All the way to where the other questers had set up camp, Gregor held tightly to the Death Rider's arm. He confidently led the way with the flashlight Gregor had given him, while Howard followed closely behind with Dalia on his back.

After about ten minutes of silent walking, the outcast switched off the light, and before Gregor could ask why, he spotted a faint orange glimmer at the end of the tunnel.

"Welcome to the orange lake!" The Death Rider ushered him through an opening into an enormous cave. "Given all that has transpired here, I really ought to have devised a better name for it by now."

At first, Gregor squinted to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, but as he took in his surroundings, his jaw dropped in amazement. "Wow," he mumbled, staring at the magnificent, almost perfectly round lake that was being fed by a fast-streaming waterfall.

Gregor barely had time to register that it wasn't glowing because of algae but from a pool of magma located somewhere beneath when he was nearly knocked off his feet. Luxa's arms enveloped his neck in a tight embrace. "Gregor!" she shouted into his ear with a mix of joy and accusation.

Her hair brushed his face, and Gregor couldn't bring himself to close his gaping mouth. "I-I'm alright," he stammered, but before he could muster the courage to reciprocate her all-but-unexpected hug, it was as though Luxa came to her senses about what she was doing.

She released him at once, staggering back. "You are!" Her voice cracked, and a deep shade of purple spread across her cheeks. "I simply meant that . . . I mean . . ."

"We have all been deeply troubled," said Ares behind Gregor's back, and both he and Luxa breathed out in relief.

Gregor pivoted and placed a hand behind his ear with a wide smile. "I really am alright," he repeated. "We're both alright."

"And does "Alright" wish to dine now?" asked the Death Rider behind him with a wide grin and a teasing edge in his voice. Only then did Gregor take in the irresistible smell of grilled fish and the furious growl of his stomach.

"Yes, please."

Gregor released Ares, yet before he could take even one step toward the outcast, Howard had him by his arm. "First, we conduct that medical check-up."

Despite his hunger, Gregor did not protest when Howard led both him and Dalia, who had stood somewhat awkwardly on the side, toward the campsite they must have set up earlier. Despite his thorough inspection, Howard soon found that neither of them had sustained serious injuries. Nonetheless, he disinfected both Gregor's head and hand before wrapping them in bandages.

"You're really good at this." Gregor smiled at Howard, and he beamed back.

"Treating the sick is a profession of great honor."

Gregor nodded, briefly pondering whether his job as warrior didn't assign him a role that was essentially the opposite of Howard's.

His gloomy thoughts were disrupted as the Death Rider set down a stone plate with a grilled fish in front of him; the sight of the food instantly captured his full focus.

They finished their meal swiftly, and Gregor soon began to yawn. It was the first time since they had joined this stupid quest that he felt at peace, and he thought he was more than ready for sleep when Luxa suddenly turned to the Death Rider. "So, we are nearly there, no?"

This question instantly jolted him wide awake. There . . . It was the first time Gregor found himself giving some thought to their actual destination.

"Indeed," concurred the Death Rider. "The arena lies a mere half an hour from here."

Gregor's sense of peace was shattered instantly. Fantastic! He stared at the remains of his fish. As if today hadn't been bad enough—tomorrow, they would probably have to fight. They would reach the . . . Gregor frowned, realizing for the first time that everyone was calling their destination an "arena". However, no one had clarified what sort of arena it actually was.

Before he could ask, the Death Rider rose and declared that they would spend a full seven hours here to ensure everyone was rested for the next day. He assigned Luxa to take the first watch and handed her Gregor's flashlight, despite the lake providing sufficient light. Dalia insisted on taking second watch, and the outcast had no objections. He deftly tossed the remains of their meal into the lake, commanding, "To bed, you others!"

No one protested. Gregor yawned and then let out a sigh as he regarded the hilt of the sword that had miraculously stayed in his belt during the earthquake. "I guess we'll be fighting tomorrow," he mumbled to himself, giving it a tug.

"Do you not fancy combat?"

Gregor whipped around when someone spoke behind him and faced Dalia. Her hands were clasped together tightly, and he noticed that she must have tidied herself up. Her hair was in a fresh, clean braid, and her face was no longer stained from the soiled water in that hole.

Maybe I should do the same, he mused for the first time, raking a hand through his tousled, sticky hair. It was getting too long again; he hadn't cut it since shortly after the jungle. For a moment, what Luxa had said about hair and memories came to mind, but frankly, Gregor couldn't fathom living with long hair, regardless of any traditional significance attached to it. It demanded so much energy, which he wanted to conserve for more pressing matters.

"Is it weird if I say yes, considering that I'm supposed to be the warrior?" he replied to Dalia with a sour smile.

"A little." She returned his smile. "But perhaps not, considering that you have not chosen your fate for yourself either."

Gregor recalled what she had told him about herself and why she worked for Howard's family, and nodded. They walked toward the lake side by side, and Gregor thought that, for as awful as today had been, at least he had made a new friend. "I wanted to help you with the dishes," he said. "But I guess they were all in the hamper?"

"They have been lost," she confirmed. "But even so, you do not have to do that."

"I wanted to do it, though," exclaimed Gregor. "It's not fair that you do all the work alone."

Dalia stared at him, aghast, and Gregor made a face. She was one of the kindest Underlanders he had ever met, and the unfair treatment she received suddenly felt like a personal injustice to him. "Hey, next time, let's sit back and let Luxa and Howard do all the dishes. What do you say?" he offered with a grin.

But Dalia did not smile back. "I think not that this is appropriate," she said gravely.

"And I don't think it's appropriate for one person to do it all by themselves, just because they haven't been born special!" exclaimed Gregor. When Dalia did not reply, he groaned. There were a lot of things Gregor liked about the Underland and its people. The whole monarchy part was not one of them.

"You best go to sleep," said Dalia in a quiet voice, and Gregor thought he wasn't getting any other response from her, so he nodded. Watching her lay down on the other side of the cave, he nearly ran into Luxa on her way to find a spot for her watch.

"You should sleep," she heeded him too, before walking a few paces and sitting down with her back against the wall. Gregor ignored her words and approached, momentarily captivated by the gorgeous view of the lake that the spot offered.

"I wanted to ask you something." He finally tore his gaze away and sat next to her, suppressing a yawn. A quick look at the Death Rider revealed that he was deeply engrossed in a hushed conversation with Thanatos. "So . . ." he turned back to Luxa. "What exactly is this arena that we're going to? Do you know?"

The only kind of arena Gregor knew in the Underland was the one in Regalia, where the humans conducted their training and played their games. But somehow, he doubted that this arena would be anything like that.

"I did not know either before he explained it when they planned their route." Luxa glanced at the outcast as well. "They told stories about the gnawer arenas when we were children, but I did not know they were real. The gnawers seize prisoners to make them fight each other, or professional champions who do it voluntarily and for payment, often to the death."

Gregor's eyes widened. "You mean . . . like gladiators?" When he noticed Luxa's furrowed brows, he elaborated: "A thing the Romans—an ancient Overland civilization—used to do. Have prisoners fight to the death as some form of entertainment, that is. The fighters were called gladiators."

"Perhaps that is where the practice originated," concurred Luxa. "Many of our customs and habits stem from the Overland. Likely far more than we know."

Gregor's eyes drifted back to the seemingly serene lake, and he let out a heavy sigh. A rat-gladiator-arena. That was one hell of a destination. As horrific as he found the mere idea, he also thought that maybe he shouldn't be surprised that this was a thing. Well, at least we aren't going there to fight, he thought. Not that it helped much.

For a while, he and Luxa remained silent. "Did you ask him what happened to him yet?" asked Gregor eventually, eyes on the Death Rider, who had lain down with his head on Thanatos' back.

"I want to," replied Luxa. "But I never know what words to use." Gregor eyed her with a raised eyebrow; since when was Luxa ever short for words? "Maybe Howard knows," she said suddenly. "Or . . . Stellovet."

"They have seen more of him recently than we," concurred Gregor.

"I must tell you a secret," said Luxa. "You mustn't tell anyone, especially not in Regalia, but I have . . . missed him."

Gregor laughed. "I missed him too. But why don't you want people to know?"

"He is an outcast."

Gregor fell silent again. He recalled their conversation in the jungle and how she grappled with her growing trust in the Death Rider because of his status. "You know what I think," he said after a while. "I haven't changed my mind about him since the jungle."

Luxa nodded. "But he is not the same as he was in the jungle."

"I don't think that's a bad thing."

"It is not," she said. "In the same way as it's not as bad as you believe that your face shows you've endured the hardships of three prophecies."

Gregor made a face. He recalled covering up his scars with long sleeves in the summer and struggling to recognize himself in photos from his time before the Underland. "We all changed," he said. "You too. And quite a lot since we first met. And that's definitely not a bad thing," he added quickly. "Wait, I don't mean that you were bad before! Just that you . . . I mean, now you are . . ." Gregor broke off, stammering. Man! He had really stepped right into that one.

To his relief, Luxa laughed. "I am quite happy with the ways in which I have changed," she said.

"Yeah!" Gregor joined in her laughter. "I really don't mean that you were, like, bad before, but you did some nasty things back with Henry. Making fun of the cockroaches and expecting everyone to serve you the whole time."

When Luxa's smile fell, Gregor feared he might have overstepped, but she frowned due to an entirely different issue.

"To you, Henry and I really seemed like so, did we not?" she asked. "Like bad people."

Gregor didn't have it in himself to nod, but she must have gauged his answer from his expression anyway.

She cast her eyes to the floor. "Please do not take this as an attempt to excuse everything that we did, but . . . It is unfair to judge us—judge Henry—only based on what you witnessed."

Gregor's mouth snapped shut.

"I realize that it must seem a little ridiculous to hear me speak in this manner after what he . . . did," Luxa continued before he could speak. "Sometimes I think that it should be difficult for me as well to keep him in my memory as more than his treason. But I cannot do that. I cannot . . ." She cut herself off. "There are so many good things that I still recall." She looked up. "I wish to keep the good things in my memory as well. For, if I will not, who else will?"

Gregor could only hold her sorrowful gaze for a moment, then he had to look away as an unexpected flood of shame hit him. So far, he too had only remembered Henry for his treason, and he had done so without shame. But suddenly, he questioned whether he should. Because, really, she was right. Who was he to judge? He had barely known Henry, barely had one proper conversation with him.

And yet, whenever he thought of Henry, all that came to mind were bad things: Henry attacking Ripred when they had first met and trying to kill him in his sleep later. Henry tossing Boots off a cliff in the bat's land. Henry yelling something about allying with the rats for power. Henry . . . screaming for Ares moments before his death.

Gregor squinted to chase the unpleasant memories and frowned. "I mean, I guess you have nice things to remember, but I can't really judge him based on things I didn't see," he said. "And I didn't see much good from him."

When he caught sight of Luxa's clenched jaw and her dejected face, he suppressed a sigh. He didn't like seeing her so miserable, but . . . he hadn't seen any good from Henry. Or had he?

Suddenly, Gregor remembered his own conclusion after what Mareth had told him: You must not take what they say to heart, the soldier spoke in his head. When their parents were killed, Nerissa became as frail as glass, Henry as hard as stone.

Gregor blew out a breath; didn't he have a rule about this? It was true that he hadn't hated Henry anymore after this reveal—until his betrayal. But if the rats had killed his parents, why had he sided with them?

Gregor made a face. Still, he decided to give it a try. To remember something—anything good about Henry—just to prove that he wasn't succumbing to his own biases too. He stole a glimpse at Luxa and wondered if she'd had to endure more along the lines of Stellovet's rat comment or Howard's accusations back on the waterway, just for bringing Henry up.

But what could he even . . . Suddenly, there was an image in Gregor's mind—of Henry with a torch on his head, to imitate Gregor's hardhat, and Luxa's joke that his hair was on fire.

To his own surprise, the memory made Gregor smile, and when he next looked at Luxa, he did so with compassion.

He gave it some more thought and suddenly saw the High Hall, his first dinner in Regalia, and his first encounter with Henry. Beware the fish, for Luxa plans to poison you directly! There was his friendly look, and the joke . . . Gregor smiled. Right, Henry had been the first Underlander he had encountered with a sense of humor.

Without losing his smile, Gregor recounted the memory to Luxa, and she laughed with him. "I truly may have poisoned you if I'd had the means," she admitted. For one moment longer, she held his gaze, then she looked away. "Thank you," she said. "For not judging me when I say that I wish to keep the good things in my memory, even recalling them with me."

"Hey, it's not like you're wrong." Gregor shrugged. "I didn't know either of you particularly well at the time."

Luxa didn't reply, but he sensed her overflowing gratitude as they stared out onto the gorgeous lake together.

"You know, I don't—"

"I feel the urge to quote Hamnet's "telling old tales out of school", the both of you," a new voice cut Gregor off, and both he and Luxa jumped.

Gregor stared up at the Death Rider to their left, arms crossed. At first glance, he seemed nonchalant as ever, but then Gregor noticed that his jaw was clenched and his grin seemed almost . . . forced.

How much had he heard? Gregor wondered with a frown. And why did an old story about Henry even faze him? Briefly, Gregor wondered if they might have known each other. They were likely of similar age, and both had a rebellious and outgoing attitude. But then again, wouldn't Luxa have known any friends of Henry's, given their closeness?

"Gregor was . . . getting ready to sleep," said Luxa almost bashfully.

Gregor quickly scrambled up. "I really was!"

The outcast only raised an eyebrow. "Off you go," he commanded. "Tomorrow might not be an easy day; I meant it when I said that I would like for everyone to get ample rest. And you must not distract Luxa from her watch."

With a reddening face, Gregor nodded vigorously as he stumbled along behind the outcast, who was already walking ahead. "Good night!" he called. Whether it had been directed at Luxa or the Death Rider, he couldn't tell.

"Good night," replied Luxa, and Gregor stopped in his tracks.

"Hey, please take care of that flashlight," he heeded. "It was pretty expensive. My parents will be mad if I break it."

"I will do my best." She twisted it between her fingers, and in the dim light from the lake, Gregor saw that she was smiling.

***

Gregor couldn't tell for how long he had slept, but he awoke decently refreshed to the tempting scent of grilled fish. He pushed aside the lingering soreness from the previous day's ordeals and the discomfort of sleeping on the hard floor, and joined his fellow questers for breakfast.

This time, Howard served their food, and when Gregor searched for the Death Rider with his eyes, he found him against the wall by Thanatos' side, with his hood pulled up, barely paying them any mind.

It was only when Luxa sat by his side and asked if they had some kind of plan for how to proceed with their mission that he woke from his daze. "Death and I spoke about this yesterday." He lifted himself from the wall and scooted closer toward where they had all gathered.

For a moment Gregor thought he'd glimpsed a purple circle under his eye, but then his attention was caught by the map the outcast spread before them. The lake was eerily close to the "x" marking the arena.

"We know where they hold the prisoners here," said the Death Rider. "Our goal shall be to get there without drawing Longclaw's attention. If all fails, Death and I—being the two he is after—shall create a diversion while you others focus on saving Stellovet."

"You wish to face him alone," said Luxa with a sour face.

"As we should," replied Thanatos with an eagerly grim expression. "Stellovet is your reason to be here, and Longclaw is ours."

No one protested. Within less than ten minutes, they finished their meal, and Gregor helped Howard and Dalia pack away the remains of their camp. He had not spoken to her yet that morning and tried to recall if he had seen her eating breakfast with them when the Death Rider was already calling for departure.

They took their designated seats on the bats, and Thanatos took the lead as they left the lake behind. Gregor felt a looming sense of unease; he couldn't stop fearing that things might not go as smoothly as the Death Rider had intended at the arena.

Howard, who was with Gregor on Ares again, remained quiet too. Gregor figured he was worried about his sister more than anything and tried to shove aside the notion that he wasn't particularly eager to see Stellovet again himself.

Then again, hadn't he told himself to stop seeing the world in black and white yesterday? Gregor stared down at his clenched hands. He knew Stellovet even less than he had known Henry, and yet he had already written her off as bad. Gregor gritted his teeth. Maybe it was time to put some effort into finding that one thing that would make him compassionate toward her, as he always did.

The rest of the flight went by in a blur. All Gregor registered was that, eventually, they flew out into open yet nearly pitch-dark space, and the Death Rider signaled them to land. All three bats touched down, and Gregor fetched his backpack to retrieve his flashlight.

A few moments later, he realized that it wasn't entirely pitch dark; there had to be a light source in an adjacent cave or something because, after his eyes had adjusted, Gregor could still see shapes and shadows.

He'd already unclasped his backpack when Gregor remembered that Luxa had received his flashlight for her watch. But when he tapped her shoulder and asked where it was, all she said was: "When we switched, I gave it to Dalia."

Gregor suppressed a groan and turned to look for Dalia. But before he could make her out, someone else had him by the shoulder. "Make no light," heeded the Death Rider in a hushed voice. "The prisoners are close, so let us be stealthy."

Without delay, the outcast gathered the group and lined them up, commanding everyone to hold onto the person in front of them, ensuring they remained connected.

Gregor, directly behind the Death Rider in the line, clung to his arm and staggered after him almost blindly when he moved. Luxa, behind him, reached for his arm, and without thinking, he slid his hand into hers. To his surprise, she allowed it.

Just when Gregor had fallen into a comfortable pace, the Death Rider abruptly stopped. Before he could ask what the matter was, he had ripped his hand out of Gregor's grip, making a gesture that unmistakably told Gregor to stay in place and hold his questions. Then he was gone.

Gregor whipped around to follow him with his eyes as well as he could, then his gaze flew up, meeting the silhouettes of the bats circling above their heads. Was it time for that distraction? But no. The Death Rider didn't call for Thanatos . . . and he didn't have any reason. Everything remained quiet.

Gregor frowned, his eyes trailing along their column. Luxa still had her hand firmly in his, and there was Howard clinging to her shoulder. And behind Howard . . . someone was missing.

Gregor strained his eyes and found Dalia's slender shape against the back wall. She remained still, not having taken a single step forward. Gregor's frown deepened. Had she lost her grip on Howard and was too scared to move on her own? Gregor's gaze flew to the Death Rider, expecting him to retrace their steps and fetch her.

But the Death Rider did not move. He stood stiller than a statue, and even though it was too dark to make out his face, an anxious shiver suddenly ran down Gregor's spine.

Before he could open his mouth to ask what the matter was, Dalia moved. His head whipped around just in time to witness her hand clutching something . . . something elongated, shaped like a—

"Halt."

Even though the Death Rider's voice was barely more than a whisper, it reverberated through the still cave like a gong, making Gregor jump. His hand around Luxa's tightened.

"You do not—"

Yet he never got around to finishing his sentence, because in that moment, Dalia's arm raised, still with the elongated item—his flashlight, Gregor discerned numbly. His far too expensive emergency flashlight passed down to her from Luxa, which she now pointed upward and . . . flicked on.

A bright beam instantly flooded the cave with light. Gregor opened his mouth to call out to her to turn it off—perhaps she hadn't heard the Death Rider's warning about keeping it dark? Perhaps she—

But his words lodged in his throat when he finally made out the outcast's face. He had never seen an expression quite like this . . . No, Gregor thought suddenly. He had . . . once: on Luxa's face, right after Henry had revealed his treason.

His mouth fell open, and his head whipped around to Dalia . . . but it was already too late. All around them, claws dragged across stone, and then hoards of rats flooded into the cave. They quickly blocked the entrance and encircled them, their shadows dancing menacingly in the stark light from the flashlight's artificial beam.

Luxa's grip on his hand tightened to the point of discomfort, but he squeezed her hand right back. Her other hand was at the hilt of her sword, but they couldn't fight this many rats. Not even his rager talent stood a chance now, thought Gregor numbly. Not against . . . two dozen, he estimated. Maybe I should try anyway, he thought, gritting his teeth. But as he looked for traces of it, the sensation was nowhere to be found. All he found within himself was an odd, numb void.

Howard's and Luxa's brows were furrowed, as though they were still piecing together what had happened. Only the Death Rider stared at Dalia in a way that made it clear he knew exactly what was happening. What she had done.

Gregor flinched as a massive brown rat pushed aside two others to stand beside Dalia. He resisted the impulse to retreat at the sight of the towering seven-foot figure covered in thick, brown fur and the long scar that ran across his torso.

His enormous paw gave Dalia's narrow shoulder what Gregor presumed had meant to be a pat, but it was delivered with so much force that she nearly dropped the flashlight. "Excellent," he snarled with a satisfied grin. "I must say I am impressed. A vast majority of my ever-skeptical friends here bet against you, but as it seems, they are all here: the queen, the warrior, and my good friend Achilles—or Death Rider, as I hear you are called by the humans. All as requested. And all as planned."

Gregor forced his gaze away from the massive rat to look back at Dalia. She stared at the floor, her nails digging into the flashlight's rubber handle.

"It appears that despite Tonguetwist's epic failure with your flier, Achilles, here she has succeeded. And now seize them!"

Gregor couldn't bring himself to fight the paws that grabbed and lifted him off his feet moments later. His head spun with confusion and disbelief, and he still couldn't bring himself to look away from Dalia.

He opened his mouth to call out to her and ask her to explain herself, but nothing came out. Gregor knew what he was seeing. He recognized this scene . . . part of him refused to believe it anyway.

There was Dalia . . . Gregor nearly bit his lip bloody, staring at her. Dalia, who was timid and gentle; she, who had saved his life and calmed him during his panic attack. She, with whom he had sympathized, to whom he had related. She, who . . . nearly disappeared next to the massive brown rat. Was that Longclaw? Gregor didn't know, but he wouldn't be surprised if so.

How did he end up making such a terrible error in judgment?

Speak! Gregor wanted to yell. He wanted to yell until his throat was sore, until she would speak. Until she would explain. At least . . . Henry had attempted to explain, thought Gregor, feeling desperate tears rise in his eyes. But Dalia said nothing. She stood still as a statue beside who Gregor presumed was Longclaw and watched them be seized and carried away. The bats, having gauged the situation, dove for them and were caught as well.

"This will not unfold the way you anticipate!"

Gregor twitched when the Death Rider next to him yelled, struggling in the grasp of two rats. The echo of his voice reverberated through the cave, and the words burned themselves into Gregor's mind. Was he talking to Dalia or Longclaw?

The massive rat chuckled, patting Dalia's back again. This time, the flashlight slipped out of her grasp, and Gregor managed to catch one last glimpse of it before it cracked under Longclaw's massive paw . . . and darkness enveloped everything.