Henry had no idea how much time had passed when he finally woke Thanatos. All he knew was that he could not stand the idleness and boredom for a second longer.

The flier woke swiftly, and when Henry asked for his condition, he claimed he was as ready for the trip to the Dead Land as he'd ever be.

"May we first look for a way back to the bottom of that cliff?" Henry asked, mounting up.

"What for?" Thanatos spread his wings and leaped into the air.

When Henry explained the issue with his things, the flier acknowledged that finding them would likely pay off, so he took to searching for a way back. Thanatos was in noticeably better condition than the day before; Henry felt regained strength and confidence in the way he flew and found he was happy for him. At least it made the flight enjoyable.

Maybe half an hour of aimless flying later, they finally found the tunnel where they had first spoken to each other. Thanatos soared across the river effortlessly and when they flew out into the cave at the bottom of the cliff where everything had started, Henry's mood, which had been at an all-time high, instantly plummeted.

A wave of nausea hit Henry like a brick wall and he retched. Had he thought the smell bad last time, now it was nothing short of unbearable. The horrid stench of death enveloped him; it seeped into his every pore, clung to his clothes and hair, and he fought to keep yesterday's meal in.

Henry held his breath until he had torn off what may be the last piece of his shirt he could afford to use and wrapped it around his mouth and nose. It didn't help as much as he had hoped, but at least he wasn't on the verge of throwing up anymore.

Thanatos landed somewhere in the middle; Henry couldn't tell where exactly in the dark and shuddered. "Let us hurry," he said and Henry nodded as he mounted down. Without further ado, he ignited one of the corpses again—light to see and search. As soon as he could make out his surroundings, he went to look for the pile of rats he'd been buried in.

A few minutes of aimless wandering in the horrific pit of death later, he was certain he had found it. It took the prince and the flier another minute to dig to the bottom to retrieve any possibly buried items, and when Henry finally lowered himself in, his heart skipped a beat as he spotted his sword. The hilt stuck out in between two corpses and he yanked it out together with the sheath.

Relief and happiness washed over him as he unsheathed his beloved sword and inspected the blade—it was in perfect condition.

Thanatos called for him to come out of the rat pile but then Henry spotted something else. It lay at his feet, half covered in the fleshy mush that had remained from the gnawers at the bottom of the pile. Henry's throat lumped with strange emotions when he, in the faint glimmer of the fire permeating the wall of corpses, looked at a golden shimmering band.

Not minding the gore, Henry bowed down and retrieved his crown. The lump in his throat grew as he twisted it in his hand. It wasn't like he hadn't registered that it had been missing along with his other belongings. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he had. He was too used to how it felt to not notice the difference. But he hadn't yet acknowledged its absence. Why?

Because it was the one item I didn't want to find here, Henry thought.

He briefly considered just leaving it but then he couldn't. Couldn't just abandon it here, in this rotting corpse pile. He wouldn't wear it anymore, he thought as he stuffed the crown into one of his pockets, but he would take it and maybe even find another use for it later. If there was even a practical use for such a fundamentally impractical item.

***

After spending some ten minutes searching the area from the air, flying close to the ground, Thanatos managed to locate Henry's backpack. It had gotten jammed in a tight crevice, a little offside, and luckily, no gnawers had fallen on top of it.

Henry was as happy about this find as he had been about the sword; he instantly replaced the cloth that covered his mouth with a larger and thicker one that absorbed much more of the stench than the fabric from his thin, silken shirt and gave Thanatos his own. He also made a mental note to swap out their bandages as soon as they were no longer surrounded by rotting corpses.

Yet as much as they looked—Thanatos with echolocation and Henry on foot, lighting more and more fires until the entire cave glowed with dim, thick orange and the stench of death was slowly replaced by the reek of burning flesh—they could not find his dagger.

Thanatos urged Henry to leave but he refused. Out of all his tools, he missed his dagger the most. He wanted it back.

"Maybe I lost it at the top of the cliff when I got dragged along with the rats?" he pondered after a fruitless, ten-minute-long search.

"Let us fly up then. Whether we find it or not, it is as good a place as any to leave the rat's land," Thanatos concurred, and Henry mounted up. He gripped his backpack by the last remaining handle and tugged at his sword, which he had strapped on his back again.

"Ready?"

Henry could have sworn he heard a challenging undertone in the flier's voice.

"Show me what you've got."

Henry didn't know whether he'd even meant it as a challenge at that moment, but Thanatos seemed to have taken it for one. He flung himself in the air and shot upward. As if to test how much of his original strength he'd already regained, he didn't seem to be in a hurry to get to the top of the cliff. Instead, he took his time, and, with something like surprise, Henry realized he was flying maneuvers.

Thanatos bolted through the air like a projectile; he put on his wings and twisted, then spread them and soared. He then flew several loops, straightened himself out, and then took to a controlled yet erratic-seaming zig-zag pattern.

Is he trying to make me fall off? Henry thought with something like amusement. He was so used to the concept of flying that he held on easily, not even slightly fazed. Most of the stunts were familiar and he fell in line automatically, surrendering himself to the muscle memory that he had built and honed since he had been a child.

Like this, with the familiar wind beating against his hair and face, Henry suddenly relished the freedom of flying again. For the first time since the fall, he perceived he was properly and happily smiling, and in an old habit, he leaned back until he was nearly lying down when Thanatos flew a narrow coiler.

Whatever the flier's intentions were—whether he wanted to test his strength or just show off—Henry didn't care. At that moment, he was invincible. They both were. And so they spent a seeming eternity there, aimlessly flying above the same cliff from which Henry had fallen—only that time, he wasn't scared.

He closed his eyes and stretched his arms out, barely holding back a joyous scream. In that moment, nothing mattered. Not his fears, his regrets, his worries, or the fact that this flier was essentially a stranger. All of a sudden, it all seemed so meaningless. From the way they flew together, an onlooker may have thought that they had been bonds their entire lives.

Before Henry had the time to dwell on that thought, Thanatos veered and finally landed on the remains of the plateau that had not crumbled away.

And just like that, the feelings of freedom and fearlessness vanished. Henry had already opened his mouth to start complaining, but then he remembered the flier was still not in top shape. He panted heavily; the exercise had visibly exhausted him. Of course, he didn't say anything, and Henry didn't bother bringing it up.

"Now this is something we should do more often," he said, sliding off Thanatos' back.

"At least you are not a total rookie," the flier replied.

"Was it a test, then?" Henry put his hands on his hips. "You'll have to do better than that to faze me. I am not only not a rookie. In every aerial game and exercise, I am unmatched."

"In every game . . . except in that of humility."

Henry flicked at Thanatos' ear; the flier hissed when he was too slow to dodge.

"What do I need humility for?" Henry grumbled, kicking a pebble down. "I am entitled to take pride in my acquired skills."

"You are . . . entitled, certainly."

Henry opened his mouth to fire back but then bit it back. He had better things to do than throw pointless tantrums.

It felt odd to remain silent at an insult; Henry considered it and thought he had never done it before. He had always prided himself on his sharp tongue, but the fall and the following ordeals had not left him unscathed. Despite the bit of sleep, he was still tired. He was sore; every cut stung and every inch of his body ached. There was still a considerable amount of dried blood on him and that, together with sweat and who knew what else he had managed to soil himself with, left him feeling unpleasantly tacky and grimy.

Once more, Henry thought longingly of bathing, of washing and grooming his hair, and of changing into a fresh set of clothes. He tugged at his now one-sleeved leather jacket and straightened out the collar, then inspected his stained pants, spotting more than one rip. His sandals had long become damp and disgusting—he didn't even want to think about what with.

Then, Henry gingerly ran a hand through his hair and made a face when it came away smeared and he had to wipe it on his shirt. He had always liked his hair, so much so that he had grown it out until the tips of it reached past his chin. He liked the look usually; it suited him. But now the long strands stuck to his face and neck uncomfortably, finding their way into his collar over and over, no matter how many times he shook them out.

"Either way, this was certainly a fun exercise, but I don't see your precious dagger up here either." Thanatos finally interrupted his thoughts.

Right, his dagger. Henry lowered his hand. That was far more important than the condition of his hair. To his dismay, the flier seemed to be right. In the eerie glow from below, Henry saw that there was not much up here in general; most of the plateau had broken away when they had all fallen.

"But I need it!" Henry insisted. "How am I supposed to cut any materials or food? With my sword?"

"It isn't like I can do anything about that," Thanatos replied. "But we must leave soon. It is not good to remain in the rat's land for any longer."

"Fine," Henry caved. "After one last sweep below. Come on!" He glimpsed over the edge, consciously fighting the ridiculous fear that the sight still instilled.

Thanatos hesitated. "Fine," he said eventually. "So, jump."

Henry stiffened up at the words, instinctively retreating to the wall. Thanatos took this in with something that may have been amused curiosity. "Why the delay?" He spread his wings. "I thought you were unmatched in anything aerial?"

Henry didn't respond. He bit his lip until the pain became unbearable but it did not drown out the wretched fear.

"Have you no faith in me?" Thanatos spread his wings. "An interesting attitude toward the one you begged to be your ally."

"I did not beg," Henry hissed, forcing himself to take a step forward. "But it is difficult to have faith in anyone at the moment."

"I will not let you fall," Thanatos said emphatically. Henry found an odd mix of reassurance and amusement in his tone. "So jump, and maybe then I will consider believing that you are indeed entitled to calling yourself a master of the aerial."

"I am!"

Thanatos did not reply and Henry soon buckled under the intensity of his amber gaze. He swallowed and took a determined step forward. It wasn't like the flier was wrong. He had to face and defeat this ridiculous phobia anyway. Why not now? Henry clenched his fists and took one more step, then another, and then he sprinted, and then he vaulted over the edge.

Thanatos leaped after him immediately but did not catch him. He instead flew lazy circles around Henry, too far to reach but close enough to see and hear.

"Are you kidding me?!" Henry yelled, beating the air with his arms. He dared peek down and realized that the fall was much shorter than he had remembered. The ground, with all its atrocities, was already closing in on him and a fresh lump of fear clogged his throat.

"Thanatos!"

While Henry yelled out the name, he crossed about half the distance to the ground. Panic speared him when he understood that he would be dead before he finished screaming the flier's name a second time. So he resorted to the next best thing: "Death!"

As soon as the last syllable escaped his mouth, his fall was broken. The impact would likely leave a few bruises, but Thanatos had swept in under him at the last second. Henry clutched his fur with his miserably shaking fingers and tried his best to breathe steadily as he watched the ground fly by beneath them. "You're an asshole."

"And you will thank me for it one day."

Henry did not reply. He wouldn't give Thanatos the satisfaction of admitting that, yes, technically, he was doing him a favor by forcing him to face this phobia. He forced his breath to calm and sat up properly. He may feel grateful deep down, but he would not thank him.

They were silent for a while, searching the area, but again, to no avail. When they circled around the middle of the cave, something else suddenly caught Henry's eye: the body of a huge, silver-gray rat lay sprawled among many others, but completely intact.

"Land there," he called, pointing at the body.

Thanatos obliged; after a swift hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, he landed directly in front of the corpse of . . . yes, there was no doubt—it was the former king of the gnawers: Gorger.

Henry slid off Thanatos' back and took a first step toward the massive gnawer when the flier behind him suddenly spoke: "By the way, what was it that you screamed at me earlier? After my name?"

Henry froze and spun on his heel. "You mean when you almost let me fall after assuring me that you wouldn't?"

"I would not have let you fall." Thanatos stretched his wings; his eyes were half closed. "But what was it that you screamed? It was not my name."

Henry put his hands on his hips. "But it was," he said. "I said Death. Is that not your name?"

Thanatos' eyes flew open again. "Death," he repeated, pondering for a moment. "I . . . suppose it is a version of my name. The one that Sandwich used."

"And two syllables shorter than Tha-na-tos." Henry made a face. I would have hit the ground by the time I finished screaming that."

Thanatos voiced a mix between a laugh and a growl.

"See, I told you that I would come up with something better to call you." Henry grinned.

Thanatos raised a figurative eyebrow but he did not protest. In fact, he looked like he was desperately trying to conceal how fond he was of the idea of being called Death. Had he a name like his himself, Henry thought he would answer to no other version of it.

"Either way," the flier said eventually, "what was it that you wanted me to land for again?"

Henry pointed at Gorger's corpse. "Do you know who that is?"

"Is it not . . . the king?"

Henry nodded and stepped closer, inspecting the body. "He is the one I wanted for an ally, and in return, he attempted to kill me by dragging me along with himself into the running gnawers." Henry slowly made his way around the corpse of his former ally-turned-enemy, stopping near the head and staring down at the human crown that had fallen off, presumably when Gorger had hit the floor. He considered picking it up, but what for? It wasn't like his own. It held no memories. Not for Henry.

Then his eyes met the half-open mouth of the dead king. The sharp, almost nine-inch-long gnawing teeth caught his attention; they shone in bright, seamless white, reaching far beyond the gnawer's jaw.

As Henry stared at his defeated enemy, relishing the admittedly undeserved sensation of victory, an idea suddenly flashed in his mind. It was the craziest one he'd had so far and he wasn't even sure if it was going to work, but now that he'd had it, he had to at least give it a try.

And so, Henry fixed Gorger's head sideways with his foot and drew his sword. He raised it high, and then it crashed into Gorger's jaw with a horrible crack, splitting it in half. The piece of jaw that held all four teeth came off.

Henry raised the sword again, splitting the piece once more to separate the longest tooth from the others. Then he knelt and eyed the tooth. Eventually, he fetched a cloth to pick it up—there was no way he'd touch it with his bare hands, not while pieces of flesh and fur still clung to it.

Grudgingly, Henry sat on the ground and worked the piece with his sword, removing all remaining flesh and then most of the softer substance on the tooth's inside as well. Finally, he hacked away some of the remaining jawbone. In the end, all that was left was a ten-inch piece of bone and tooth.

Henry stared at his work with a mix of disgust and pride. He gripped the root with his right hand—still with the cloth around it—and held the tooth in the air, like a sword . . . or a dagger.

"Well, is that it then?" Thanatos, who had watched silently so far, asked. "Have you found what you were looking for?"

"Not exactly." Henry lowered the tooth. It was nowhere near the state in which it could be used as a weapon or tool. It was frail and unhoned, and there was no real tip. "But it could be, someday." He eyed the tooth in his hand, then the rat king's corpse in front of him. "It is the least that he owed me." A crooked smirk appeared on Henry's face. "A fair trade, no?"