Quickly after they had entered, the tunnel began declining at an alarming rate; Henry thought it was so steep that he would have difficulties traversing it on foot.

After two hours of laborious and careful navigation from Thanatos, they finally reached a point where the path's angle decreased enough for Henry to walk on foot. His torch illuminated a shift in the wall's makeup, as evidenced by the way it reflected his light.

"It's volcanic rock," Thanatos answered when Henry asked. "Obsidian, I believe. Tock spoke of black walls, so we must be close."

"We are definitely in the Firelands," said Henry.

From then on, Thanatos proceeded with even more caution, but all Henry felt at the unfamiliar sight was a peculiar sense of curiosity. Although he and Ares had occasionally journeyed along the fringes of the Firelands, they had never ventured far into its depths. Rumor had it that the majority of the land was tainted by toxic gases, and within the volcanic caves dwelled dangerous creatures, many of which remained shrouded in mystery.

Yet he had little time to satiate his curiosity because, only ten minutes later, the tunnel began to narrow until it became too tight for Thanatos to properly fly, and he was compelled to land. Uncertainly, they fixed their eyes on the sole tunnel that lay ahead, its width barely reaching three feet.

"Should we turn back?" asked Thanatos. "We may try to take that side path we crossed five minutes—"

It was then that a sudden, violent blow sent Henry reeling. He cried out in pain and shock as a powerful force knocked him off his feet and catapulted him into the opposite wall. For a few moments, he was disoriented and dizzy, but he could hear Thanatos' high-pitched shriek cutting through the confusion.

As he struggled to catch his breath, he realized that he was being pinned to the wall by what appeared to be a fleshy . . . tail.

Henry squirmed and screamed, but the tail's owner kept him firmly in place. In the flickering light of the dropped torch, he barely glimpsed Thanatos. It seemed his leg was ensnared by some sort of rodent, though he couldn't be sure before the torch extinguished with a hiss.

Complete darkness surrounded Henry, and a surge of fear pierced his heart. Where had the attacker emerged from, and how had they managed to sneak past Thanatos' keen sense of hearing? Gasping for air, he desperately fought against the tightening grip of the tail around his throat. He had to do . . . something. On instinct, Henry reached for Mys' handle, swiftly drawing the blade, but just moments before it could strike, the tail loosened its grip.

Henry collapsed onto the ground, wracked with violent coughs, releasing his grip on Mys to clutch at his own throat.

"A flier and a human down the Path of Styx . . ." The sound of an unfamiliar voice made his head jerk up. "I can only presume that you were seeking death. It is the only thing to be found here." The voice had a peculiar quality that reminded him of Thanatos when they had first spoken—it was similarly rough and unpracticed, as if the speaker rarely talked.

Henry coughed one last time and peered into the inky blackness, struggling to make out any shapes. Gradually, his vision adjusted enough to spot the crouched shape of a rodent in the mound of the tunnel from where they had come.

By the voice, she was a female and too large for a nibbler. Henry squinted again. "We were looking for you," he said after a pause, pulling himself to his feet. If she was not a nibbler, she was a gnawer, and finding a different female gnawer than the one they sought in this uninhabited, barren land was highly improbable.

"For . . . me?" She shifted, yet Henry could not tell if she relaxed or assumed an attack position. "Ha! Whoever could have sent you on the suicidal quest to find me? Have I not spread gruesome rumors amongst the local species to ensure my peace and quiet?"

"Oh, the rumors have spread well," said Henry. "About evil fates meeting whoever ventures here, and similar drivel. To that, I say that I shall transform every evil fate that dares to cross my path into a valued opportunity, as I do."

"Oh no," she groaned. "An optimist."

"Of the most insufferable kind," said Thanatos as he dragged himself away from the wall into which she seemed to have smashed him and gingerly stretched his wings.

"But actually, we were looking for Kismet," said Henry, inching carefully toward where he more sensed than saw his torch. "However much of a difference that makes."

She flinched, and Henry froze halfway there. "For . . ." She drew back, and Henry took another hesitant step toward his torch. "So, you seek not death but destiny." Henry couldn't help but shudder as her voice became suffused with an overpowering strain. "And what could anyone still want from her? Even less an optimist?"

It required a moment for Henry to register that "kismet" translated to "destiny". He moved closer to his torch steadily and finally scooped it up. "Her help, what else?"

The rat immediately burst out in a fit of laughter. "Oh, either you truly are that kind of unsalvageable optimist, or you are utterly insane. Did I not convey to him clearly that I wish to be left alone?" she mumbled to herself, then whipped around and fell to all fours. "Leave," she hissed, "before I decide to forget that battle is an art and make it messy."

"I have not been deterred by rumors, and I shall not be deterred by threats," said Henry, unwavering. "If you had wanted to kill me, you would have long done so." He decided not to linger on the notion that this was not necessarily the case. "I came here expecting resistance. An impossible, so I was told. And yet I came here anyway. Do not presume that I did so for fun."

"You came here . . ." Who he presumed to be Kismet released a strained scoff. "Despite being told to expect the impossible?" She stared at him, or at least so he thought, then relaxed some of her tension, leaning in the tunnel entrance. For a moment, an image of Ripred doing the same, back when they had first met, flashed before his inner eye, and Henry clutched the hilt of his torch tighter.

"Not only one, but two impossibles," he said. "And I shall not quit until they have been achieved, Destiny." Then Henry flicked the switch that reignited his torch. It lit up with a hiss, and Kismet flinched back, retreating into the shade. All Henry could make out of her was a patch of light fur and the pink tip of a tail.

He stared at her for a moment, then looked at Thanatos uncertainly.

"She must not be accustomed to light," said the flier. "Let us wait."

But Henry hated waiting. "Come out, so that I may look you in the eyes as I announce my intentions!" he called.

Kismet did not react for what felt like an eternity. Henry was moments from raising his torch and drawing closer when her voice met his ear again. "You wish to look me in the eyes, you say?" She slowly slid forward, her tail gliding ahead across the smooth obsidian. "Fine, then do. But in that case, pup, also tell me what impossibilities you seek and why you seek them with me and not anywhere else."

Restless, Henry lifted the torch and opened his mouth to clarify that he was not a pup. But all his words vanished the moment she stepped into the light.

For a gnawer, Kismet was not large—not much taller than Henry. But perhaps it only seemed that way, for she was awfully emaciated. Henry could see the sharp angles of her shoulder blades and ribs through her sparse fur, which was tangled and neglected, adding to her haggard appearance. It was a strikingly pale gray, unlike anything he had ever . . . Henry stilled. New meat for me, Splintleg? A human pup and a spiritless veteran. This'll be fun.

No. Henry narrowed his eye. Although they may have shared a similar size and build, the fur of Splintleg's late champion, Sizzleblood, had been a more saturated gray. Kismet's looked almost bleached out by time. Still, for all their similarities, they could have been sisters.

And just like Sizzleblood, Kismet was covered head to toe in scars that varied in shape, size, and severity. They seemed to document a perilous life, though the closer Henry looked, the more he found himself wondering just what kind of battles she had fought to earn such systematic-looking burn marks. Her paws and tail were swathed in ragged bandages, although it appeared that they were more for protection, just like those he had worn when climbing.

Without even uttering a word, she caught him off guard once more by turning to meet his gaze and leaving him speechless.

"What of it, pup?" snarled Kismet. "I thought you meant to look me in the eyes?"

And Henry did. He compelled himself to confront it . . . her face and the most striking one of her scars, which was not unsimilar to a more gruesome variant of the one he saw when looking into a mirror. Except her face had not been ripped away by teeth; it was a burn mark comprised of exposed, charred flesh that had likely not grown fur in years . . . or decades. Henry couldn't stifle a tremor. With all the injuries and mutilations he had seen in his life, he had never encountered anything quite like that. Even the sight of his own reflection seemed benign in comparison.

But it wasn't just that she was missing an eye like him. Her left eye remained whole, but it gazed off into the distance with a vacant expression. Once a reddish hue, the iris now appeared faded and murky, much like her fur. Was she . . . ?

Before Henry could move closer, Kismet beat him to it. Her tail swept down and struck the ground, inches in front of his foot. "I am not blind, if that was what you meant to determine," she hissed. "Not yet, at least. The left eye sees, although not well in the distance. But I do not need to see to perceive you."

She fell to all fours and confidently trailed his shape with her tail, avoiding the torch effortlessly. When her tail finally brushed the tips of his feet, she turned to Thanatos, doing the same with him. "Ha," she said once she was finished. "I am impressed that you made it down here with your wingspan. What is it, seventeen, eighteen feet?"

"I managed," said the flier. "But you . . ." Thanatos tilted his head. "You did not make any sound just now, did you?"

Kismet stilled. "I did not," she said after a pause.

"None?" exclaimed Henry. "But did you not use echolocation?"

Kismet scrutinized him. "I did."

Henry looked over at Thanatos and saw that he was equally astonished by this demonstration. And what a demonstration! Echolocation that did not require making any sounds at all . . . Henry could barely shut his dropped jaw. Was this what Ripred had been talking about?

"Thank you," he mumbled after a while, and Kismet halted in her tracks.

"Say what?"

"For confirming that I came to the right spot," said Henry. "If you possess an ability like this, you are indeed who I was promised."

"Oh no," she groaned. "Do not tell me, he said—"

"I came here," said Henry in a grim tone, determinedly slipping off his eyepatch. "Because I seek to become like you. In . . . this one aspect, at least."

Kismet narrowed her remaining eye and drew closer until her face was mere inches from his. When she had apparently gotten close enough to see his scar, she snorted. "No matter your . . . eye problems, pup, you cannot be like me."

"I am not a pup!" Henry finally hissed. "I am . . ." He paused, thinking back to his and Ripred's conversation. "A fellow warrior of the mind."

Kismet paused, visibly taken aback. "Oh no," she said eventually. "Is that what he told you? Is that the impossible that you are chasing? Are you here because he managed to instill in your mind the belief that I would . . . teach you?"

"Ripred?"

"Who else?" She scoffed. "He is—"

"Frankly, I could not care less what he "is" to you!" exclaimed Henry. "I am not here to do Ripred a favor. I am here about something that will make up for the shortcomings of this . . . issue." He gesticulated at his face. "And I was told that you were the only one who could help me. Impossible or not, I will not quit. I will not fail!"

"Genuinely expecting to achieve something impossible is one definition of insanity."

"But it is not impossible," said Henry, suddenly feeling a wave of fresh conviction drown him. "You demonstrated just now that it is not. I needn't more proof. If you can do it, so can I." He decided to ignore the fact that, as a human, he did have a biological disadvantage compared to her.

Kismet stared at him as though she were moments from banging her head into the solid rock that surrounded them. "That is not—" She began, then turned to Thanatos. "Does his optimism have an off-switch of some kind?"

The flier snorted. "No."

"Oh!" exclaimed Kismet. "However did you learn to stand it?"

"I have discovered that the least troublesome option is to submit to it," said Thanatos. "Resistance only prolongs the battle, which is ultimately hopeless."

Kismet released an exasperated groan, turning away. "Ripred, Ripred!" she wailed. "When will you learn to not meddle with lives that do not wish to be meddled with?"

"When crawlers learn to fight," mumbled Henry, and Kismet snorted.

"Truer words have not left your mouth since you arrived here, pup."

"No," said Henry. "The truest words that have left my mouth since coming here are that I will be successful. No matter what it is that you say. No matter how improbable this theory is or whether no human has ever achieved it."

"At least Ripred tried to warn you."

"He said that it may be impossible," said Henry, putting his free hand on his hip and staring directly at her. "To which I said what I always say: that all impossible things may be unachieved, but not all unachieved things are impossible."

Kismet halted abruptly, and her tail coiled. For a moment, Henry detected the same trace of disbelieving fright in her face as he thought he had in Ripred's.

"Is that what you said to him?" she asked, and just like with Ripred, the expression faded instantly, leaving Henry to wonder whether it had ever been there. Without waiting for a reply, Kismet continued: "Before he sent you here? You—a human!" she snorted. "But why am I surprised? It is just like him. He has never followed the bounds of sense or logic, and he has always been a meddler. Let me guess." She planted herself directly in front of him. "He told you not to hold him responsible if this should not work out for you?"

"He did," said Henry. "Right before he told me not to mention his name, as it would slightly decrease the chances that you would rip me to shreds. But since we are still talking about him, he must have misjudged those chances."

Kismet laughed. "He has misjudged many things if he has thought it worth your time to send you here. But, as I said, he has never been deterred by something having no logic. He is an insufferable control freak who can not take defeat, no matter whether he is in the wrong."

"Thank you!" exclaimed Henry. "Finally someone who understands why I—" He broke off before he could say "I despise him so much". Because, when he searched in himself for lingering traces of hatred for Ripred, he found none.

"You what, pup?" Kismet laughed. "Hate him? You do not hate him."

"Neither do you."

Kismet froze. "Do not be so presumptuous as to assume you know anything about me or what feelings I may or may not harbor for Ripred."

"And what about you?" retorted Henry. "You know nothing about me either."

"Want to bet?" Kismet took one large step in his direction, eyeing him head to toe. "Ripred, on the surface, he berates you like he does them all, but then, when he thinks that you aren't paying attention, you catch him looking at you with something more. Something like . . . pride." She waited not for Henry to even close his agape-standing mouth. "Because you are like him—not in all, but in a lot of ways. You . . ." She began circling him. "You have his ego, but not his cynicism. You have something much more dangerous: hope. You have drive and resolve, and the irksome ability to inspire others to have it too."

"An ability that is infinite," Thanatos interjected.

"Infinite!" exclaimed Kismet. "Infinite hope! That's what I call hubris." Before Henry could ask what that meant, Kismet resumed: "But because you have belief in everything, including yourself, your ego knows as few bounds as Ripred's. You wish to be the best, no? Is that it—how you fuel your infinite drive?" She tapped a claw on Henry's chest. "To be . . . the best. Not just at one thing, but at everything."

"I wish to prove myself," said Henry mindlessly. Not because there was something specific he wanted to prove at this very moment, but because he was accustomed to constantly having something to prove.

"Of course!" exclaimed Kismet. "How dare I forget that one?" She began circling him again, continuing what felt more and more like an evaluation. "To prove that you can be the best. That, no matter what they all say, no matter what Ripred says, you will achieve whatever you set your mind to. Defiant, bold, resolute, believes himself above all boundaries," she rattled off adjectives. "Resilient and cunning too. Perhaps Ripred did not lie when he called you a fellow warrior of the mind. You are flamboyant and reckless, and always follow your occasionally unreliable instincts, but you are also a survivor. A leader. Someone who craves recognition and respect and has the ability to inspire it where it is not freely given." She came to a halt right in front of him. "What about it? Do I win?"

Henry stared at her and found himself utterly speechless. As Kismet took in his silence, her tail twitched, satisfied. "I win," she declared. "So, for the love of my sweet solitude, why would one like you ever be even remotely interested in this theoretical skill that I may or may not be able to teach you? Look elsewhere for something to sink your belief into. I have no interest."

"How did you do that?" asked Henry, ignoring her remark.

"That?" She shrugged. "It is not so difficult, really. You know, if you look closely, people in themselves can always be broken down into recognizable parts, as evidenced by specific behaviors and actions. In the . . . past I have spent much time studying how those pieces fit together."

"So . . . what you are saying is that people are predictable?"

Kismet's ear twitched. "You do have a way of oversimplifying things, no?"

"And you one for overcomplicating them."

For a second, they stood face-to-face. The scarred, old gnawer and the relentless fallen prince, neither having moved any closer to yielding.

"Fine," said Kismet eventually. "I shall give the two of you this much: this was . . . entertaining. But now it is over." Faster than Henry could comprehend, she fell to all fours and released a low hiss that made Henry flinch back. "It is enough, pup," snarled Kismet. "You've had your fun, and a riveting story to tell Ripred about your visit here, but forget not that I can kill you in more than a dozen ways. So, skedaddle, lest your flier be compelled to collect your pieces from the floor."

"I am not leaving," said Henry, matching the resoluteness in her tone.

"Henry, maybe we should—"

But he did not look at Thanatos. "I have come here neither to have fun nor to have a riveting story for Ripred," Henry said to Kismet. "Show me your dozen ways if it fancies you, but unless you look me in the eye and tell me that Ripred lied when he said that you were the only one who could, even in theory, help me, I will sink my belief into you. And you cannot stop me."

"You think you can out-stubborn me?" Kismet laughed. "Not even Ripred could do that."

Henry wanted to think that he could. That it was all a test of some kind, that he had a real chance of convincing her if only he did not yield. But . . . maybe that was not the solution.

"I don't," said Henry to their all's surprise, not retreating an inch. "But you don't strike me as someone who wouldn't be up to a good challenge, even in the face of seemingly impossible odds," he said. "So all I have to do is find a way to make this challenge worth your while. To . . ." Henry crossed his arms, taking a step toward her. "To prove myself worthy of your effort. And, as you seem to know so much about me, do you really think I will rest until I have found a way?"

She stared at him with a mix of infinite frustration and a glimmer of something he had thought to have spotted in Ripred's eyes, back in the jungle. "And what if there is no way?" she asked. "To make yourself worthy of my effort?"

"There always is," retorted Henry. "I will do whatever it takes."

"Whatever?"

"Whatever," said Henry emphatically. "Try me. I dare you."

The look she gave him then said it all—her unvoiced thoughts, her yearning to comply and devise trials for him, exactly as he desired. But her response was unwavering: "No."

With that, she pivoted and disappeared into the narrow passage ahead, as swiftly and silently as she had arrived.