There she was. Henry's head twitched, his grip on the hilt of his sheathed sword grew stronger, and he reflexively lifted it until—

CRACK!

Henry ignored the jarring noise of the stone meeting the sheath and redirected his attention to what else he could hear. With the sword raised high, he fell back into guard, scanning his surroundings, and finally took in a scraping sound behind him. Following it, he turned with care so as not to lose his footing on the narrow pillar upon which he stood, thirty feet above the ground.

Now that Kismet was aware of this cave, she deemed it ideal for their training sessions. To think that his original motive for coming here had been to release his frustration by striking this pillar with his sword!

He barely blocked the next stone and frowned, realizing that he had neglected to follow up with an attack as he was supposed to. Make use of every contact your blade has with your opponent, Kismet's voice rang in his head. You must internalize that most of your opponents will not be armored. Even when you block, you attack.

Henry forced himself to concentrate by sinking his bare soles into the ground. As Kismet had insisted, he imagined his feet as roots, firmly grounded and steady. Your attack can only ever be as powerful as your stance, she snarled in his ear. You are not on the back of your flier anymore. Only if you stand firm can you attack firmly.

Henry breathed in and consciously matched his stance to the position of his blade. You must not think of your sword as any different than the claws and teeth that we others possess. You must hold it, hone it, and care for it in the same manner. Just because, as a human, you require an artificial weapon, that does not mean that you may see it as anything other than a part of yourself, lest you be at a grave disadvantage.

Henry slowly turned, guard up, following the sound of Kismet's steps, thirty feet below. When she hurled the next two rocks immediately after each other, he deflected them effortlessly.

"Pay heed!" he yelled as he eased his tension and skillfully twirled his sword. "May we go back to the lake after we are done? I'm starvi—agh!"

Only in his periphery did Henry register Kismet's laughter. He faltered from the rock she had tossed without warning and barely caught himself before he would have tumbled. "Hey!"

"Do not yet treat the exercise as over, pup," she snarled, and Henry cursed, using all his strength to steady himself and raise his sword. He barely managed to react in time to the next audible clue, originating approximately ten feet to his left, and adeptly sidestepped the incoming rock.

"As for your question . . ." Kismet had moved again, and Henry pivoted to follow her. "We may go."

This time, he struck the stone she launched with finesse and even fell back into a decently stable stance.

"If you can hit the next five rocks as well as you just did that one."

Rather than reply, Henry lifted his sword higher, keenly feeling every single contour and irregularity of the stone underfoot. If this was all it took for him to claim victory, he had already won.

***

"It's unfathomable to me how you still possess the energy for that obstacle course, even after an entire day of combat training."

With a grin aimed at Kismet, Henry sat himself down next to the torch he had set up for grilling the fish he had caught earlier at the lake. "It's simply a matter of being in excellent shape!"

"Physically maybe." She raised her vision aid from the book she had been reading. "Nonetheless, your mental restlessness persists. And while you are making strides, in battle you still more often than not move like a dancer, not a warrior."

Henry death glared at her, then stabbed Mys into his fish. "If that is so, and my fighting is so lackluster, would you care to tell me how I defeated Goldfang—"

"I cannot," Kismet cut him off, "because that is unfathomable to me, also. "However Goldfang could sink so low that she allowed herself to be defeated by you is a mystery I'd very much like to solve. Her prowess in battle was never exceptional, but to be killed by a human pup who prances around like a frolicking child when he swings his sword? A true disgrace."

"I defeated her as I defeated the blood balls," retorted Henry. "And I shall not let you steal this achievement from me."

"Oh yes," she laughed. "Now that is an exercise I am deeply intrigued by."

"Did it by any chance inspire the one where you hurl rocks at me?"

"Well, if I do not have any cannons, I must do it manually, no?"

Henry gave her a crooked grin. "Your variant of it is nearly as fun as the original," he said, gathering the innards of the fish he had removed before aiming and proficiently tossing them through the cave entrance and down the cliff. "I have told you that, in our regular combat lessons, we do not place much emphasis on the challenges of grounded combat." He placed the fish on his improvised grill. "But my stance is improving. You said that yourself. I am improving at everything."

Kismet hesitated, then nodded. "Nonetheless, you still have a long way to go. Undoubtedly, you now have a significantly stronger tether to your senses than the majority of humans ever achieve throughout their entire lives. However, that was merely the first step. It is impossible for me to estimate how long it will take for you to pass the threshold."

Henry bit his lip and stared at his slowly sizzling fish. Then his gaze flew toward the corner where he slept and the wall beside it. In the flickering light of the torch, he made out the lines of the tally he had somehow squeezed in between Kismet's carvings. His lips pressed together when he pictured himself tomorrow, opening his eye and making the eighty-eighth line.

"I know that you struggle with being patient," said Kismet. "But this is not something to be rushed. Did you not come here, knowing this could take years? Did you not take that risk because you thought it was worth it?"

"I . . . suppose." Henry listlessly poked his fish. "But I—"

"Why are you even rushing yourself so?" Henry frowned, but Kismet continued: "There is nowhere urgent you must be, is there? So take ease. Tackle one step at a time, and it will pay off."

Henry's jaw clenched. His mind reeled back to Thanatos' last visit . . . on day sixty-five. More than twenty days ago. "I simply wish to avoid staying put in this place indefinitely."

"You are not "staying put"!" exclaimed Kismet. "You are training. In what sense is that not enough for you?"

"It is perfect," mumbled Henry absentmindedly. "The training, I mean. The way it is now. But that is not what I mean." Henry sighed and stretched his limbs. He found that he was now used to being stiff, sore, and bruised almost constantly, and it was oh-so-satisfying.

"Regardless of what you mean," Kismet chimed in. "You are not satisfied yet, so you will not leave. You know what you do next?"

Henry made a face before plucking his fish from the torch.

"Finish your meal and then go sit out your hour. And perhaps you could at least attempt to concentrate for once instead of whatever else you're usually doing up there."

***

Log 26/Day 87, before bedtime

Alright, perhaps I did slightly exaggerate last time. Maybe she does think there's some value in this, rather than it simply being "sheer and complete bullying with the sole intention to torture me." Ten minutes of stillness had a purpose. What a whole hour of stillness is supposed to achieve, I honestly don't know.

Well, I've been complaining about it for ten consecutive logs now, and it still doesn't feel like it's sufficient. But since no one will ever read these entries, who cares? Fine. Alright, let's genuinely give it some thought.

Possible reasons why Kismet might require me to spend an hour daily sitting quietly within an empty cave:

> to bully me . . . never mind, I pledged that I would not go there again

> to hone my focus?

> to improve aid my perception even further?

But this makes no sense. The rationale behind ten minutes of stillness was that it allowed me to discover and practice directional hearing. But this is a full hour . . . during which Kismet is not even here (as far as I'm aware). There is nothing to focus on here.

Although the first time she condemned me to this exercise, she told me to focus. But on what? It is still. And lonely boring. Ever since the shift in our training, this hour of stillness has been the only stain on our otherwise immaculate routine, mostly because I cannot, for the life of me, fathom what its true purpose is. Whether it may really help me with this threshold.

Kismet said earlier that I am not yet satisfied, but I've been thinking . . . When Thanatos comes by again, I will inquire about his plans and possibly accompany him. After all, I came here to be useful in battle again, and I believe I have accomplished that already.

Although I haven't passed any thresholds yet, I can wield my sword again, even without my eyes. It might be wise to field-test it at some point, but regardless, my skills have improved significantly. And if that is so, do I even need the threshold anymore?

If it takes another ten years, I may not. Kismet may be wrong. I may be satisfied after all.

***

One . . . two . . . three! With a flicker of his wrist, Henry caught his sword in midair and pivoted, pressing his bare soles onto the ground. Rooted in place.

"Good, now hurl it over here," Kismet spoke on his right, and Henry inhaled deeply, took a swing, and threw the sword in the air. One . . . two . . . three . . . He heard her catch it, precisely on four.

"Excellent," she snarled, and the blade clanked to the floor. "Now that dagger. Left to right, then over to me."

Henry released his breath and unsheathed Mys. As he turned toward Kismet's voice, he tossed the dagger up. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . His right hand grasped the handle deftly. A heartbeat later, the dagger flew toward Kismet.

One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . There. Henry listened to the gentle clank of metal hitting the stone floor and smiled.

This time, she did not announce herself, and Henry's head jerked around when her claw scraped the stone to his left. He ducked and dove to the right at the last second, avoiding her outstretched paw, nearly losing balance in the process. Reaching for the familiar pillar to steady himself, he straightened out his blindfold and stood tall again.

This time, the assault came from the right, catching Henry off guard. Nonetheless, he managed to react swiftly, leaping into the air and skillfully regaining his balance before evading her sweeping tail. He deftly ducked under Kismet's extending paw and found himself face-to-face with her. Seizing the opportunity, Henry delivered a powerful kick to her side, causing her to cry out in pain and falter momentarily, which he took advantage of.

In one giant leap, he was on her back, swiftly encircling his legs around her midsection and firmly clasping the base of her ears. As her body swayed beneath him, Henry tugged on her left ear, causing her to abruptly veer to the left. In a moment of triumph, he let out a victorious cry, only to be caught off guard as something suddenly constricted around his waist.

"This is unfair! You cannot do that!" he wailed and laughed as she tore him off her back with her tail.

"I can," she snarled, "but that was nonetheless excellent. Now catch." Henry barely scrambled up in time to count and seize the hilt of Mys, which she tossed at him, closely followed by his sword.

"I have assured you many times that your coordination is not lost. That, with just a basic grasp of physics and some simple counting, incredible feats can be performed even without your eyesight."

"And so you keep reminding me almost daily," grumbled Henry, pulling his blindfold up and squinting at Kismet in the sparse light from the creek. "So, is that it for today?"

"There is one more thing." She pointed at the pillar. "Do you wish to eat before or afterward?"

"Oh, come on!"

"What will it be?"

Henry made a face. "Can you at least give me a better hint as to what the purpose of this hour of stillness is?"

Kismet stared at him as though she meant to facepalm. "We have been doing this daily for weeks, and yet you mean to tell me that you still haven't figured out its purpose?" When Henry didn't reply, she groaned. "While I acknowledge that you draw focus from action, you must also learn to endure the lack thereof," she said. "No matter how much spirit and energy you draw from physical applications such as these," she pointed at his sword, "all those exercises serve the purpose of fine-tuning your senses and refining your perception, not the actual crossing of the threshold. You cannot cross the threshold if your mind is restless."

"My mind is always restless."

Kismet howled with laughter. "See, and there we have it! Our regular exercises make you more proficient at functioning without your eyesight. But one does not need echolocation for that."

For a moment, Henry considered whether he should bring up the fact that he had given this some thought. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to.

"Pup, you will not cross the threshold if you cannot quiet your mind," she snarled. "Your hearing is decently attuned now, but you require utter stillness to truly listen. Utter stillness . . . within and without."

"And how do I acquire that?"

Kismet stared at him momentarily. "As someone who has spent a large portion of her life in utter stillness, I am afraid I cannot put myself in someone's shoes who has not even the faintest concept of what that is like," she said. "All I can tell you is that the threshold requires total harmony of your internal and external impulses; both must be balanced. Are you familiar with the concept of a Venn diagram?"

Henry shook his head.

"It is a means to visually represent the relationships and commonalities between sets. Look here." Kismet scraped two overlapping circles into the stone with her claw. "These are your external stimuli." She pointed at one circle. "And these are your internal." She pointed at the other. "Where you want to balance yourself is here." She indicated the overlapping section.

Henry frowned. "How would that even work?"

"I cannot say," replied Kismet. "Only that, whereas you are well-attuned to your physical impulses now, you severely lack in the internal department. And so—" She gave him a hefty nudge so that Henry almost tumbled. "Get your hide up there. Turn your focus inward, and you may one day find your beloved action even in utter stillness. Because, in truth, there is no such thing. It is never utterly still. Discover your equilibrium, and someday you may entertain yourself with nothing but the sounds of growing stones or the ebb and flow of tides."

"What a thrilling outlook."

Kismet laughed. "Spoken like someone who has never basked in the beauty of sounds such as those."

Henry decided not to continue arguing. He thought he would die of inaction before he would ever find sounds like those entertaining, but he also knew that he had no true grounds upon which to argue. Instead, he climbed the pillar and watched Kismet slip out of the cave.

He sat cross-legged on the top, and a wide grin spread on his face. Why hadn't he thought of this sooner? Swiftly, he pulled his notebook out that he had hidden beneath his shirt and deftly twirled his pencil.

The lighting conditions weren't ideal, but occupying himself with the notebook was miles better than . . . turning his focus inward? A fancy term for doing nothing, thought Henry. Briefly, he felt a pang of guilt for not at least giving it a try. But he had given it a try during his first few hours up here. And it hadn't amounted to anything other than boredom.

If he indeed needed this for the threshold . . . Henry didn't allow himself to think that maybe he should indeed give up. Immediately upon the thought, Henry halted in his tracks. No, he did not give up. He clenched his pencil harder. He would not concede. But was it wise to not listen to Kismet's heeds then?

Moments later, Henry shut the notebook and then his eye. He tried . . . as best he could. To hear anything. On the far side, he heard the creek, but it remained steady. There was nothing else, and after what may have been five minutes, Henry opened his eye again. No one could say he hadn't tried.

He flicked through his latest log entries, contemplating whether he should write another one, but then he turned the book around and opened the last page instead. Henry strained his eye to make out the slightly messy sketch in the dim light, but a smile immediately brightened his face. Right, he hadn't had the chance to finish it earlier. Well, now he had an entire hour.

His pencil tip hesitated above the blank page before he commenced drawing, squinting to make out the emerging image. Throughout the entire process, his heart raced inexplicably in his chest. As he stared at the completed drawing with a sense of awe, he pondered the possibility of him and Teslas someday bringing this idea to life. It would be unprecedented. Akin to . . .

Then his lips pressed together, and he firmly shut the notebook. There would be no actualizing this vision if he could not convince Thanatos to give it a shot. It will make us unique and unpredictable in battle, and we may be much stronger. Despite repeating the argument that had inspired this idea to himself multiple times, it was of no use. Henry mindlessly played with the tattered leather cover of the book. Even if Thanatos were here, he knew that he would not have the courage to bring this up. He envisioned being cut off and lectured for being offensive. Not even being heard out.

Henry gritted his teeth and stashed the notebook beneath his shirt again. It might be wise for him to tear out that page and toss it into the hot spring. Perhaps then it would finally cease haunting him.

Henry did not spare that page a single further look the entire hour, but it haunted him anyway. Suffice it to say, he was as far from achieving inner balance as he had ever been.

***

Log 31/Day 95, during the hour of stillness

One month has elapsed since Thanatos' previous visit, and if I make no note of these suspicions, I fear they may

Let me jot down a few activities to occupy myself during the hour of stillness:

> Engaging in doodling (this can be challenging with the limited lighting)

> Writing logs (similar to doodling)

> Kicking or tossing pebbles at a specific target (there's a convenient dent in the floor right next to the creek)

> Constructing pebble towers (my current record is 12, but I aim to surpass it soon)

> Ascending and descending the pillar, exploring for faster routes (this can become monotonous quickly, but it's a good way to start the first ten minutes or so)

> Practicing my directional hearing by throwing rocks and estimating their distance or utilizing the technique Kismet recently taught me to slow my heartbeat, enhancing my ability to focus on external sounds (only when I'm truly desperate)

Well, would you look at that? I'm actually jotting down lists to stay on top of things. I suppose it's a sign of desperate times.

And, no, there is nothing to note down about Thanatos. I couldn't care any less about it; he can keep his distance if that's his wish. At least he has a reason for it.

Once, around half a year ago, Ares vanished for a whole week with no word. Apparently, he had some important matters to attend to in the flier's land, and he didn't even inform me about it. What nerve . . .

But Thanatos is not like that. I know where he is, and we have agreed upon this. He has no reason to visit now. I cannot say that I am not beyond eager to demonstrate my newly gained proficiency and strength to him, but if he stays away for longer, I will have more to show him, no? Will he finally be proud of me if I do? Is Kismet

I do not even have that much time to spare for idle chatter. Sensory focus exercises and a physical workout in the morning, combat lessons and my obstacle course during the midday and evening, filled with whatever lessons Kismet comes up with next (she is making these up as we go, I am certain of this), and this hour of stillness before bedtime. That is how it goes every day.

There was one day when I was able to strike up a conversation about the different names she used to call me. Sissy Sisi Sisyphus, I think, and then Icarus. She remarked that "beneath the arrogance of Icarus" I have the spirit of Oidse Odisseu Odysseus (I believe that is how you spell it). Yet then she retracted her claim, arguing that Odysseus had no thirst for adventures and only sought to return home. When I questioned her about his background, she retrieved a voluminous tome titled "The Odyssey," a narrative by a long-dead author from the Overland (whose name escapes me, but I believe it began with an H).

Odysseus was undoubtedly a genius (a warrior of the mind?), I must admit. Kismet read me the passage where he devised the plan to stab the giant's only eye out. It was quite glorious to hear, despite what happened to my own eye (she chose this part on purpose, I am convinced). Suffice it to say, Odysseus was incredible, and I have no qualms about being compared to him. The only part that I can't fathom is how he could complain about being sent on such a grand adventure. This is bewildering. No, it is utterly incomprehensible.

Now that I think about it . . . maybe I should ask her about Icarus. She has already spoken about Sisyphus, but either way, I must know more. These narratives all seem to stem from the same time and culture, and Kismet appears to have a particular fondness for them. So, who knows which other wonders she may unveil if I only ask?