In the midst of pitch darkness, the eerie cave was alive with the constant scurrying and buzzing of its inhabitants. The spinners were many things, but they were not lazy.

Nobody had expected a change anytime soon, so when it came into view, every spinner present turned toward an unexpected brightness in the exit. Three of them instantly took positions to greet the trespasser accordingly.

When the curtain of webs that covered the entrance finally parted and the intruder with the light stepped into the cave, he instantly found himself surrounded.

"Hey—!" After only a single word, he ceased to yell and even dimmed the bright flame of his torch by hastily wrapping a cloth around it. "Hey," he said more quietly. "You needn't web me. I come to do trade."

The flier's ears twitched the second he heard the voice, and, for the first time in what felt like years, his eyes jerked open. He could barely make out the silhouettes at the entrance from where they had strung him up in the far corner of the cave, hidden out of sight by thick layers of web. Only through his echolocation did he perceive the commotion, but even without it, he would have recognized that voice.

Was he really here? Or did his lethargic mind play a trick on him? The flier stirred. No . . . the boy could not really be here. How would he have even found him? And why would he have . . . bothered?

Despite his reluctance to believe what his ears were telling him, the sound of this voice managed to revive the flier's limbs, which had long ceased to respond. A shudder of life ran through his constrained body.

The spinners around the boy remained silent. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and crossed his arms. "I am not interested in trouble," he said. "But a while ago, you kidnapped a friend of mine, and I have come because I would like him back now."

The spinners all gave a collective hiss and drew closer, mandibles poised.

"Hey!" The boy raised his hands defensively. "I did not lie when I said I had come to do trade. Rest assured, I am more than willing to compensate you handsomely for his freedom."

The boy . . . was here. The flier could no longer even attempt to deny it. He trusted his own memory not enough to so perfectly recreate his voice. That overconfident and taunting tone he was putting on constantly, like he meant to challenge everything he addressed, even the world itself.

Still, even knowing he was truly here, the flier suppressed the uprising wave of hope. It was not time to hope yet. Even if the boy was here . . . what could he possibly have to offer the spinners?

And yet, he had found him; the flier allowed the thought to sink in. Found him here after all this time. And it suddenly became incredibly difficult to not have hope. The concept of having hope again was still foreign, but it had always been difficult to remain hopeless around the boy.

Once it had been the girl—the last figment of his mind that had still had hope—who had always found him and restlessly chased him across the entire Underland.

But the boy was alive; he was not in his imagination, and he was really here. The boy was . . . real. And so was the hope he brought. Whether the flier wanted it or not, he could not run from the boy's hope the way he had run from the girl's . . . From his own.

Suddenly, a single, enormous spinner lowered itself from the ceiling and dropped inches in front of the boy. The flier recognized her when the boy's light met her strikingly striped legs. The others drew back respectfully as she rose to her full height.

"I am Queen Wevox of the spinners," she said in a low but commanding voice, rubbing one leg against her chest. "Our only prisoner is the flier. He is already sold. You must leave now or we will web you."

"No matter the sum you were offered, I will give you more."

What was the boy doing? The flier couldn't help but wonder more with each passing second. What was his plan—did he even have one?

"More?" the queen asked. "What more?"

"Something you treasure more than anything, or so I hear." The boy set his backpack down, and after a quick search, he pulled out something so thin and transparent that the flier couldn't properly make out what it was. He held it high in the air for Queen Wevox and every spinner in the vicinity to see.

The flier still couldn't make it out, but apparently, the spinners could. Every single one of them interrupted what they were doing to stare at the boy; something like an awestruck gasp ran through the cave.

Queen Wevox herself immediately leaped in the air and started—in a very un-queenly manner—skittering around as though she were moments from bursting from excitement.

When she came to a halt directly in front of the boy to speak again, the flier heard something like an excited tremor in her voice. "You bring us a buzzer wing?" she said. "He brings us a buzzer wing! He brings us a buzzer wing!"

The murmur in the cave grew louder, and the flier admitted to himself that he had underestimated the boy. Whatever that . . . wing was, he had come here knowing that the spinners would want it.

"Oh yes," the boy said, waving it in front of Wevox's face. "I bring you a buzzer wing. Will that suffice?"

The queen could hardly sit still; she bounced up and down, and her leg trembled as she spoke: "The wing is more than enough. The slimers gave us only half the value of a wing. Give me the wing."

"Wait." The boy lowered the wing and stared at Wevox in surprise. "Did you say the slimers hired your mercenaries? Really?"

The flier discerned that the boy was barely suppressing laughter and would have almost rolled his eyes. He would have to tell this story after all, as it seemed—of how he had angered no other than the Underland snails so much that they wanted him dead. At least . . . one of them would get a good laugh out of it.

But . . . And then and there, he allowed the relentless stream of hope to flood him freely—he would live to tell the story, to endure the obligatory mockery. He would . . . live.

"Ah-ah!" The boy pulled the wing out of Wevox's reach. "First, I would like to see him."

Wevox hissed offendedly at his tone, but after a short moment of hesitation, she signaled for the spinners to clear a path to the back of the cave. And so, the torchlight slowly drew nearer until Thanatos had to squint against the brightness he wasn't used to anymore. But he didn't leave his eyes closed; he opened them and stared into the light until he could finally see Henry's face.

And then he did, and he saw life.

***

Henry had never seen Thanatos so helpless, not even when the gnawers had attempted to execute him shortly after their first encounter. Fliers liked to hang, but the way he hung there, Henry thought it might ruin the concept for him for a while.

He was strung up in the back of the cave, tightly wrapped in webs. His wings were pressed against his body, but his eyes were open. Thanatos stared at Henry like he barely believed he was here, and . . . Henry supposed he couldn't really blame the flier for that.

Despite how miserable he looked, a wave of relief flooded Henry at his sight, and he gave Thanatos a crooked grin. Now, everything would be fine. Soon, they would fly together again. The thought widened Henry's smile.

"It's time for our trade," Henry said, forcefully tearing his eyes away from the flier. "Now, here's your payment." After a final moment of hesitation, he held the wing in Wevox's direction, and she snatched it from him immediately, passing it to a different spinner who scurried away with it.

Henry found it incredibly amusing how much they freaked out about the wing, but he took care not to let it show. What would they say if he pulled out the other seven he had?

"I have fulfilled my end of the bargain," he said conversationally. "So, in return, I would like—" Henry stepped forward, raising his hand to his chin as if he had to carefully consider his choice. Then he turned, pointing at Thanatos. "One, preferably unwebbed, flier, please."

Wevox shot him a confused look, and Henry found it hard not to snort with laughter. But nonetheless, the queen shortly gave the order to cut Thanatos down. The webs holding him were neatly severed, and, unable to spread his stiff wings on time, the flier plummeted to the ground with a loud thud and a groan.

"Hey!" Henry called. "Be careful with the merchandise! I paid for a healthy flier." Henry was in too deep with the joke; he couldn't back out anymore.

Thanatos lifted himself with another groan and shot him a glare. The spinners were just confused.

But before anyone could inquire, a new voice suddenly spoke: "What will we tell the slimers?"

Henry whipped around and found a light brown spinner had come up next to Wevox; his keen eyes were on Henry. "They had a personal interest in this one," he said. "He was meant for the slime bath."

The queen waved dismissively. "The Sicix only capture but never guarantee to deliver. You, as their leader, should know. If a better offer arises, we will take it."

Henry eyed the brown spinner—apparently the leader of the group who worked as mercenaries—with interest and wondered if it was worth bringing up that they were colleagues. "What is a slime bath?" he asked the other question on his mind instead. Maybe it was unwise to disclose his occupation until he had gained more infamy.

The leader of the Sicix twitched in discomfort. "One of the most feared execution methods in the Underland," he said. "The slimers sentence their worst criminals and those guilty of great insult to their people to it. They drown them in slime. It takes hours until death comes. It is a most gruesome way to die."

Henry shuddered at the mere thought. His gaze darted over to Thanatos, and for the hundredth time, he asked himself what in the world the flier had done for the slimers to loathe him so much. Not only had they hired mercenaries to go after him, but they had also planned to execute him this gruesomely.

The slimers! Henry shook his head bemusedly. If anything, this explained one of the most burning questions on his mind—why they hadn't come to claim Thanatos yet. They were probably still on their way here. At . . . slimer's pace.

In the meantime, Thanatos had managed to stretch his stiff limbs and spread his wings, careful not to cover them in webs again. "I will not hear a word," he hissed, unable to entirely cover up the fatigue in his voice.

"A word about what?" Henry threw him a grin. "Your impending slime bath?"

"Be still."

Henry's grin widened. It felt immensely satisfying to be the savior as opposed to being saved for once, and he would relish every second of it; he had earned the satisfaction this time.

"Just let us leave," hissed Thanatos with a glare, and Henry threw his hands up in pretended indignation.

"Is this what I get for saving your ass?" he called, trotting after the flier, who was already on his way out. He only stopped when he realized that he had seven more buzzer wings and nothing to do with them.

"Halt," Henry said, stepping back into the spinner cave. "What if there is more trading to be done?"

Wevox perked up again. "You have more buzzer wings?"

"Hypothetically, let us say that I do." Henry put his hands on his hips. "How much of your other wares would I get?"

The queen consulted with some of her spinners in their language before she turned back to Henry. "We have clothes in your size. We will give them to you and anything else that you need."

"Please, do not disrespect me." Henry snorted. "I am not fool enough to believe that a set of fresh clothes is worth as much as a life to you."

Wevox and the others started murmuring again. Then she made a new offer: "We will provide you with our goods for a while. Until your credit has run out."

"Now that sounds like a fairer trade," Henry replied. "I shall inquire elsewhere how much value you averagely attribute to these wings . . . not saying that I do not trust you, but as I said, I am not a fool."

Wevox hesitated, and then she actually gave him something like a respectful nod. When Henry pulled out not one or two, but seven more wings, the entire cave gasped. Two spinners instantly scurried over, snatching them up, and the queen rubbed two of her feet together; she visibly struggled to contain her excitement. "Provide the Bringer of Buzzer Wings with whatever he asks for," she commanded, and Henry thought he had never made a more excellent bargain.

***

Another ten minutes passed before Henry and Thanatos finally stepped out onto the riverbank outside of the spinner's land.

Henry's backpack was heavy with new ropes, strings, clothes, and all imaginable types of fabrics. The spinners had given the impression that as long as he fulfilled his duty as "Bringer of Buzzer Wings", he was welcome to return any time, and Henry planned to make good use of that privilege in the future. Was this another achievement? He thought. Was he the first human who could claim to be welcome at the spinners'? Vikus and his desperate attempts at winning their friendship crossed Henry's mind; maybe someone ought to tell him all he had to do was bring them a few wings. Then again, wouldn't that kind of trade contradict his pacifist nature? Henry wondered if there was a way to acquire the wings without killing any buzzers. Did they have graveyards to loot?

Then he remembered that he could never tell Vikus anything anymore and made a face. He leaped over the river, and Thanatos soared over his head, catching himself in the last second before he would have stumbled into the opposite wall.

Thanatos cursed, and Henry laughed. "We rest," he announced, sitting by the river.

"Is it safe?" Thanatos asked, and Henry shrugged.

"Safer than attempting to fly in your miserable condition."

The flier death glared at him, but he did not protest. Before he could approach the river, Henry had already stabbed a fish with Mys and flung it at his face. "I bet they did not feed you anything so delicious."

Thanatos eyed the fish, then Henry. "The food was sparse and tasteless," he said, beginning to eat immediately. He remained lying on the riverbank, and Henry thought he was in an even more miserable condition than when they had first met. His fur was clumped and dull, he had lost weight, and the tissue on his wings was strained.

He also really seemed to be half-starved; within minutes he had devoured three more fish, and Henry used the time to mentally catalog all his new wares. "These are three new sets of clothes," he thought out loud. "And so much rope that I won't need any replacements in a long while." He looked up and grinned at Thanatos. "Many thanks for the excellent business opportunity!"

"At least for one of us, it was a good deal."

"Hey." Henry closed his backpack and grinned at the flier. "You will be fine. You did not make the mistake of giving up hope yet, did you?"

Thanatos opened one eye to stare at him. "I gave up hope the moment the Sicix captured me," he said, making a face.

"Hey!"

"You cannot blame me for not expecting you to make an attempt to save me from such a hopeless situation," the flier said with resignation.

"Have you so little faith in me?"

"It was . . . difficult to have faith in anything."

Henry's mouth snapped shut. He knew exactly what Thanatos was referencing, and before the flier could dodge, Henry had already splashed water in his face. "You may have faith in me," he grumbled, and laughed when Thanatos crossly shook the water off. "Just as I had faith in you."

The flier did not reply, and Henry relished the moment of utter relaxation that being back together allowed him.

"Although, I suppose your doubt was not unjustified," he admitted after a while. "It was not an easy feat to find you. So, what did you do?" Henry shifted to look at Thanatos eagerly. "How did you anger the slimers so much that they hired mercenaries? That they deemed you worthy of a slime bath? What was your unfinished business with them?"

Thanatos looked at him miserably, but finally, he began to speak: "That was so long ago; I had almost forgotten myself," he said. "Resentful bunch, the slimers. And tenacious. Bore a grudge for over half a decade."

"That long?"

"Yes." The flier shifted. "And . . . do me the favor and spare me your mockery. I am well aware that I . . . Well, you see, this was the only time a sincere offer to aid someone got me in so much trouble."

Henry instantly broke into laughter. "I knew that—"

"I asked you to spare me the mockery," hissed Thanatos, and Henry quieted. He did not lose his grin, though. "See," the flier continued, "some five or six years ago, I may have . . . agreed to help a group of shiners move to the Firelands when the slimers had declared war on them. It did not cost me anything, and I thought I might settle down where they had once lived, but then the slimers occupied it all."

"You helped the shiners?" Henry exclaimed. "Wait . . . you moved them to the Firelands? Does that mean you . . . crossed the waterway?" Excitement welled up in Henry; if any flier had the stamina to accomplish this, it had to be Thanatos.

But the flier shook his head. "Not all the way; only maybe half of it." He raised a figurative eyebrow. "No flier attempts to cross the waterway just like so, especially with that kind of company."

"I did wonder how you even survived," Henry mumbled, attempting to hide his disappointment, "traveling with a bunch of shiners."

"I pretended to be deaf for the duration of the trek," said Thanatos, and they both laughed. "It was only five of them. They had been sent as scouts to discover whether the land was fit for their kind to live, but they ended up liking it so much that they never bothered returning. I believe they founded a whole new colony over there. How the rest arranged themselves in the Dead Land, away from the slimers, I have no idea."

"You and five shiners over the waterway!" Henry laughed. "Was that not the most miserable day of your life?"

"Essentially."

Thanatos yawned, but before he could close his eyes, Henry perked up again. "Hold on . . . I have heard of the supposed war between slimers and shiners. But is it not believed that the snails weren't even aware of it? How could they have declared war consciously?"

"That is a common misconception, resulting from the lack of resistance on the shiners' part," Thanatos said, laying on his side and looking less intimidating than he ever had, so Henry thought. "The slimers had well enough reason to declare war. A group of young shiners looking for trouble had invaded their home, stolen supplies, and made them the target of cruel mockery."

"Sounds like something that I would have done," Henry mumbled.

Thanatos snorted. "Doesn't it? Although in this case," he continued, "it ended catastrophically for them. Because, shortly thereafter, the slimers declared war. Even when the shiners offered to surrender the individuals who had taken part in the offense, their grudge persisted."

"And . . . their grudge against you stemmed only from that one instance of aid?"

"The slimers' vow was to take vengeance on all shiners and their allies. I only found all of this out during my trip with the five over the waterway; I would have never agreed to help them had I known the truth. I suspect they weren't supposed to tell me at all, but shiners can hardly keep their mouths shut."

"That is what you get for offering your aid for free."

"Be still," hissed Thanatos. "It was only one time." Henry didn't respond, and the flier groaned. "Honestly, I had nearly forgotten about all of this. Shortly after the incident, I made an effort to stay out of the slimers' path, so they likely lost track of me. But a few days before I announced that I would leave the nibbler colony, I received a message claiming they sought to officially end their quarrel with me and asked me to meet an emissary at that cliff. And, well, I suppose we both know how that ended."

"It was a trap," Henry concluded.

"I truly believed that this would be the end." He shook his head and eyed Henry. "How did you even go about looking for me? How did you find me?"

"Oh, it was a damned hassle!" Henry leaped to his feet and put his hands on his hips. "So, I sought out the flutterers to help track you down. They only helped me because I ventured into the land of the buzzers to eliminate two of their generals so that their war with them might end. Although!" Henry waved his hand with deliberate casualness. "I suspect they may not have trusted me with the job had I not been hired to prevent a gnawer invasion of an island populated by crawlers earlier. To assassinate a former general of Gorger's, Death! And so I did. It was the hardest battle of my life, but I defeated her. Without even requiring the Ignifer! And then—"

"H-Hold on—slow down!"

Henry nearly tripped into the river, so excited was he to finally tell someone about his accomplishments. "What?"

"Not so fast!" the flier heeded. "I am hardly following. You did . . . what?"

"I—" Henry suddenly halted; his grin fell, then reappeared, wider than before. "I fulfilled my promise," he said, crossing his arms. "I stand before you as an outcast who is not only alive but has learned to handle himself. Who no longer needs protection. Not only have I scouted out a potential future hideout and earned the goodwill of more than one new species—yes, I am counting the spinners—I am also a talented mercenary, as it turns out. If that is not the definition of "successful", I would not know what is."

"A . . . mercenary?"

"It is quite an entertaining occupation, so I've learned. Well, when I am not currently fearing for my life—but that is part of the fun, honestly. And it may just be the best way to not only earn a living but also gain the experience that I lack . . . while also solving the outstanding problems of others. Is that not a win-win?"

***

Thanatos looked Henry over as he stood there by the river and listed one unbelievable feat after the other. This witty, confident, and competent young man was supposed to be the same scared and confused boy he had taken in some half a year ago?

But he was, Thanatos thought. He was, and he . . . had fulfilled his promise. He could not look away. Since becoming an outcast, Henry had done nothing but aim to move forward. He had not succumbed to it; on the contrary, in almost every way, Henry had profited from life in exile. Where Thanatos had relinquished himself to the indeterminable ocean of meaninglessness that was life out here, Henry had not ceased trying until he had found a way to swim. Thanatos couldn't fathom where all this seemingly bottomless drive came from, but it carried Henry, and he felt himself dragged along.

"It really is quite entertaining," Henry said now. "And if you want, you may join me, and we shall be mercenaries together."

Thanatos couldn't help but smile. He hadn't seen the boy so comfortable and proud since the nibbler colony. Hadn't he once spoken of never leaving there by himself? And now he was here, making an offer such as this.

Henry was here; he had gone out of his way to save him, and as happy as Thanatos was about that . . . He also saw, clear as light, that Henry, as he was now, didn't need him anymore.

"You are making this offer?" Thanatos said, despite the claws that dug into his heart at the realization. "Even though you have now followed through on your promise?"

Henry stilled and frowned; Thanatos wasn't quite sure why. It had been their deal, he thought. He would stay with the boy until he could survive on his own. Until he had made himself . . . successful.

Thanatos suddenly felt shame when he recalled how he had once doubted Henry's ability to fulfill this promise. Had he doubted? Or had he . . . hoped? That this day—today—would never come? The day that he would lose him.

Thanatos shifted without looking at the boy. Perhaps it was time to admit it, at least to himself: he had gotten attached to the boy. He hadn't meant to. He hadn't wanted to. But when he could care for Henry, he felt fulfilled. More fulfilled than he had since he had abandoned himself out here.

He hadn't actually wanted things to change, but when the boy had crashed into his existence, he—his presence, his hope, and his bottomless drive to keep moving—had changed everything. So much so that Thanatos, despite their "no obligations" clause, realized that he would give his life for him in an instant. Because the boy had hope, he thought. He was young and strong, and if he could learn to not only survive but even be successful out here, he could do anything.

Was to be a guide and set Henry on his way not a good enough purpose? The purpose he had asked for before he had met the boy. It was . . . more than he had hoped for, Thanatos thought. And yet, against all odds, he had hoped that the day that the boy wouldn't need him anymore—would leave—wouldn't have come so soon. When he left, would all this new life that Thanatos felt for the first time in a seeming eternity leave with him?

The boy would leave, no? He had no reason to stay. Well, Thanatos thought, at least he would leave now before things could get any worse.

***

Yes, Henry thought. He was making this offer . . . despite the fact that he could get by on his own now. He bit his lip, looking away.

"Why?" Thanatos asked the question that Henry had feared. "Why are you offering? Why did you even . . . go so far out of your way for me? Is it not part of our deal that we shan't?"

"It is," Henry said after a moment of loaded silence. "But whether or not I still need you to survive is not the point. The point is that we can profit from each other, no? Is that not why we became allies in the first place?"

Thanatos looked at him surprised, and this time Henry held his gaze defiantly. He didn't know when exactly this response had come to him, but it was the only sensible response he had as to why he wanted to stay together.

"We may not have mutual need anymore," Henry said. "But why would we separate if staying together would be mutually beneficial? Or do you deny that this is the case?" He hoped fervently that the flier wouldn't bring up Henry's going out of his way to save him anymore, since that was really not covered by their deal.

"No," said Thanatos after another moment of silence. But the look he was giving Henry shifted, and suddenly there was something like respect in it. It was as though the flier knew perfectly well that this offer was very different from Henry's first. It was no cry for protection or comfort—it was a true offer for an alliance . . . between equals. Like a bond, it flashed in Henry's mind, but he immediately shoved the word down. It was not a bond; such a thing would never happen. This was not lifelong, and it was not a shackle. It was mutual . . . benefit.

"So, despite having fulfilled your promise, you would like to renew our alliance?" asked Thanatos when Henry didn't respond.

"Indeed," said Henry with a grin. "This time, not because I require your company, but because I enjoy it."

Henry wondered if he had ever experienced Thanatos speechless before. He was unsure, but when he uttered those words, the flier stared at him silently for a long time. "Well said," Thanatos finally replied after a silent eternity.

And they needn't say more.