The first thing that struck Thanatos when he woke was the emptiness of his embrace. Startled, he rose and found Kismet standing at the entrance of the tunnel. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it: "Whatever happened yesterday, you must fly after him at once."

"After . . ." Still in a daze, Thanatos scrambled up, anticipating to see Henry filling his water bags in the corner. Startled, he jumped when Kismet dropped a ripped page from Henry's notebook in front of him.

"You must fly now," she urged. "Before it is too late. No matter whom he is pursuing, he cannot do this with his injury, and not without his sword either. You left it in the arena, no?"

Thanatos nodded absent-mindedly. Only when he finally lowered his gaze to the page and processed the words did the truth strike his chest like a rock.

I know that I promised to stay. Forgive me.

But he must be dealt with.

In his mind was worry—so much of it that it bordered on panic. But it was all overshadowed by the memory of his own words, uttered yesterday, when . . . Tomorrow, wouldn't you like to . . . fly?

"He said that we may fly," he mumbled. "We . . ." Thanatos cut himself off, shaking the disappointment. Now was not the time for him to feel sorry for himself. It was the time to . . .

"Halt!" called Kismet when he had already slipped out of the cave. "Have you a clue as to where he is headed? Whom he means to deal with? I lost his scent near the lake."

Thanatos paused, allowing the truth to sink in. "Longclaw," he mumbled. "I told him . . . Yesterday, I told him that we are ancient enemies, and he suggested that we may—"

"Oh no."

"I told him that I seek no vengeance!" cried Thanatos. "I told him that I seek no more bloodshed! Why would he go against my words? What does he . . . he seek to prove this time?"

"I cannot say." Kismet caught up to him. "You must find him and ask him yourself. Oh, this pup!" she shook her head. "I still barely comprehend that he is such an intelligent, capable individual in most senses, and yet at the same time such a fool!"

"Your capability to describe others is as faultless as ever."

"Thankfully." She eyed him up and down.

"Will you come with me?" asked Thanatos before she could continue. "We haven't much time."

Kismet hesitated. "I cannot," she said eventually, averting her gaze. "Not into a hunt for Longclaw. Let's just say that you are not the only one who has a history with him. It would be unfortunate if he learned that I am alive."

"If you are familiars, would he not have smelled you?"

"Not after such a long time," she said. "Not after so much . . . change." She looked at him in a way that signified she had meant to use a different word. "Scents shift and merge with one's self. After all this time, there will hardly be a single individual who would recognize mine anymore."

"Henry and I always will."

Kismet snorted. "Neither humans nor fliers possess an exceptional sense of smell."

"You know very well that I did not mean it in that sense."

Kismet scrutinized him through her raised vision aid. "I understand that this advice may seem hypocritical, but I encourage you to try not to rely so heavily on your tough, unapproachable facade. Unconditional kindness is a rarity in this world, something that so many are starved of. And you have so much kindness to give."

Thanatos smiled. "I have been . . . working on that. Oftentimes, it does not feel safe to be anything unconditional."

"But is that not what you yearn for?"

He froze.

"Is that not what you seek?" repeated Kismet. "Unconditional support? Acceptance? Kindness? One who seeks to receive must also be willing to give."

"And that is why I try at all."

"It is not as unachievable as you believe," she said, then paused. "Oh no, look at the two of us cynicists being hopeful."

"Henry has been a bad influence, it seems."

"The worst." They laughed in unison before Kismet looked at him with utmost sincerity. "Your unconditionality—I believe you have already found it."

Thanatos thought about Henry and his claim that he cared. He did his best to embrace the notion, to believe him. His boy. But . . . "I may have," he said hesitantly. "But now I must make sure I do not lose him again."

"Fly on!" urged Kismet. "Fly on and save your bond. If you succeed, you will forever be grateful that you have made the effort."

"I shall." He had already spread his wings, then turned back again. "Did you say he has taken all his things?"

With only his echolocation, he barely made out her smile. "Whether he will return or not is his choice," she mumbled. "His place is not here; you know that as well as I."

"But you—" Thanatos faltered. There was so much he had still meant to say to her—to this gnawer who had unconditionally done for him and his boy so much more than most would even consider.

"His place is out there," she cut him off. "He must find himself again, and I have since concluded that, for this, he must be out there. Is that not the true reason he came here in the first place? To learn an ability that may help him feel like himself again? And he could not have learned better. I could not have asked for . . . a better student. Tell that to the conceited brat, will you?"

"But I—"

"You know as well as I that he is destined for much more. For greatness," she continued undauntedly. "So, he must find his light again. And you may be the only one who can offer him aid in this. Will you promise me this? That you will . . . will . . ."

"I will care for him," said Thanatos earnestly. "No matter whether he . . . claims that he has no need for care."

"Now we are on the same page." She laughed. "Oh, you have no idea how many of us others observe and silently envy the everlasting, unconditional connection that may be found between a flier and a human."

"Envy?" Thanatos lowered his spread wings. "I have heard the opposite. I have heard that "only training to fight at the side of a bond is self-limitation" and "binding yourself to lay down your life for someone else is an unneeded, incomprehensible commitment"."

"All jealousy," snarled Kismet. "They talk in such a manner because they know that they will never experience a relationship such as yours."

"It is not like we are hogging the concept."

"Of course not. But they would rather claim that you do and blame this than work on realizing it for themselves."

Thanatos shook his head. "Unsurprising. But you—" He gave her a long look. "You can rest easy in regards to Henry. We will overcome this." He spoke with such conviction that, for a moment, he wondered from where he was drawing it. Perhaps his boy really had influenced him far more than he had thought.

"You will give him what he longs for?"

"Somewhere to belong," said Thanatos. "And someone to whom he will matter."

"More I cannot ask."

"More I will likely give." Thanatos sighed.

"More will the two of you give each other if your bond is true," said Kismet. "And at this point, I have no doubts about this anymore. If your bond withstood what it already has, I doubt there is anything left that could break it apart."

Thanatos briefly considered the notion before nodding in agreement. "Henry will recover, and then I shall bring him here again; this I promise. Be it in a week or a year, we will meet again. He loves you," he said with a smile. "And . . . I hold a profound fondness for you too. Thereby, I proclaim that you are no longer alone. Not for as long as we have light."

Kismet stood perfectly still, staring at him with an indiscernible expression. "You are—"

"And when we return," the flier cut her off, spreading his wings. "I expect a thorough and well-presented justification of why you allowed him to become Longclaw's champion in the first place, you hear?!"

Kismet laughed as he flung himself in the air. "Oh, leave me to my solitude at last!" she called. "At last! Fly you high! You and the pup—fly you high!"

"And you, Kismet, run like the river!" he shouted in reply, making a final circle above her before swiftly vanishing into the tunnel that led to the lake.

***

For lack of better leads, Thanatos made his way to Longclaw's arena, but as he soared above the sandy pit, it was completely abandoned. A surge of panic coursed through him as he realized that he had no direction until the Ice System resurfaced in his thoughts.

He made an effort to remember anything he could from his encounter with Longclaw down there prior to taking Henry to retrieve the peculiar black rock, but his memory of the time spent away from his boy was hazy.

All he could recall were erratic images—Longclaw speaking to an assembly of gnawers, their teeth bared toward him, the malevolent grin, and the scar.

The faded memory of Arya's cry sent a shiver down his spine. Of his talons shredding Longclaw's chest, of a sharp sting when the gnawer's claws did the same with his face.

It could not happen. Thanatos drew his wings in and shot down the familiar path he had taken with Henry. He could not lose his second bond to the same individual to whom he had lost his first bond. He could not . . . He would not allow it.

The flight felt considerably shorter this time, and it wasn't long before he could sense the unrelenting cold emanating from the ice-covered walls. Thanatos effortlessly moved through the once narrow entrance, speculating that the flood must have washed away fragments of the wall, and continued his descent effortlessly.

Upon reaching the fork that led to the former location of the odd black metal, he found himself hesitating. It appeared to be a dead end, and he knew not where Longclaw's camp lay from here. And yet, Thanatos lingered for a moment longer, feeling an inexplicable sensation wash over him as he laid eyes on this place—as if something were tightly squeezing his guts and pushing them deep into the recesses of his stomach.

Then, he averted his eyes and extended his wings. It was not the appropriate time to linger or indulge in self-pity. Not now, not when his boy was out there—wounded and scarcely equipped. All because of him.

The tightness in his gut increased until it became difficult to bear. Henry was out here . . . His boy, whom he had accused of not caring for him. His boy, whom he had longed to be rid of . . . had called a parasite.

Lost in his thoughts, he only registered the sounds when they had grown unbearably loud. Thanatos veered sharply and almost crashed into the wall. Although he couldn't yet see them, judging by the noise, there appeared to be a swarm of at least a hundred gnawers somewhere ahead.

He touched down and pressed himself against the icy wall, attempting to steady his frenzied heartbeat. There was no alternative path. Without a doubt, Longclaw was here—where else if not surrounded by masses of loyal followers? If he gathered a few hundred more, he could finally crown himself king, thought Thanatos, feeling a chill down his spine.

However, Longclaw was of no importance to him. He only had care for Henry. His ears perked up, and he crouched down, straining his senses for clues. His mind spun, attempting to formulate a plan for exploring the area without being discovered, when he suddenly startled. Voices, but not from the front . . . from behind.

" . . . See if it works this time. That flood cost at least ten lives; do you really think it—"

Thanatos' wings jerked open and shut before he vaulted into the air and away. They had been just around the corner. Returning from a patrol, most likely. His mind became muddled with panic as he flew in an uncertain loop. The tunnel stretched out linearly, with gnawers ahead and behind. There was no escape.

"Hey!"

The shriek had unmistakably come from behind, and Thanatos careened into the wall, barely managing to stay airborne.

He could take them. He could take on two gnawers if he avoided alerting their companions. Yet as soon as he veered and lunged at them, both scouts shrieked in alarm. For a heartbeat, Thanatos faltered, and moments later, a sharp pain pierced his back. His wings snapped shut, and he crashed to the ground, with the two scouts closing in on him. "Look who we have here!" one grinned down at him spitefully. "Longclaw was right. He did come. Sweet dreams!"

Before his mind had the capacity to process the words, something weighty collided with the back of his head, and his surroundings faded into blackness.

***

Pain, dissonance, and unrelenting static consumed his thoughts, filling his ears and saturating his perception. Thanatos had a vague notion that something was attempting to penetrate the static, to connect with him from beyond, but he could not yet hear. He had to . . . hear.

With all his determination, he focused on breaking through the dreadful static, yearning for the voice. This voice, it screamed . . . "Death!"

The flier's eyes snapped open and met with blinding brightness. A shiny surface lay ahead . . . capturing the dancing flames of a brazier's flickering light. Its reflection glistened with . . . red.

"So he wakes at last."

The rasping voice that spoke caused Thanatos' ears to twitch. This was not a voice he wished for. He wished for the—

"Death!"

"Yes, yes, you must not cry for him so desperately; I am certain he can hear you perfectly fine."

The flier let out a shrill cry as his wing was painfully tugged, only then realizing that he could not move. He could not . . . It was blood, he understood as he continued to stare at the puddle he lay in. His blood.

He winced as a large paw with crooked talons disrupted the smooth surface. Red speckled white ice. "You should have finished each other off in the arena," said Longclaw with a sneer. "That may have been a kinder fate."

As Thanatos glanced up, piercing pain coursed through his wing, radiating down his spine. A numb realization struck him: the wing was shattered, the upper portion bent at an unnatural angle, and the delicate tissue was torn at the tip.

"You must excuse the wing, but I could not risk you flying out of here again," snarled Longclaw. "We wouldn't want a repeat of what happened to your last bond, would we?" The gnawers holding him in place snickered, and the flier hissed through clenched teeth.

"Release him!"

This voice . . . Despite his agony, the flier's gaze wandered in search of . . . A sword stuck out of the ice. A familiar sword. And beside it was a familiar face: "Henry . . ."

"You will release him!"

"Ah-ah, now is not the time for demands, my champion." Thanatos felt a shudder coarse through him as Longclaw sauntered over to where they held Henry and yanked him up by his collar.

The boy twined in pain, and his hands clutched his shirt above the bandage. "Do not hurt him! Do not dare . . . You . . . Death!"

Then their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, his boy stilled. Then his right hand released his stomach and reached out toward the flier as if he could grasp him, unite hand and claw for a bond.

All Thanatos could do in return was marginally raise his claw . . . at his boy. For a bond.

"How touching." Longclaw yanked Henry up so that his feet dangled in the air. "But unfortunately, your bond here is one of two who once killed my son in cold blood, and I will not rest until my list has his name on it like it already has that of the other one."

"We did not . . ." Thanatos struggled to move his chest, squeezing out the words. "Not know he was your . . ."

"As if I give a shit!" Longclaw lunged at him, and Henry, in his grasp, screamed. "He was barely more than a pup!" he hissed, and pain flashed in his eyes. "Barely more than a pup . . . not unlike our Achilles here." He held Henry so close to his own face that the boy had to cringe away from his foul breath.

"Just so you know, this is not personal. You were an exceptional champion, by all means." Longclaw swayed Henry back and forth. "But you do what you have to do. And now that I am considering it—between you and your flier, I believe it shall be appropriate if you die first."

Upon Longclaw's words, a wave of panic washed over Thanatos. His head snapped up, but no words came out of his mouth. He stared at Henry in the gnawer's grasp, and his mind went blank with fear. You cannot bring your son back if you kill me! The high-pitched voice resonated in his ears, prompting him to press them down.

"No . . ." He struggled meekly, but his body was heavy as lead. "Please . . ."

"Oh, now you beg for mercy." Baring his teeth, Longclaw forcefully slammed his front paw against the blood-soaked ground. Looking down at his deformed talons, Thanatos recoiled as a faint hint of iron entered his mouth. "Know you what it took to escape that pit where you left me?"

The flier trembled as his ear felt the rush of hot air from his breath.

"Look at it," hissed Longclaw. "Look closely. The rock overwhelms the feeble, but the mighty overwhelm the rock in turn. Whatever it may demand. This is what it demanded." The gnawer lingered for another heartbeat, staring at his useless claws, then turned and sauntered forward toward where the icy cave ended at a steep edge, some twenty yards ahead. "Let us expedite this so that we may return to the true purpose of our presence here."

"He intends to flood Regalia!"

Thanatos flinched at Henry's desperate cry.

"He aims to collapse the entire Ice System so that the excess water may flood the city! He means to—!"

Longclaw's violent shaking made him cry out in pain, cutting off his words. "My plans are none of your concern," the gnawer hissed between clenched teeth, but Henry grabbed onto the paw that held his collar. "We must warn them!" he pressed out. "Death, we must warn Regalia before—!"

"Silence!" Every nerve in his body quivered from Longclaw's shrill scream. To flood . . . His eyes flew open, searching for Henry. The city's canalization was connected to the waterway. If Longclaw had found a way to create a flood like the previous one, only in the correct direction . . . He clenched his jaw painfully. Would a flood such as that not render the city defenseless?

"Fine," the gnawer pressed out between bare teeth. "It matters little either way, for you will not live to warn anyone." He took one last step toward the cliff and dangled Henry over the edge. "We have recently . . . let us call it "expanded" the largest canal leading to your city. They shan't see it coming. And once I have brought about the downfall of the human city that has dared to unleash a plague upon us, the weakened and disheartened gnawers who still adhere to the leadership of others will finally recognize that I am the only rightful king!"

A round of spontaneous applause broke out in the cave, yet Thanatos' gaze was only on the writhing figure of Henry.

"And should that plan fail, we can always fall back on Tonguetwist's insider." The flier's head shot up, but before he could speak, Longclaw hoisted Henry even higher. "Look carefully now, Skullface, as this is the last time you shall lay eyes upon this boy. He will be number four-hundred-and-thirteen. For he will fall, and you will not catch him—not catch him as you so solemnly swore."

The flier was struck with an unprecedented surge of panic upon the scene. This scene . . . For she will fall, and you will not catch her—not catch her as you so solemnly swore.

It was . . . the writhing, struggling shape of his bond in Longclaw's grasp, and he . . . He meant to jerk forward, but he could barely move an inch. His mouth opened, yet out came no sound. It was . . . his boy. His bond.

His eyes shut. At least this time, he would not look. He could not. If Longclaw went through with this, he found himself hoping that he would tie his wings together and send him down afterward. Our life and death are one.

An ear-splitting scream prompted him to fling his eyes open again. But . . . it had not been the boy who had screamed. The flier stared at the scene . . . Longclaw reeled forward and eventually released Henry to clutch the pit of his front paw. The boy was free . . . He was . . .

The gnawers holding him immediately eased their grip, and two of them let go to vault forward and recapture Henry, but he weaved in between their talons and slid forward on the ice until he could fling himself onto Longclaw's back.

The large gnawer howled as Henry encircled his waist with his legs and gripped the roots of his ears; he staggered forward, toward the boy's sword. The pack of gnawers that had closed in on them quickly scattered, afraid to be buried beneath the towering mass of their leader, who ungraciously swayed around and finally fell onto his flat stomach.

Henry leaped from his back and scooped up his sword and his backpack in one swoop. As he ripped the blade out of the ice with force, a barely noticeable rumble reverberated through the surrounding ice, yet Thanatos had no moment to spare for worries.

Henry whipped around, blade bared, but . . . he had not thought of an escape plan. His eye found Thanatos, then Longclaw, who had managed to heave himself onto all fours again. "Kill him!" yelled the gnawer, blind with fury. "Kill them! Kill them now!" His crooked talons hooked into the ice, and he propelled himself forward, launching into a massive leap in Henry's direction.

And there, Thanatos spotted his chance.

For a moment, his boy's desperate words echoed in his mind: You must not leave me! Please do not leave me! But . . . there was no other way.

And so he mobilized the last of his strength. Enabled by sheer desperation, Thanatos ripped his wing out of the last gnawer's grip and flung himself forward, toward the leaping Longclaw. He rammed his head into the gnawer's side, throwing him off course and . . . toward the cliff.

Longclaw screeched and Henry wailed. But the gnawer and he slid toward the edge undauntedly.

For a fleeting moment, Thanatos was certain he could spread his wings and take flight, only to be abruptly brought down as a claw dug into his foot, followed by a piercing scream. His last glimpse was at the horrified face of his boy before the flier and the gnawer tumbled over the edge together.