They had no right to take him. Henry squinted and strained to discern the indistinct figures surrounding him, but all he could see was an infinite sea of faceless eyes, all staring at him with unbearable intensity. I want you to take me back. The words remained unvoiced; he would never speak them, not for as long as he had a choice, yet they smoldered in his mind like burning embers, penetrating his ears until he could perceive nothing else.

Unhand me, he meant to scream. You have no power over me. I refuse to cower before you. Though his lips parted, no words escaped. The multitude of eyes bore into him like deprecating arrows, accompanied by pointed fingers and whispered condemnations.

He recognized this scene; he had witnessed it before. However, he had not been the one at the center. It was not his role to be in that position. He was supposed to be on the side—the advocate, not the defendant. His gaze swept around in search of someone to speak for him, yet the space where he had stood with Howard, Luxa, and Stellovet remained vacant.

Henry's mouth gaped open in a silent scream of protest, yet no sound escaped him. Though not physically restrained, he felt immobilized, unable to move or even divert his eye. The overwhelming force of the nameless mass of gazes sapped his strength, rendering him more defenseless than he had felt in ages. He battled the tears valiantly, refusing to succumb to weakness. He was not weak. He was not . . . not . . . meant to be here . . . He did not belong here. Not here, not . . .

His ears filled with the collective uproar emitted by the mass of faceless people encircling him. Had they drawn closer? He wished to raise his hands and cup his ears, but he could not move. The wail grew louder and louder; soon it permeated every fiber of his, and as a last resort, Henry opened his mouth to scream himself, to overpower the piercing, deafening, silent accusation. Just when he thought his eardrums would burst, he suddenly jolted awake.

His eye flew open, and he sat upright, surveying his surroundings . . . and there was Thanatos, who must have been the one to shake him awake. "You seemed to be having a nightmare," his bond mumbled, and Henry slumped back with a sigh.

His eye fell shut, and as he focused, he heard the waves break below. The glow extended all the way to the cave, bathing it in a soft, comforting light. For how long had he slept? It was impossible to tell, but perhaps a day or so had elapsed since they had departed from the Fount. They had found refuge in this cave by the waterway, a few hours' flight from the city.

Something about being in such an environment felt so familiar yet Henry was too tired to bother digging in his memory. "It was . . ." He frowned, feeling a shiver slither down his spine and settle in his core at the memory of the nightmarish images. "It . . ."

"It was?"

"Not like before."

At first, he had fallen, plummeted into a black abyss. Then, he had waded through an endless sea of blood. Then flailed in the dark—blind, deaf, and alone. He forced the image of Thanatos watching him drown from beyond the ice back into his head. But this . . . he wrapped his arms around himself. This was . . . something new.

Though Thanatos remained silent, Henry sensed him by his side and comprehended the implicit offer. Without opening his eye, he began to recount the dream, making an effort to convey it as precisely as possible while not succumbing to his own growing trembling. Thanatos remained silent throughout, yet inched closer with every sentence.

"Why . . . where did this stem from? What is its significance?" Henry groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"You know where it stems from."

"No."

"Something has been wrong ever since we departed from the Fount," continued Thanatos undauntedly. "Something relating to—"

"Speak not her name," hissed Henry. "I cannot fathom any of this. Any of what she . . ." His fists clenched around a damp stone. "Since when am I so upset with the foolish decisions of others?" Henry jerked up into a sitting position, then tossed the rock at the opposing wall with full force. "She is mad!"

"She faced her past . . . her mistake, and shall not be alone again. She has reaped the gain."

"Be still!"

"But is that not what your dream was?"

"My dream was utter rubbish," hissed Henry. "Dalia is not the Death Rider. Why do you cite the prophecy as though it applies to her?"

"You know why."

Henry shut his eye tightly, refusing to acknowledge the truth. "Be still," he repeated, uncertain if he was speaking to Thanatos or his own restless thoughts, and fought the urge to bang his head against the ground. "I refuse to speak about Dalia. I never want to hear her name again. It never occurred, understand? This entire ordeal never took place."

"What are you so terrified of?"

Henry's eye snapped open. "I am not terrified." By the look in Thanatos' eyes, he knew exactly that it was a lie. "I am . . ."

"Said you not such a thing to the others yourself? That we are all masters of our own fates? Why are you so terrified of a choice that you have the freedom not to make?"

Henry groaned. The frustrating part was that this fear—of ever becoming like her—was just as mad as her choice had been. And yet, it continued to nag at him.

"I am not like her," declared Henry, with as much defiance as he could muster. "I shall not put myself in the hands of some prophecy, and I shall not put my fate into the hands of others."

"You overlook that her gamble paid off."

"I have no need to even take the risk!" yelled Henry. "I shall not put myself in their hands!"

"Well . . . then I suppose that is settled," concluded Thanatos. "As I once said, you can only change as much as you allow yourself to change. Although I find it curious that you would be so terrified of something that you once sought."

"What?"

Thanatos gave him a knowing look. "Said you not that it is your wish to confront your past deeds and prove that you are more than your treason when you compelled us to chase after the quest to slay the Bane?"

"I have long proven that," he exclaimed. "I have proven myself to them the moment they declared that they trusted me."

"Yet have you also proven it to yourself?"

"I—" Henry shook his head. "Obviously, I am more than my treason. I am the Death Rider—the grand outcast warrior whom the questers have to thank for their lives!" He shoved aside the notion that he didn't know how interchangeable "Death Rider" and "Henry" were anymore, as well as the images that rushed back of all their faces. Luxa's sincere look and her words: And so you have earned our . . . my trust. Regardless of the wisdom of this decision, I want you to understand. And never forget. For some reason, they sent shivers down his spine.

"So, you claim that you have unchained yourself from self-made binds and trod the path that unwound your true face?" asked Thanatos.

"And I have endured darkness, loneliness, and pain, and . . ." Henry hesitated, brushing back a strand of his untied hair. "I've reaped the gain. Now I have." He held Thanatos' stare and thought he couldn't have reaped a greater gain than unparalleled battle prowess, the trust of the questers, and a true bond. His eye met the network of white lines marring his right hand, and for the first time upon this view, he smiled.

"As I thought last year, this prophecy had not yet concluded," said Thanatos with a smile. "But this also means that now you must face—"

"May we forget this wretched dream?" Henry cut him off. "I have faced my past, and I am not alone either," he hissed. "And more, I need not. I shall not let anyone—least of all, a nightmare—dictate my fate."

"Certainly; I doubt that you would ever allow something like a dream to command you anyway."

"Death?"

"Yes?"

Henry made a face. The words had stirred a memory that he had almost let go of, but not entirely. "There was one nightmare that I nearly allowed to command me . . . Once. There is something I never told you." And suddenly, he felt an irresistible urge to relieve himself of this memory once and for all. "Recall you . . . our last night on the island?"

"Did you not dream of drowning?"

"I did." Henry leaned against the cave wall and crossed his legs. "Yet I told you not the entire dream." The clarity with which he recalled it almost frightened him—from being stabbed by his own ideal yet wicked reflection to the sensation of the icy water sweeping him off his feet to finding Thanatos on the other side of the ice.

His bond did not interrupt him once, as Henry described his pleas for help, the gushing of blood out of his chest, and his flier's idleness throughout. "I did not tell you before, for I was frightened and ashamed," concluded Henry. "But I allowed that fear to rule me and . . . to nearly break us apart."

"So did I," said Thanatos eventually. "Think you I have never witnessed you kill me or leave me to death in my dreams?"

"You have?"

"I have," confirmed Thanatos. "And I have let myself be ruled by fear as well." He shook his head. "We shall no longer let fear rule us."

"Never!" Henry sprang to his feet, making his way to the entrance of the cave. A hundred feet below, waves of green-glowing water broke steadily. "This is the sole requirement that I have for where we go from here," said Henry as Thanatos approached from behind. He sat so that his feet dangled over the edge, feeling his flier settle next to him. "We must not let fear make this choice for us."

"So you keep saying," said Thanatos soothingly. "Yet you have not made a choice yet, have you?"

Henry pressed his lips together. Part of him wished to yell "I have no clue!" at his bond, but . . . "I still have no aim," Henry admitted. "There is nothing that may give me aim . . . now that all heroic deeds are accomplished."

"What exactly mean you by "aim"?"

Henry paused. "Aim is . . . aim. A goal. A direction. There is no goal anymore." He stared out at the foaming waves of the waterway, then scoffed. "See, in moments like this I recall how confined I felt before exile, when I was still inundated in expectations and obligations. I acted out to prove that I cannot be contained."

"Do not tell me you long for someone to have expectations of you again?"

"No," hissed Henry. "I . . . I must figure out what expectations I have of myself," he concluded after a while. "What wish I to be?"

"But you already told me that," declared Thanatos. "You told me that you wished to be uplifting. To be a hero. Is that not expectation enough for you?"

"I . . ." Henry stared at him, with his mouth agape. "I said this, but . . ." His mouth snapped shut. He realized that he had so far associated those goals with being around humans, but—

"Have you not yet processed that you may strive for those goals in any ways that you wish, or why are you not pacing back and forth yet, making bullet lists and borderline mad plans?"

"I am . . . not confined."

"Who could ever confine you?" Thanatos laughed.

"I am . . . free." He could not bring himself to close his agape mouth. Momentarily, he flashed back to the arena and his battle with Longclaw . . . "The sole thing that grants me omnipotence is freedom," mumbled Henry, aghast.

"Well, I would refrain from considering yourself—"

"Freedom!" yelled Henry, scrambling to his feet with so much haste that he nearly toppled over the edge. As he looked out at the vast expanse of the open sea, a new kind of shiver tingled down his spine.

"Freedom," said Thanatos, "is not something to be terrified of. There is nothing to fear." Each word he spoke reverberated inside Henry's skull like a deafening drop of water. "For as long as you know who you are and who you wish to be, it matters not what we do. You cannot go wrong, not with the kind of goals you have set for yourself."

For a ceaseless stretch of time, Henry stared out at the seemingly boundless waves of glowing water. All this, he urged himself to comprehend . . . It is not frightening. "It is not aimlessness," he whispered. "It is . . ." He swallowed hard, finding it difficult to restrain the bubbling excitement within him. "Freedom."

"How do you only realize that now?" Thanatos laughed.

Yet at that moment, Henry didn't even mind the bemused tone. "Death!" he yelled and threw his hands in the air. "Do you realize what this means? There is no goal!" His head spun so frantically with joy and relief that he thought he may pass out. "No goal!" he screamed. "Not even a physical restraint anymore, not ever since Kismet. No orders, no disapproval, no . . . no limit!"

"Not a single one."

"Death!"

Thanatos' bemused look intensified. "It took you an astonishingly long time to process this."

"I . . ." Henry began pacing. "I . . . I did not look at it from the right angle. I presumed that I was condemned to pointlessness, not blessed with the chance to . . ." He paused. "To make my own point?"

"Was that not what I told you?"

"Well—" Henry made a face. "I did not . . . Oh, I care no longer." He smiled. "I think I comprehended in the arena when we fought Longclaw. I recalled deluding myself that my rage made me omnipotent, yet it was then that I realized omnipotence could be granted only by freedom. The freedom to be there, not alone but together. To fight or to negotiate, to kill or to spare. To uplift. The freedom to . . ." Henry's smile became crooked. "To celebrate not death but life."

"Let us celebrate life then," said Thanatos, returning his smile.

"That is what I had in mind, also," concurred Henry. "I . . ." He hesitated for a brief moment, then his grin became bold and bright. "I wish to be a successful outcast."

Thanatos raised his head, taken aback. "Did you not say that this goal was already achieved?"

"Not in the sense in which I mean it." Henry shook his head. And suddenly, he knew what he wanted more than he had known in a long while. "I wish not to merely become self-sufficient," exclaimed Henry, putting his hands on his hips. "I wish to become exemplary. They shall sing ballads in honor of my name—he who needs no cities or protection. He who thrives where others fall. He who has risen from a nameless outcast to an acclaimed hero. I wish to be heroes, Death!" Henry threw his arms in the air. "I wish to be he who has proven every impossibility possible. Let us do the impossible, so that we may inspire everyone who is deterred by the belief that their goal is beyond reach to attempt it anyway."

Thanatos stared at him with his mouth agape.

"May we? Oh, please, may we?"

"Just when I think that you can no longer astound me," mumbled Thanatos, shaking his head. "Henry, by all means, suggest anything you like to help achieve this ambition."

His mouth opened to voice the first of the countless possibilities that swirled through his mind, but then his gaze met Thanatos. After a brief pause, Henry sat in front of him and inquired: "Amidst the abundance of options, ranging from nothing to everything, what is it that you would like to do?"

"Excuse me?"

"I asked, what is it that you would like to do?"

Thanatos stared at Henry as if he were on the verge of asking him to repeat the same question for a third time, even though he had clearly understood. "You . . ."

Henry cut him off with a laugh. "Do not tell me that you have been complaining about my lack of consideration all this time only to respond like this when I am being considerate for once!"

"I . . ." Thanatos shook his head, aghast. "Even if it means risking offense, I must say that this was the last question I ever expected out of your mouth."

"I am offended!" shouted Henry, playfully kicking him in the side. "Cease being surprised and answer my question!"

"Well . . ." Thanatos sighed. "In all honesty, I have never given this any thought."

Henry broke into roaring laughter. "You have officially forfeited any rights to ridicule me for not being certain about what I want!" he called.

"Perhaps it is not so easy for me to answer because I have not given this any thought since I went into exile," grumbled Thanatos.

"Not since you have been so excessively overprotective?"

Thanatos gave him a pained look. "No, then I only knew what I did not want to do. But to know what one wants to do . . ." He sighed. "I cannot remember the last time."

"Right, you forgot what has once driven you in the past." Henry nudged him in the side. "What say I to that?"

"That you will drive me in the present?"

"But I mean that not necessarily in a literal sense," said Henry. "I wish not to command you, yet . . . You are not excluded from those I wish to inspire. Have I not yet instilled any ambitions within you?"

"You have inspired so much in me," said Thanatos with a serene smile. "May I have some time to consider this?"

"Fine, fine," Henry caved. "Halt, did you just delegate the decision about our next action back to me?"

"Well, one of us has to make it . . . Let it be the one who has slightly more experience in making decisions."

Henry flicked at his ear, but that time, Thanatos pressed it down on time to dodge. "I shall make you regret this," he vowed, getting to his feet. "So much freedom." He spread his arms. "With it, I wish to do something unprecedented. Something that no one else has ever had the courage to undertake. Something . . . utterly mad."

"As long as you wish not for us to die in the process," said Thanatos sourly. "Share with me your idea."

"Oh, we shall not die. We are omnipotent, after all." Henry ignored Thanatos' accusing look, suddenly beyond certain of where he wanted to venture. "There is only one place where things like such are a guarantee." His gaze fixed on the expansive open sea, and for a brief moment, his hand paused in the air as if he could grasp its vastness. "Is it not unprecedented to venture there? South of the rats' land, or north of Regalia, west of the Dead Land, or east of the jungle and the citadel, or—"

"Beyond the maps?" interjected Thanatos. "Have you gone mad? No one ventures beyond the maps. No one in their right mind, at least."

"I told you that you would regret leaving this decision to me." Henry grinned. "Besides, you cannot claim that you have never considered it. There are no maps to chart the land . . . and so what? What is the worst that could happen?"

"Henry, I implore you to never pose this question to me again."

"Oh, quit being a spoilsport and tell me about the last time you considered it."

Thanatos made a face. "Shortly before her death, Arya would not cease pestering me that we should go there . . . and never return."

"We shall return," promised Henry at once but then his wide smile fell. "Then again, if you genuinely wish to do something else, I—"

"No, halt!" interjected Thanatos. "This is not how this is meant to unfold." Henry threw him a confused look, and Thanatos rolled his eyes. "Is this not what we do? You suggest something that verges on insanity, and I attempt to dissuade you because I clearly am the only one with a sensible attitude toward risk assessment between the two of us. But then . . . we always do it regardless, no?"

Henry stared at him with a frown. "Is . . . this something we do? I suppose that is how it usually goes. I merely wish not to force—"

"Henry, were it not for your courageous drive, my life would be utterly dull, ruled by fears of uncertainties."

"Let your fears not win!" exclaimed Henry.

"I cannot . . . just do that," protested Thanatos. "I mean, suppose it is as dreadful as they all say? We are seeking a vacation from bloodshed, yet what if that is exactly what awaits us there? No one has gone beyond the maps in centuries," he implored. "We have not the slightest inkling of what awaits there. What if—"

"What if," Henry cut him off, "we do it anyway?"

Thanatos groaned. "Is this how you make your decisions? Consider the risks and . . . do it anyway?"

"This is how."

Thanatos looked at him incredulously. "That explains . . . so much."

"If you cannot win over your fears by yourself, I shall drive them away for you," proclaimed Henry. "Let yourself not be driven by fear. You are not alone."

Thanatos stared at the hand Henry extended toward him with a bright smile, and after only a brief moment of hesitation, he enclosed it with his claw. "Fears have less power when we are not alone," he mumbled.

"I shall drive away every fear of yours if I must."

Thanatos sighed. "I suppose I have pretended to protest enough?"

Henry laughed. "Let us say you have. Where do we go first?" he mused, releasing his flier and staring out at the open sea again. "Perhaps we should visit the nibblers and Kismet. And . . . finally finish that saddle design. Where better to field test it than in a place such as the uncharted lands?"

Thanatos looked at him as though he had lost his mind for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Fine," he conceded. "But I have one condition." He rose and stretched his wings as well as he could in the narrow cave. "I have given it some thought, and I have . . . thought of a response to your question earlier. There is something I wish to do."

"Share it!"

"Henry," Thanatos took a stance before his bond, "we may go back to the nibbler colony and to Kismet, and even finish your wretched saddle. We may go to the uncharted lands . . . We shall venture where no one has gone before. I suppose I can hardly claim that there isn't a part of me that wants it too. You are . . . Sometimes I think you are too inspirational for your own good. Fear not that you cannot inspire anyone, for you are inspiring me. I meant it when I said that your bold escapades are the only reason I am learning to live again."

"I must ensure that my bond has a life!" Henry laughed.

"Laugh all you want," said Thanatos. "But you are doing a phenomenal job. When we spoke about my age, it came to me that I have . . . wasted seven years of my life. Sometimes it strikes me that I am nearly a decade older than when I left. All this time has gone by, and I haven't made any headway. Before the garden, I had anticipated being further along in life by now, but . . ." He shook his head. "I mean it wholeheartedly when I say that you have brought me back to life. And I shall not let your effort be in vain. I will have ambition again. I shall not waste more time. You . . . will not let me, will you?"

This time it was Henry who stared at him, mouth agape. "I would never!" he exclaimed, laughing. "And so you have finally woken up," he concluded after a pause, smiling. "I thought I told you . . . what, a year ago?"

"A year ago," said Thanatos. "Then, we first attempted to cross the waterway . . . which is what I would like to be the undertaking that we carry out before we embark into the unknown."

Henry held his gaze for a moment, then broke into a wide grin as unbridled excitement filled his chest. "There is one condition I have not one qualm with!"

***

Last log/Day before departure

Fine, perhaps this won't be the very last log after all. I've been neglecting them lately, but who knows? Perhaps there will be a purpose for them again, especially in the uncharted lands.

Note to self: Request a new notebook from Teslas; this one is nearly full.

Honestly, I'm dying to just take off, but there are other priorities to handle first. Such as visiting the nibblers and completing the saddle. It's going to be fantastic. I spent the entire night brainstorming ideas, and I think I have something . . . I must show Teslas; I genuinely believe this will work.

Perhaps he may even help with my old sword. I still cannot bring myself to toss out the broken hilt.

We have decided to visit Kismet as well. Before we depart for an unknown duration, we should make an appearance. I am eager to show her everything I've acquired and tell her about Longclaw. I do feel a bit guilty for not visiting sooner. I suppose we got carried away with Longclaw and the quest. I shall miss the others, but I also cannot bear the idea of babysitting them again in the near future. Does that make sense?

One thing I must confess is that Stellovet isn't so bad. Who knew she had so much in her? And it only took being kidnapped by rats . . . If only I had known this sooner

I'm still filled with anger toward Dalia, and I cannot fathom why. She has done me no harm, even promised to keep my secret. What she did was waste an incredible chance for a fresh start. If someone had offered me the same, I would not have thought twice. Now, she'll have to carry the weight of that label for the rest of her life. Even if she is tolerated, she'll always be under scrutiny and labeled a traitor. People are vindictive, Dalia. What a loss.

I've been pondering . . . As much as I am eager to venture into the uncharted lands for the thrill and to boast about it . . . I also crave to go somewhere where I can be myself without any pretense, for a change. A place where I don't have to be cautious with my words. A place where no past can haunt me, demanding I face it.

I'm weary of being so tied to all this baggage from the past. Tired of pretending I still belong with them, regardless of what Luxa said. It would be humorous if only it weren't. It feels like such a short time ago I was so desperate to win back their love, to go out of my way to make amends. Perhaps, as harsh as this sounds . . . perhaps this is the kind of fresh start I need. Perhaps it is time to let go.

There is no point in clinging on to an old home when I've found a new one. Thanatos was right; I can see it now. A home is not a place—it is that sensation in your stomach when everything just feels right. When you can engage in activities you enjoy, when all your senses are not bothersome but rather pleasant. When you have someone by your side who loves you and will stand by you through it all. That is a far better kind of home, I believe.