I guess that doesn't help, though, since you all don't trust him anymore," continued Ripred without missing a beat. The two rats sat there in the middle of the cave, staring at each other wordlessly for what felt like an eternity. Then Ripred whipped around. "Get at it then, lad," he snarled at Henry. "There is nothing I can do here."

And with that, to Gregor's astonishment, he practically leaped out of the room, not casting another glance back.