"The most essential aspect is to center your focus—not on your thoughts, but on your senses, on what is around . . . Gregor, are you listening?"

Startled, Gregor sat up and met Henry's gaze. "I . . . I'm sorry."

"If you are not in the headspace to focus, perhaps we should postpone this lesson," said Henry sourly.

Gregor turned his eyes away in embarrassment. The conversations with Luxa and Kismet yesterday had kept him awake for hours. In an attempt to occupy his mind, he had approached Henry about the promised echolocation lesson, but now that they were here, he had difficulties focusing.

"Are you troubled by something?"

In the flame of the torch Henry had put up, Gregor discerned his frown and swallowed. He had to talk to Henry anyway, and not only about his own problems. If he ever wanted Luxa to feel better, he had to talk to Henry, but he had no idea how to even begin.

"Gregor, I am not allowing you out of this room until you tell me what troubles you." In one step, Henry had positioned himself in front of the only exit, spreading his arms to block it. "Try me. I dare you."

"I'm not going to fight you," called Gregor. "I don't want to fight. They're all fighting, and—" He broke off, wiping his face. Images clawed away at his heart, along with emotions that elicited a type of longing he had felt far too often recently. He pictured them all huddled together—grieving, hurting, yet also belonging—after they had watched the mice die. Before the prophecy might kill him, would they ever be like that again? Or would they fall apart further right before Gregor's eyes, with no way for him to stop it?

"I suppose that is my fault," said Henry, lowering his arms and then crossing them. "I never intended to break you all apart like that. To avoid exactly this is why I initially refused to guide you when we met in the Swag."

"No, no!" exclaimed Gregor. "I never said that you did that on purpose! I'm not blaming you!" He scowled. "You're the one who kept us together during that quest."

"I try," said Henry. "I have told myself that I will share my light. Yet this is difficult if no one wants my light anymore."

An unexpectedly powerful wave of sorrow washed over Gregor as he took in the words and the way Henry stood there—with his arms crossed and his gaze averted. "I'm sorry," he said. Then, "I still want it. You have no idea how much I think about that stuff you said after the episode with the currents. I've been doing it, you know? Not seeing the worst in myself all the time. Trying to see my choices."

Henry looked up and actually gave him a smile. "And yet you are still hurting," he observed. "What are you still keeping to yourself? Spill it, or I shall actually not allow you to leave."

Gregor sighed. He hated wiping that smile off of Henry's face, but he also knew that it was pointless to stall this conversation. "I . . . talked to Luxa yesterday."

As he'd feared, Henry's smile vanished immediately. "About me?"

Gregor nodded. "She is . . . It's kind of complicated." He recounted to Henry what Kismet had explained about her theory regarding Luxa's condition as best he could.

When he was finished, Henry blew out a breath and sank against the wall, pulling his legs to his chest. "Memory repression . . . caused by a traumatic event?"

"I don't know if I've got it all right," mumbled Gregor. "But Kismet says that sometimes, when something happens that is too overwhelming for your brain to process, it can block it out. Like when you have a nightmare and then forget most of it when you wake up because it was too scary—only with something that happened for real."

"With something that is real," said Henry in a stale voice. "With something like . . . the truth that Henry is not only alive but also the Death Rider—something so difficult to reconcile in her mind that it might as well be a nightmare, requiring this . . . block."

"I mean—" Gregor broke off as the full weight of that truth hit him in the chest like a rock, and his legs nearly gave way. "Kismet said that was it," he mumbled. "Like, Luxa's stuck in this state where she's holding on to how you're supposed to be dead, even if logic and her own observations tell her it's wrong."

"I understand," said Henry, his voice laced with dread.

"She didn't do it on purpose!" Gregor tried, yet he had an inkling it wouldn't help. He didn't even want to imagine how it must feel to hear that about someone you loved.

When he couldn't make out Henry's expression in the shade, Gregor drew closer and sat next to him, leaning on the cold stone wall. "I'm sorry," he said again. "But Kismet said you're probably the only one who can get her out of it."

"Oh, certainly." Henry scoffed. "Because she has not yet sufficiently conveyed that she doesn't wish to acknowledge."

"I think she does," mumbled Gregor. "She just can't. Like, her brain decided that processing it was too much and just . . . built a wall around that truth and everything related to it. But that's not a good thing."

"Why not?" asked Henry. "Let her block out that it is me. Let her forget me entirely. She might be happier."

Henry may as well have driven a sword into Gregor's already battered heart. Luxa's words to him—that she might forget him when the warrior had been killed—appeared in his mind, and he had to blink back tears.

"But that is not all, is it?" asked Henry suddenly. "This is also the reason she acts the way she does now, no? The reason she is being so unkind?"

Gregor nodded without looking at him.

One moment of silence passed. "Then I suppose I shouldn't be so selfish as to only view this from my point of view," said Henry, and Gregor whipped around to him. "If she carries on with such behavior, she is unfit to lead," Henry continued. "If she is unfit to lead, she cannot be a good queen. She shall evoke the ire of everyone else, and it will all be my fault."

Yet another "I'm sorry" lodged in Gregor's throat.

"If I love her, I must do it," said Henry.

"And you still love her," whispered Gregor.

"I will always love her. Even if I haven't been the best at expressing it in the past." Henry paused. "For her sake and the sake of the Underland, I shall try."

"For your own sake too," said Gregor urgently. "I-If you can get her to acknowledge you, you two might make up as well. You could have each other back."

Henry stared at him for one moment, then laughed. "Look at you, being positive."

"Only because you hammered it into my head that I have the choice to be."

Henry responded with a grateful smile. They sat in silence for a while, and then Gregor thought it might be the right time to ask Henry about what had happened to him over the past two years. He had been meaning to for some time, but there hadn't been many opportunities for storytelling recently.

Gregor sat there and, for the first time, consciously acknowledged the huge pile of affection and respect he now had for Henry and that he actually cared to know. That he didn't just value his optimism and guidance but genuinely cared about him as a person. That seeing his dejected face made Gregor want to cheer him up.

For as long as he could remember, Gregor had been the eldest, but then and there he thought that he wasn't anymore, not always. Not when Henry was around to be the older brother he hadn't even realized he'd always wanted. If my younger self knew I'd ever think that way about Henry, out of all people, what would he say? Gregor thought, smiling. Henry had taught him many things, but one of them definitely had to be that you should never write people off prematurely. And then it occurred to him that he should also say something else: "By the way . . . thanks."

Henry frowned, and Gregor mustered a laugh. "Oh, come on! You know what I mean. I know some of the others are being jerks right now, and that's really not your fault," he said with conviction. "But you're still . . . putting up with it. And I think someone should say thank you for that. For still being here and doing what you do. Helping, protecting—"

"—cooking and washing your dishes and making sure you do not stay up past your bedtime?"

"Yeah." Gregor laughed. "Sharing light," he said after a pause, recalling Henry's own way of putting it. Because light was life, Gregor suddenly understood. Light was . . . life and hope and belief. And if Henry radiated anything, it was that. "Even if they don't want it, you are. And that's incredible. You know, no matter what the others say, you're pretty great. Outcast, or traitor, or whatnot, you'll always be one of us in my books. Friends?"

Henry stared at Gregor's outstretched hand in disbelief, but soon a contagious smile broke out on his face as he firmly grasped it. "At your own risk!"

They laughed, relishing the rare moment of peace. And then Gregor asked about how he had been doing, and, after only a short moment of hesitation, Henry began to talk.

They ended up sitting and talking for more than an hour, and Gregor listened—eager but also unbelieving and full of horror at times—as Henry talked about blood puddles and rat arenas, about surviving for the sole sake of it. He talked about the mice in the jungle and about Teslas, about Cevian, and the battle for the citadel. Then about spider assassins, about Gorger's former general Goldfang, and a whole colony of Underland wasps. About serpents, and losing his eye, and bonding. About months of feeling weak and useless, then about Kismet. Her merciless drills, as well as her stories and lessons. About Longclaw's arena, about making it back to the mice, and suddenly being back at the Fount. He spoke about freedom, first and foremost, and he spoke so reverently that Gregor wondered if his own freedom was his peace, which he seemed to be missing with a similar passion.

Gregor recalled Thanatos' words: He has suffered far more than any of you can imagine. And yet he is here now. Despite it all, he is here, greater than he has ever been. Only then did Gregor think he came close to grasping the true extent of those words. And then he also thought he didn't have an ounce of disbelief about how the Henry he remembered from his very first quest might have turned into the Death Rider. Transformed unrecognizably, as Aurora had put it. Because, man—had he ever!

Finally, Henry concluded with their decision to leave for the uncharted lands after the episode with Dalia.

"That . . . I didn't even think about how hard it must have been for you to see her do essentially the same thing you did." Gregor made a face.

"Worse," said Henry. "She was turned by that same rat as I, back then."

"Tonguetwist . . ." Gregor thought back to Longclaw's arena. "She was Twirltongue's mom, right?"

Henry nodded. "And as it seems, they are of equal talents."

Gregor dreaded thinking about the extent of her influence over the Bane and the ideas she may have instilled in him. "Sorry that you had to suffer so much," he mumbled, then reconsidered, recalling Henry's words about mistakes and lessons. "But you didn't mind that, did you? Did it . . . "make" you, as Ripred said?"

"Oh, it "made" me, alright," said Henry with a crooked smile. "You may say it as it is: the way I was before, I very much needed the wake-up call. As I told you, it was regrets and mistakes that made me so wise and considerate."

"And you landed on your feet."

"I always made certain, every time."

"I wish I could do that too."

Henry laughed. "You are on the right track if you are beginning to think positively. But Gregor—" He nudged him. "Were we not here for an echolocation lesson?"

Gregor practically shot up to his feet. "Oh! Right. I didn't mean to waste your time."

Henry laughed. "Take ease; this was anything but a waste. But now let us see—" He rose as well, walking into the middle of the cave toward his torch, which flickered; it had to nearly be out of fuel. "—what mistake you may be making."

Gregor squinted, not seeing more than Henry's silhouette. "How do we do that?"

"We continue where we have left off," said Henry, pivoting back to him. "I believe I was saying that the most essential part is to focus on your sensory stimuli. You need no thoughts, especially not any overzealous ones, when you are attempting to tune your brain to analyze the information received from sound waves—something that it is not accustomed to. What sound do you ordinarily make?"

"I click my tongue," mumbled Gregor. "Is that okay?"

To his surprise, Henry laughed. "This is perhaps the only part that you cannot mess up. Echolocation technically works with every sound—this is what I do. But that," he snapped his fingers, "is out of the question for you for now. For what Kismet calls the first threshold, you only accustom your brain to one sound. Clicking your tongue should be accessible and consistent enough. Alright." He took a step toward the torch. "Let us start with a basic exercise. Do keep in mind that belief plays a substantial part in the process of convincing your brain that it can do this. Because that is essentially what you do—you tell your brain that the impulse is there until it finally concurs with you."

"And that really works?"

"It does," said Henry. "Because it is true. Sound wave impulses are all around us. Yet our brains are not attuned to analyzing them in this particular way. You point at the impulse, telling your brain that it works until it finally develops an attunement to it."

"I'll try," said Gregor gingerly.

"Very well, then." Henry took another step toward the torch and extinguished it, leaving them in complete darkness. "Try and find me."

Gregor made every effort to follow the instructions; he instinctively closed his eyes, even though it made no difference.

Suddenly, he jerked around. He had heard something that sounded like footsteps behind him. "There!" He pointed in the direction, then realized he had not even tried clicking his tongue.

Yet to his surprise, Henry sounded pleased when he said, "Very good. Now try and follow, and keep facing me."

"But I didn't even try to use echolocation." Gregor frowned. "How is that good?"

Henry laughed. "Gregor, how could I possibly expect you to use echolocation before you have crossed the threshold? And even so—did I specify the method by which you should locate me earlier?"

Gregor stared out into the dark, then shook his head, baffled. "I guess I'm used to Ripred being a jerk about it," he mumbled.

"Oh, Ripred." Henry sighed. "Let him talk, yet the fact remains that the simplest way—which is using the sound someone makes to locate them—will often be the most effective, even after the threshold. If your opponent does not expect you to listen to their sounds, you may easily hit a large target even without going through the effort of clicking your tongue and visualizing anything."

As Gregor blinked into the darkness, a wave of immense happiness washed over him for reaching out to Henry for help. Maybe this wasn't such a pain after all. Maybe his negative association with echolocation was all due to Ripred's jerk behavior.

They continued practicing for another hour—all kinds of basic hearing- and perception-related exercises—and Gregor soon discovered that Henry was a much more fun teacher than Ripred in almost every way. Not once did he scold or yell at him, even when Gregor struggled. Instead, he repeated that it would all come with enough practice . . . Practice which Gregor suddenly no longer dreaded.

Henry didn't pressure him or expect more than he could handle, and eventually, Gregor realized that he was actually having fun. So when Henry asked if he wanted to call it a day, Gregor—surprising even himself—said they may as well keep going for a bit longer. Being here, practicing echolocation, allowed him to avoid all the problems waiting for him outside, and he felt he had earned himself a little break.

Hearing this, Henry changed things up and moved away from simple perception exercises to practicing and becoming familiar with the sound Gregor had chosen.

Henry would position Gregor in front of a wall and tell him to click his tongue, then have Gregor turn around and do it again, listening for any differences. At first, Gregor heard nothing, but when Henry told him to step closer to the wall, leaving only about a foot of space between them, he finally heard it. The sound was only slightly off, but Gregor could hear the change at all, which he found almost unbelievable. Henry then told him to subtly increase the distance from the wall and listen carefully. To his own surprise, Gregor soon began hearing a difference, even at greater distances.

"But I . . . don't see anything. Is that not the whole point?" he asked after another indeterminable time of practice. His lessons with Ripred had always felt like they took forever, while now time seemed to be flying by.

"Not until the threshold, no," said Henry behind him, and Gregor instinctively turned toward his voice. "All of this we do so that we may convince the brain that it has the power to visualize sounds. For that, we must practice."

"Practice . . . while also understanding what we're trying to teach our brain?" asked Gregor tentatively.

"Now you understand!" Henry clapped his hands. "That is exactly it. I advise you to exercise like this regularly—daily, if possible—now that you know what to think while doing it. Once you have ingrained your belief in it, the threshold will come all on its own. Tell it to yourself aloud if you must. It is quite literally a matter of convincing your brain to adapt to a process it has never used before."

"Well, my brain's been having stage fright for one and a half years."

Henry laughed. "No stage fright is allowed here."

Gregor imagined himself in front of a mirror, saying "I can see with echolocation" out loud to his reflection; the thought almost made him laugh. But . . . he thought he owed Henry, who had shown that he truly was an expert on the subject and had been so understanding with him, to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I'll keep it in mind, thanks."

"Sublime," replied Henry. "Yet, see, for as much fun as this is—we have been here for what I wager must be close to three hours, and I still must head back and make lunch. And then, we may soon prepare ourselves for departure."

***

"So, is Henry a better teacher than me?"

Gregor turned toward Ripred and found the rat sprawled on his side, gnawing on a fishbone, even though they had already finished lunch. They had all gathered together to eat in the same cave where the bats were staying for the first time since Luxa's outbreak yesterday, and at least no one was arguing yet.

"Yeah, he is," replied Gregor. "I learned more in one of his lessons than in all of yours so far."

Okay, maybe that was kind of exaggerated, but it almost felt like it to Gregor. After all, in just one lesson, Henry had managed to completely reverse Gregor's attitude toward echolocation—from being tedious and exhausting to something he found himself almost enjoying.

"Oh, really?" snarled Ripred. "Alright then, let the lad worry about making you a more capable fighter; I've got better things to do anyway." He made an effort to appear nonchalant, but Gregor picked up on the unmistakable trace of jealousy in his voice. Well, should Ripred be jealous, thought Gregor. Served him right.

Gregor turned his attention away from Ripred and toward his sword, lying in his lap. He had told himself he'd finally investigate the odd engraving he had found yesterday, now that the cave was well-lit. Yet before he could lift it to his face, Ares perked up on the other side of the cave: "If everyone has finished, we are now ready to travel."

"Excellent." Howard rose to his feet, hesitantly turning toward Henry. "So, where do these tunnels lead? If we can travel, we must make a plan."

Henry made a face. "There is a way from here to the lake where we camped when traveling to save your sister. From there, we should have a direct route to Regalia."

Howard opened his mouth to presumably rebuke him for talking like he'd be going with them to Regalia when a different voice chimed in: "Your path won't be as clear, I'm afraid." All heads turned to where Kismet emerged from the cave entrance. She looked them over with an unreadable expression. "The most recent volcanic eruption has altered the landscape around here somewhat significantly; even more of the Path of Styx has been destroyed. You cannot go that way."

"Then you shall lead us," said Henry with a satisfied smirk.

"Oh, you think you are so cunning," snarled Kismet.

"Halt!" called Howard. "None of us here have consented to being led by her."

Before Henry could retort, an unexpected voice spoke from Gregor's left: "Do you truly know where we must go?"

All eyes were on Luxa, boldly coming to a halt in front of Kismet, who glanced her over. "I do," she said. "Yet I have not consented to leading you either yet."

Luxa held her gaze, unafraid. "Why should we trust you?" she asked straight out without acknowledging Kismet's words.

"Why shouldn't you?" said Ripred. "She's a hermit. She knew nothing of the war or the Bane's rise before I told her. What reason would she have to lead you on?"

"She is a gnawer," said Luxa simply.

"And so is Ripred," Aurora chimed in, behind her. "And yet you trust him."

Luxa whipped around to her bond. "I do not!" she exclaimed. "I have never—I—" She stammered, yet Gregor was suddenly convinced that she was lying.

"Quit being so stubborn and do what you know you must do," hissed Aurora, beating the air with her wings. "Your mission cannot succeed without a guide. What is more precious to you? Your generalized hatred for the gnawers or your quest for allies?"

Everyone stared at Aurora with wide eyes; no one had ever seen her lash out like this. Even Luxa looked taken aback. Aurora nervously shifted, drawing back, as if she had only just realized in what manner she had just spoken.

Howard still looked skeptical, but Gregor decided he'd had enough. After his late-night conversation with her and hearing from Henry how much he actually owed her, he didn't doubt Kismet's trustworthiness anymore. "I'll follow her," he surprised everyone by saying. "If Ripred says we can trust her, I'll trust her." Henry too, he thought, but decided it would be more damaging than beneficial to add that.

After a long silence, Ares, who had whispered with the other bats, raised his head. "We too have faith in Ripred's trust in her. We will go with her as well."

"Thanatos tells tales of her grand kindness!" called Nike, and Gregor could have sworn that Henry's usually so fierce and intimidating bond inched back from embarrassment.

Ripred and Henry snorted simultaneously, and Gregor gave Nike a grateful nod. "And besides,"he said. "It's not like Ripred is leaving us with her. He'll be right there!" Gregor gestured at Ripred, then glared at Howard. "Do you want to get lost around here?"

"I do not," said Hera behind Howard. "I, for one, have a family I am longing to see again soon. And so do you, no?"

Howard flinched. "I . . . suppose," he finally admitted. "As long as we have Ripred with us too."

Kismet, who had followed the exchange with vivid interest, turned to him. "This is all very riveting, yet have any of you listened when I said earlier that I have not consented to leading you anywhere yet?"

"Then hurry and consent," said Henry. "The war may not have reached you yet, but it might soon. If the Bane comes after you, you cannot face him alone. You shan't be alone if you are with us. Besides, here, you are needed. Is that not reason enough?"

She stared at him as though she contemplated leaping and ripping his head off. "You really are a worthy successor to bear the title of "The Cunning" in my place," she snarled, then turned to Ripred. "Did you listen to this? He knows that I have lost my research, my purpose. And so he arranges for you all to show up at where he knows I have been staying, only to dangle before me the prospect of being needed again. By the humans, no less!"

"Told you," said Ripred. "He is scheming some grand comeback or something."

Kismet groaned, then whipped around to Henry. "One day, you will regret this," she said earnestly.

"I know they have been cruel to you, but fighting with the humans might benefit you this time," said Thanatos. "Things have changed since you last graced civilization."

Gregor stared at her scars and reflected on Henry's story—how Gorger had abandoned her in the garden for the humans to capture and torture—feeling an immediate pang of sympathy for her. Scars were scars, but he suddenly thought ones inflicted by torture were the worst kind.

"Indeed," said Ripred. "We've already established that Luxa is not her father. Hamnet's no longer living, by the way. Not that he would've been much of a threat anymore, either way."

"So, Heracles has fallen," said Kismet with an oddly grave voice, and only then did Gregor recall that she had fought him over the garden. "May he find in death the peace that he hasn't been granted in life," she added after a pause. "How fare his mother? I do not presume to have outlived her as well?"

"Oh, Solovet's still kicking." Ripred chuckled. "But I have this odd feeling in my gut that she too will be replaced soon."

Kismet held his gaze for a moment. "I will drop dead before I will be intimidated by that woman," she hissed, then looked around, scrutinizing the group. Gregor thought he could see in her eyes the exact moment she resigned herself to her fate. "I'm not getting my solitude back anytime soon, am I?"

She gave a deep sigh, which Henry returned with a crooked smirk and announced: "Welcome to the questers, Athena."

***

They departed some ten minutes later—not without thanking the cockroaches for their extended hospitality. Kismet claimed they could reach the orange lake Gregor recalled from their trip to save Stellovet in a few hours and that they could make camp for the night there.

As he helped pack their trunks full of supplies, Gregor found himself twisting his only flashlight in his hand with concern. When he'd woken up, he had found it back next to him, despite leaving it with Luxa. He didn't know if she or Kismet had brought it back—or maybe the roaches—but whoever it was, he wished they would tell him so that he could thank them properly.

Nonetheless, it had lasted an astonishingly long time already, and he didn't know for how much longer he could rely on it.

"How about this?" Henry approached, holding out a compact hand lantern. "I traded it from the flutterers a while ago, but I have no real need for it. At least not as much as you light-dependent folk," he teased, yet the look in his eye was sincere.

Gregor smiled back before taking it. "This'll be perfect, thank you."

Henry quickly showed him how to light, extinguish, and refill it before calling the group together to distribute seatings. They had more than enough bats now, especially since Ripred and Kismet could both run. Thanatos insisted on carrying Nike, so Henry and Gregor took their seats on Ares again, Howard mounted Hera, and Luxa Aurora.

The trek was fairly uneventful; Gregor pondered if he should turn on his light and ask Henry about the mark on the sword, but then decided he might as well do it by the lake. They passed the time telling more stories; despite Ares' initial protests, Henry told Gregor more stories from their past before he eventually started asking questions about the Overland.

Gregor was in the middle of explaining what a phone was when Ares flew out of the mound of a tunnel, and he instantly recognized where they were. "The lake!" exclaimed Gregor, and the bats touched down by the shore.

They set up their camp almost the same as last time; Ares and Thanatos flew out to fish, and only ten minutes later they all gathered around a torch to snack. No one was particularly hungry, as they had eaten lunch only a few hours ago, but Gregor stomached another portion anyway. Who knew when they'd next get the chance to sit and eat like this together?

"So, you all know where we are?" asked Kismet, eyeing the group.

"We do," said Hera, and Gregor wondered how much of that trip she recalled. He had tried not to think about it, but for a moment he saw an image of Dalia in the shallow water, pressing a dagger to her own throat. At least Hera and her babies hadn't witnessed that scene.

"It's so pretty!" Nike approached the glowing water to stare down into it. "Is there magma below it?"

"There is a magma pool," responded Thanatos. "Let us hope it does not erupt beneath our feet as well."

Gregor's eyes widened, and he gave the lake a suspicious look.

"Death, stop being such a pessimist." Henry waved. "It has not erupted so far, has it?"

Gregor looked back and forth between them, still concerned. "Yeah, so . . . we were here last time, but you say we can't go back the way we came back then?" he asked Kismet.

She nodded. "There were several volcanic eruptions close by, not so long ago. The previous path is blocked."

"And where do we go then?" asked Luxa.

"Patience, pup, we will figure it out. Patience really does not run in your family, does it?" replied Kismet, ignoring the face Luxa made. "The land of the pinchers lies beyond the lake, and they do not like intruders. We might not have much of a choice, though."

Pinchers . . . Gregor recalled Ares explaining they were lobsters at some point and scowled. He wasn't too eager to meet another new species right now, but . . . well, maybe they could at least make a good first impression?