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Chapter Text

The point of Isis’s spindle left a spiraling track in the dust at her feet. Her back ached and she shifted to ease it, pausing in her spinning and leaning back to rest against the rough, mud bricks of the house wall. Around her, flies buzzed in the heat.

Through the small, cut window above her head, Siamun’s patient—a little girl of maybe eight seasons—cried out, only to be hushed by the old man’s gentle voice.

“There, there,” said Siamun. “That's all of it. The dragon has sharp teeth, but we're cleverer than he, eh? Let's get you washed and bandaged and we'll send you back to your mother.”

The child whimpered.

Isis picked up her spindle once more, looking out across the small inlet that ran by their home, and paused as she spotted an approaching figure.

Set cut quite a picture, sloshing across the canals, his legs and shendyt spattered with mud, his bald head—hair shaved ever since the lice had become unbearable—glinting in the light of the setting sun, yet held as high as though he still wore his golden headdress upon it. He had a brace of birds clutched in one hand, fat, brown things with dangling legs that Isis did not recognize, and wore a thunderous expression.

He tossed the birds down by her side, just missing her pile of flax still waiting to be spun,

“Don't clean those,” he said shortly. “I want you to have a look at the entrails, but I'm going to wash up.”

She eyed the lumps of feathers doubtfully. “They're already dead.”

“Better than nothing,” he said. “In case you haven't noticed, we have a dearth of temple pigeons around.”

“Did you see something amiss?”

He snorted. “If by ‘amiss’ you mean that the streets are emptied by plague and the wheat crop is half of what it should be at this time of year, then sure, why not?” He produced a rag from a pouch at his waist and wet it in the clay jar near the door before beginning to wipe down his limbs. “As for seeing, well, that's more of your domain, isn't it?”

Isis swallowed hard and wound up the ends of her thread, setting aside her spindle. “So it is. But of late…” Her hand went to the Necklace at her throat, buried under the layers of her headscarf. “The future has become clouded. I fear…” She could barely bring herself to speak the words, as though doing so might bring the fear to terrifying life. “I fear my magic may be fading.” She studied him a moment and her stomach twisted. “And I suspect mine is not the only one, as I can't recall the last time you asked me to read the entrails for you.”

Set stiffened, but did not look at her.

Isis sighed and dropped her hand, reaching to worry at the folds of her skirt. “How long?”

“It's not gone,” said Set harshly. “A group of bandits caught me nine days ago in one of the canyons, hunting. The Rod still responds to my will. It simply requires...more of me. I'd be uncertain of my ability to conduct a Shadow Game.”

“The monsters are gone,” she said. “Sealed. He—”

“But how well?” he said. He gripped the muddy rag, knuckles paling. “I saw something in the market today. Something that should not still exist.”

Her skin prickled. “What?”

He gestured to the carcasses at her side. “The birds first,” he said. “It may have been nothing but I'd rather be sure.”

The storeroom was dim and she had to feel her way along, digging amongst the baskets for the box that held her bronze bowl and knife, padded amongst linen already gone brown with age. The metal would have fetched a decent price at market, but Isis knew better than to sell them.

Items used for blood magic could never truly be wiped clean.

As her hand closed around the knife, her knuckles brushed another item, a box. Her heart contracted and she paused a moment, resting her hand against metal that was unnaturally warm.

Even shattered, the Pendant still hummed with life.

Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them away.

Behind her, she heard Set enter the room, the lamp in his hands casting dancing shadows across the walls. She pushed aside the thoughts and turned to kneel across from him, settling herself on the cracked reed mats. She unwrapped the bowl and knife and laid them before her.

Without a word, Set passed her one of the cold birds.

It had been years, but her hands still remembered the motion: a quick, decisive slice and the carcass parted, guts spilling onto her hands and into the bowl. The blood oozed sluggishly, already cold and thick, but she felt the warm flush of magic under her skin, and knew relief.

Together, they peered into the bowl.

Her stomach lurched and the Necklace seemed to tighten around her throat.

Beneath the bird’s breastbone was a slick, shapeless mass, darkly purpled and streaked with yellow, many times the size of what should be contained in the tiny body.

“Something moves in the Shadows,” she said, the words stumbling past her lips as they hadn't since she'd taken up the Item so long ago. “A growing threat.”

Set cursed under his breath. “What sort of threat? We sealed Zorc away!”

Isis touched the slick surface of the lump with bloody fingers, tracing a circular network of dark vessels. “A Ring,” she whispered. “It's returned.”

Set snarled, his head whipping to the side, and leapt to his feet. Isis sat back on her heels, suddenly sick.

“Curse him, curse him!” Set seethed. “To leave us with this mess, our powers diminished, our numbers diminished! Curse him to the darkest pi—”

“Be silent!” Isis said, and had to clap her hand across her mouth to hold back the wave of nausea. Sticky blood smeared across her cheek. She lowered her hand, breathing deep and slow. “Don't bring down anything worse upon him, or have you forgotten whose soul was shattered so that the sun could continue rising!”

Set’s eyes narrowed, but his mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

Isis drew in a steadying breath and looked at him. “Go. There is bread baked already. Take the other bird to Siamun.”

“And what do you plan to do?” he said, voice venomous.

“You asked me to see,” said Isis. “Let me alone so I may do so.”

Set’s expression was murderous, but he turned on his heel and left, shoving the door closed so hard behind him that it bucked.

When she was certain she was entirely alone, Isis buckled over her bent knees and wept.

Muffling her sobs into the folds of her dress, she allowed every dark fear that she had pushed aside and suppressed to flow forth, like the shadows that had engulfed his soul—

How can we? Weak and less than half of what we were. How can we protect this world again? So many of us gave our lives, Mana, Shada, Mahad, Karim, and for what? So that the Shadows might rise again?

Was it all for nothing?

Shaking, she pressed her face into the coarse smock over her knees, uncaring that she was likely smearing kohl into the fabric, and tried to breathe.

What can I do?

The Necklace was silent.

Our powers are fading.

The land is sick, corrupted, dying.

It needs a king.

To her relief, neither Set nor Siamun commented on the hastily wiped remnants of tears and blood that surely adorned her face. The house was warm from the oven, fragrant with baking bread and the crackle of the spitted bird roasting.

“Here,” said Siamun, his eyes sympathetic above the line of his veil. “Sit and eat. A good meal and good company can make even the darkest of shadows not look so grim.”

She sat, accepting the bowl of beer and the plate of warm bread and figs, pathetically grateful he hadn't served her any meat. The thought of touching it made her head swim. Across from her, Set gnawed a bone in stony silence.

She toyed with the bread before nibbling at it and felt a strange flood of relief as she swallowed. She smiled at Siamun in gratitude.

The old man winked at her. “Spend too long in the realms of the gods and you'll forget you're only made from clay. Eat, child, and then we can discuss what troubles you.”

“There's nothing to discuss,” said Set. “Our wise king did a sloppy job and now the world will suffer for it.”

“Harsh words from the man who allowed Kemet to split once again,” said Isis.

Set shot to his feet, “You—!”

“Quiet!” said Siamun. He shot Isis a severe look and she dropped her gaze. “Pointing fingers will accomplish nothing of worth.” When neither of them responded he sighed deeply. “Set, why don't you explain what it is you saw in the market?”

Set toyed with a bone fragment, his brows deeply furrowed. “A child,” he said at last. “A common one, insignificant. He stole some coin off a vendor, and the man pursued him. I followed, they turned a corner and then…” He shook his head. “Gone. The vendor I mean. Only the thief remained. He was too distant to capture, but before me, in the narrow alley, there were prints in the dust.”

“What sort of prints?” said Isis.

“Not human,” said Set. “And not animal either. At least no animal I have ever seen.” He traced an abstract shape on the table’s surface. “Larger than my hand. With claws.”

A chill passed through her. “Something that large would draw attention. It couldn't just vanish down a side street.”

“Exactly,” he said.

Isis chewed her lip. “Still, it isn't much. Perhaps you're overthinking.”

Set raised an eyebrow at her. “And are you going to tell that ,” he gestured at her throat, “that it is overthinking as well?”

Her hand curled into a fist, fingernails scraping and calluses catching on the wood. Siamun clucked in disapproval and rested a quelling hand atop her own.

“Be easy,” he said. “What did you see?”

“The Ring,” she said, dully. “The Ring. And a rising darkness.”

Siamun drew in a low, quick breath. “I see.”

She tore another scrap of bread from her portion but could not bring herself to eat it, balling it up in her palm instead. “What do you suggest?”

Siamun sighed and folded his hands before him. “I do not know what to suggest. Did the vision say anything of how soon the darkness will rise?”

Isis shook her head. “Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next season, perhaps a thousand seasons from now. What is time to an abomination? But it is coming.”

Siamun rubbed at his wrinkled forehead. “Weakened as we are…” he said at last, slowly. “Perhaps we must submit to the notion that it is not our fate to stop the darkness. Maybe we were only ever meant to drive it back. To destroy it may be the destiny of others.”

His words were heavy with conviction, but his tone was bitter all the same.

“Unacceptable,” said Set, flatly. “I did not watch my my comrades, my kin , die in torment only to sit back and let a demon from an ancient world devour us all. Once I wrest control back from that worthless Hittite dog—”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Isis snapped, her patience frayed. “With half the nomarchs lining up to stab you in the back? Face it, you barely escaped with your life. We barely escaped with our lives. You need soldiers and gold, or at the very least an effective assassin, and none of us can provide you with either.”

Set’s eyes narrowed. “I have the right of kingship.”

“For all the good it will do you!” said Isis. “You think your would-be subjects will lay down their lives to uphold that right? What do farmers and cattle herders care if the man who rules them is a Hittite?”

“They'll care when the granaries run empty and plague-rotted bodies line the streets!” said Set. “They'll care when that monstrous thing rips through the veil into our world and eats their souls by the thousands! I will find a way! If I have to go nome to nome negotiating one at a time! Or, curse it all, I'll ally with the Nubians! But he left me this kingdom, Isis, and I have no intention of allowing it to crumble into dust!”

“Do you even remember his name?” she shouted.

Set reared back as if struck. “What kind of question—of course I remember!”

“Do you!” she said. “Or do you only remember remembering?” She shot a look at Siamun, whose eyes had crinkled in sudden worry. “Tell me that I am wrong.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Set. “Of course I remember his—”

He froze up, eyes suddenly wide, gaze twitching with frenetic energy, as though searching the room for something he'd lost.

Isis deflated, slumping forward against the table. “I told you,” she said, fighting the urge to hang her head and weep.

“How is that possible?” Set said, through gritted teeth.

Isis shrugged. “Perhaps you should think twice before dismissing his spellcasting abilities. If I meant to irreversibly imprison someone, I certainly wouldn't leave the key lying around, no matter how much I trusted a potential keeper.”

Set growled and threw himself onto his stool, which creaked ominously.

“Careful,” murmured Siamun. “Unless you want to be repairing that later.”

Set glowered at him. Isis rested her forehead on her folded knuckles, the wooden beads in her hair clacking against the table, and tried not to be sick.

“If I had the tools, I could make an army,” said Set, his tone pointed and a touch sullen.

“The tablets were destroyed,” said Isis, not bothering to lift her head. “And summoning without foci is unpredictable at best and deadly at worst. Unless you want to use your ka to overthrow your enemies.”

“I can't say I recommend it,” said Siamun lightly, his robes rustling. Rubbing his arm, she knew, the place where Zorc had ripped part of his ka from him. It should have killed him, but Siamun, older than them all, had seen plague and famine in the distant lands he'd roamed before he had come to Kemet, and he was nothing if not resilient. He was slower, these seasons, tired more easily and carried an air of sadness about him that he'd lacked before, but he had lived.

“If,” said Set, and when Isis looked up she saw a familiar glint in his eye, the look he got when there was a challenge before him that he knew could be overcome, “someone performed a summoning in that marketplace, it means it can be done without the tablets. And there was no blowback; I saw no damaged buildings or scorched earth. It is only a matter of determining who performed it, and how .”

“Both questions about which we know less than nothing,” said Isis. “You might be better off apprenticing to a stonecarver, for all the time it would take you to untangle such magic from scratch.”

Set huffed in her direction, nostrils flaring. “However they did it, we know they didn't have an Item.”

“Or rather,” said Siamun. “We know they didn't have more than two.”

A chill passed through Isis. “I've still seen nothing of the Eye’s fate. I've been praying we'll have warning if someone has found it.”

Siamun hummed to himself. “A nice thought, but not something we can expect. If they do have an Item, or two, then perhaps they've found a way to construct foci.”

“You think someone has hold of the Ring then?” said Set.

Siamun shrugged. “Possible. The vision and the Ring’s...personality seem to suggest it.”

“Then if they can summon with one, or two, then we can do so with four, seal or no seal,” said Set.

“Five,” said Isis, suddenly.

“What?” said Set.

“We have five Items,” said Isis. “Not four.”

“The Pendant is broken beyond repair,” said Set.

“Maybe not beyond it,” said Siamun. “Maybe just beyond any of us.”

Set frowned. “Meaning what?”

“I've looked at the Pendant,” said Siamun. “All the pieces of it are there. It could be repaired, possibly.”

“Have you tried?” said Isis.

Siamun’s head drooped. “A few times yes, but it seems it may be a puzzle that is beyond me.”

Set snorted. “A Puzzle. How very like him to leave something like that.”

Siamun fidgeted absently with the remains of his own meal. “It's more than that, I believe. When I tried—and I realize you may think me an old fool but my mind is not yet gone—it was as if the pieces slid apart. Every time I interlocked two, the third refused to join. There's definitely magic at play.”

Isis sighed. “Four is not so few I suppose.”

“I don't accept it,” said Set. “If the Ring is truly in play, not to speak of the Eye, we need the Pendant—the Puzzle’s —power. He left this mess and I'll be damned and devoured if he gets to walk out on cleaning it up.”

Isis pinched the bridge of her nose. “I realize death and magical imprisonment are the type of thing that one easily shrugs off, but don't you think that's a bit of an unreasonable expectation?”

“Not at all.” Set bared his teeth. “If it's magic that's keeping us from solving the Puzzle, then all we need is a magical solution.”

Chapter Text

Yuugi absently chewed his thumbnail and snuck another look at the clock. The classroom felt far too stuffy and he resisted the urge to unbutton his shirt a little further. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jounouchi toying with his pencil, his notebook an incomprehensible mess of scribbles that always, invariably, managed to resolve themselves into a passing grade.

“Hey,” whispered Jounouchi. Yuugi blinked, and tilted his head subtly so he could meet Jounouchi’s eye without alerting the teacher. “You want to go down to the arcade with the others after class? Anzu’s already agreed.”

Yuugi shook his head. “Can't,” he whispered back.  “Grandpa’s getting a shipment today and we've got inventory. Next time?”

“Sure, buddy,” said Jounouchi. He winked at Yuugi. “She'll be sad to have missed you but I'm sure Honda and I can comfort her in her distress.”

Yuugi felt his face grow hot and sank down a little in his chair, thankful that Anzu was seated a few rows ahead and thus unable to hear them.

The fact that she had her hair swept up because of the heat, exposing the delicate lines of the nape of her neck, was a bonus he tried not to think about too hard.

Hoping his ears weren't as red as they felt, Yuugi bent over his notebook and tried to recapture the thread of the lecture. He really shouldn't let his mind wander; his mother had given his grandfather a hard enough time about pulling him from school three years ago, and she was still watching his grades with more than typical scrutiny.

Yuugi didn't know why she worried. Alexandria was a modern city, the lesson plans hadn't been that different from what he had now, and Grandpa made a better history teacher than stuffy old Kurada any day.

The bell rang, startling him from his thoughts, and he realized with a twinge of guilt he'd completely missed the end of the lecture. He'd have to see about asking Anzu for the notes later.

The afternoon air was humid, but there was a slight breeze, thankfully. Yuugi loosened his uniform shirt and breathed a long sigh of relief. Across the schoolyard he could see Honda and Jounouchi clustering around Anzu, and from the position of their bodies and her mock-disapproving hands on her hips, they'd just told an off-color joke.

Then Anzu looked up and caught his eye and he waved, making apologetic, exaggerated pantomime motions in the direction of the game shop as he did so. She laughed, inaudible from the distance, but it still made his stomach lurch in excitement. Fighting back a blush, he turned on his heel and trotted off towards home.

As the noise from the school faded, a slight melancholy settled over his shoulders. He loved them all, truly, but often he wondered if it would have been better if he'd stayed, refused to let his grandfather take him to Egypt, because sometimes it felt as if that year had formed a slight gap between them that, despite his best efforts, he could not bridge.

Not that they'd been anything less than firm friends since his return. Anzu had cried for days and Jounouchi had pulled him aside for a very awkward but very heartfelt conversation where he'd apologized for the role that he and Honda had played in the whole mess. He'd even praised Yuugi for his courage and offered his friendship, no strings attached, with the most horrible pun Yuugi had ever heard in his life.

Yuugi hadn't even considered saying no.

Yuugi smiled to himself. He was worrying over nothing. His grandfather had done what he thought best, and truthfully Yuugi wouldn't have traded those months, waking with the sun and going to bed covered with sand and dark mud saturated with myth and mystery, even while being bit to pieces by biting insects, for anything.

The bell above the shop door tinkled and Yuugi pushed it shut behind him hastily to keep the cool of the air conditioning inside. “Grandpa?”

“Ah, good, you're back,” his grandfather's muffled voice called from the back storage room. “Drop your backpack and come help, there's some shelves which need reorganizing if we want to fit all of these.”

“Be right there.” He kicked off his sneakers and swapped them for a set of house slippers before trudging up the stairs.

He stopped by his room and dumped his backpack in a corner, out of his mother’s line of sight if she managed to happen by, before scampering downstairs, a giddy feeling in his stomach at being freed of the omnipresent weight.

“You'll break your neck one day, doing that,” said his grandfather, from behind a stack of import board games.

“Says the person who had me crawl out to the end of our boat to cut the mooring when we got snagged on those rocks,” said Yuugi.

“That was different,” said his grandfather, placidly. “In that case the choice was either that or get crushed by that bull hippo that took offense to us being in his territory. Grab those bags of jacks and restock the box in the front.”

Yuugi obeyed. The bags clacked and rolled between his fingers, the points of the jacks poking him through the cloth. “Have you heard from Professor Hopkins yet?” he called back.

“He finally replied last night,” said his grandfather. “He didn't have email access in transit from the university back to the site. He did mention he's bringing his granddaughter with him though. After things with you went so well, her parents conceded it was probably safe enough.”

“His granddaughter?” Yuugi squinted into the middle distance, vaguely recalling a crumpled photograph of a round-faced, scowling, bespectacled little girl that Professor Hopkins had shown him. “Isn't she only five? Barbara or Becky or something?”

“Rebecca,” said his grandfather. “And she's thirteen. Quite the little spitfire too, from what I understand.”

“Huh,” said Yuugi. “Well hopefully she'll have a good time and not wind up with the runs nearly as often.”

His grandfather humphed. “You wouldn't have if you'd just listened to me and stuck to beer like everyone else.”

“I was fifteen!”

“Oh psh,” said his grandfather. “There was barely enough alcohol in that horse piss to get a gnat drunk.”

Yuugi shook his head. “See this? This is why Mama is always accusing you of contributing to the delinquency of minors.”

His grandfather chuckled. “That's because she'd prefer everyone forget that she was once a delinquent minor. Trust me, when you're my age, you'll wish you'd spent more time getting into trouble.”

“Unless ‘trouble’ means Kaiba kidnapping me on the way to school for another game of cards, I doubt there's much in my future.”

“You'd think after you won his company back from Pegasus in that ridiculous wager he'd be a little more grateful,” said his grandfather, grumbling.

Yuugi shrugged. “Kaiba's a realist. He thinks it was just luck. And I can't exactly blame him for that, especially since even I still feel like it was a fluke.”

“I can think of a few things to blame him for instead,” said his grandfather, setting down another stack of boxes a little more heavily than strictly necessary.

Yuugi winced. “Grandpa…”

His grandfather paused and hung his head briefly. “I'm sorry, Yuugi. I know that he's only a child, and a foolish one at that, but,” he fished around in his pocket and Yuugi studied the floor as his grandfather held up the well-worn Blue Eyes White Dragon card, painstakingly repaired with tape. He sighed, fingering the crease in the center. “I know it's only a card, but the memories attached to it are important.”

Yuugi looked away. “I'm sorry I couldn't get it back before—”

His grandfather shushed him. “I won't hear of it. It was not your fault it happened and I wouldn't trade your safety and wellbeing for all the cards in the world.”

His grandfather padded over and chucked him under the chin, laughing as Yuugi yelped. “Besides, the expression on Kaiba's face when he lost was worth at least one of these.”

Yuugi smiled weakly. “So you don't think it was a fluke? The duel with Pegasus?”

His grandfather studied him for a moment. “Yuugi, I wasn't there so I can't comment on your strategy, but no one has ever beaten Pegasus before, not even Kaiba, and no one has since. Fluke or not, that meant something.”

Yuugi sighed. “Maybe.”

His grandfather smiled, the laugh lines around his eyes deepening. “Just don't let yourself grow a big head because of it.” He waved the card meaningfully. “Even the most powerful of us can be beaten if we get careless or sloppy.” He paused and tapped his chin. “In fact...here,” he extended the card to Yuugi. “You hang onto it.”

Yuugi's eyes rounded. “Uh, Grandpa…”

His grandfather held up a quelling hand. “I insist. It would pass to you one day anyhow, and it might as well be today. Call it a memento if you want.”

Yuugi took the card, tucking it carefully into his pocket alongside his own deck—he'd taken to carrying it once word got out about his championship and the weirdo would-be challengers started crawling out of the woodwork—and squinted at his grandfather in suspicion. “Are you sure you don't have cancer or something?”

His grandfather threw back his head and laughed. “Cheeky! Now get back to work, you little smartass; you've still got homework and dinner!”

The dirt floor was cool under Isis’s knees, scattered with fragments of reeds from the mats which they'd rolled back to clear a space. She lit the last of the lamps, trying not to think about how much of their monthly oil budget they were burning through, and watched Set carve in the dirt with a sharp bit of rock. She didn't recognize the glyphs he was using, but she didn't expect to; there wasn't exactly a template for this sort of spell.

“I wonder if the gods will object to us doing this in a shed rather than a temple hall,” she mused aloud.

Set shot her a disgruntled look.

“Doubtful,” said Siamun, lowering himself to the floor with a groan. “The nomads cast in goatskin tents in the middle of the desert and they seem to have no issue with it.” He folded his legs and set the Scales on the ground before him. “However I would like to state for the record that I think this is a poor idea.”

“ You were the one who suggested the Puzzle could be solved,” said Set.

“Yes, but,” Siamun sighed and frowned. “I cannot help but feel that procuring a magical means of solving it is not the correct method.”

“There is no correct method,” said Set. “But I'm not going to let that stop me.”

He carved the last symbol with a flourish and squatted back on his heels to examine his work. Surveying the diagram as a whole, Isis could now see that he'd used Mahad’s shorthand method to invoke and direct the power of each item: ‘balance’ for the Scales, ‘opening’ for the Key, ‘control’ for the Rod, and ‘future’ for the Necklace. But rather than the usual ‘kingship’ for the Pendant—

“Unity?” she said.

Set shrugged. “I figured it would serve as a command as well as an invocation. It's what the kingdom needs after all.”

Siamun hummed in agreement. “A wise decision.” He cast a sidelong look at Set. “Your kinsman would approve.”

Set looked away.

“Then I suppose you'll be guiding us?” said Isis.

Set actually hesitated a moment before nodding curtly. He knelt on the floor, across from them, and picked up the box containing the pieces of the Pendant. Tipping it, he scattered them across the diagram like knucklebones, the metal clacking as shining fragments bounced and spun before coming to rest. He set the box aside and removed the Rod from his sash. He held it out before him and, taking the cue, Isis reached for the Necklace, resting the tips of her fingers on the golden curve of it.

Set brandished the Rod at the fragments of the Puzzle, the way Isis had seen him wield it when he meant to bend a man to his will.  “We seek unity; a means to repair what was sundered. We ask the gods’ assistance in this endeavor, to bring the land together under the banner of kingship, passed to me by the Lord of the Two Lands, the Living Horus.”

Isis bowed her head. To her left she could hear Siamun muttering a supportive invocation, calling on the names of various gods: Thoth the wise, Ma’at the embodiment of truth, Atum-Ra of the shining sun, Horus the divine ruler.

Nothing. The pieces remained still and silent. Set ground his teeth audibly and Isis’s stomach lurched in alarm. She opened her mouth to admonish him about allowing his emotions to intercede while casting—

“We seek the means to restore the Puzzle!” barked Set. “Our circumstances are dire! The black land is sickened and dying and we beseech the gods’ aid! Now come together you stupid—!”

There was a blinding flash. Isis clapped her hands over her eyes, recoiling. There was a thud, like the sound of a body cast carelessly from the back of a chariot.

Eyes watering, Isis squinted through her fingers. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

A figure knelt among the fragments of the Puzzle, its head whipping back and forth in confusion, the silhouette so familiar that she gasped aloud.

For a terrifying moment she thought Set had managed what so many had tried and failed to; to reach beyond the veil and revive the dead.

Then, as the light cleared, she realized that it was not the Pharaoh before them, but a strange boy, clad in indigo, his hair a wild yet familiar mess of black and red and gold.

The apparition stared at them, and screamed.

Chapter Text

Yuugi's back ached from carrying boxes and the scent of curry trickling down the stairs from the apartment above tormented him. He shelved the last stack and dusted his hands off. “You can stay here if you want, Grandpa,” he said. “But Mama’s pork and potato curry is calling my name.”

“Fine, fine,” said his grandfather, not looking up from the messy binder that served as his inventory log. “Go on, I'll be there in a minute.”

The stairs were dim, the last rays of the sun coming in through the skylight above him, the carpet muffling his footsteps. Yuugi’s eyes drifted shut, and he drew in a deep, savory-scented breath, thinking absently that perhaps all was right in the world.

Then he promptly tripped and fell on his face.

At least, that's what he thought had happened. He landed hard on his knees, arms flailing out to catch himself. But it wasn't soft carpet under his palms, but cold, dry earth. His knee knocked painfully against what felt like a rock, his hands sliding on rough stones as he barely kept himself from face-planting into the ground.

What the—

He blinked, half-blinded in the strange, suddenly flickering light. The air smelled of must and mildew and dry soil.

Then he realized he was surrounded by strangers.

And they were all staring at him.

Not just strangers, he realized, with rapidly rising panic. Even in the light, dimmer than the kerosene lamps his grandfather had used on his digs, he could see that their faces were dark, and their clothing was archaic, and very non-Japanese. Was he dreaming? Had he passed out and somehow ended up in a historical reenactor’s basement? Had he fallen into a wormhole? Was this one of those crazy Satanic rituals the old ladies at the shops were always twittering about?

Then it registered that the tall bald man sitting in front of him was holding out a bladed weapon, unsheathed, the gleaming tip pointed directly at Yuugi.

And he realized that he was sitting in some kind of...circle. Surrounded by candles or lanterns or something. And for the second time in his life, on the wrong end of a man wielding a knife and looking at him with murderous intent.

And Yuugi screamed.

In his defense, it was more of a primitive, primate shriek, the kind most people don't even realize they can make until confronted with something that bypasses all the comfortable layers of modern civilization’s problems and goes straight for the brain stem before the cerebral cortex even has time to brush its teeth. Yuugi scrambled away from the man on his ass, tripping on the stones under him as he tried and failed to rise, only to end up colliding with another person behind him. He yelped and recoiled, and tripped again, ending up sprawled on his back like a turtle.

Then everyone leapt to their feet and started shouting.

From his new vantage point, Yuugi managed to take in that there were only three of them, not more as he'd initially thought—not that it mattered, even one man with a knife was one too many—and that they were shouting in something that was distinctly not Japanese. Not English either, as much as he could make out over the deafening way their voices echoed over each other in the small space. It didn't even sound like the Egyptian Arabic his schoolmates had often chattered at each other back in Alexandria. Not that he supposed it would have helped, his English was at best fair to middling and he’d only memorized a handful of Arabic phrases. And while their clothing, what he could make out of it, did resemble the jellabiya he'd often seen people wearing, the bald man was wearing what looked like a shendyt, and Yuugi was pretty sure that hadn't been common dress for a thousand years.

Oh God, where the hell am I?

The volume dropped slightly as one of the figures broke off from the argument, leaving the other two, the bald man and a woman, Yuugi guessed, from the dress she was wearing and the beads in her long, black hair, to continue shouting in each other's faces. The third figure, who wore an opaque facial veil that draped across their nose to their throat, leaving absolutely no clues as to their gender, crouched down to peer at Yuugi.

“Um,” said Yuugi, groping for the correct pronunciation after close to three years of non-use. He held his hands up, palms open, making a valiant attempt to appear non-threatening and offered the most respectful greeting variant that he knew.

The person stared at him, no sign of comprehension in their eyes. Yuugi tried another, a colloquialism he'd learned from the workers at the dig site. Nothing. Arabic was a no-go then? Which was...worrisome actually. Where was he? Even in the most rural areas that he and his grandfather ventured, most of the citizens had spoken Arabic.

“Crap,” mumbled Yuugi, wishing desperately that he'd bothered to learn any Coptic. His grandfather could speak a little—the results of a bizarre academic competition with Professor Hawkins back when they were still in school—but even he would have been limited to a handful of religious phrases, probably not anything so prosaic as asking for directions or begging for his life.

Pull yourself together. They haven't murdered you yet. They're people, even if they can't understand you. Remember what Grandpa always says: keep your damn head or you'll end up losing it.

There was only one thing left to try. His grandfather had been a bit retiring regarding teaching it but it was all that he had to offer. And there was a certain, dual appropriateness to it in his current situation.

He just hoped he wasn't about to make things worse.

Praying that he wasn't completely butchering the pronunciation, he offered a greeting in Hebrew.

The person’s eyes went round above the veil, understanding flashing through them. They said something in return, their voice gruff but gentle, but Yuugi shook his head hard and repeated himself, trying to convey that this was all he knew.

The figure tapped their face through the veil, as though considering, then offered him a hand.

Yuugi looked a tad fearfully at the other two, but they seemed beyond paying attention.

Well, nothing for it I guess. It'll probably be easier to outrun one rather than three if it comes to that.

He took the figure’s hand and found it dry, with the soft, wrinkled quality of his grandfather’s. Someone older, then, even better; while he'd gained a few kilograms of muscle that he'd worked to maintain after his time in Egypt—and absolutely nothing in height, much to his annoyance and his grandfather’s amusement—he was still in doubt regarding his ability to fight off anyone larger than a fourth grader.

The person ushered him out through a battered door and Yuugi immediately found himself engulfed in that particular form of darkness alien to anyone who'd never ventured outside the limits of populated space and light pollution. The moon overhead was round and full, and as he stared out into the night he caught a glimpse of clusters of little pinprick lights, like burning candles, marking, he presumed, the presence of other homes or perhaps a small township. Across the barely visible, silvery line demarcating the shape of a river, he could see the hunkered shapes of dark rocks, a small valley.

The wind blew, bringing with it the fetid scent of damp mud, and Yuugi shivered.

The figure tugged on his hand and he allowed himself to be guided into another building, larger than the first, but still low and squat. Pebbles rolled under the thin soles of his slippers. He reached out his free hand to brush the lintel of the door as he passed through it, felt mud brick and straw.

The room into which he was led was equally dark, though as his eyes adjusted he could see a glowing red bank of coals, nested inside a rough clay or stone oven like dragons eggs. The figure let go of him and crossed the room, gesturing at at a table near the far wall before going to rummage near the oven.

Yuugi eyed the rickety looking stools with some trepidation but selected one, facing the door, and sat. The figure turned back, a shallow oil lamp cradled in their hands, a single flame dancing on the end of the scrap wick. They placed it on the table and sat across from him.

Yuugi squirmed under the penetrating stare. The figure drummed their fingers on the table, a jarringly familiar gesture that reminded him of his grandfather.

“You can't understand me, can you?” said Yuugi, before repeating the question in English when his words produced only a curious look.

The figure cocked their head and spoke again in that unfamiliar tongue. Their voice was deep, soothing—a man then? He'd never seen one veiled like this.

Well, might as well start at the beginning. “Yuugi,” he said, pointing at himself, before giving the man a meaningful look. He was tempted to point but hesitated, not entirely certain how the man would take it.

The man perked in understanding and pointed at himself. “Siamun,” he said, slowly, as though speaking to a child.

“Siamun,” Yuugi repeated. Names were good. Names were generally not high on the list of things to be exchanged before bloodshed.

A thought occurred to him. He cleared his throat, reviewed the pronunciation three times in his own head, and asked the only word he knew properly, the only word that might glean him some information as to where on Earth he was.

“Kemet?” Yuugi said, hoping his rising inflection might convey that it was a question.

Black land.

The man’s eyebrows rose above his veil and he nodded.

Yuugi's heart dropped into his stomach. So he had guessed right. Archaic dress and tongue aside, he knew where he was.

But, he realized with a creeping sensation of horror, as mad as it sounded, he was beginning to wonder when he was.

Despite the darkness, Siamun must have seen the expression on Yuugi's face, because he rose again and busied himself near the oven, producing a shallow clay bowl and a plate with a couple of lumps of something on it.

Yuugi reached to take the plate on automatic, polite instinct moving his body while his mind was still gibbering over the impossibilities. His fingers brushed a hunk of coarse bread, still warm from the oven, and his stomach gave an uncomfortable twist as he was caught between the realization of how desperately hungry he was, and how badly he wanted to throw up.

The man’s eyes crinkled warmly at him, as though he were smiling encouragingly at Yuugi from behind the veil and Yuugi grasped at the slipping threads of practicality to avoid thinking too hard about all of this. He picked up the bread and took a bite.

It was...gritty, grinding between his teeth in a way he was pretty sure bread was not supposed to, but still recognizably food. He ate, mechanically, and felt his stomach unknot slightly, for all his mouth was dry as a bone and swallowing felt difficult.

Siamun tapped the edge of the bowl meaningfully and Yuugi picked it up, liquid sloshing inside it. He had to reorient it to get a grip. He lifted it gingerly and took a sip.

It was awful . Thick and bitter, like porridge with an undertone of alcohol. He nearly spit it out, but then recalled that unless he'd managed to knock himself out on the stairs and was hallucinating all this, there probably wasn’t anything other than this to drink.

Yuugi swallowed, grimacing, and forced himself to take a few more sips. He didn't know how much alcohol was in it, but he did feel himself relaxing a bit, his frayed nerves settling. He set the bowl aside and reached for the other objects on his plate, and felt, with a small surge of excitement, the velvety skin of fresh fruit beneath his fingertips. He scooped them up and popped one in his mouth, feeling seeds crunch and sweet pulp squish between his teeth.

Siamun observed him the entire time, eyes unreadable above his veil.

Yuugi was almost finished when the door burst open and the bald man from before entered, followed closely by the woman. He didn't, to Yuugi's relief, appear to be wielding the knife, but his expression was equally terrifying. He snapped something at Siamun and the older man responded in a calm tone.

The woman followed the bald man in, a lit lamp in her hand, which she set on the table in front of Yuugi.

They all stared at him and Yuugi tried not to shrink under the combined focus.

Siamun cleared his throat pointedly, drawing their attention, gestured at Yuugi, and spoke a word that Yuugi realized after a full second was a decent approximation of his name. Siamun indicated the bald man. “Set,” he said, the syllable clipped, before pointing over to the woman standing near the oven. “Isis.”

Okay, introductions. Great except for the part where I still don't know who these people are or what the hell they want. I’m guessing they didn't expect me, whoever they are.

Manners kicked in and Yuugi lifted the bowl of beer, or porridge, or whatever it was, in their direction. “Thank you,” he said, hoping to convey gratitude, or maybe they'd think he was toasting them, the sentiment was close enough to work.

The bald man, Set, said something else, his tone low but less hostile. Isis spoke up, looking about the hut with an expression that Yuugi recognized off his own mother’s face, the look of a household head making a half dozen calculations to accommodate an unexpected guest.

He realized then that there were no doors in the room except the one through which they had all come. Nor had he spotted anything resembling a bed. Did they all really share the tiny floor space in here? What was that line from that foreign play the drama club had put on last year? Something about misery and sharing beds with weirdos?

You're hysterical, Yuugi thought, far too calmly. Clearly your mind has snapped, or you've gotten a concussion and wound up in Oz.

Isis moved, decisively, while Yuugi was still deciding whether having a nervous breakdown would help or hurt the situation. She crossed the room and picked up what looked like a stack of rolled cloth, tucking the bundle under her arm. She spoke briefly to Set and Siamun before leveling a pointed look at Yuugi and making for the door.

Yuugi looked at Siamun helplessly, but the old man made encouraging motions in the direction she had gone. Yuugi rose, edging his way around Set—as he tried not to appear like he was doing so—and followed her outside.

To his mixed relief, she led him back to the shed, pushing aside the door and motioning him inside. The lamps had been quenched and the room was darker than ever, but Yuugi could just barely glimpse her shadow as she knelt on the ground. Their footsteps made light crunching sounds and he realized that some sort of grass or straw matting had been rolled out over the place where he had...appeared. He heard the low thump of a cloth roll being dropped to the ground and watched the motions of her silhouette as she rolled out the bundle.

She said something and Yuugi flinched, startled, but approached, hoping that he'd guessed her intentions correctly. An impatient hand caught his wrist and tugged him to the floor.

The cloth was coarse, and he could feel the cold ground right through it. She hummed encouragement, a little sing-song sound, and tugged one of the layers out from beneath him to drape overtop. And Yuugi hadn't felt like a child for years, but her familiar, comforting pat through the makeshift sheet left him gutshot, overwhelmed, the multiple shocks of the last hour—and had it been only that?—crowding in and leaving him breathless. He squeezed his eyes shut against the darkness, breathing tightly through his nose.

Mama, will I ever see you again?

Isis smoothed the cloth down and rose. Yuugi blinked back the threatening tears.

“Thank you,” he said, and even to his own ears his voice sounded choked and distorted. “Thank you, Isis.”

She paused at the door, perhaps at the sound of her name, said something else he didn't understand, and departed, the door swinging shut behind her.

And Yuugi was left alone in the dark.

Siamun had already bedded down by the time Isis returned to the house, but Set was still awake, seated at the table, head resting on his folded arms and expression morose. He'd doused the lamps and his distorted shadow, half merged with those of the furniture, put Isis in mind of a restless dragon, illuminated by the fading embers of its breath.

Isis sighed, dragged another stool around to set beside his own, and sat. Very carefully, she leaned against him, allowing her weight to rest against his side, her hair draping across his shoulder.

He tensed, but didn't look at her.

“We will find a way,” said Isis, after a few moments.

“Will we?” he said. “When even the gods turn away and mock us?”

“If you're referring to the boy,” said Isis, “just because we don't understand his purpose doesn't mean he's worthless.”

Set snorted. “You sound like me.”

Isis shrugged. “Perhaps he is an emissary of the gods. Granted, he doesn't look like what I'd have expected, but he's solid enough, not an apparition.”

“Well if the gods meant to send us a message, you'd think they'd have sent someone capable of delivering it,” said Set. “What sort of name is ‘Yuugi’ anyway? It sounds like nonsense.”

“You can puzzle over that when you're fishing in the canal tomorrow,” said Isis. “Mortal or not, he certainly eats like one and that means an extra mouth to feed. I've got a parcel of thread for the merchant in town, I'll take it in the morning.”

Slowly, Set shifted, draping a stiff arm around her. Hiding a smile, Isis rubbed her nose affectionately against his cheek, stubble rasping against her skin, and felt the tight coil in her stomach unwind as he relaxed into her.

“I swear to you,” he said, so quietly she could barely hear it. “As I promised him. When I right this, take back what is ours, you will be my First Wife.”

Isis swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat, pressing her cheek to his. “You'd have no choice in that regard,” she whispered back. “No one else knows how you like your ful seasoned.”

His arm tightened around her.

She rested her head in the curve of his neck, and as they always did, the warmth of his body and the sweat-scent of his skin eased the ache in her chest, left in the wake of Mahad’s passing.

She only hoped that, in some small way, she did the same for him.

Chapter Text

The ground was freezing and there was a rock sticking into Yuugi’s back.

Granted, this wasn’t all that different from sleeping in the field with his grandfather. Arguably it was a little better—Sugoroku snored like a freight train even on a good day—but despite, or perhaps because of, the strain and exhaustion, Yuugi couldn’t make himself sleep. He stared up in the direction he knew the roof was located and made a concerted, squirming attempt to eject the pebble from under him, trying hard not to think about any rats or snakes or scorpions that might be lurking amidst the piles of junk and supplies in the shed.

No luck, the damned thing was digging right into his spine. Grumbling, Yuugi caved and rolled over, feeling his slippered feet slide right out from under his makeshift blanket, along with a good chunk of his accumulated warmth, and felt under himself. At last his hand closed around it and he breathed a sigh of relief, turning back over and settling.

It was then he realized that the thing in his hand didn’t feel like a rock. It was hard, yes, but too warm and smooth, and the edges felt sharp and straight instead of rounded. Frowning, he turned the item over in the dark, but his questing fingers couldn’t translate the shape into anything recognizable.

I’ll have to take a look in the morning, I guess. Tucking the object into his pants pocket, Yuugi turned his attention back to the task of sleeping.

Not that it seemed to do any good. Despite the heaviness of his eyelids, his mind would not turn off ; his ears tuned for the slightest sound of approaching danger, or ghosts, or monsters. Of course, monsters weren’t real, but neither was time travel. His cheeks burning with embarrassment, Yuugi caved and pulled the cloth up over his face.

He half-regretted it; the linen was miserably coarse and made the tip of his nose itch, but the act of shutting out the physical world calmed him. Squirming, Yuugi rolled onto his side, allowing the cloth to drape over his head like a small tent, trapping the warmth of his own breath in the space.

Giving up on counting sheep, he sought out the object in his pocket and began to finger it absently, tracing the shapes, trying to reconstruct a three dimensional picture in his mind. The task grounded him, providing a point of focus for his rapidly boiling brain, and he felt himself starting to relax.

What is this thing? Flat, with jagged edges. It doesn’t feel natural. Is it man-made?

He cupped the object in his hand and traced the surface with his fingers. Smooth, flowing lines, in high relief; he followed them, over and over again, felt a round, central point, like the hub of a wheel.

Or the pupil of an eye .

Yuugi couldn’t have said when he dropped off, but the next moment he was starting awake, clawing the linen off his head and sitting up, his back aching like he'd aged forty years. Stabilizing himself, he blinked owlishly at the mud walls and thatched ceiling above him. The inside of the shed was still dim, but sunlight leaked in through a narrow slit window and through a gap between the top of the walls and the roof.

I suppose that crushes the idea that this is a dream.

Sighing, he tugged at his rumpled uniform, trying to ignore the smell of sweat and wishing desperately that he'd thought to change his clothes when he'd come home. Or at least kept his sneakers. Maybe grabbed his pocketknife or a flashlight. Nothing for it now. Taking advantage of the light and solitude, he lifted the hard object he'd extracted from under him and peered at it.

His stomach lurched in shock. It looked to be made of gold, bright and buttery yellow, yet when he pressed his fingernail into it, as his grandfather had taught him, he found it didn't dent in the slightest. Couldn't be too high a carat then. He turned it over.

It looked as if it had been cast, smooth and featureless on one side and textured on the other, with a stylized, unblinking eye in the center, that he recognized as the Right Eye of Ra, a symbol of protection and divine justice.

Is it an amulet? He frowned at the jagged edges. A piece of an amulet?

It didn't much resemble anything he'd seen at the Cairo museum two years ago, and the artifacts on his grandfather’s digs had always been more along the lines of broken pottery shards than pharaonic gold. Still, it made sense to hold onto it for now. God only knew whether he'd have to barter or bribe his way out of a situation.

He replaced the piece and searched his pockets for anything of value. His deck was there of course, for all the good it did him, but other than a piece of hard candy that he'd stolen from his grandfather's stash and some bits of lint, they were empty.

The door swung open and he jumped, but it was only Siamun, beaming down at him over his veil. He said something, his tone cheerful, and held up what Yuugi thought at first to be a drab bit of sackcloth, before recognizing it to be a set of loose robes. Siamun pushed it in his direction meaningfully.

Yuugi looked down at himself and sighed.

In the end, he left his uniform on, if only to keep from being driven mad by the endless itching. The robe was long enough to hide it anyway. Siamun watched him struggle into the clothes, then stepped up and tugged the hood up around him, pushing his hair to lie flat beneath it. He patted Yuugi's head through the hood and beckoned.

It was strange in the extreme to see the area illuminated in the ordinary light of day. As he'd seen the night before, the house was set far distant from any of the other drab huts he could spot as he looked out across the canals, and here and there he could see an egret stalking through them.

But it was the people that threw him. Just visible from this distance, they moved and seethed between the buildings of the town like ants.

So either his mind had gone through the trouble of constructing an ordinary town in minute detail, or this place really did exist.

Set and Isis were nowhere to be seen, but Siamun waved him inside the house, indicating a bowl on the table as he passed.

The bowl turned out to be full of beer-gruel, which Yuugi swallowed stoically, thinking longingly of eggs for breakfast. The rest of the table was spread with a variety of clay jars and bundles of dried herbs, and as Yuugi was attempting to puzzle out their purpose, there was a knock at the door.

Siamun passed him and waved inside a strange woman in a long dress, a child of perhaps two years slung across her hip, face hidden against her shoulder. They spoke briefly and Siamun reached out to tickle the babe under the chin, provoking a halfhearted squirm. The mother said something else and Siamun nodded gravely.

Moving back to the table, Siamun picked up a clay jar and opened it. Yuugi couldn't stop from wrinkling his nose as the overpowering scent of garlic and something sour flooded the room. Without batting an eye, Siamun poured some of the contents, a thick whitish paste, into another, smaller jar. Capping it with a flat lid, he handed it to the mother, who took it, before rummaging among the folds of her dress and handing Siamun a couple of tarnished coins.

Mother and child left, and Siamun slipped the coins into a pocket sewn into his wide sleeves. He looked over at Yuugi, picked up the jar from which he'd dispensed the paste. Holding it up where Yuugi could see it, he said a word, slowly, watching him.

Nothing for it, I guess , thought Yuugi, and repeated it.

Siamun’s eyes crinkled and he put the jar down before reaching for another.

It turned out Siamun's intentions were not entirely altruistic when his next patient, a gangly prepubescent girl with a nasty cut on her leg, arrived and he commanded Yuugi hand him several items while he examined her. Yuugi followed the instructions as best he could and watched Siamun combine a handful of herbs and flowers and, to Yuugi's surprise, a dollop of what looked like honey into a sticky poultice for the wound. The girl hugged the old man before she left, pressing a coin into Siamun's wrinkled hand.

Pocketing the money, Siamun groaned and clambered to his feet, lurching over and seating himself at the table across from Yuugi. He said something and pointed at a large jar near the oven.

Investigation proved it to be full of that weird gruel masquerading as alcohol. Yuugi made a face, but heat and hunger gnawed at him, and he poured out a serving for both of them. Setting Siamun's bowl down, he sat and stared morosely at his own.

A tap against the table drew his attention; Siamun pushed one of the jars, the honey jar, Yuugi realized at once, his way. Yuugi blinked at him and Siamun made an encouraging motion.

There was no spoon, and Yuugi cringed a bit but reached into the jar and scooped out a bit of the sticky, dense honey before stirring it into his beer with a finger. It didn't dissolve all that well, but when he took a sip he found it took the edge off. He swallowed gratefully and smiled at Siamun.

Siamun winked at him, and lifted his veil to drink his own beer, and Yuugi's heart nearly stopped.

Siamun's jaw was bearded, his facial hair neatly trimmed, but splattered across the brown skin of his throat like a leopard’s spots were deep, mottled pits, darkly discolored.

Yuugi had only seen such marks once, when his grandfather had taken him south to Heliopolis to see one of his old dig sites, on one of the villagers they’d interacted with, an ancient, bent woman with bright eyes who spoke only Coptic.

Smallpox scars.

Yuugi clutched at his bowl and tried to steady himself, his other hand going unthinking to his left shoulder, reassuring himself of the presence of the small, round depression there. It wasn’t common to get the vaccine anymore, not since he was a baby, none of his friends had one—the disease was practically ancient history—but his grandfather, who still remembered its specter, had insisted vociferously until his mother agreed. The indulgence of an old man could very well be the only thing standing between him and a painful death, in a place where such scourges were a deadly and immediate reality.

The realization of his own fragility in the face of a world still many centuries before clean water and modern medicine sent a shameful, lurching terror through him and he put the bowl down, resisting the urge to be sick. How was he going to get home? How was he going to survive long enough to get home? He thought perversely, jarringly of Lord Carnarvon. That was all it would take, a little cut, a little blood, and he could end up rotting from within. No antibiotics, no hope. How many times had he developed pneumonia as a grade schooler? How long would it be before he was bitten by a malarial mosquito, swallowed some contaminated food or drink and—

A hand on his shoulder startled him from his thoughts and he looked up to see Siamun leaning over him, veil over his face once more, but eyes narrowed in concern. He picked up the bowl, still half full of beer, and offered it to Yuugi, reaching up to pat his head through the hood.

Get a grip, hold it together. You're not dead or dying yet and you need a clear head to figure a way out of this.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, ducking his head and accepting the bowl.

Siamun patted him again before returning to his seat. After a moment he began to point to the objects on the table again, one at a time.

Yuugi drank his sour beer and repeated the words, slowly, inscribing them in his memory.

He would learn, he would adapt, he would survive.

Chapter Text

Yuugi had forgotten how quickly the desert heat drained his energy, but thankfully Siamun broke off their lessons when Set returned, a loosely woven bag in one hand, which upon closer inspection turned out to be a net, a few weakly squirming silver fish inside it. He dropped the net on the table and spoke a few words to Siamun, who switched from the halting speech he'd been using as he spoke to Yuugi and replied in rapid, flowing sentences. Set nodded and Siamun paused, pointing at the net and eyes flicking over to Yuugi before slowly repeating a word.

Truthfully, Yuugi had no earthly clue whether the word he'd just been given was for fish or net or even the specific name for just that variety of fish but he repeated it dutifully.

Set raised an eyebrow and let out a derisive snort that needed no translation.

Yuugi hunched his shoulders, an all-too-familiar sensation of shame crawling up his spine. He could practically hear his father’s disembodied voice through the telephone.

Seventy-eight percent in English again, Yuugi? That's not good enough for Tohou and that's not good enough for this family.

Siamun sighed and lurched to his feet, gathering a handful of his little jars and making for the oven. He said something sharp to Set as he passed.

Set bared his teeth but sat in Siamun's vacated seat. He observed Yuugi for a moment through narrowed eyes before withdrawing something from his belt.

It was a knife, but an ordinary looking bronze one, not the strange, gold knife with… With the eye on the hilt, thought Yuugi, distracted from the man's sharp gaze by the suddenly surfacing bubble of memory from the confusion of the night before. The Right Eye of Ra. Just like the amulet.

Said amulet suddenly felt as though it were burning a hole in his pocket. Yuugi swallowed hard and watched as Set flicked open the edge of the net and withdrew one of the silvery fish. The knife flashed in a practiced movement as he gutted it, pink and red organs spilling out onto the table, his eyes on Yuugi.

The house was utterly silent as Set worked, Siamun bent to a task that involved something with a bowl and flour. Yuugi squirmed and toed the ground, hearing the crackle of the reed mats under his slipper.

The clatter of metal on the table made him jump. He looked up to see that Set had tossed him the little bronze knife and was holding out his hand, palm up, fingers spread meaningfully over the remaining fish.

Yuugi gulped and picked the knife up, gripping the hilt to ground himself. This task wasn't actually unfamiliar; his grandfather hated cleaning fish and had foisted the job on Yuugi as soon as he was tall enough to reach the counter while standing on a box, and old enough to fathom which end of the knife was which, but the tool in his hand felt clumsy. He bit his lip and picked up a fish, purposely ignoring Set’s gaze, and cut.

It was sharper than he'd expected, slicing cleanly through the slick, silvery belly. Relief washed over him, muscle memory took over, and for a minute he was back in his mother's kitchen. He gutted the fish, removed the head and tail with two sharp chops, and just for good measure, roughly filleted both sides.

He set the clean fish to the side and looked up.

Set’s expression had changed, scrutiny still present, but softened somehow, as though he were re-evaluating Yuugi.

Yuugi lifted his chin and picked up the next fish.

The familiar smell of sizzling fish and garlic made Yuugi's mouth water and soothed a little of the constant ache in his chest. Isis had returned while they were working, her clothes covered in a layer of dust and her face lined with exhaustion. Yuugi hopped to his feet without thinking, offering her his seat and hurrying to the jar beside the oven to draw her a measure of beer. He turned back only to find that Set had had the same idea, resulting in a sort of musical stools that left Yuugi sitting where Set had been, and Set sitting beside Isis and wearing a exasperated expression.

Siamun set the bowl, lined with fish peppered with bits of garlic and green onion, in the center of the table, next to a plate of bread, before seating himself.

The three of them set upon the dishes without ceremony and Yuugi watched, reaching out to catch the bowl as it came his way. No utensils.

Yuugi winced as the fish burned his fingers, flipping the food onto his plate as quickly as possible. He shook his hand sharply and stuck his fingers in his mouth to cool them, wishing morosely for some chopsticks.

But hunger overcame all and he gingerly broke apart the fish, following the oily bites with bits of gritty bread. Across the table he spotted Set watching him again, an unreadable expression on his face.

Yuugi frowned and snuck a glance at Siamun and Isis. Was he being rude? He didn't know anything about the expected table manners but everyone else seemed to be consuming their food in the same manner. Mystified, he bent his head and tried to ignore the other man.

The meal finished in silence and Yuugi jumped up without thinking to remove the dishes, only to realize that—lacking a sink of any sort—he had no idea where to take them. Isis looked at his face and let out a little, half-muffled laugh before standing and beckoning.

He followed her out and down a well-worn dirt footpath to one of the canals. The water looked...suspect, but she knelt at the edge and extended an expectant hand.

He handed over the bowl and watched her wash it with a handful of grit, before lifting his gaze, squinting into the setting sun across the desolate landscape.

She said something and he fumbled to accept the clean, wet bowl and hand her another plate. Before he could withdraw however, she reached out and took his wrist, her expression searching as she looked him over.

Yuugi flushed, a nearly automatic reaction. She was almost distractingly beautiful, in the intimidating, often overwhelming way of older women, but the intensity of her stare made his stomach drop. He dropped his gaze, his ears uncomfortably hot, and blinked as he noticed a flash of gold at her throat, almost hidden among the folds of her veil, and the glimpse of a familiar Eye.

Just like the knife and the amulet. They've got an awful lot of gold for living in a mud hut in the middle of nowhere.

Isis released his hand after a moment and took the plate. She washed the dishes in silence.

Yuugi rubbed the toe of his slipper against the ground, watching the dark mud smear across the fabric. “I'm sorry,” he blurted.

She blinked and looked up at him, uncomprehending, but the words spilled out of him as though a dam had broken, his native tongue pouring out, pushing back against the wall of isolation between them, desperation and frustration at his inability to convey himself tangling.

“I'm sorry—I mean, I'm not thrilled to be here and I still don't know who you are and what you want but whatever or whomever it was I'm pretty sure I'm not it, because who am I kidding I'm never it. Grandpa always tells me there's more to me than I give myself credit but I'm just a kid who’s good at puzzles. So I'm sorry. I'm not a champion, or whatever you were looking for with that magic...thing you guys were doing, and I don't think I can be. Even with Pegasus, I…”

Yuugi swallowed. He'd spoken to almost no one about the match with Pegasus, not reporters, not his friends, he'd even hedged around the subject with his grandfather.

“I...don't believe in magic, or I guess I didn't, but when I got into that arena it was like...it was like he could read my mind. He was always two steps ahead. Every card, every strategy, he had a counter, and I thought it was because he was a grown man and I was just a kid and he knew all the cards, but he was crushing me and crushing me and I could tell that it was just a joke to him and I just…”

He turned, anxious energy pushing him to pace. “I thought fuck this , and I did something insane. I was already losing, so I flipped all the cards over, so I couldn't see them either. I just drew and played, drew and played. I was coming up with half-crazy strategies on the fly and then…”

Yuugi touched his pants pocket through the robe, reaching for the cards on instinct. “He had my Magician, absorbed into this messed up looking monster, and God it was weird playing with the holograms because I swear for a moment my Magician looked at me, and it was like he said ‘I trust you’ and I just started flipping cards and it was so strange but every card I didn't know I needed was right there. I'd never summoned the Black Chaos Mage before, it takes a long time and you need a precise set up, but everything coalesced and I...I blew Pegasus away.”

Yuugi stared at the dishes in his hand. “He was so angry. I mean, he kept his composure, but you could tell he was just boiling with rage. And there was a moment when…” His stomach turned. “Pegasus...he's got a missing eye, you know? But he usually keeps it covered with hair. But that day in the arena he pulled back his hair and he has a false one installed, but not like a normal one. The thing looked like it was made of solid gold and the design...I mean obviously it's an eye, but it looks just like one on your necklace. And that guy’s knife. And it's crazy, but I just feel like there's a link, but I can't figure out what it is even if I am supposed to and God I want to go home.”

He turned back to Isis, who was still sitting quietly, watching him.

Yuugi sighed and held out the last dish.

Set was sharpening his tools when Isis returned to the house, having urged a wilting Yuugi back in the direction of the shed.

“That answered one question I suppose,” Set said, as she moved to stack the clean dishes.

“What question?” said Isis.

“He's not him ,” said Set.

“Why do you say that?”

Set laughed shortly. “Because he'd have sooner starved than eat fish.”

Isis leveled an unimpressed look in his direction, but Set only shrugged.

“Less than compelling reasoning, but I suspect you are right,” said Siamun, from his pallet on the floor. “He's...too different. A few superficial similarities, but his overall presence is vastly different. I'd have to confirm with the Key but...I doubt he is the Pharaoh reborn.” He shifted, groaning as he adjusted his headrest. “Still, there's something to him. What do you think, Isis?”

Isis sighed and sat. “I do not know what to think. The Necklace has been quiet and while there's something about him, something that makes me think he's encountered the Shadows before, I've no way of being sure.”

“As you said,” said Set. “The Key could—” but Siamun waved him off.

“Not now,” said Siamun, a touch of iron in his voice, “such a thing would only frighten him, and I prefer to avoid such an invasive act unless absolutely necessary. Besides, as much as I hate to admit it, I'm out of practice; I'd be concerned at doing some unintended damage.”

Set said nothing, but he scraped his whetstone down the blade of his knife with a little more force.

“Give it time,” said Isis. “He's been here barely a day. Perhaps his purpose will reveal itself.”

“It had better,” said Set, leveling the point of his knife to sight down the edge of it. “Or we are going to have to take more invasive action.”

Yuugi still couldn't sleep.

The shed, so cold the night before, felt stuffy and overhot. He'd shucked his robes and uniform jacket and shirt after a while, leaving himself in his pants and slippers, but he still felt clammy and warm.

He tried not to think about his underwear needing to be washed.

At last he crawled out of the pile and carefully pushed the door open, blinking into the moonlight. Thankfully his night vision had always been good, his eyes adjusted and he stepped outside, his skin prickling in the night air.

He hunted about for a place to take a leak, finally settling on a low shrub a little ways distant from the shed, where there was no chance of contaminating the canal. He urinated, taking care not to get too close to the small branches in case something was hiding under them, shook himself and zipped up his pants. He rubbed his still-greasy fingers together and grimaced, wishing desperately for a way to wash his hands.

“I don't care what the other children are doing,” his grandfather had said, expression stern. “You're not playing in the canals, and certainly not during the daytime.”

Yuugi had groaned. “It's a canal, not the river! What's so dangerous?” he'd said, plaintive. “Crocodiles? Hippos?”

“Bilharzia,” his grandfather had said flatly.

“Bless you.”

“Smartass,” his grandfather had grumbled. “Unless you want to be pissing blood everywhere, you'll do as I say.”

Still, desperate times and desperate measures. Yuugi wondered if enough hours had passed since daylight that the little wriggling beasts had mostly expired. Eventually deciding that a bath and clean clothes were worth the possibility of a deworming whenever he made it back to modern society, he wriggled out of his pants and boxers, stripping off his socks one at a time and stuffing his feet back into his battered slippers to avoid standing in the dirt. He cursed under his breath at the realization that he'd forgotten to empty his pockets and hurried to do so, juggling his deck and the amulet before finally stuffing them both under one arm, the hard metal of the amulet digging into his ribcage. He squatted, trying not to think about the fact that he was buck naked outside, and splashed his face, perversely glad that it was too dark to see the state of the no doubt muddy water.

The water on his face felt like a blessing and Yuugi was hard pressed not to drink any. He dunked his undershirt and wiped down his body, breathing a deep sigh of relief. Without soap or detergent it felt like merely going through the motions, but he dipped his clothing anyway, soaking each piece and wringing it out. With a nervous look around, he shuffled back to the shed, the damp pile in his arms.

He left the door open for the moonlight and scouted the shed, looking for a place to drape his clothes so they could dry. The shed was scattered with junk, bales of rotted cloth and cracked and broken baskets, any of which his grandfather's colleagues would have likely given their left leg to have gotten their hands on. At last he spread them across the jagged, split lid of a wooden box, the paint so badly worn it was impossible to make out what it looked like in the dark.

He set his deck and the amulet on top of the box so he could lay out his socks, and swore softly as the amulet slid off the top of the cards and vanished into one of the cracks in the lid. There was a metallic, echoing chime as it knocked against something else and he scrambled for the edge of the lid.

It opened easily and he peered inside. Too dark to see anything. Hoping he wasn't jamming his fingers into a scorpion’s den, he reached down and felt around.

His fingers brushed the smooth, beaten inner surface of a bowl, also metal by the feel of it. Groping about, his hand bumped into what felt like the amulet, sending it sliding along the bottom of the bowl. Reaching in for something to steady himself as he leaned further into the box, his palm landed on something rough, metal.

Frowning, he scooped up the amulet and reached out to feel the other item. Rectangular, like another box of some kind. He set the amulet on the floor beside him and picked it up.

It was a box, the gleam of metal just visible in the moonlight, and as he held it up he could make out the same Right Eye engraved upon the side of it. Were these people priests? Some sort of cult?

Kneeling back on the mats, he rested the box on his thighs and lifted the lid.

Yuugi wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't what he found. No coins or jewels. The box looked to be full of pieces of metal, sharp and angular. His brow furrowed. They didn't look like scrap. The edges of the pieces were regular and smooth, as though they'd been cast to fit into something.

His eyes widened and he picked up two without thinking about it, holding them up and rotating them in the weak light, scrutinizing the edges, turning and bringing them into proximity until—

Click.

To fit into something, or fit into each other .

A slow smile crept across Yuugi's face and he felt a familiar surge of excitement, like when he solved a riddle, or cracked the strategy of a particularly troublesome opponent.

It's a puzzle.

The cry of a heron outside startled him and he dropped the pieces back into the box, narrowly avoiding pitching the box itself off his lap. He suddenly realized that the room had gone grey with pre-dawn light, and that his clothes were still bunched up and damp atop the storage box.

Yuugi frowned. How had that happened? He'd sworn just a minute ago it had been the middle of the night.

Overcome with the specific surge of anxiety that comes from poking through things that do not belong to you, Yuugi hurriedly put the pieces back and stuffed the box back into the crate. He paused a moment, hand on the amulet.

Having had a better look at it, he could almost say with certainty that it belonged with the other puzzle pieces—there was no way to fasten it to clothing or hang it from the body as it was—but the thought of leaving it behind, the absence of its weight and presence, sent a strange pang of loss through him.

Biting his lip, he closed the box and spread his pants and shirt and socks across the top of it. He pulled on his damp boxers and, after a moment of hesitation, his jacket as well, before wriggling back into the robes. He tucked the amulet and his deck into his jacket pockets and curled up on his makeshift pallet to try and snatch a little rest before the sun rose fully.

Chapter Text

The relative cool of the morning market was enjoyable, and Isis could not even bring herself to be annoyed when the weaver gave her more that the usual amount of trouble for her bundle of thread. Coin tucked safely in the little pockets sewn into the sleeves of her dress, she walked the mostly empty streets of the town, allowing herself to slip into a half-trance as she reached out along invisible lines of magic, testing each one gently, so as not to disturb it, the Necklace a warm and humming presence at her throat.

Set’s power was indeed great, but he'd never quite grasped the value of subtlety.

A jangling noise, high and metallic in her mind. She paused, turned.

A child, hooded and cloaked, their bare legs caked with mud, moving amongst the vendors and customers. They slid up beside a man, bent over to examine braided clusters of garlic. A small hand flashed among the folds of the man's clothing and then the child moved on, never breaking their steady pace.

Isis followed them, directing her path to approximate one of aimless wandering through the stalls. She watched the child pilfer coin from several other men, though she noted they bypassed the women and other children, and ignored the beggars whom occasionally emerged from the alleys to engage the vendors.

On a moment’s whim, she paused at a date vendor, flicking a coin down upon his matting and picking up a clump of sticky, dried dates with a murmured apology. The fruit clasped in her hand, she scanned the market, relief flooding her as she spotted the hunched shoulders and knobby bare knees of her target.

She followed, taking care not to stray too close. As she did so, she began to gather her own magic about her, as fibers to a spindle, drawing them in tighter and tighter until they slipped out of sight under her skin. Rendering her invisible, an ordinary woman, as blank and featureless to the Shadows as the dust beneath her feet.

Not even Mahad, she recalled with a pang, could sense her when she chose to hide herself thusly.

The crowd had begun to thin as they reached the edge of the marketplace, and it was here that the footsteps of the child first faltered, their head twitching in an aborted searching movement.

They'd spotted her, but she moved on, approaching as the child halted, turning to face her.

She stopped an arm’s length away, hands at her sides to assure the child of her non-threatening intentions.

“Don't be afraid,” she said softly. Ordinary woman, ordinary woman , she whispered silently. I am nothing, the absence of magic . “I guessed you must be hungry. These are for you.”

She held out the dates, cupped in her palms.

The child hesitated, peering up at her from the shadows of their hood. “Why?” A boy’s voice, still high and not yet cracking with approaching adulthood.

“Do I need a better reason than a hungry child?” she said.

Still he hesitated, one bare foot kicking at the dirt. “What's the catch?”

“No catch,” she said, and hated herself for it. “They're yours, take them.”

He must have been hungry indeed, because he stepped up, reached to peel the sticky lump of fruit out of her palm.

She snatched at his wrist, fingers clamping around it like a vise, and her magic roared back to life from under her skin.

The Necklace was not the first Item which sprang to mind when it came to battle magic, but the wellspring of power required to allow Isis to sift through the tangled knot of future pathways was vast indeed, and it could also be leveled in offense. She couldn't pierce the veil of a mind the way the Eye could, or peer into a heart as the Pendant, but she could see a soul’s past and future, its sins and virtues, with vivid clarity, flay it bare.

“ Show me,” she ground out, as he shrieked and fought her, twisting for freedom. “Reveal yourself, demon of old. We crushed you once, ripped you from existence and by Ra’s light we shall do it again—”

He bit her, teeth sinking into her wrist, drawing blood, but it was the surge of Shadow magic that sent her reeling. She flinched, tried to hold on but he tore free, nearly knocking her backwards, and raced away, heels kicking up dirt as he darted down an alleyway.

Shaking, Isis straightened, wiping blood on her dress, and headed off in the direction of home.

Set burst through the door, sending Yuugi flinching backwards from where he hovered anxiously at Siamun's elbow. His eyes fixed on Isis, her arm extended out across the table as Siamun bandaged her wrist.

“What did you do?” Set growled.

“Just as you see,” she said, wincing as Siamun pulled the bandages tight. “I found your child thief.”

“Idiot!” said Set. “I felt that from across the valley! I thought you'd been drawn into a Shadow Game!”

Isis's mouth flattened. “And you doubted my ability to draw myself out ?”

“That's not the point !” said Set. “Did he even have the Ring?”

Isis frowned, stuffing away her embarrassment. “I don't know. He'd been touched by something dark, but I didn't have enough time to read his fate. I think he does have it, but I couldn't force it out, and I don't know why he didn't wield it against me.”

“You were fortunate he didn't!” said Set. “What would have happened? You could have been killed!”

“As we'll all be if Zorc manages to rip his way back into this world!” she shot back. “You're the one who'd rather eschew destiny in favor of taking things into your own hands!”

Set snarled and stormed across the room, snatching at her unbandaged wrist. He hauled her upright, brushing aside Siamun's hands, and made for the door.

“Set—” Siamun began.

“We'll be back,” said Set shortly.

At first, Isis wasn't certain of his destination, but he guided them around to the far side of the shed, pushing her into the wall, into the shadows cast by the now-setting sun. He released her wrist, but planted his palms on either side of her.

She rankled at being caged thus, and her magic, still so close beneath her skin after her encounter with the Shadows, welled up and pushed .

He stumbled back a step and she felt a surge of gratification.

“It appears you've forgotten,” she said, and knew that she was buzzing, humming with power, her voice cold. “That I, too, wield an Item. I may wash your dishes and sweep your house, but I am a priest in my own right.”

She stepped forward, pressing her advantage, watched him retreat.

“I gave my name,” she hissed. “As you did. Took the name of the holy sorceress, wife of Osiris. That was not a choice made in idleness. So do not forget, son of storms and chaos, that my patience is not without limits.”

He held up his hands, mouth going tight, and she felt the power trickle out of her, like wine from a wine skin, leaving her exhausted and empty. He regarded her warily.

“I am sorry,” he said at last, his posture stiff. “I meant no disrespect. I—” He turned his face aside abruptly and she watched his jaw work.

She sighed, reached out and captured one long-fingered hand between her own. He let her pull him in close, until she could feel the warmth of his body, not quite touching.

“I miscalculated,” she said quietly, an apology in return. “I thought I could hold him. But I promise you, I am not so weak that I cannot resist the power of another Item, even one wielded by a demon.”

“I never thought it,” he said, low and conflicted. “It is selfish for me to be angry, only I—”

“What?”

“Only I could not bear to hold your body in my arms as well,” he said darkly.

She drew in a low breath, lifted her palm to cup his cheek. She knew her hand was rough, shredded to pieces by years of spinning flax, but he pressed his face into it, avoiding her eyes.

“I know that I am not whom you would have chosen,” he said, after moments had passed. “And you, if things were different—” She stroked her thumb across his cheek and thought in agony of dark armor and white scales. “But I could not bear it,” he repeated.

She released his hand and captured his face between her palms. Pulled him to her and pressed his forehead to her own, matching one invisible mark of the Eye to another, and felt her heart swell inexorably as he kissed her.

Uncertain when Set and Isis would return, Yuugi pushed himself up from the table and shuffled over to the oven to put aside his bowl. It was not yet dark, but he longed to retire, to seek solitude and ground himself.

But there was something he wanted, a curious thought that itched at the edge of his mind and would not be satisfied until he'd investigated it.

Fidgeting with the sleeves of his robe, he turned to Siamun, cleared his throat, reviewed the word in his head and spoke. “Lamp?”

He wasn't certain Siamun would comply, surely oil was expensive, but the old man's eyebrows went up and he dipped his head in assent. Yuugi selected one of the rough, round clay lamps, checked inside to ensure there was oil. It took him several minutes and a burned finger to figure out how to light it from the hearth, but he managed at last. He bowed to Siamun, an automatic courtesy that earned him only a blank look, and shuffled out of the house.

The lamp’s flame cast flickering shadows across the walls of the shed and Yuugi was cheered to find that even the small light brought the room into sharper focus. He knelt on the floor, setting the lamp aside where he wouldn't knock it over, and rummaged in the storage crate for the box.

Like the amulet, it did indeed appear to be made of gold, though when he opened it he found the interior to be of some dark wood, the exterior gilded. There were hieroglyphs pressed into the metal on each side. Yuugi squinted at them, tracing the ones he knew, trying to call back knowledge grown dusty amidst algebra and modern history, thoughts of impending graduation, and the progress of his last Zelda game.

Speaking of which, I could use a magic time traveling sword right about now.

Trying to ignore the totally absurd wave of sadness that rolled through him at the idea that he'd never finish the game, Yuugi concentrated on the glyphs, sounding out each one silently to himself, lips moving.

Darkness. Or maybe shadow? No that's definitely darkness. And power? Or wish? What the heck is this thing?

Yuugi sighed and set the box in his lap. No good, the words he could make out were too few and too broken.

Well, it's a puzzle, that's for certain. And there isn't exactly anything else to do. Who knows? This whole situation is insane. Maybe it's a magic puzzle and it'll send me home.

Fortified by this thought, Yuugi tipped the box over into his lap, watching the shining pieces bounce and catch in the pouch of his robes.

The glyphs had spoken of wishes.

Alright, thought Yuugi. Fine. Wishes. I wish to go home. I want to be at home. With all the people I love. That's all I want.

Biting his lip, Yuugi picked up two of the pieces and bent to work.

The puzzle, whatever its purpose, was difficult.

Yuugi, though he was the first to dismiss it, had been solving puzzles—according to his grandfather—since he'd been old enough to hold the pieces. Fascinated and amused by this, Sugoroku had given his grandson steadily harder challenges. He’d been solving jigsaw puzzles by six, his first Rubik’s cube at nine. Sugoroku had taught him Go the same year, though it would take another three before he could beat his grandfather in a game.

His parents had been bitterly disappointed when it became apparent that these abilities did not translate into top grades.

The golden puzzle, at first glance, did not seem to be overly complex. Forty-nine pieces, unevenly sized, true, but still a small number. But it was impossible to tell the puzzle’s final shape. It was clearly three dimensional, but the form didn't appear to be obvious, such as a cube or sphere. Yuugi found himself brooding over each piece individually, touching the angles and edges again and again until he found he could recognize them in the dark, the patterns of empty spaces.

Whether from the heat of the desert or the touch of his skin, the metal was always warm.

He spent his days at Siamun’s side, holding and passing herbs and tools as requested, helping to tie bandages and splint limbs, swallowing back vomit at the blood and pus and writhing white worms that Siamun extracted from the bodies of his patients. Counting the mud bricks in the walls between procedures, listening to Isis hum as she spun and tended the little, half-wild garden that bumped up against the house.

Set spent his days away, sometimes returning with fish or game in hand, sometimes without. Each evening the group of them would speak, terse and unintelligible, over Yuugi's head during dinner.

Each night he scratched a mark on the shed wall nearest to his bed, tracking the days, and took out the puzzle, allowing the hard pieces to ground him, keep quiet the screams that wanted to emerge.

Click.

Yuugi rubbed at his aching eyes and ran his palm down the side of the puzzle. After days it was taking form, an inverted pyramid with a heavy bale at its base, as though it was intended to be strung on a cord. He pushed another piece into the gaping hole in the side, rotated it a quarter turn.

Click.

The lamp had burned low, a tiny glowing bead of flame, sending his shadow flickering erratically across the mud wall, exaggerating the spikes of his hair. It was dark as pitch, near to the witching hour. He reached for the box, fingers groping.

Nothing, the box was empty.

He felt a flash of panic, his stomach inverting, and remembered. He rummaged in his pants pocket.

The amulet fit perfectly in the open space. He slid it in, felt it lock in place.

He stared at the puzzle.

I...I did it.

He held it up, looking it over, certain that there had to be something else to it, but no, it was whole.

Holy crap I actually—

Light flared, like a flashbulb going off in his face. He reared back, blinded, eyes watering in protest, nearly dropping the newly completed puzzle. And then the light was gone, as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a glowing afterimage on his retinas. He blinked rapidly into the darkness, focusing back on the lamp and the wall.

And then he realized two glowing gold slits had opened in the distorted part of his shadow that formed the head, like two eye-shaped holes had been bored through the wall and high noon sunlight was streaming in, and his shadow was looking at him.

Chapter Text

To his credit, Yuugi did not scream. Granted, this was mostly because he was attempting not to swallow his tongue, but still, it was the end result that counted. He gaped fishlike at the shadow before immediately dropping his gaze to the lamp.

Nope, the flame was guttering still, reduced to a blue bead with the thinnest orange sheath, nowhere near enough to produce this kind of illumination. He jerked his head up, watched the shadow shift, independent of his movements, the gold, pupil less eyes scanning in a way that suggested it was looking him over.

Oh my god, I’ve lost my mind, this is it, oh god, oh crap, oh fuck—

The eyes settled on the puzzle in his hands and the shadow wavered. Confusion washed over Yuugi, but not his own, or even a mirror of it, an alien, intrusive feeling, shoving its way into his mind, like a stranger bursting through the window of a house, sending glass shards flying everywhere. Panic surged, rippling under Yuugi's skin, and the shadow stretched up the wall as though trying to escape, searching, and like a badly tuned radio suddenly coming into audible range Yuugi could hear it scream, voiceless.

— where where where what happened not right not right not RIGHT—

“Stop!” said Yuugi, clasping his hands over his ears as if he could block out the noise. The puzzle clunked to the ground and they both flinched. Yuugi bent forward, trying to breathe.

Silence fell, immediate, though the intrusive feeling remained, the shadow washing along the bricks of the wall, testing and stretching before recoiling back. Yuugi stared at it, struggling to parse the excess of emotional data flooding in from it.

Okay, breathe, think.

“Calm,” he said, and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He breathed deeply through his nose, forcing his body to relax and bring his mind with it. “Calm down. It's okay. I—I didn't mean to upset you.”

A swirl of confusion, but it seemed to respond to his calm, settling back into its original shape and focusing on him. Testing, Yuugi rested his hand on the puzzle.

It watched him do so but otherwise made no response. Alien curiosity pricked at him.

“Who am I?” said Yuugi. “I feel like I should be asking you that. Are you a...genie? A jinn, I guess?”

A tentatively negative response and Yuugi remembered that he was probably a thousand years or more before that word came into common parlance. He tried to think how to phrase his question when he again felt the presence shift, as though it were...skimming along the edge of his thoughts, touching up against a memory that had sprung to the forefront of Yuugi's mind. His grandfather, reading aloud, Yuugi tucked against him on the couch. Stories of great kings and clever thieves, stories of magic and mystery, told over a thousand nights.

Understanding coalesced, piggybacking on his own memories, a connection between a golden puzzle and a bronze lamp. The negative response strengthened. No, the shadow was not a jinn to grant wishes. Magic was a familiar idea to it, but magic meant dangers rather than miracles, a heavy burden and a dark one, a tool of limited utility and a weapon to be wielded.

Yuugi gulped. Had he accidentally summoned a demon?

The shadow recoiled, adamantly negative emotions spiking in Yuugi's mind like a seismograph needle. Confusion at its existence, gratitude at its freedom and towards the one who had granted it. Again Yuugi felt it touch against the surface of his mind, like a strange, internal itch, the buzzing resolving into something like words without voice.

I mean you no harm.

“Well...thank you.” Yuugi sat back on his heels and regarded it. “So you're not a jinn, but you're obviously some kind of spirit. Do you have a name?”

A pause, and another negative response. Yuugi frowned. “No name at all? Even something you go by? Isn't that a bit unusual?”

A sense of agreement and a little wave of sadness, lapping against his own feelings. Yuugi sucked in a breath. He couldn't remember everything his grandfather had told him about names and their significance in Egyptian belief, but he knew this fell under the category of ‘not good’.

“It's okay!” he said hastily, smiling at it in what he hoped was a comforting way. “It's still a pleasure to meet you even if you don't have a name.” He bowed from the waist. “I'm Yuugi, Mutou Yuugi, and um,” he laughed sheepishly, “I'm not from around here exactly.”

A swirl of curiosity and there was again that itching in his mind as it prodded at his thoughts. Yuugi blinked, uneasy, and squirmed. “Hey, what are you—? What are you doing?”

It froze, the featureless eyes widening.

Yuugi frowned. “Yeah of course I can feel that. It doesn't hurt , but you could just ask if you want to know something. Isn't it rude to go poking around in someone's mind without asking?”

It contracted, embarrassment washing over him.

Yuugi sighed, hesitated, and reached out and patted the wall awkwardly somewhere on the shadow’s shoulder. He felt nothing but brick. It blinked at him in shock. “I'm not mad, just surprised. I don't mind telling you a bit, it's not as if anybody else here can understand me. There's not...magic isn't a thing where I come from.”

Puzzlement. Another land? Another world?

“I don't think so,” said Yuugi. “I think it's actually this world just...later. Many, many thousands of years later.”

Wonder and further curiosity, and a very careful nudge, still non-physical, but more like a gesture of ‘go on’ than the earlier rummaging about.

“How did I get here?” said Yuugi. “Well your guess is probably as good as mine, but it might have had something to do with my landlords messing around with some kind of magic circle.”

A spike of interest. Other magic users? He could feel the shadow’s eagerness, its thirst to fill the void in its own mind with knowledge, but it hung back, mindful of his chastisement.

Yuugi's stomach turned with nerves. Did it want access to his mind? Its understanding certainly seemed to sharpen when it had touched on his thoughts. Was it dangerous to allow it to do so? Was Yuugi alright with allowing something, or someone, that close?

Yuugi bit his lip. He didn't have answers to any of this. The shadow hadn't threatened him though, if anything it seemed just as lost and fearful as he was himself. He rolled an idea over in his mind and then slowly reached for the puzzle.

It was warm as always, cradled between his palms, but now buzzing faintly against his skin. The sense of the shadow’s emotions sharpened slightly, as though he'd managed to correctly tune a radio. The shadow rippled along the wall and he got a burst of positive feedback.

Yuugi fiddled with the puzzle, running his thumbs along the sides.

Then he focused...inward, sinking slightly into his own thoughts. He brought the memories of his time here to the forefront of his mind, the stairs, his fear and confusion, Siamun, Isis, Set. He pictured them as tangible objects, like colorful game pieces, and imagined...holding them out to the shadow.

A flicker of shock.

Yuugi held onto the image, and then, to his surprise, felt the shadow reach out and touch them, ephemeral fingers ghosting across his palm and absorbing the shape of each piece. It examined the image of each of his hosts in turn, attention skimming across clothing and features before focusing on the strange knife that Set carried and the necklace at Isis’s throat. Recognition.

“You know them?” said Yuugi, hope bubbling in his gut. If the shadow knew who they were, perhaps it also knew what they wanted, and why he’d been sent here.

A negative response; it was the items the shadow recognized, not the people.

Yuugi sighed, but clung to the small bit of validation. He'd been right to think the knife and necklace were connected to the puzzle. “Do you know what purpose they serve?”

The shadow hesitated, a sense of disquiet seeping from it. At last a tentative, but mostly negative response.

Yuugi frowned, suspicion pricking at him, but let it go. He rested the weight of the puzzle against his belly and again received a pulse of positive feedback, the edges of the shadow's hair waving like the thin tentacles of an abyssal sea creature. Yuugi muffled a laugh into his palm, his other hand coming up to flatten down his own hair, marveling at the way the shadow moved in counterpoint.

“Well,” he said. “You don't seem like Sauron, so I'm going to assume this isn't some tacky, oversized version of the One Ring?”

A wash of confusion, and on impulse, Yuugi offered up another handful of colorful memories, hours lying on his stomach with a book propped on a pillow, mesmerized by tales of elves and wizards and brave heroes even shorter than he was. The shadow flickered, torn between affront at his comparison and fascination with his tale. Yuugi giggled, only to be interrupted by an inexorable yawn.

He blinked, realizing the light had once again gone grey with approaching dawn. “Crap,” he said. “I should sleep. No idea how many patients Siamun will have in the morning.”

A pulse of agreement. The lamp had guttered out some time ago and he moved it out of the way before crawling over and stretching out on his pallet. On impulse he took the puzzle with him.

Rolling onto his back, he held the artifact up over him, fingering the bale. “Is this thing supposed to be worn?”

Again, agreement, with a further dimension of complexity. The shadow wanted him to wear it, wanted to be close. Yuugi had a sudden, bewildering experience of himself from outside, a warm, flamelike presence, a gentle, friendly beacon in endless, cold dark.

His breath caught in his throat. The shadow’s emotions came through in intense, primary colors and he could feel its bewilderment and unease, the faint and familiar impression of isolation, and the humming, soothing feeling that came from being in Yuugi's company.

Fuck it. Even if it—he is some kind of ancient Egyptian ringwraith or something, nobody deserves to be left alone.

Squirming, he pulled open his robes and stuffed the puzzle into one of the pockets of his jacket. It just barely fit, but it would do until he could find some thread or cord. If he'd had his shoelaces, he could have used one, but so it went.

“There,” he said, swallowing hard. “That'll do for now.” He patted the pallet unthinkingly. “Bedtime.”

The extreme absurdity of his gesture struck him, but the shadow was already coursing off the wall, sliding across the floor like ink and aligning itself beside him where a proper shadow would fall if it were daylight. Golden, unblinking eyes peered up from the floor beside his face and he jerked, heart pounding. He opened his mouth, not sure if he wanted to protest or anything precisely, but then he felt the shadow...mold itself against his thoughts, not invading, but a warm echo.

It felt strange...but nice. Like a black, woolen shawl draped around his heart, warm and soft and ever so slightly itchy.

Yuugi let out a slow breath, shifting his jacket under his robes and curling on his side, tucking the puzzle in the curve of his body so he wasn't lying on top of it. The golden eyes winked out of existence and Yuugi slept.

“Yuugi,” said his grandfather’s voice. “Yuugi, wake up. Are you well?”

Yuugi mumbled incoherently and shoved his face into his too-flat pillow.

A gentle hand on his shoulder. “Yuugi?”

Yuugi rolled over and blinked into Siamun's veiled face. Memory coalesced with the morning light and the mud walls.

“Yuugi?” said Siamun. “Are you feeling ill?”

Yuugi shot upright, nearly beaning the older man in the chin. He gaped at Siamun, unable to form words.

Holy. Shit.

“What—” he swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry mouth. “What did you say?”

Siamun's eyes went wide and round above his veil. “You can speak our language?”

“I—” Yuugi groped for his throat, at a loss. In the back of his mind he could feel the shadow stirring, as though roused by his cartwheeling emotions. “No, I—I mean, you can understand me?”

“I can now, ” said Siamun. “Not when you were speaking that gibberish before. If you could speak, why did you not do so?”

“I…” Shit. What the hell? “I...forgot, I suppose?”

Siamun blinked at him, dubious. “You forgot how to speak?”

“Maybe?” said Yuugi weakly.

Siamun sighed. “Nevermind. Set and Isis will be relieved at least. We all have questions for you.”

Yuugi's stomach turned. “What sort of questions?”

Siamun gave him a searching look. “Come,” he said. “Breakfast first.”

The shadow prodded at him, questioning and urgent, and Yuugi struggled to get his heart rate under control.

I'm okay, he thought, trying to imagine doing so loudly. It flinched back and he tried to make the thought a little less forceful. I think they're okay, I just...we’ll be okay.

He glanced nervously at the floor. His shadow was moving just a bit more than could be considered normal, but not enough to be very noticeable.

To Yuugi's relief, Siamun did not attempt to engage him in conversation as he shuffled into the house after him and settled at the table. Set and Isis had already finished their beer and were picking at a bowl of dried dates.

“There you are,” said Set. “I was beginning to think you'd both gotten lost.”

Yuugi squirmed as Siamun passed him a bowl of his own, suddenly more nervous than he'd been in days. It was strange in the extreme; the cadence and sound of Set’s voice was already familiar, but now the words obligingly formed themselves into understandable shapes in his brain. He found himself staring and shoved his gaze back to his beer.

Isis sighed. “We're almost out of wheat. I have a parcel for the weaver, but I've fallen behind with all the excitement. Can one of you make the trip today?”

“I'll do it,” said Siamun. “I need a few supplies myself.”

“Are you certain you can carry it all yourself?” said Isis. “Your arm…”

“Will be perfectly fine,” said Siamun. “But thank you.”

Yuugi swallowed hard. “And I…” he said, not daring to look at any of them. “I can go with you. To the market. To help carry things.”

Dead silence. Yuugi gripped his bowl.

“You…” said Set, and Yuugi needed no translation for the venom in his tone.

Siamun cleared his throat loudly. “Thank you, Yuugi,” he said, a hint of steel in his voice. “That will be of great help.”

Yuugi peeked up, only to be pinned under Set’s stare.

“How long,” said Set, “since this development?”

“Since this morning,” said Siamun. “And stop glaring at him, Set, you'll crack a tooth.”

“Fascinating,” said Isis, setting aside her date and leaning forward. “Could you always understand us? And simply not speak?”

Yuugi shook his head. “I couldn't understand anything before this morning.”

“What changed?” said Set. “Between last night and this morning?”

Yuugi hesitated, his mind racing. Should he tell them about the shadow? But then he'd also have to tell them about rifling through their possessions and that he'd been playing around with something very valuable looking and accidentally freed what was in it.

Oh god, what if they'd been the ones keeping the shadow imprisoned? What would they do to him when they found out he'd set it loose?

The shadow squirmed in the back of his mind, its suspicion growing. Better to wait, it felt, assess the situation.

“I…” said Yuugi. “I don't know. I just went to sleep last night.” In a fit of inspiration he said. “I had some dreams, very strange ones. And when I woke up...this.”

Set’s eyes had gone narrow and Yuugi had the sinking feeling he didn't believe him in the slightest.

“Hm,” Isis said. “Dreams often have meaning. Can you describe them?”

“Uh,” said Yuugi, trying to weigh the benefits of testing the waters. “They were just...strange. Shadows. A...golden eye.”

They all stiffened. Isis and Siamun exchanged an unreadable look.

“Really?” said Set, his voice thick with incredulity. “How interesting.”

“Calm yourself,” said Isis, scrutinizing Yuugi. “That's not entirely unexpected. Perhaps we should start at the beginning. Are you an emissary of the gods?”

“Um,” said Yuugi. “Possibly?” he squeaked at last, hoping they weren't going to ask him to perform miracles. “I come from a distant place, with a lot more light, where people can do some pretty godlike things.”

“Indeed?” said Siamun.

Yuugi nodded, wondering in the back of his head just how badly he could fuck up the universe if he said the wrong thing. “But, uh, I don't know why I'm here.”

“You are here,” said Set. “Because we called you.” He frowned at Yuugi. “Or rather, not you. We were trying to call on the power of...a friend of ours.”

“A friend?” said Yuugi. “Who?”

Again the unreadable looks. “Someone no longer with us,” said Isis.

This told him only slightly more than nothing but Yuugi bowed his head respectfully. “I'm sorry for your loss. Did they pass recently?”

“Five years ago,” said Set, shortly.

“However,” said Isis. “While we cannot say that we expected you, you must have been sent to us for some reason. The magic clearly worked.”

“So you presume,” Set grumbled. “As much as it pains me, I've far less of a knack for this than Mahad did. It's possible this is my fault.”

“Mahad?” said Yuugi. “Was that your friend?”

Isis’s head drooped. “Not the...same friend, but yes, a dear friend. There was...a great deal of loss in a short time.”

Set’s mouth thinned, his expression grim. “Which is why we called for aid. The...situation which resulted in calamity may have arisen again.”

“Can you explain a little more?” said Yuugi, cautiously. “So I can, uh, evaluate whether I would be of any help?”

Set and Isis glanced at Siamun, who sighed and rested his arms on the table.

“You must understand,” he said. “The situation is...complex. Many people were involved, and while none of us could be called blameless, decisions had to be made for the sake of many.”

Yuugi frowned, puzzled, but didn't comment.

Siamun folded his hands, rubbing his fingers over the knuckles of his right hand. “Years ago, we served as vassals of the king, priests of some renown. We were entrusted with...objects of great power, to safeguard them and utilize them to maintain justice and order.”

Siamun rubbed at his eyes, looking immensely tired. “Unbeknownst to most of us, we three included, the objects’ power was rooted in great evil and suffering. We were beset by a man, the...product of that suffering. He demanded blood in payment and tried to take the objects by force, aligning himself with a demon of the shadows to do so. Had he succeeded...the world as we know it would have come to an end.”

Siamun turned his hands up, gaze on his palms. “We fought and were victorious, but at great cost. Once there were seven of us, now we are all that remain. Our king was forced to sacrifice himself to bind the demon and now…” His eyes closed. “We fear that sacrifice may have been in vain. That the demon is working even now to slip his bonds.”

Yuugi swallowed hard. “And you called me for...what purpose? To fight the demon?”

“For no purpose,” said Set, his tone bitter. “We needed magic. Magic to wake the monsters again. Magic to bind the demon irrevocably or destroy it.” His lip curled. “Magic to shore up the weakness of a king who lost his kingdom.”

Isis leaned across the table and flicked Set’s bald head. “None of that,” she said. “All things happen for a reason. I may not be able to see your fate clearly, but I know that it is not yet ended.”

Yuugi folded his arms across his stomach, pressing the crook of his elbow against a sharp, protruding corner of the puzzle in his jacket pocket. He wasn't certain how they'd respond to this, but better to lay it out than disappoint them later.

Just like you disappoint everyone.

The shadow gave an agitated squirm.

“I—” Yuugi looked at his lap. “I'm afraid I don't have any magic. I'm just a schoolkid. All of this—” He gestured at the hut around them. “It's true I come from a place where fantastic things can happen, but none of it is magic. It's science. It's similar I guess, in some ways, but demons? Monsters?” He shook his head. “That's beyond me. I don't think I can help you.”

He raised his eyes, his guts churning. Set’s face was twisted in an expression somewhere between anger and despair. Isis and Siamun looked weary and resigned.

Yuugi bit his lip. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” said Siamun heavily. “It is not your fault.”

“Your world,” said Set, suddenly. “What is it like?”

“Uh,” said Yuugi, terrifying visions of holes being ripped in the fabric of reality dancing through his head. “Um, I'm not sure how safe it is to tell you.”

Set frowned, suspicious. “Why?”

“I…” Yuugi thought frantically. “I'm worried if I tell you it might affect this world. It could...change the world’s fate in unpredictable ways.”

Set looked unconvinced but Isis reached out and laid a hand on his. “Leave the boy to his secrets, Set. I doubt knowledge of his world would help our current predicament.”

Set huffed but said nothing.

Siamun rested his chin on his palm. “So you came from another world,” he said. “But not the world of the shadows? You indicated that there were no monsters where you come from.”

“I'm not sure what you mean by monsters,” said Yuugi. “But no, I mean, there's just people. Regular people. Do you have monsters here?”

“The monsters, under ideal circumstances,” said Siamun. “Are more temporary visitors. They can manifest in this world with the help of magic.”

Holy crap, he's serious.

“As usual, Siamun, you oversimplify,” Set grumbled. “The monsters are mirrors and manifestations of human souls, of ka . Each person is connected to one, but we can use the ka of others, bind them into physical objects, command and direct them to do our bidding.”

Yuugi's eyes widened. “Whoa, whoa, you capture people’s souls and force them to do your bidding?”

“Only the souls of criminals,” said Set, dismissive. “Those who have had their hearts judged by the pharaoh and found to be wanting.”

Terror surged in Yuugi's stomach, leaving him suddenly sick. Who were these people? Were they going to rip out his soul and use it as a servant monster if he pissed them off?

The shadow reacted to his fear, coiling in the back of his mind like a hissing serpent. He felt his hair stand on end, and the warm, dark blanket around his heart felt suddenly cold. A single thought coalesced, alien and hard in his mind.

I will tear to pieces any who dare to trespass in our soul.

Siamun must have seen the look on his face, because he cleared his throat loudly. “Set, stop that, you’re upsetting the boy.” He turned his eyes to Yuugi. “It sounds worse than it is. They do not remember being human; they are mirrors, not doubles. And the objects used for summoning were destroyed years ago, so the point is moot.”

Yuugi wasn't sure if this made things better or worse, but he only nodded.

Oh god I want to go home.

“I think,” said Isis suddenly. “That if the two of you don't want to be scraping the bottom of the wheat merchant’s stores, you should head to market.”

“Yes,” said Siamun, sounding relieved. “Thank you, Isis, for the reminder. Come, Yuugi, we'll talk more later.”

“Yes,” said Set, his tone ominous. “We will.”

Chapter Text

Only when the sounds of Siamun and Yuugi's footsteps had faded away did Isis turn to look at Set. He appeared sunk deep in thought, and she could practically see the dark musings gathering on his forehead like storm clouds.

“Breathe,” she said. “I can tell you already that your worst imaginings cannot possibly come to pass.”

“And why is that?” he said, not looking at her.

“Because not even the gods have an imagination as terrible as yours.”

Her flat comment served its purpose; he shot her a look of fond exasperation and she smiled back at him, serene. He braced his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his laced fingers.

“How do you explain him?” he said at last. “We prayed for unity, prayed for the ability to wield the Puzzle, prayed for the means to take back Kemet. We got him. Is he a tool? A weapon? An advisor?”

“I do not know,” she admitted. “But I feel it is no accident how closely he resembles him. Yuugi says he has no magic, but there is a touch of the Shadows about him. I believe that his purpose will reveal itself in due time.”

“Time is something that I suspect we do not have,” said Set.

“Then we will make time,” she said, simply. “We are guardians, son of storms, we can guard against the onslaught until we learn his purpose and how he is meant to help us.”

“What do you suggest?” he said.

“We watch,” she said. “We listen. Your thief will no doubt be far more careful following my error but he cannot help but leave some traces. And if we must, we fight.”

Set dipped his head in agreement.

“Now,” said Isis, “I spoke not in idleness when I said I've spinning to do. Make yourself useful and weed the onions. You can brood to them for as long as you like.”

He reached across the table and tweaked her nose in admonishment.

As relieved as Yuugi was to escape the situation, he felt great trepidation as he followed Siamun down the narrow dirt footpath towards the cluster of low, mud buildings in the distance.

“We'll go to the wheat merchant first,” said Siamun. “She wasn't wrong and personally I'd rather keep my food as free of rodent droppings as possible.”

Yuugi laughed, weakly, and Siamun craned his head to look at him.

“You needn't fear us,” he said, after a long moment. “We've no intention of harming you.”

Yuugi looked at the ground and pulled his hood tighter around him. “Even if I can't help you?”

“Not even then,” said Siamun, his voice gentle.

“Can you send me home?”

Siamun was silent and Yuugi's stomach turned.

“Please don't misunderstand,” said Siamun. “We've no desire to keep you here against your will, but none of us are certain how we managed to bring you here in the first place, let alone how we might send you back to where you came from.”

Yuugi's throat went tight and he bit his tongue hard, sudden tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Could he never go home? Never see his friends, his family again? Never see Honda and Jounouchi graduate? Never watch Anzu perform, never find out if she'd been accepted to the ballet program in New York? Was he doomed to live out his days among strangers, a man out of time?

The shadow reacted to his distress, curling tight and desperate around his heart, frantic and helpless, pulsing dark warmth. He felt the faint impression of insubstantial fingers around his own, of reaching from a great distance, of mirrored grief.

Hands on his shoulders; he realized he'd stopped dead in the middle of the path and his cheeks were wet. Siamun was looking at him, his eyes sad and sympathetic.

“Easy, child,” said Siamun. “Nothing is ever certain.” He dabbed at Yuugi's cheeks with the corner of his sleeve.

“Not a child,” mumbled Yuugi. “I'll be eighteen in a month.”

“At my age, all of you are children,” said Siamun wryly. “But it doesn't do to lose hope. Good things can spring from great sorrow, remember that.”

“Like mankind from Atum’s tears?” said Yuugi.

Siamun's eyes crinkled. “Exactly so. You do know the stories then.”

Yuugi swallowed the lump in his throat and scrubbed at his face. “My grandfather...he used to tell me stories at night to help me fall asleep.”

“Then why don't you tell me?” said Siamun, turning and beginning to walk once more in the direction of the village. “To raise our spirits and fill the silence.”

So Yuugi began at the beginning. Atum, springing into existence from watery chaos. Loneliness in that vast void, bringing companions into being, the birth of man from his tears. The construction of the world from the bodies of gods, jealousy and hatred and murder. The love of mother for son, wife for husband. He spoke of brash Horus, clever Isis, bloody Sehkmet. And Siamun added, here and there, elaborating when Yuugi's memory faltered, interjecting variations that Yuugi had never heard: Isis's magical conception, the twisted desire between Horus and Set, Atum’s union with his shadow.

And in the back of his mind, the shadow listened, silent with wonder, and learned.

The sun was high overhead by the time they reached the village and the market was sparsely populated. The heat was intense and Yuugi was nearly overwhelmed with the temptation to throw his hood off. But Siamun had impressed upon him that his strange features would draw far too much attention, so he let it be.

He stuck to Siamun’s elbow, observing the people around them as Siamun haggled with the merchant. The sudden presence of so many was bewildering, and the strangeness of being able to catch and comprehend snatches of every conversation left him overstimulated and a bit on edge.

He jolted back to himself when Siamun pushed a heavy clay jar into his arms.

“Here,” he said. “Hold this for an old man. And—” He pressed something small and hard into Yuugi's palm. “Take this. I'll be with the herb seller for a time. Go buy yourself a sweet.”

Yuugi blinked down at the grubby coin in his hand, but Siamun was already moving away, leaving him adrift. He clutched at the coin and looked around.

The date merchant’s stall was only a little ways across the aisle, but Yuugi found his eye drawn to three men squatting in the dirt nearby, heads close together as they spoke. One of the men shifted and he saw hands move and several small objects tumble into the dust. One of the men laughed, lips peeling back to expose broken teeth, and coins changed hands.

A flash of insight, but not his own. The shadow recognized their behavior, the tools they used.

A dice game.

He felt the shadow’s interest pique, found himself following the train of its thoughts. A risk, to join and gamble their only coin, but one with a high payoff. The coin was to be spent anyway and they could repay their hosts.

It tugged gently at his mind, seeking permission.

Yuugi chewed his knuckle. He didn't quite know what the shadow was asking, but he felt its confidence, its assurance that it would do him no harm.

He drew a shaky breath, and offered his agreement.

At first he thought he'd fallen, dizziness overwhelming him, his mind struggling with a sudden sense of displacement. He panicked, flailed, flung his arm out—

Only for it to pass right through a nearby customer.

Yuugi gaped, blinked, and realized he was located two steps to the left of where he'd been standing.

And he was also entirely see-through.

Holy shit, holy shit, what's going on, what's happening am I dead, oh God—

A hand gripped his wrist, strange and solid, grounding him.

His own hand.

Yuugi stared.

His body, he realized, with a wave of unreal sickness, was standing exactly where he had been only a moment ago.

But he was not in it.

Instead, a stranger peered out at him from under the edge of his hood and god the features were the ones he'd seen every day in the mirror for seventeen years but it was not his face. The expression was jarringly wrong, composed and alien and somehow so much older .

The shadow was looking at him through his eyes.

“Did,” said Yuugi, not sure if he was actually speaking. Or breathing? He felt like was breathing. “Did you do this?”

The shadow nodded slightly. Its gaze tracked over to the men at their dice and it raised an eyebrow, questioning.

Yuugi half-wanted to say no, to demand his body back because god this was too much, but the sick feeling was already fading and they'd come this far. He swallowed.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Let's give this a shot.”

The shadow inclined its, his , head and hiked the jar up against its side. It strode across the aisle, oozing confidence, and Yuugi followed, dodging marketgoers to keep them from walking right through him, and wondering just when his life had gone completely mad.

The shadow squatted down next to one of the men, setting the jar beside it in the dirt. Then it opened Yuugi's mouth and spoke to the men.

“Greetings,” it said. “Room for one more?”

Yuugi couldn't breathe. That was not his voice coming out of his mouth. The pitch was lower, the cadence and rhythm entirely wrong. He had the strange impression of regality, of utter, commanding confidence.

This was the voice of someone who expected to be obeyed.

One of the men eyed the shadow with suspicion. “Maybe,” he said. “You got coin?”

“Of course,” said the shadow, producing the coin and dancing it across the back of Yuugi's fingers like a magician, in a move Yuugi knew he had never learned in his life. “I'm afraid I only have enough for one roll though. And I left my dice at home.”

Another of the men shrugged. “You want to lose your last coin, I'm not going to stop you. Put it down.”

“One roll,” said the man who'd spoken first, tone switching from suspicious to confident. “You can use my spare set. Here.”

The shadow held out his palm to accept what Yuugi could see at this distance were small bones, polished smooth, with four flat sides, each of which was drilled with a corresponding number of shallow pips. The shadow tossed and caught them, weighing the astragali in his hand. A flicker on the edge of its thoughts, so swift that Yuugi almost missed it. He tried to focus, to follow the thread but the shadow was already rolling the crude dice. The bones bounced and spun: one, one, one, and three.

“Unlucky,” observed the second man.

The first grinned and rolled. Three, four, six, one. His cracked grin widened and he snatched up their coin from the dirt. “You lose.”

“So I did,” observed the shadow. “Though I suppose I could have predicted that with dice so heavy.”

The three men froze, the first man's face twisting.

“What did you say?” he growled.

Yuugi sucked in an insubstantial breath. The shadow smiled, then picked up two of the astragali and held them up.

“Here,” he said, indicating the depression of the central pips. “See how they've been drilled out? If you look closely, there's a bit of bronze wedged inside each. It weights the die, so when they are cast…”

He tossed down the bones like a challenge.

Snake eyes, Yuugi thought.

“All the values come up the same,” said the shadow, coolly.

The first man let out a strangled snarl. “You lying brat!”

“Hey!” said the second man, staring at the first. “You goat fucker! That's why you lent me yours last week! I lost almost a whole day’s wages to you!”

“Wait a damn second—!” the first man spluttered, but the second rocked forward on his heels and punched him, sending him reeling.

The shadow leapt backwards as the men fell to scuffling, only barely managing to rescue their jar. He ducked under a flailing limb and snatched up a few of the coins from the dirt, backing away and squishing Yuugi's body into a group of marketgoers. Yuugi stumbled behind him, flinching unconsciously as he barged through their oblivious bodies after the shadow.

Suddenly Yuugi found himself slammed back into corporeality, a hand on his shoulder, the jar materializing in his arms and the grubby coins in his fist. He fumbled, nearly dropped everything, and found himself blinking into Siamun's concerned face.

“Yuugi?” said Siamun. “Are you alright? I heard a commotion…”

“I—” said Yuugi, glancing worriedly behind him to where he could still hear shouting and the all-too-familiar thud of fist on flesh. “I'm fine. We should probably go.”

Siamun frowned, his eyes flicking to follow Yuugi's, but ushered him away.

Guilt roiled in Yuugi's stomach and he reached out and caught Siamun's hand as they walked, pressing the coins into his palm. “For you,” he blurted. “It can't—I mean, I'm guessing it's not easy having a guest to feed and house, and I wanted...I wanted to help.”

Siamun examined the coins, never slowing. “Did you steal these?” he said.

“No!” said Yuugi, horrified. “I...I won them.” He looked away, embarrassed. “In a dice game.”

Siamun actually snorted, as though biting back a laugh. “I suppose I can't exactly judge. I was quite the gambler in my youth. I wouldn't make a habit of it though. Those of us with good luck tend to engender resentment among those with bad. Still, thank you.” He passed Yuugi back one the coins. “Hold onto this one. You never know when you might need it.”

Yuugi tucked the coin away and followed him, leaving behind the commotion of the market.

When Yuugi found himself back in the shed with a bit of privacy at last, while Siamun organized his purchases, he stripped out of his robes and sweat-soaked jacket, pulling the puzzle from the pocket before tossing the jacket to the floor. He held up the hunk of gold, too agitated to consider the absurdity of chewing out a mystical entity beyond his understanding while wearing nothing but his boxers, and glared at it.

“What,” he said, “the hell was that?”

He felt a faint impression of sullen resentment from the shadow. Wasn't Yuugi pleased? They'd accomplished their goal, acquired coin.

“You almost got us into a fistfight!” said Yuugi. “And having been in more than one of those, let me tell you I know what end I come out on!”

A dismissive ripple of superiority; the shadow would not have allowed any harm to come to him. Yuugi groaned and let his forehead rest on the warm metal.

“Maybe this is beyond the understanding of an all-powerful god of darkness or whatever you are, but the list of things I'll put myself in front of a murderous asshole twice my height and weight for is a short one, and gambling is not on it. ”

The shadow went still, and Yuugi felt a demanding, unexpected probe against his thoughts. The memory, already at the forefront of his mind, broke open like rotten fruit. Ushio’s sneering face, Honda and Jounouchi crumpled on the ground, pain and blood and broken bones. The permeating despair of being utterly alone and utterly powerless, looking into Ushio’s dark, glittering eyes and seeing a predator, his visceral pleasure in enacting pain, and the sick, certain knowledge that this man—boy really—would do whatever he wanted, and there was nothing Yuugi could do to stop him.

The memory hadn't been so sharp since he'd stopped having regular nightmares a year ago and it brought Yuugi to his knees, clutching the puzzle to his stomach, the corners digging into his gut. The shadow's rage and horror flared up like an inferno, the black wool itch of its presence crawling across his skin as though trying to shield or envelop him.

—how dare how dare how dare I will devour I will rend I will BURN—

Yuugi hunched over the puzzle, gasping and shaking his head.

“You can't,” he said. “You can't. They're gone. Ushio got expelled after my grandfather reported him. Grandpa took me to Egypt that year. It's over. It's been over for a long time. He's gone.”

Despair, like needles in his mind. The shadow craved retribution, the type of vengeance that would be whispered of for centuries, that no one would dare hurt him for fear of a fate worse than death.

Yuugi choked, one hand coming up to cover his mouth, tears leaking from his eyes. The shadow swirled around him, anxious, as he cried.

“I don't need retribution,” said Yuugi, when he could speak again. He wiped his face, smearing tears and snot onto his overheated skin. “Retribution solves nothing. But I'm a long way from home and in a strange land and scared out of my mind, and what I could really use, right now, is a friend.”

A spike of startled curiosity, followed by a wash of quiet sadness. The shadow did not know what it meant to have friends, the ins and outs of companionship. And yet it burned to know, to give back something of the warmth it experienced in Yuugi’s presence.

Yuugi’s breath hiccuped in his chest and he smiled through watery eyes, “Don’t worry, I’ve had a bit of practice on the friendship front. I think I can walk us through it.”

Chapter Text

Set straightened from where he was bent over the open carcass of a small hoofed creature, his forearms drenched in gore. “You want the what?” he said.

Yuugi flushed in embarrassment, but the shadow nudged him a little harder. “The bones,” he repeated. “Not the ones you’d use for soup or anything, just the...little ones, right above the hoof.”

Set raised an eyebrow, his expression doubtful, but shrugged. “Very well. But if you want them, you help.”

Yuugi eyed the mass of pink guts extruding from the—gazelle’s? he’d never been all that adept at identifying wildlife around the dig sites—belly, and gulped. “How do do I do that?”

“Well first you’ll need to ditch the robe, unless you feel like washing out blood,” said Set. “Then you’re going to hold while I cut, and pull when I tell you to.”

This better be worth it , thought Yuugi, as he shucked his robe, careful to keep the puzzle, stowed once again inside his jacket, hidden in the bundle. After so many days of keeping it tucked under a hood, the slight wind in his hair was strange but refreshing. He hesitated over his pants.

Set gestured imperiously and tapped his own knees, where a few streaks of blood had accumulated. “Those too.”

Yuugi boggled at him. “Are you serious?”

Set snorted. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You expect me to do this naked or something?”

“I spent my entire palace life prior to manhood naked,” said Set, without a hint of shame or amusement. “Easier than the bother that comes with blood in linen.”

Sure his face must be permanently dyed red, Yuugi yanked off his pants, but stubbornly left his boxers in place.

Set shrugged. “Suit yourself. Grab here,” he indicated a spot on the edge of the open body cavity. “And here. Pay attention. When I say pull, pull.”

Yuugi tried not to cringe as the tips of his fingers sank into exposed flesh, the short hairs of the hide tickling his palms. Set bent back to his work, cutting, Yuugi could feel the jostling of his movement under the skin.

“Pull,” said Set, shortly, and Yuugi did so. The hide peeled back with a wet sound. “Stop.”

Yuugi stopped, half bent, listening as Set muttered to himself and scraped at the skin to free it. Set’s eyes flicked up at him, expression unreadable, and back down.

“Have you had any more of those dreams?” he said.

“Huh?” said Yuugi. “Um, oh you mean—no, not really.”

“No?” said Set. “No dreams of gold? No dreams of shadows?” He severed something out of sight and the skin loosened unexpectedly, sending Yuugi back a step. “No dreams of battle?”

“Battle?” said Yuugi, his brows furrowing. “What sort of battle?”

Set leaned back and regarded him, gaze shifting up above his eyes, to his hair, Yuugi realized. “You said you had never seen monsters.”

“No,” said Yuugi. “I mean, I believed in monsters when I was a little kid, but now I—well, I believe that monsters don’t usually have a hundred eyes or scales or fur; they’re much harder to spot.”

His thumb went inexorably to the lump on his knuckle, a tiny knot of metal where the tip of a knife had broken off beneath the skin.

Set humphed. He set the skinning knife down. “Let go of the hide a moment.”

Yuugi did, letting it flop wetly back in place. Set rummaged about him and held up a bit of sharp rock. With short, precise movements, he began to draw in the dirt.

“Did you ever see this in your dreams?”

Yuugi leaned over the carcass to look, and gasped.

The drawing was crude, but the curved lines of the armored helm and staff were unmistakable.

“The Black Magician,” he murmured. In the back of his mind, he felt the shadow give a little jolt.

“So you have seen him,” said Set.

“No, I mean, yes, I've seen that, but not in my dreams.” Yuugi chewed his lip, struggling to think of how to explain. “There's...artwork that looks like that, where I come from.” He blinked at Set. “And what do you mean, him ?”

Set’s mouth went tight, and Yuugi could see him considering. “He was a vassal, a...friend of the king, before he sacrificed his life, his ka, to defend us. His name was Mahad.”

Yuugi pressed a hand to his mouth, remembering too late the blood on his fingers. “Oh god,” he said. “I'm so sorry.”

Some guy who looked just like the Black Magician actually existed? How did his image end up on a playing card thousands of years from now? Did Pegasus have something to do with this?

The image of Pegasus’s sinister, golden eye, staring out at him across the arena, flashed across his mind. The shadow recoiled, writhing in agitation in the rip currents of his emotions.

Set eyed him. “His decision helped us turn the tide of the battle. He died an honorable death, as did...most of the others, but thank you.” He sighed, looking momentarily weary, and tossed the rock away. “Help me finish dressing this and we'll get you your bones.”

Yuugi took hold of the skin once more, his heart aching strangely. The shadow squirmed and prodded at him.

Not now , he thought anxiously. But later, I think I have something to show you.

The light of the lamp was faint, but still enough for Yuugi to see the shadow spread itself across the wall of the shed, glowing eyes peering down at him as he loosened his robes and set the puzzle beside him. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his deck.

He flipped the familiar block over and thumbed gently through the cards, searching…

“Ah, here it is.” He held up one of the cards, perhaps unnecessarily, where the shadow could see it. “See? The Black Magician, just like he drew.”

The shadow's eye slits went wide and then it was streaking off the wall and across the floor, rejoining with the blob of his own shadow. He felt a strange itch across his hand, as though it was trying to reach out and touch the card. Heart pounding, he spread out his palm, balancing the card there as though he were offering a sugar cube to a horse. He thought a moment, then curled his fingers up over the card without touching it, casting a deliberate shadow across the surface.

He felt a spark of delight and the echo of shadowy fingers reaching out to touch, tracing the lines of the image, the dark armor, the stoic face.

Something squeezed around Yuugi's heart. “Are you...him?” he whispered, unable to even question the absurdity of it. “A powerful magician, are you, were you...Mahad?”

The shadow hesitated, as though considering the idea, but at last it seemed to slump in the back of his mind, a negative response pulsing through it. The image of the magician seemed to mean something, seemed to spark some warmth in the depth of it, but the name meant nothing.

“It's okay,” Yuugi said, ‘reaching’ out to soothe in a way that was already becoming strangely natural. “It was just a thought.”

The shadow pawed at his palm, curiosity evident, and Yuugi obligingly panned though the cards, allowing the shadow to linger over each one. Yuugi smiled, concentrating, offering up a memory of each, how they'd risen to the occasion, how he'd wielded them against opponents. Knights and fierce dragons and demons with the power of lightning between their claws.

The shadow paused over an unassuming ball of fluff, eyes peeking out from its furry face, and Yuugi laughed. “Ah, this one. Most people don't bother with it, think it's too weak, but I think you'll appreciate...this, the most.”

The memory was a stark one, tinged with despair, but Yuugi remembered the curl of determination in his gut as the holograms had multiplied, and multiplied, shielding his Chaos Mage from harm, blocking the ravenous mouth of Pegasus’s monster with their furry bodies, the blinding light of the explosions as they brought a monster Yuugi had been sure could not be defeated to its knees.

The shadow reacted to his triumph, pulsing amazement and approval at him. Yuugi blushed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It didn't matter in the long run but...the look on Pegasus's face was pretty funny.”

An amused echo, like a laugh heard from a great distance, that same deep voice that had emerged from his own mouth at the market. Yuugi pushed aside the silly flutter in his heart and thumbed to the next card.

Only to be wrenched, gutshot, because in all the commotion he'd forgotten he was even carrying it.

His grandfather’s torn Blue Eyes, the sharp, jagged line bisecting the dragon’s body.

The shadow’s curiosity piqued and it prodded at him, feeling gently at the ragged edges of his grief. Yuugi hung his head in shame. “This...this was my fault. My classmate...but I shouldn't have had it to begin with.” He rubbed his thumb across the tape, felt the ridge of the tear. “Grandpa was so sad. A friend gave him this, after he saved his life, but Kaiba…” Yuugi hunched. “He got better, later, after I defeated Pegasus. I think almost losing his brother scared him more than he ever let on. Maybe he was grateful, even if he never said so. And it's not like he treated me any worse than the others did, back in the day, but...even if he had apologized, he couldn't really take something like this back.”

Yuugi set his deck aside and held up the card, regarding it sadly. “It sounds crazy but, ever since that day, it feels like the spark went out of it, you know? Like there was something alive just below the surface and now…”

The shadow crept up his forearm, flickering at the edges of the darkness until that itching, warm presence felt as though it were cradling his hand, the echo of a palm resting over his knuckles. Thin, shadow tendrils slid between his fingers, across his palm, reaching out, a dark, translucent thumb touching the dragon's wounded body.

Then slowly, very slowly, it began to run its thumb along the length of the tear. And under it, just at the edges, a faint glowing light, like the shadow was holding up a finger to block a candle’s flame.

Yuugi's breath seized in his chest. The shadow reached the edge of the card, thumb slipping off it suddenly, and the hand, the whole shadow, vanished. He had the impression of stumbling, collapsing, and his head jerked up, searching frantically.

“Shit!” he said. “Are you alright?”

A weary pulse of agreement and Yuugi went weak with relief. “Don't scare me like that! What were you even—?”

And then the words died in his throat because he was staring at the card and it was whole .

Yuugi gaped, flipped the card over, searching for evidence of damage but there was none. Even the tape had vanished; the card looked as new as it must have when it had been printed.

Oh my god.

And what was more, it was warm . Warm in the subtle way that he remembered from when his grandfather would let him hold it as a child.

Like it had a faint heartbeat.

Tears welled at the corner of Yuugi's eyes. “Thank you,” he said, choking on the word. “You didn't, I don't even know how —but thank you.”

The shadow curled around his heart, wearily satisfied, and Yuugi cradled the card against his chest, his spirits lifting.

Yuugi bent over the table, turning the crude iron awl between his fingers, listening absently as Siamun muttered to himself over piles of dried herbs. He smoothed his thumb across the lumps and ridges of the astragali, scrubbed clean in the canal and dried to bone white. Four bones, one shot at this.

Don't goof.

Cupping one of the knucklebones in his palm, he tried to score a spot in the center. The awl skidded and he flinched, dropping the bone and pricking his palm. Heart pounding, he dropped the awl and examined his hand. No blood.

“You alright?” said Siamun.

“Yes, yes, fine,” said Yuugi, wincing as he rubbed at his palm and scowled at his tools. “I'll figure it out.”

Siamun’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I'd offer to do it for you, but it means more for a gambler to carve his own. They work better for divination that way.”

“Divination?” said Yuugi, eyebrows furrowing.

“I learned to throw dice in the gambling pits of my homeland,” said Siamun, tapping his finger against his veil. “And the Pharaoh didn't invite me to remain in his court because of my winning personality.”

Yuugi blinked at him. “You weren't born in Egypt?”

Siamun laughed. “Goodness no, I'm a Canaanite by birth. I left my tribe to go traveling when I was still a young man. I've seen all the great cities of the world. I came to Aknamkanon’s court shortly after his ascension. I treated one of his wives who'd been stung by a scorpion, impressed her with my dice skills. She must have spoken to him because I found myself with an invitation to stay, though the pharaoh and I didn't become friends until later. It was later still that I took up the object. He got a great deal of flack for allowing a foreigner to carry it.”

“Aknamkanon?” said Yuugi. “That was the king you served? The one who died recently?”

Siamun paused, looking troubled. “No,” he said. “Aknamkanon passed many years back. The king we were referring to was his son. His only son. Eleven when he was crowned. And seventeen when he was forced to—” He broke off, rubbing at his chin through the veil. “Forgive me. I knew the prince well, served as his teacher and caretaker from time to time.”

Yuugi's bowed his head in respect. “Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up sad memories.”

“It's alright,” said Siamun, rubbing at his face through the veil. “He was a good man, he and his father both.”

When Siamun offered nothing further Yuugi picked up the bone he'd dropped and examined it, turning it over as he scanned for a spot to try again. In the back of his mind, the shadow tugged at him and he had the faint sense of reaching, open hands.

You want to try?

Agreement, but more than that. The shadow knew what needed to be done, in an instinctive, unconscious, muscle memory sort of way.

So you were a gambler?

A careless shrug. The shadow didn't know.

Yuugi fingered the astragalus, pondering.

Okay.

Again that dizzying sense of displacement and Yuugi found himself standing, ejected to the floor of the hut and staring at his body as it picked up the awl. The shadow maneuvered the bone and tool a moment, feeling their weight, and then, with careful but confident movements, began to carve out deep, clear hash marks on each side, pausing now and then to blow the bone shavings away.

Fascinated, Yuugi leaned in closer. The shadow's gaze flicked up at him and a smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. Turning the bone on end, the shadow carefully scratched a crude image of a bird on it, a vulture, with a hooked beak and folded wings.

Yuugi grinned, unable to stop himself. “Alright, you've made your point.”

The shadow gave him a cocky look, utterly bizarre to see on his own face, and set the die aside. Picking up a second one, he replicated the hash marks on it, but instead of a vulture, he inverted the bone and etched the rounded, moonlike face of an owl. The third bone, to Yuugi's delight, received a plump, little chick, its tiny, unfledged wings narrow points against its round body. Oozing self-satisfaction, the shadow picked up the last bone.

“Wait,” said Yuugi.

The shadow paused, expression questioning.

Yuugi swallowed. “Can I try? I mean, I'm probably not going to be as good but I think I get the gist of it and—”

And then he was back in his body, ears ringing slightly, as if he'd been snapped like a rubber band. He fumbled the bone a moment, felt the shadow as though it leant over him, a slight, insubstantial squeeze of encouragement on his shoulder.

Yuugi took a deep breath, and tried to copy what he'd seen. The hash marks were easy, and even if they were a bit shallower, less heavy handed than the shadow's they were still readable. He hesitated over the end of the bone. He wanted to add a design, match the shadow move for move, but every image he thought of seemed too complicated, too hopelessly out of reach of his crude tools and trembling hands.

A snake, he thought. Not much easier than drawing a line. Maybe I can keep from messing this up.

He scraped out the head, narrow and wedge shaped, felt his confidence bolster as he etched out the curve of the body—

The awl slipped, the tip skipping on the bone and carving out a deep gash parallel to the snake’s head. Yuugi's heart dropped straight into his gut.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Can't even draw a damn line. Should have—

The ephemeral grip on his shoulder tightened, cutting off the stream of self-flagellation. He felt invisible fingers cup his hand, urging him on, guiding the awl.

Finish it.

Yuugi tightened his grip on the awl, steeling himself, and carved.

And suddenly, it was done. Yuugi sat back and stared at the die.

“Interesting choice,” said Siamun, and Yuugi jolted. He'd almost forgotten the other man was there. “I haven't seen anyone use ‘He Who Unites the Kas’ in a long time.”

Yuugi ran his thumb along the carving, following the twin heads of the snake back to where they joined into a single body. Blinking, as though surfacing from underwater, he looked up at Siamun to find the older man staring at him, expression shrewd.

The hairs on the back of Yuugi's neck prickled and he looked away. After a moment he heard Siamun bend to his work once more.

Shaking slightly for no reason he could explain, Yuugi put aside the awl and picked up his new dice, cradling them between his palms and listening to the bones clack against each other. On a whim, he let the dice fall, watched them bounce on the table’s surface, spinning through a shaft of late sunlight streaming in through the window.

One, three, four, six.

Vulture, owl, chick, snake.

In the back of his mind, he felt the shadow smile and open its eyes.

Game start.

Chapter Text

“You are a pain in the ass!” said Yuugi, shaking out his pants, now stiffer from weeks of washing them in muddy water, and folding them. “I know it's hot. I'm hot. But Siamun told me to keep my head covered.”

The shadow squirmed along the wall, golden eyes narrow, sulking.

Yuugi scowled and snatched up the puzzle from the floor, brandishing it. “And what am I supposed to do about this, huh? It's huge and, if you didn't notice, made of gold. I can't just march around carrying it openly!”

An instinctive pulse of dismissive superiority, but chastened, the shadow quickly settled. Yuugi could almost track the course of its thoughts.

“If you have any ideas, I'm open to them,” said Yuugi, folding up his undershirt and stacking it atop his pants. The underarms were yellowed; his mother was going to be so annoyed.

The shadow paused a moment, then slid along the wall, stretching out and halting over one of the reed baskets. It nudged at him insistently.

Yuugi groaned. “Fine. I guess I'm already on the books for taking stuff that isn't mine.”

He set his clothes aside and knelt to pick through the basket. At the top were folded sheets of open weave cloth, the dark cream color of unbleached cotton. He pulled out each one, held it up for the shadow's inspection, and set it aside. At last he found two of sufficient size and the right shape for the shadow’s satisfaction. Further digging produced coiled leather strips, which he set aside. He didn't need the shadow's input to know they'd be useful. He was just about to put back the extra cloth when he noticed something at the bottom of the basket.

It was bigger that the sheets of cloth, light brown, and when he shook it out he could see that it was tailored. It reminded him of the robe that Siamun had given him, a long back and wide sleeves, but less all-enveloping. He stood, held it up, and saw that it would leave the front of his legs bare, but cover his body, particularly if he belted it.

The shadow perked up, flashing excitement. Yuugi looked over the coat doubtfully, but it was clean, and looked to be less warm than his robes.

He put the coat aside and bent to pick up one of the pieces of cotton cloth. His hand went to the waistband of his boxers and he hesitated.

The shadow gave an impatient nudge.

Trying not to think too hard about his state of undress, Yuugi wriggled out of his boxers and tossed them with his other clothes. He wrapped the cloth swiftly around his hips, like he would a towel after a shower, only to remember how well that usually worked when he was trying to creep swiftly through the locker room at school without it snagging or dropping. Or being yanked away by jeering classmates.

He frowned down at himself. Should he try and belt it? Would that help?

Shadow fingers plucked at his hands, and he froze.

The shadow didn't always manifest itself in ways that were physically noticeable, but each time it had, it sent his senses into a confused spiral. It had no sound or scent, but he could feel it, the warm, electric presence of another body near him.

Hairs prickled along the back of his neck as ephemeral hands settled over his own, weight that was simultaneously there and not there resting on his hips, warmth against his back, as though someone had walked up and pressed themselves against him.

Yuugi shivered, heart suddenly in his throat.

The shadow nudged at him curiously, tracing the spaces between his fingers.

His stomach in knots he hesitated to classify as pleasant or unpleasant, Yuugi relaxed his fingers, taking a mental “step” backwards. It wasn't like being pushed out of his body; instead the shadow guided his hands, the movements trickling down as though through a conduit. He draped, crossed, tied.

The shadow withdrew and Yuugi smoothed a hand down the impeccably wrapped and belted shendyt. It felt alien to leave his legs exposed, but he couldn't deny it was much cooler. He squatted on the floor and picked up another of the leather strips. At the shadow's urging, he knotted it around his head, pulling off the newly created ring when he was done. Pushing his hair out of his face, he draped a smaller sheet of cloth over his head, folding the edges so his face was exposed and jamming the leather cord over the lot of it like a crude circlet. It held the covering in place and hid his hair.

Last, he reached for the puzzle and knotted a larkshead knot over the bale with another length of leather. It went over his head, warm weight resting against his bare stomach. The shadow rippled with approval.

Now the moment of truth. Yuugi slid the coat on, crossing the front and belting it. It was a tad lumpy as the puzzle didn't lie very flat against his body, but it hid the object well enough.

He straightened the edges of the coat, feeling a strange twist in his stomach. This was the first time since he'd been brought to this place that he'd been without anything at all that connected him with home. Even his house slippers had been swapped out days ago for reed sandals that Isis had helped him weave. It was a foolish, somewhat hysterical thought, but he imagined himself dying in these clothes, his corpse drying in the sand to be found by archaeologists millennia later, totally unaware that he wasn't just an ordinary citizen who'd lived and died in an ancient city.

Maybe Grandpa would find me.

The shadow nudged him, sharp with worry, and he found his eyes drawn to the sleeves of the coat. They were folded, he realized, hemmed and stitched with internal pocketing like an antique kimono.

He knelt, rummaged in his school jacket pockets and slipped his deck and the piece of hard candy into one, the carved dice into another. He stood again, felt the comforting weight pull at the ends of his sleeves.

A tap at the door and the shadow retreated. Yuugi turned to Isis as she ducked through the door of the shed. She stopped short when she saw him, a startled, almost fearful look flashing across her face.

As if she had seen a ghost.

But then the expression was gone and she scrutinized him and his clothing.

“Well done,” she said. “I wouldn't have guessed you'd know to tie a shendyt on your own.”

Yuugi went red, fidgeting with the edge of the wrap. “I'm sorry for digging through your things…”

She waved him off. “It serves no purpose for clothing to sit and grow stale except as food for the rodents. I'm certain their former owners would be glad to see them used.”

“They are lighter than the clothes I came in,” he said.

She hummed in agreement. “Perhaps, though your clothing is a marvel. I've never seen stitching so small and neat.”

Yuugi didn't know how to say that she never would see it until the day an enterprising person built a metal slave unbound by the limits of human hands, so he avoided the question. “Can I help you with something?” he said.

She reached under her arm and held up what looked like a coiled ball of thread. “Siamun indicated you'd know the market well enough to venture there on your own. I need you to take this to someone there and bring back what they give you. Can you do that?”

Yuugi frowned. Hadn't Siamun just delivered thread to the weaver for her? And why such a small ball? “Sure, I suppose,” he said. “The weaver?”

She shook her head. “There's a stable on the south end of the market where the caravans sometimes pass. Ask for a man called Myinyu.”

Mystified, Yuugi accepted the ball of string. It was very light and didn't feel as though it had anything rolled up inside it. He tucked it into another sleeve pocket.

Isis nodded. “Thank you. I'd leave soon to make it back before dark.”

“Sure thing,” said Yuugi, his stomach twisting in a combination of excitement and uncertainty at the thought of being in the town alone.

The shadow nudged at him and he swallowed a smile.

Well, not entirely alone.

The blazing sun left Yuugi squinting and stretched his shadow on the sandy soil before him as he headed northeast towards the town. The road, more of a dirt footpath really, was mostly deserted, and if Yuugi pretended, he could almost imagine he was back at the dig site with his grandfather, and when he topped the next rise he’d come upon him, that familiar voice calling Yuugi to come and see the newest pottery fragment he’d uncovered.

If not for the endless, suffocating quiet . No distant sounds of modern civilization, no rumble of a jeep or motorcycle engine, not even the lowing of livestock this far from the town, just the chirp and twitter of birds in the canals. His spine prickled and he hurried along the road.

It was then he noticed his shadow was moving, a gentle, restless side-to-side motion that was most definitely not caused by the staccato rhythm of his steps. He stopped, disconcerted and not a little dizzy, and felt a ripple of questioning intent.

He shook his head sharply. “Sorry,” he said aloud, after glancing about to make sure he was alone and some poor townsperson wasn’t going to think he’d met a madman on the road. “I just, this is a little weird , you know?”

A small spike of affront.

“I didn’t say you’re weird,” said Yuugi. “The way you’re moving—I think it’s telling my brain that I’m moving in a different direction and it throws me a little off balance.”

The shadow paused, considering this, then visibly retreated, his shadow beginning to shrink and contract into a single, thick stroke cast by the sun at his back. Yuugi’s stomach lurched.

“Wait!” he said. “You don’t have to—I mean, it’s fine, you don’t have to pull away, I think it just, if we moved together yeah? You can read what I’m going to do, can’t you?”

A faint pulse of confusion and Yuugi tried to formulate an explanation. His brain immediately reached for gaming metaphors, but that wasn’t quite right. That was more action-response, thrust and parry like in a fight or a chess match. He needed something more synchronous…

And, like an angel of innovation, Anzu’s smiling face popped into his head.

“It’s kind of like dancing, yeah? I move, and you move with me, so we’re hitting the same beats, the same steps at the same time. Does that make sense?”

On impulse, he offered up a treasured memory. A warm afternoon last year, a dance studio alit with summer sun, Anzu in her dance gear, sleek and impossibly graceful in bright leotard and legwarmers. She’d run a couple routines while Yuugi had sat on the floor, captivated, obligingly swapping out cassettes on the massive boombox he’d helped her haul downtown on the train.

Then she’d dragged him up in front of the huge mirrored walls and made him dance with her, mimicking her movements until he’d collapsed, his heart fit to bursting, soaked with sweat and laughing.

Wonder flickered at him, and a strange, squeezing sensation of interest and faint longing. He smiled, sheepishly, and took a step forward.

Another step, and the shadow seemed to catch on, moved to match the movement of his shadow. Grinning, Yuugi gave in to amused impulse and brought his arms out, watched the shadow mirror them. He waved them over his head like tree branches in the wind. Perfectly matched.

But then, when he took the next step forward, the shadow shifted, deliberate motion, a half step out of sync with him. Thrown, he stopped, took another step.

Again that shifting motion, but instead of back, to his right. Startled, he turned in that direction, felt a ripple of triumph from the shadow as he moved forward and it retreated.

His eyes went wide.

The shadow was...dancing with him?

He hesitated, glancing around. The path was deserted but still they were outside —

A gentle, mental nudge, a playful, almost challenging edge to it. Yugi’s eyes narrowed. Oh, that was how it was going to be, was it?

Hiding a smirk, he drew on another memory, part of that golden afternoon. The lyrics had been rapid enough to stymie his understanding, but he’d played that track for Anzu a dozen times as she worked on her routine, and the rapid drums and upbeat synthesizer, the American woman crooning plaintive invitations to dance with her, had carved itself deep into his brain.

He set the rhythm, and they danced.

At first he tried to recall Anzu’s movements, but soon he’d fallen into an alien tempo, turning like the spoke of a wheel as the shadow ebbed and flowed around him, half humming and mumbling the bits of the song he could remember.

—touch my body, and move in time—

Dizzy, he spun to a halt, breathing heavily. His skin tingled, that strange unreality of touch that was there and not there at the same time. Again phantom fingers touched the sides of his waist and his breath hitched.

—now I know you’re mine—

In a nearby canal, an egret launched itself in a flurry of flapping white wings. The shock of it broke the spell and he gasped and straightened up, blinking at the reddening light. Straightening, he smoothed down the fabric of his coat and shendyt, trying to regain himself.

“We should—we should go,” he said, trying to keep his voice from quavering.

The shadow obligingly matched the wavering movements of his shadow all the way to town.

The late afternoon market was almost empty, most of the townspeople presumably having finished their shopping hours ago or waiting for the cool of approaching evening. Yuugi kept his head down and the edges of his head covering tucked close around his face, hoping that none of the men they'd encountered on their previous foray were about.

It was an exaggeration to say that the stable that Isis had spoken of was at the south end of the market. It was closer to the south edge of town, a low, open building with men and beasts clustered around it. There was a rocky well just visible beyond it, where a group of men in dark robes were watering camels.

Uncertain, Yuugi made for the building itself. The darkness was almost blinding after the glare of the sun, and he found himself enveloped by cool air and the overwhelming scent of horse. His eyes adjusted slowly and he became aware of them, large shapes in the gloom, liquid eyes blinking and the prick of curious ears in his direction.

God, they were big. He'd never felt more like a city boy, skirting around the edge of a row of hindquarters and hoping he wasn't about to get kicked. They'd never had pack animals at the dig sites, just trucks and jeeps. Around his feet, the shadow stirred, he could sense it feeling out into the darkness, that same curious recognition. One of the horses, pale and sleek, with delicate legs that seemed like they should collapse under it, threw back its head and snorted in alarm.

“Hey!” a voice barked, and Yuugi jumped, turning. A man, dressed in a short shendyt, his dark brown head shaved bald, squinted at him over the back of a tall bay. “What are you doing in here?”

“I—” Yuugi stepped back as he felt the shadow stretch and another of the horses danced nervously. “Sorry, I—I'm looking for someone? Myinyu was the name, I believe?”

The man looked him over, expression stern and a bit doubtful. “I am Myinyu,” he said at last. “What do you want?”

Yuugi dug into his pocket sleeves and extracted the ball of thread. “I have something I'm supposed to deliver to you.”

Recognition flickered on the man's face. “Ah,” he said. “You're one of theirs.” He emerged from behind the horse and approached, looming as he scooped the thread out of Yuugi's open palm. “A moment.”

He moved off into the darkness and suddenly Yuugi could breathe again. The shadow stretched towards the horses once more and one let out a low whinny. Yuugi retreated towards the exit and hissed under his breath, “Stop that!”

The shadow gave a ripple of affront, but backed away when a dark horse snatched its hoof from reach of its prodding tendrils, retreating sulkily back into the cover of Yuugi's shadow.

“What,” muttered Yuugi, “you were a rider and a gambler?”

The shadow paused, its mood dipping further. It associated the beasts with good and familiar but it could not articulate why. For a moment Yuugi felt the utterly alien sensation of an experience that he had never had, of the sleek softness of a horse’s coat, the silky coarseness of the mane as he ran his fingers through it.

Yuugi's breath caught in his throat, something squeezing tight around his heart. He swallowed hard, looked nervously at the horse closest to him, a pale animal that looked like it had been spattered with a fine mist of brown. The horse’s ears swiveled in his direction and the animal turned its long nose to face him, nostrils flaring wide as it drew in a deep whiff of breath.

Shaking, Yuugi stretched out his hand, palm open, the way he might to a dog. The horse wrinkled its muzzle, but after considering him a moment, lipped at his palm, checking to see if he had something to eat. When it had satisfied itself that he did not, it lost interest and turned back to its stanchion, nosing about in its empty feed box.

Emboldened, Yuugi took a careful step closer and ran a light hand along the arch of the horse’s neck. The skin rippled under his questing fingers and the shadow hummed in pleasure.

Relaxing, Yuugi smiled faintly, fingers turning bolder as the horse leaned slightly into his touch.

“Well done,” said Myinyu and Yuugi yanked his hand back, half-turning to face him, caught. “She's not the friendliest of the ladies here; I'm impressed you didn't get a kick.”

Yuugi worried at the edge of his coat. “I didn't mean to; she's beautiful.”

“And fast as the river through the cataracts,” said Myinyu, moving up beside him and clapping the horse on the shoulder with one enormous hand. “But pleasantries aside, here.” He tossed something at Yuugi, who fumbled to catch it.

Another ball of string. Bewildered but trying not to show it, Yuugi tucked it away into his sleeve. “Thank you.”

Myinyu nodded. “The nomads brought six camels with them. When they leave, they will take only three.”

Thrown by the non-sequitur, Yuugi only nodded and bowed formally, bringing his sleeves together as if he'd been wearing a yukata. “I'll take my leave then.”

The sun was just as blinding as the darkness had been and Yuugi tugged the edge of his head covering down, trying to shield his eyes from the light. He hesitated at the edge of the stable and looked back, seeking the cluster of dark robed figures.

There were only four camels at the well.

Code then? But for what?

Troubled, Yuugi turned and headed back towards the center of town.

Siamun said they used to work for the king, before he died...does it have something to do with that?

Lost in thought, Yuugi collided with something taller and broader than him, which cursed and stumbled. Jumping back, an apology already in his lips, he blinked up in horror.

It was the man from the dice game, the one whom had cheated. The man's eyes widened in recognition and his lip curled.

“I—” said Yuugi, but the man was already wrenching him off his feet, dragging him by the scruff of his coat. Yuugi squirmed and fought, snatching in vain at the arm of a nearby market goer. The man merely stepped aside, pulling his arm from the reach of Yuugi's grasping fingers.

The man bundled them into an alley and shoved Yuugi up against a wall, knocking the breath from him.

“So,” he hissed, foul breath blasting in Yuugi's face. “You thought you could make a fool of me and just walk off?”

“You can have the coin!” Yuugi wheezed. “I don't want it!”

“It isn't about the coin, you little goat fucker!” said the man. “There isn't a damn man in town who'll gamble with me now! They've shut me out of all the dens! And it's all because of you!”

“I'm sorry!” said Yuugi. “I didn't mean for—!” And then his head was ringing, his mouth full of the familiar taste of blood and the man was drawing his fist back to punch him again.

Yuugi blacked out.

And then he was on his knees, insubstantial hands grasping at the dirt and he looked up in horror to see his body still dangling in the man's grip.

Except his hand was clenched around the man's wrist, white knuckled, and his eyes were red with murderous rage.

Not red the way they'd been when he'd burst a blood vessel in his eye during the altercation with Ushio, but inhumanly red, irises flushed the crimson color of the camellia flowers his mother grew on the balcony. And above them blazed a single, glowing eye in the center of Yuugi's forehead, just visible under the edge of the covering, the same brilliant gold as the shadow's eyes always were.

The shadow's gaze flicked in his direction for a split second, as if confirming Yuugi's presence, and focused back on the man, who recoiled, dropping the shadow. Yuugi's body fell in a heap and the shadow rolled over, pushing himself up on his hands.

The shadow spat out a mouthful of bloody sputum and climbed to his feet, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. The man raised his fists, wavering, baring broken teeth, still obviously enraged but hesitant, as if sensing danger.

“What the hell are you?” said the man.

“A judge,” said the shadow, its tone thunderous. “Of the criminal, the monstrous, and the damned.”

Ice rushed down Yuugi's spine.

The shadow slipped his hand into the pocket of one of his sleeves and produced the dice that they had carved, displaying them between his fingers. “But I am not without reason. You seek retribution, and you may have it. You are a gambler. If you can defeat me in a game of luck, my life is yours to take.”

Yuugi's eyes bulged in horror.

Hold the phone, I never agreed to that!

The shadow didn't respond, but his mouth tightened. He curled his fingers and three of the dice vanished. He held up the last one between his thumb and forefinger, the vulture. “We'll keep it simple. One die, one roll. Lowest number wins.” The shadow smiled. “I'll even permit you victory if we land the same number.”

Oh God, I'm going to die.

The man looked hesitant, chewing at his lip and casting nervous glances at the eye still glowing on the shadow's forehead. “And if I win you'll what, let me beat you to death?”

“Precisely,” said the shadow. “I'll even roll first.” He tossed the dice in the dust between them. The bone bounced and spun; Yuugi held his breath, praying...

Six.

Yuugi's guts turned to water. He didn't think he could puke like this but he clapped his hand over his mouth anyway, wondering morbidly how long it would take to die that way, at the end of the man's fists.

The shadow's head snapped in his direction, and a single thought echoed through his aching head like a struck gong.

I will NOT permit you to come to harm.

The man stared at the die, and began to laugh.

Have faith.

The man stepped forward, snickering. “Would you look at that? I won! I don't even have to roll!” He brought up his fists, lips peeling back in a hideous grimace. “You're a dead man, little judge.”

“While it is true you seem to have won,” said the shadow, voice utterly calm, “the game cannot be finished until you roll. You can even use your dice if you wish, the weighted ones that you gave me.”

The man snarled, but dug into his own pocket and extracted a die. “Fine!” he spat. “And may it put a hole in your head!”

He hurled the die directly at the shadow, striking him on the forehead. The shadow didn't flinch as the bone bounced off and fell to the dust at his feet.

The shadow grinned, an absolutely terrifying expression that Yuugi hadn't known his own face was capable of making. “As I thought. You couldn't control your temper. And so you lose.”

“What the—what are you talking about?” spluttered the man.

“Look at the die,” said the shadow.

They all did, Yuugi included and something squeezed in Yuugi's chest because…

The man’s die had split in two, both halves gleaming in the dust, displaying a six…

And a one.

Seven.

The man's eyes bulged, mouth working soundlessly.

“The bronze shards hammered inside your weighted dice makes them more susceptible to splitting when subjected to harsh knocks,” said the shadow. “You gambled, and lost. And so you face a penalty!”

Yuugi's head jerked up. Darkness was boiling around the shadow's feet, as though the shadows in the alley had been given life and substance. The shadow stretched out his hand, fingers curled.

“As you allowed your greed to devour you, so shall you be devoured,” said the shadow. “Face your judgement in the gullet of the one who consumes the souls of the damned!”

The pool of shadows rippled at his feet and a monstrous snout burst forth.

During their year abroad, Yuugi's grandfather had taught him to be wary of the water’s edge, to fear the crocodiles and hippos that haunted the Nile. But he'd never seen anything like the grotesque creature that dragged itself from the earth, all mouth and teeth and claws and leathery hide, greedy, bulging eyes gleaming above rows of teeth as long as Yuugi's hand.

The man screamed and turned to run, but the monster was surprisingly swift. It was on him in a second, scooping him into that gaping mouth and Yuugi could hear the way the bones crunched.

Yuugi screamed, a soundless, involuntary, visceral noise of protest.

The shadow jerked as if he'd been struck, stepping backwards, uncertainty flashing across his face.

And suddenly the monster was melting, dissolving into pools of shadow that vanished like oil sinking into the sand. The man lay in a heap in the alley; he hadn't made it two steps.

Yuugi stared blankly at the body, his astral ears ringing.

Oh God he's dead, oh God I killed someone, oh God, oh God, oh God.

Footsteps, his own, hesitant. He looked up at the shadow.

Whatever the shadow saw in his face made him recoil, expression twisting in shock and grief. And then Yuugi was back, inhabiting the heavy, wet flesh of his body, his face aching, mouth tasting of blood. He staggered, nearly fell, and realized.

The shadow was gone.

Not invisible, but gone. He could feel nothing of it, no restless, shifting consciousness behind his own, no warmth around his heart.

He was alone in his own head for the first time in a week. Alone in a strange city, a strange country, a strange era, in an alley with a dead body.

Yuugi ran.

Chapter Text

The sound of Yuugi's own blood pumping in his ears was deafening. His sandals slipped in the sand as he skidded down another alley, taking turns at random, unable to think beyond the endless mantra of away, away, away.

Hands snatched at him and he fought, twisting, clawing for freedom.

“Yuugi!” snapped Set’s familiar voice and Yuugi went rigid, before falling limp in the man's grip. Set spun him around, searching Yuugi's face, expression hard.

“What happened?” he said, in a tone that promised dire consequences if Yuugi was not truthful.

“I—” God he couldn't even verbalize it, the images of the monster and the man and the shadow colliding in his mind and pooling into an incomprehensible mess. They'd spoken of magic but until that moment it hadn't really hit him, that they hadn't been speaking of illusion and sleight of hand.

Magic was a real, and deadly, weapon.

Set’s face was inches from his own, and whatever he saw in Yuugi's expression made his eyes narrow. Glancing around, he bundled the two of them down an alley. He set Yuugi on his feet and ripped at the front of his coat, wrenching the belt free and revealing the object still hanging around Yuugi's neck.

Set stared at him, at the object, for a long moment, and swore.

“How?” he said.

Yuugi cringed. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go digging but I found it and—”

“How,” said Set, his voice deadly quiet, “did you solve it?”

“I—I just did?” said Yuugi, flinching as Set started to reach for it, and hesitated, as though reluctant to lay hands on it. “There wasn't anything else to do after sundown but I swear if I'd known you didn't want me to I wouldn't have touched it!”

The words felt hollow, he'd ached to touch the object as soon as he'd found it, but he kept seeing it, the man's body and oh God he had been so still. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I swear I didn't know —”

Hands, solid and grounding on his shoulders, cutting off the stream of terror.

“Be easy,” said Set, slow and deliberate. “Calm yourself and think. What happened?”

Yuugi swallowed hard. “A man. Caught me, tried to—hurt me, beat me up. I think I killed him.”

Set’s mouth went tight. “So you used the power of the Puzzle, the power of the Shadows. That's what I felt.”

“Why were you here?” said Yuugi.

Set tugged at something over his shoulder, and Yuugi suddenly realized he had a skin draped over his torso, the gazelle he'd butchered. “I was coming to see the tanner.” Set’s eyes narrowed. “Why were you here?”

“Isis sent me,” said Yuugi, his heart suddenly leaping into his mouth as he patted his sleeves frantically to make sure he hadn't dropped the thread ball in his flight. It was still there, tucked beside the four little lumps of the dice and Yuugi thought vaguely that the shadow must have grabbed the last one from the ground. “An errand at the stables.”

Set scowled. “I see.” He rubbed his face, looking inordinately tired. “So the man grabbed you and you...what, burned him?”

Yuugi's eyes widened in horror. “No! I—he, I don't know why but he challenged the man. There was a dice game and the man cheated, or he didn't cheat but his die was weighted and it broke and...oh god there was an actual monster! It was huge and there were all these teeth and it ate him!”

Set was staring at him with an expression that Yuugi couldn't decipher, but instead of asking the dozen pertinent hypothetical questions that crowded through Yuugi's mind, Set closed his jaw with an audible click.

“What,” said Set, very slowly, “do you mean ‘ he ’?”

“Uh,” Yuugi's stomach lurched. “The darkness? The shadow in the puzzle?”

Set blanched. Yuugi had never seen that look on someone quite so dark skinned before. After a moment Set seemed to wrest himself under control again.

“So what you are saying,” he said. “Is that a demon of shadow in the Puzzle killed the man?”

“No!” Yuugi burst out, startled by his own vehement response. His heart ached at the recollection of the shocked and horrified expression on the shadow's face, transmitted through his own. “He—I can't believe that! He kept me company! Tried to make me feel better! He never hurt me! He even stayed out of my thoughts when I asked him to! I don't know what he is and he scared me with the monster but he's not one !”

Set stared at him, expression shrewd but uncertain, as though struggling to peel back the layers of Yuugi's face and see into his mind himself. He had the look of a man putting the pieces of a puzzle together, and not liking the shape they formed.

“Not here,” said Set. “We need to get back. It's not safe to remain in the open.” He looked Yuugi over. “And you need to have your face tended to, you're bleeding.”

Set helped Yuugi rebelt his coat when his hands trembled so much he couldn't coordinate the tie and ushered him back towards the edge of town.

The walk back felt inordinately long, and Set did nothing to fill the silence, but he kept his hand on Yuugi's shoulder, strangely, not imprisoning, but stabilizing.

Siamun took one look at them as they entered and shot to his feet, overturning his stool. “What happened?” he said.

“Calm yourself,” said Set, guiding Yuugi to sit on one of the stools. “Isis sent him on a little errand and he got into a scrape with a common criminal. It's been handled.”

Yuugi blinked in surprise. Was Set going to say nothing of what happened with the Puzzle?

Siamun's face went sour. “I see. So that's what we felt. She and I will be having words about that.” He stalked over to one of the slit windows and shouted out of it. “Isis!”

Several moments of silence and then Isis pushed the door open, gliding into the room. She stopped dead when she saw them, hand flying to her mouth.

“Anything to say for yourself?” growled Siamun.

Isis's eyes narrowed. Ignoring him, she swept across the room and knelt in front of Yuugi's stool, long-fingered hands reaching for his face. “Let me see,” she said softly.

Yuugi flinched as she felt along his face, testing gently for broken bones. Her fingertips were roughly calloused.

“Your nose doesn't feel like it's broken,” she said, after a few moments prodding.

“I'll determine that,” said Siamun, nudging her shoulder impatiently. He thrust a small clay pot that Yuugi recognized as the honey jar into her hands. “Hold this.”

Isis backed away and Siamun muscled his way in, dabbing at Yuugi's face with a damp rag that smelled strongly of beer and stung the cuts on his face.

“Did you deliver what I gave you?” said Isis, after a minute of strained silence.

Yuugi nodded, winced, and flinched again when Siamun flicked his ear for moving. “I did,” he said. “He gave me—check my left sleeve.”

She did so, ignoring the severe look directed at her by Siamun, and let out a great sigh as she retrieved the ball of the thread. “Thank you,” she said. “Did he say anything?”

“Uh,” said Yuugi, squinting as Siamun smeared a sticky layer of honey across his cheek. “Just something about the nomads arriving with six camels but leaving with three?”

She nodded as though this meant something to her. Over her shoulder, Yuugi caught a glimpse of Set frowning darkly.

“There,” said Siamun, sitting back. “Keep an eye on them and let me know immediately if they start to become hot or unusually painful.” He glanced at Isis. “And maybe think twice before doing something for a pretty face.”

Isis's mouth went tight. Yuugi flushed and looked at the ground.

“It was necessary,” said Isis. “I've been seen coming and going with too much regularity. I believe we're being watched.”

“Watched by whom?” said Yuugi.

Set and Isis exchanged a look and Set let out a snort of derision. “There are more dangers than those that lurk in the Shadows,” he said. “There are plenty of men who'd see us all dead on the end of a good old-fashioned blade.”

“Well that number has been halved, if what's left of Karim’s network is to be believed,” said Isis. “Muwatalli’s grip on the northern nomarchs is slipping.”

“Fantastic,” said Set. “So there will be even more of them to sit idly by while the Hittites tear us apart.”

“I still believe if you could bring down the five, the rest of them would fall in line,” said Isis. “Not to mention you'd have their forces to back you when you retake Waset.”

Set made an impatient gesture, gaze flicking in Yuugi's direction. “It's pointless to discuss it now,” he said. “There's been enough excitement for the day.”

Yuugi knew well enough when he was being dismissed. He rose and, bowing to the group of them, sidled towards the door. Siamun looked like wanted to protest the departure, but a look from Set quelled him. As Yuugi escaped out the door, out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed Isis, head down, unwinding the ball of thread and spreading it across her lap.

To Yuugi's surprise, Set followed him out to the shed, ducking to keep from hitting his bald head on the low doorway. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, scrutinizing Yuugi as he collapsed onto the ragged pile of cloth that served as his bed, his knees watery with stress and pain and the adrenaline come-down.

Just a typical Thursday , thought Yuugi, inanely, and wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry more.

He stared at Set, who looked suddenly uncomfortable, in that unique way one does when they want to ask something but aren't quite certain how to do so.

“Did you...want to sit down?” said Yuugi, only realizing once the words were out of his mouth how absurd it was to offer Set this in his own house. In a room with no chairs to boot.

But Set did so, slowly and uneasily, letting his legs, which Yuugi only now realized were quite long and spindly, fold and his body to slide against the door as he sank down, knees coming up towards his chest. It made him look quite a bit younger and the uneasy, almost petulant expression on his face struck a strange chord of recognition in the back of Yuugi's mind.

They stared at each other and the hairs on the back of Yuugi's neck prickled. How did Set function with all that constant intensity ? The only person Yuugi could recall knowing with a similar presence was Kaiba and Yuugi was always half-sure he'd drop dead of a stroke before age twenty.

“You…” Set trailed off, then laced his fingers and braced them on his knobby, bare knees. “You said there was a presence, inside the Puzzle. What sort of presence is it?”

“Oh,” said Yuugi, reaching hesitantly to cradle the shape of the object through his coat. “He’s, uh, I'm not sure to be honest. He looks like a shadow, but I can sort of—it's like he's actually there, sometimes. And I can hear him, but not with my ears exactly?” Yuugi shrugged helplessly. “He's nice, I think? He likes to listen to stories.”

Set absorbed this. “So you would say he is more like a man than like a demon?”

Yuugi reflected a moment and nodded. “He was really scared when I first solved the Puzzle. Scared and confused. But he calmed down when I told him things were okay.” Yuugi knotted his hands in his robe. “I guess I wasn't being exactly truthful, it's not like things are okay for me either, but I didn't want him to be upset.” His stomach turned. “But when he...hurt that guy, I—I sort of panicked and he…” Yuugi turned his palms upward, staring at them mournfully. “I don't know where he is, or what to think anymore.”

Set said nothing for several moments. “Did he tell you his name?” he said at last.

Yuugi shook his head. “He said he didn't have one.”

Something viscerally pained flashed across Set’s face before his expression smoothed out, turning dark and reflective. At last he sighed and rose, legs unfolding with several sharp crunches, and stepped past Yuugi to rummage amongst the piles of garbage. He withdrew something long and rectangular and returned, squatting down to place it in front of Yuugi.

Yuugi stared. It was a senet board, much like the one his grandfather had shown him in a museum in Cairo, but the wood pale, fresh and new, the intricate, painted designs bright and vibrant. Set popped the little sliding drawer on the end of it, displaying the spool shaped pieces within.

Set drew out a piece and held it up, turning it over between long fingers. “He was a man,” he said. “A man who liked the taste of pomegranates and despised the taste of fish. A man who loved horses and his father. A man who enjoyed senet, and preferred the feel of wooden pieces over lapis. A frustrating, prideful, idiotic , but noble man.”

Yuugi couldn't breathe. “What was his name?” he managed.

“No one knows anymore,” said Set darkly.

This made very little sense, but Yuugi did not dare argue.

Set replaced the piece, shut the drawer, and pushed the board towards him. “Here,” he said. “For you.”

Yuugi blinked, protests already leaping to his tongue that he couldn't possibly, this board was worth more than his family made in a year—

What emerged was: “I don't know how to play?”

Set was already halfway to the door. He paused, hand on the lintel, glancing over his shoulder, a secretive smirk playing on his face.

“Then ask him,” said Set, and Yuugi was left with only the creeping shadows for company.

Chapter Text

Yuugi stared at the board for a long time before he dared at last to touch it. The wood was smooth and somewhat soft. He opened the drawer, revealing the game pieces within. He scooped up a couple and lifted them to examine them, and caught a whiff of faint, fresh scent: cypress wood.

Ask him, Set had said, as though the shadow in the puzzle were a neighbor.

“Um,” said Yuugi aloud, and paused. Should he apologize? It was a lie to say he hadn't been horrified by what the shadow had done.

But Yuugi had learned very early that good and evil could coexist in the same man. And the shadow was a man, if Set was to be believed. A man without name or face or perhaps even voice but a man nonetheless.

“I don't know what to say,” said Yuugi finally, setting down a piece into one of the square, carved depressions in the board. “I am grateful for your help, but I...I can't advocate murder. It isn't justice, to kill someone for cheating, not even for a man like that.”

He continued to set pieces at random, trying to recall the game rules that his grandfather had mentioned, cobbled together from half-destroyed texts and murals. At last all the pieces were placed, and he sat back to consider the board.

“I...I don't know who you are any more than you do, I don't think, but you're here and I want to make this, whatever this is, work. I don't know why I was brought here, but I want to help, to help you, if I can. And we can't work out anything if we don't speak.”

Silence, both inside his mind and out.

Yuugi sighed and laid down, curling himself into the pile of blankets, facing the senet board. The faint light of the setting sun leaked in through the roof and under the door, and Yuugi was tired, more exhausted than he could ever recall. He closed his eyes and—

Sleep.

Darkness.

Yuugi dreamed he walked the endless hallway of some dank and ancient place, cold stone walls and stale air and the heavy, looming weight of hundreds of tons of rock and soil above him. No light, the crushing isolation of being suspended in dark void, no lodestone but the hard floor beneath his shoes. His nose burned with the scent of decay. He walked faster, chased by the flat echo of his footsteps, but the hall did not end, stretching out into eternity, walking, walking, walking.

And then, light, warm and organic, a faint shimmer leaking from beneath the edges of a door, piercing between the hinges, stabbing out into the darkness. He ran to it, rested his hand against the door, felt heat and familiarity and his heart leapt for joy.

He groped for a handle, found it, felt it turn in his hand—and froze.

A faint breeze brushed along his neck, like the icy fingers of someone who had lingered too long outside in winter without gloves, and ripe with a scent that Yuugi knew well, the heavy, sour sweat that oozed out from the pores in fear and rage and grief, a scent that Yuugi had washed from his own skin many times.

Yuugi clutched at the handle, shivering, hesitating for a long moment, before turning to look behind him, across the hallway.

At first he could see nothing, but then his eyes must have adjusted to the dim light coming from beneath the door because he realized he could make out the faint outline of a second door, set into the opposite wall. Not a mirror of the first, but almost the shadow of a door, visible in the wall by the absence of light.

The hairs on the back of Yuugi's neck rose.

He didn't know how long he stood, hand frozen on the first door, mind a tumult of indecision, but at last he unwound his hand from the knob, and turned to face the other.

He couldn't see it, not clearly, but when he stretched out his hand and pressed the palm to the door he found it rough, ridged with snaking rivers that felt like veins, blood frozen cold and hard within them, a cold that said: you should walk away, you want no part of this.

But still Yuugi lingered, hand on the shadow door. Finally he gritted his teeth, squared his shoulders, and pushed.

It gave easily, unexpectedly so, sending him stumbling forward into the dark, hand outstretched. His shoes scraped against stone and that same cold breeze washed over him, an awareness of a large open space above him, invisible in the blackness.

He felt his way forward, hands outstretched like a blind man, shuffling his feet, testing for hazards that might trip him.

His shin knocked against something hard and he flinched, bending down and groping at his knees. Stone under his questing fingers, a small, raised platform, and above it, another.

Stairs?

He placed a cautious foot on the first stair, then another, and began to climb.

Up and up he went, growing slowly winded, his legs beginning to cramp.

He began to wonder, with a sinking feeling in his gut, if there was any end to the stairs at all.

He paused to catch his breath, gripping his knees as he bent, puffing into the chill air around him. He reached out a hand to his right, wondering half in jest if there would be a guardrail, when he felt a sick, startled surge and realized he was touching the surface of another door, heavy wood and, as he felt further, a rough metal handle.

He turned, pulled.

It swung towards him and he peered in vain into the darkness, trying to get a sense of the room or passage within.

He took a step towards it, paused, guts roiling with unease, his hand on the lintel. He stuck a hand forward, and waited.

A groan of ropes and grinding stone and Yuugi snatched his limb back just in time as something huge and invisible smashed down before him with a thunderous crash. He tottered backwards, nearly fell off the edge of a stair, and caught himself, arms pinwheeling.

He stood in stunned silence, his heart pounding loud in his ears, breath coming in harsh gasps. He edged forward, stretching out a cautious hand; brick and mortar, as high up as he could reach.

A trap.

He leaned against the door, shivering, and considered his options. Should he go back? Could he even find his way back to the hallway?

In the end, he continued up, thinking that maybe there was some purpose to all of this or, barring that, he might eventually find a light source. It was while he was contemplating this possibility that he managed to run face first into what felt, to his bruised and squashed septum, to be another door, mounted at the top of the stairs.

Rubbing his aching nose and blinking pointlessly through his streaming eyes, Yuugi groped forward and felt around for a handle. He found one, eventually, and the door swung inward.

Mindful of his previous encounter, Yuugi spent several minutes extending various portions of his anatomy through the doorway to see if they provoked a lethal response. They did not, and he eventually concluded it was safe to go inside.

He made it all of five steps through the door before the floor collapsed.

Yuugi experienced a feeling of momentary weightlessness as the stones crumbled away beneath his shoes, leaving him hanging for what felt like forever, but was really more of a fraction of a second, before gravity caught up with him and he was falling.

He shouted, thrashed out, groping for the crumbling edges of the floor, and felt his shoulder wrench in a burst of agony as he brought himself up short, legs kicking uselessly in the dark void.

He hung, trembling, his fingers scraped and bruised, wet with blood and nails split from his clawing, desperate response, and tried to catch his breath.

Silence, not even the distant sound of stones hitting bottom as they dropped into the blackness below him. He tried to pull himself up, felt the muscles in his arms and stomach flex, and then he was dropping back to dangle, helpless. His breath was sharp and loud in his ears.

Don't panic. It's holding. You just have to pull yourself up. Just pull yourself up. Breathe, don't think. Breathe, and pull.

He strained, scrambling for a better grip. No good, he didn't have the upper body strength to pull even his own paltry weight. He felt his stomach lurch in terror.

Then something icy grabbed him by the wrists, clamping tight like iron bands, and he was being dragged upwards. He thrashed, kicking out, trying to get his legs up over the edge of the precipice and then he was tumbling on top of the thing, or presumably person, that had rescued him, a mass of skinny limbs and confusing shapes. Yuugi got what felt like an elbow to the stomach and wheezed.

“Fool!” hissed a voice, a truly audible voice, and cold shock washed over Yuugi; the realization that another being existed in this dark, dreamlike place. “Why did you come here? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Yuugi's mouth was already open for an apology when he realized that he recognized it, the voice, lowered now in panic but still plain, the cadence and pitch of the words that he had heard coming from his own mouth, now unhampered by the limitations of Yuugi's vocal cords.

What he said instead was, “It's you!”

The man froze, the cold bands, which Yuugi only now realized were his fingers —holy shit how could someone be so cold and still live—releasing Yuugi's wrists as though he'd been burned. “I—” said the man. “You have to get out of here, it's not safe.”

“But I've been looking for you!” said Yuugi. “Please, we left on such bad terms and then you disappeared.” He groped in vain for the man’s hand. “Please, can’t we speak?”

“You came here because you wanted to have a conversation ?” the man sounded utterly dumbfounded. “I assure you there are quicker and less painful methods of suicide.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” Yuugi finally found the man’s cold fingers but he quickly snatched them out of reach.

“I cannot—” the man broke off. “Yes, by all means, let us get you out of here.”

Icy fingers latched on Yuugi's wrist and then he was being dragged to his feet. He tripped on the stairs and the man caught him, steadying him before setting off at a swift pace, hauling Yuugi in his wake. “Come! Quickly now!”

Yuugi opened his mouth to protest, only to narrowly avoid biting his tongue as he stumbled. “I—wait!” He threw his weight in reverse, jerking the man to a stop. “Let me, stop dragging—!”

“There's no time!” snapped the man, unnervingly close this time, voice quiet as though to keep himself from being heard. “You need to leave, and leave now!”

Yuugi twisted his wrist in the man's grip until he could at last lace their fingers. “Then lead, don’t pull!”

They ran. Yuugi was fairly certain he only avoided breaking his neck because of the shadow man’s unnatural strength; his feet seemed to barely touch the floor and all in all it was more like being towed, as a child tows a kite reluctant to leave the earth. They stumbled and tripped and then they were charging back towards the dim twilight of the hallway, the shape of the door outlined in light. Yuugi made for it, only to be brought up short as the man stopped in the doorway.

“Go,” the man said, trying to free his hand from Yuugi’s grip. “Through there, you’ll be safe!”

Yuugi clung, reversing himself and groping for the man’s opposite hand. “Come with me!”

The man recoiled and Yuugi almost lost his grip entirely. “No!”

Yuugi tightened his grip and didn’t let up. “Why, what’s wrong?”

“It isn’t permitted!” snapped the man. “That place, it—it isn’t mine to trespass in!”

“Then whose is it?” said Yuugi, growing impatient. He thought he could hear rustling, faint, sinister sounds rising from the darkness behind the man.

“It’s yours, you fool!” said the man. “Your space and I cannot—“

“Then I invite you in!” said Yuugi, pulling. “Come on!”

The man jerked in his grip. “You cannot!”

“Either it’s my space and I can invite whomever I please, or it’s not!” said Yuugi, throwing his weight against the man. “You said it’s not safe here, now come on. ”

And then the man was stumbling through the door, sending Yuugi staggering across the hallway, back bumping up against the other door. Not daring to let go of the man, Yuugi groped behind him with his free hand, found the handle, and turned.

They fell into blinding light, the door slamming shut behind them. Something rubbery squeaked indignantly under Yuugi as he landed on it.

Yuugi stared, upside down, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted.

They were in his bedroom.

Wait, no, that wasn’t right. It was a bedroom, and it looked vaguely familiar, bright colors, furniture in the right locations, but it wasn’t his bedroom above the game shop.

For one thing, his mother would have grounded him if he’d left so many toys all over the floor.

For another, there were no windows.

There didn’t seem to be any electric lighting either. Instead the walls themselves emanated their own light, a soft, soothing yellow.

Atop him, his face squashed into Yuugi’s sternum in a way that was making it just a little hard to breathe, the man groaned. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

Frowning, Yuugi slowly sat up, pushing the man back to get a proper look at him.

His breath tightened in his throat.

He was looking at himself .

Or rather, himself as he’d seen himself when the shadow inhabited his body, stretched and contorted slightly by the possession, himself but wrong.

The shadow-man frowned at him. “Are you alright?” he said. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I…” Yuugi stared. “It’s really you, isn’t it? The shadow in the puzzle?”

The man’s expression darkened. “Who else would it be?” he said bitterly.

Yuugi flinched. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” said the man. “It isn’t as if you wished for a case of demon possession.”

Yuugi’s mouth went tight. “That isn’t what you are, you told me yourself.”

The man laughed, harsh. “I don’t remember who or what I am. Perhaps I am one of your jinn, sent to cause grief and mischief in the mortal realm.”

Hesitant, Yuugi reached up and rested his hands on the man’s shoulders, marveling at the solidity beneath his palms.

“Calm down,” he said. “I came to talk. We should have before.”

“There is nothing to say,” said the man. “This is what I am, and I frightened you.”

“You did,” said Yuugi. “And I’m still horrified that you killed that man. Even if he was a bad man it doesn’t make murdering him okay, but…” he swallowed hard. “Thank you, for saving my life.”

The man stared at him. “I caused the situation to begin with.”

“Yes,” said Yuugi. “And no. Men like him...nevermind. But I can still say thank you, for not abandoning me. I know what it’s like, to face down men like that alone.” His thumb twitched towards his knuckle.

The man’s gaze slid towards his corresponding forearm, as though tracking both the movement of the muscle and the trajectory of his thoughts, and his mouth went tight. “Even if you despise me,” he half-mumbled. “I would not willingly abandon you to face men like that alone.”

“I don’t despise you,” said Yuugi. His fingers tightened. “I’ve missed you, very much. I was afraid I’d never see you again.”

The man’s eyes rounded, his expression dumbfounded. “That’s why you came here?”

Yuugi nodded. “I mean, I don’t know exactly where here is, but I fell asleep while hoping I could find you and then…” He released the man’s shoulders and gestured vaguely about them. “Where is here?”

“As I told you,” said the man. “This place is yours, a manifestation of your mind and heart.” His gaze slid away from Yuugi’s and he looked suddenly embarrassed. “Not a place to bring an outsider lightly. Or at all.”

Yuugi’s brows furrowed in confusion but he shrugged it off. “It’s fine. If it can keep us safe you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

The man actually flushed, shoulders hunching. “I—thank you.”

Mystified, Yuugi peered around them. “Then if this is mine, that other place, the dark room, that’s yours?”

“In...a manner of speaking, yes,” said the man.

“And why…” Yuugi looked the man over, startled to see that they were dressed identically, but in Yuugi’s school uniform rather than what he was actually wearing. “Why do you look like me?”

The man shrugged. “I could look like anyone, I suppose. I have no face or form that I remember. When you pulled me in here perhaps you projected this image, as you’d seen me in your body.”

He was right, Yuugi realized. If he looked hard, examined the angles and edges of the man, he could see where his image blurred and bled, like ink running on paper. If he squinted the man morphed momentarily into a being made of shadow, two slit eyes glowing gold in a featureless face, as though great shears had descended and snipped out his outline, leaving behind a yawning chasm where he’d been.

A man cut from reality.

Yuugi shivered, a strange prickling discomfort rippling down his spine. The man regarded him, steadily, a sad, sardonic, and a little resigned smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, as though he could sense the course of Yuugi’s thoughts.

Perhaps he could.

But Yuugi remembered the gentle presence, the warm drape of shared compassion and the excited spark of mutual enjoyment, and squared himself.

He tightened his grip, and pulled the shadow man into a hug.

The man went rigid with shock. His body was solid, but cool, as his fingers had been in the dark. Yuugi pressed one hand to the back of his skull, the way his mother would do when she enveloped him in an embrace, urging the man’s face into his shoulder, closed his eyes, and just...breathed.

“It felt empty,” he said at last, quietly, barely daring to speak. “And I know empty is normal but God, it was just so quiet , with you gone. Like something I didn’t know was supposed to be there was poured out of me.” He squeezed his eyes tight, felt heat prick at the corners. “Please come back,” he said, and it felt like babbled nonsense but he knew . “Come back in.”

The man drew in a sharp, shocked breath, but then relaxed against him, limbs that felt far more spindly than Yuugi’s own tucking against him, curling up. And then, something tickling, trickling back inside him, black and thick and cool, like ink being poured into an inkwell, curling up in a dark coil in an open space in his heart.

Yuugi smiled, and slept.

Chapter Text

The sun and the ache of his bruised face woke him. Yuugi blinked, wiped his crusted eyes, and sat up, squinting about the shed. Above him on the wall, the shadow lingered, moving as though in a faint current. Yuugi took a moment to admire the trailing dark tendrils and golden eyes, half closed as if dozing.

He sat up, and the shadow responded, drifting down to pool near him. It crawled across the matting, pausing when it bumped up against the senet board Yuugi had left beside his bedroll. He must have knocked against it during the night, as one of the pieces had tipped over.

He reached out to right it and felt a stir of interest, the shadow sliding up along his back and sending phantom fingers down along his underarm to pluck at the game piece.

“Do you...know how to play?” said Yuugi.

A ripple of excitement and agreement, and then a puff of challenge, as though transmitted through a wordless, cocky look.

Yuugi grinned, rolling the piece between his fingers. “Will you show me?”

A burst of positive feedback and the shadow raced up the wall to loom over the opposite end of the board. It settled, forming itself into the flat, rough shape of a seated figure and bright eyes fixed themselves on the board.

Yuugi scooted over to kneel by the board, reaching out and placing the piece in his hand back on it. The shadow’s eyes slitted, as though contemplating, and then Yuugi felt a tug, the direction to lift a certain piece and place it elsewhere.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Learning as we go, huh? You’re on.”

They were halfway through a game when Siamun stepped through the door.

Yuugi froze, his piece inches above its slot, heart racing, but Siamun only blinked at the board and said, “Where did you find that?” His brows furrowed. “Are you playing by yourself?”

“Uh, Set gave it to me,” said Yuugi. “I’m sorry we—I lost track of time.” He glanced up at the wall where the shadow was still visible, and back to Siamun, but the man didn’t follow his gaze.

He can’t see him.

Siamun waved him off. “No matter, it happens. I’d come for breakfast however, you look like you could use it.”

Yuugi realized at that very moment that he was ravenous. He’d been so absorbed by the game he hadn’t thought of it. He felt a burst of the shadow’s amusement and ducked his head in embarrassment. “Breakfast is probably a good idea.”

Yuugi couldn’t help the warm, burgeoning sense of lightness in his chest, even as he sat at the table and ate lukewarm ful and unleavened bread. Set, nearly finished with his own breakfast, seemed to notice, because he glanced up at Yuugi several times as he ate, a slightly intrigued look in his eye.

Siamun stretched and yawned. “Well, better get to it. We’ve got at least three—”

“Yuugi’s coming with me today,” said Set. “I need to drop off the skin I forgot to leave with the tanner last time.” Yuugi ducked his head in embarrassment. “And it’s time he has a chance to learn to hunt.”

Siamun frowned, his expression turning testy. “I’m certain Yuugi is capable—”

“I’ll go,” Yuugi blurted, casting a slightly guilty look at Siamun. “Sorry,” he said, looking at the table.

Siamun searched his face and finally snorted. “Well, who am I to argue? I want your help sorting and picking herbs when you return though.”

Yuugi nodded emphatically. “Sure thing.”

Set rose from the table and Yuugi crammed the last bit of bread into his mouth before following him.

The skin which Set had been carrying when he’d found Yuugi had been left outside the hut. Set snatched it up and tossed the bundle to Yuugi.

Yuugi caught the hide and nearly dropped it. It had been folded flesh-side inwards, but the clinging strips of flesh that hadn’t been exposed to the drying heat of the desert had begun to stink.

“Come on,” said Set. He’d grabbed a hide bundle of his own, tucking it under his arm. “Don’t dawdle.”

The road was largely deserted, most of the merchants having made their trek into market before the sun rose. Set’s pace was quick and direct, like he was always on a mission, and Yuugi had to scamper to keep up with him.

“Where were you planning on going hunting?” Yuugi said, trying not to pant, after they’d walked for nearly ten minutes in awkward silence.

“There’s a branch of the river east of here,” said Set, not looking back at him. “Some abandoned buildings, just near a block of tombs. We won’t get antelope this late in the day, but there might be some rabbits. We’ve more important things to do though.”

“What do you mean?”

Set waved him off. “Later,” he said. “We’ll discuss it once we’re out of the town.”

Despite his words, Set did not actually take them into town. Instead he swung wide, heading southeast, keeping the low buildings of the main streets to their left. A dry wind curled around them, socking Yuugi in the face with the most foul stench he’d ever had the misfortune to smell.

He stopped short, gagging, his stomach roiling dangerously. “What’s that?” he said.

Set shot him a disbelieving look over his shoulder. “The tanner.”

The tanner turned out to be a wizened man with a myriad of missing teeth and his two sons, who stood off to the side whispering to each other and eying Yuugi while Set and the old man bartered over the skin. Yuugi glanced away nervously and resisted the urge to fix his head coverings.

At last Set and the man exchanged a few coins and the rank hide. Set tucked the money away and beckoned to Yuugi.

The bend of the tributary of which Set had spoken was nearly an hour distant, across flat, rocky ground that ate relentlessly at Yuugi’s feet through his sandals. Finally they neared the river, and Set followed it back to where it carved its way into a shallow canyon. Palms loomed overhead, breaking up the blinding, monotonous heat, and water pooled, shallow and clear. Set halted on the edge of the stream, seating himself on a rock and bending down to remove his sandals. After several moments of squinting, trying to read the situation, Yuugi copied him.

The water was an icy balm on his sore, overheated feet and Yuugi gasped in relief, wiggling his toes in the clear water. He stretched, wishing he could uncover his head and let the wind sweep away the sweat from his scalp.

He looked back towards Set and realized with a jolt the other man was watching him.

“What is it?”

Set made a noncommittal noise and reached over to retrieve the hide bundle which he had set aside. He placed it in his lap and flicked open a corner, revealing the head of what looked like a short bow and a long hilt—maybe a khopesh? He removed two bronze daggers, half again the length of Yuugi’s hand. “Here.”

Yuugi fumbled and nearly missed the toss. The weapon was heavy, with a wrapped handle to pad the palm. Set put aside the bundle and stood, other dagger clasped in his fist.

“Do you know how to use one?” he said.

Yuugi gulped and shook his head. Set nodded, his expression shrewd.

“Hold it like this,” he said, demonstrating. “To stabilize the blade and give yourself flexibility. You’re not going to be attacking anyone much with a weapon like this. But you can defend, if they get too close.”

He lunged, and Yuugi flinched back, clutching the weapon, the tip of the blade rising. In a moment Set was under his guard, hand on his wrist, disarming him, knocking Yuugi’s dagger to the ground.

Set stepped back, and retrieved the dagger, extending it to Yuugi. “In a real fight, depending on the weapons in play, go for the biggest, meatiest part of your opponent. If they back off and you can escape, so much the better. But for now, we’ll work on a few counters.”

The sun climbed overhead as they fenced, Set shouting orders, Yuugi trying to keep his feet as wet river rocks slid beneath his bare toes. Set went in for a finishing blow again—

And something clicked.

Yuugi felt his body shift, his hand shooting out and grasping Set’s wrist, turning his dagger aside and bringing up his own weapon to rest against Set’s throat.

They both froze. Yuugi’s heart hammered; he could feel the shadow buzzing under his skin. But it wasn’t like before, like being ousted from his body. It was as if the shadow had shared a muscle memory with him, taken hold and guided their shared strength.

Set was looking at him, a piercing look as though he was seeing something he’d known was there all along, even if he didn’t much like it.

Slowly, Yuugi mastered himself and backed away, looking at the dagger in his hand.

“So that’s how it works,” said Set, sounding thoughtful.

Yuugi’s eyes widened fractionally in alarm as he grasped his meaning, and he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I mean yes, he’ll come out when I’m in danger, I think, but he’s come out at other times too.” He studied the riverbed, the water coursing around his feet. “We were playing senet this morning, like you suggested.”

“Interesting,” said Set. He tossed his own dagger in the air and caught it. “Enough for today, I think. Keep the dagger, practice the jabs and blocks. Let’s head upstream and see if we can bag something.”

He splashed back to the shore and Yuugi followed.

They walked upstream, Yuugi’s damp feet sliding in his sandals. Set had him carry the bundle, after first removing a small, recurved bow and stringing it. He carried an arrow notched, utterly silent, scanning the rocks ahead of them.

He stopped dead and Yuugi froze behind him. Then he spotted the rabbit, variegated fur the same shade as the desert sands, long ears twitching as it nibbled a wispy brown bit of vegetation.

Set raised his bow and Yuugi held his breath.

A snap of the string and the whistle of the arrow and suddenly the rabbit was writhing in the dirt, flailing as it tried to right itself. Set didn’t hesitate; he was on the animal in a moment, bringing down the hilt of his dagger on its head. There was a sickening crunch, and then it was still.

Yuugi couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop looking at red blood on brown sand. He felt so alien in that moment, so removed from time. His hands ached from the unfamiliar weight of the dagger, a blister stung his foot.

What are you? A child who has never had to starve or fight or kill. Are you going to be sick, watching him hunt the meat you were so happy to eat just two days ago? You might as well be a sheep compared to him, domesticated, pathetic—

The shadow surged under his skin, a ripple of agitation and fierce denial.

Do not say such things.

Why , thought Yuugi, numb as he watched Set lash the rabbit’s limbs with a bit of leather cord and sling it over his shoulder. Why not when they are true?

There is bloodlust and brash aggression in this world in excess. Do not deride compassion, for there is far too little of it.

Yuugi drew in a deep breath, trying to slow his heart, and did not answer.

Set gestured towards a sloping path, which Yuugi could now see had been worn into one of the canyon walls.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s have a look around before we head back.”

The ascent made Yuugi’s legs cramp and his robe was quickly soaked by freely flowing sweat. They emerged onto the top of the cliff, Yuugi blinking in the sudden, blinding sunlight. Set was already shading his eyes, looking out across the wasteland and desert. He let out a low, derisive sound.

“What is it?” said Yuugi, puffing and trying to keep from bending double to catch his breath.

“Nothing,” said Set. “Or not nothing. The land is dryer than it should be, the floods half of what they were in years past. The farmers have been tightening their belts, but—” His mouth thinned. “Without more water, without a proper inundation, they cannot persist indefinitely.”

A memory tugged at Yuugi, kneeling in the dirt beside his grandfather, half-listening to droning lectures about cyclical flooding and pollen records. The realization that he was bearing witness to a planetary upsurge that would rock the foundations of the history of man shook him, left him staring wordlessly out into the emptiness. Again, that feeling, of impossible insignificance, that strange cocktail of terror of the known and unknown.

“What...can you do?” he said at last, helplessly.

Set looked at him. “Do?” he said dryly. “There is nothing to do. I am no longer pharaoh. And even if I were, I no longer…” He turned away, staring hard at the landscape. “No. Nothing to do but pray, and hope that the gods will find some modicum of mercy within themselves.”

He sounded unconvinced that this prospect would yield any fruitful results.

Yuugi bowed his head and studied the dagger in his hands. “You don’t seem like the type to leave things up to the gods,” he said softly.

Set snorted. “Well, you’re not wrong. But as most of the tools which I might use to challenge the gods’ power have been lost to me, I must adjust.”

“Tools like what?”

Set sighed, looking exhausted and regretful. “As I said,” he said. “Servant ka . They cost the caster, but with them you could heal wounds, subjugate your enemies, even change the landscape itself. Bring clouds, wind, rain.”

“A demon of storms and chaos,” said Yuugi, half to himself.

Set laughed shortly. “You speak as if you’ve seen one.”

Yuugi smiled bitterly. “Only in pictures.”

On impulse, he dug inside the pocket of his sleeve, thumbing through his deck. Tugging the card free, he held it out to Set. “The Summoned Skull. A fiend born of lightning. I told you that in my world they just exist as artwork.”

Set did not reach out to take the card. He was staring at it, dumbfounded, a look of disbelief frozen on his features. He opened his mouth, swallowed, and spoke, as quietly as he had in the alleyway.

“Where did you get that?” he said.

The hairs on the back of Yuugi’s neck prickled. “Um,” he said. “Well, to be honest, I bought it.”

Set looked at him sharply, then reached out and took the card from him, carefully, as though it might bite. He ran his fingers over the surface, turned it over, eyes narrowed in contemplation.

“This,” he said, “is the work of Shadow Magic.”

Yuugi stared at him. “I mean, uh, are you sure? I didn’t get it from anywhere unusual. They’re printed in my world, mass-produced.”

“Mass—” Set’s brows furrowed. “You can make more of these?”

“Well yeah,” Yuugi’s heart sank as he tried to think of a way to escape this conversation without having to try and explain hundreds of years of industrialization to a man who wouldn’t understand more than half the vocabulary he’d have to use. “But it’s not important. They’re just, well I mean they’re not…” He fumbled because he couldn’t say they weren’t alive , exactly. Not when he’d felt a strange warmth ever since the day he’d laid a hand on his grandfather’s Blue Eyes as a small and curious child. “Um, I mean they aren’t magical exactly. They don’t do anything specific. Not like what you’re talking about.”

Set eyed him for several moments, digesting this. “So what you are saying,” he said slowly. “Is that there isn’t anyone in your world capable of commanding them.”

“Uh,” A blurred visceral memory of Pegasus looking at him from across the arena, the glint of that gold, false eye. “I don’t think so?”

Set nodded. He bent and set his bow on the ground beside him. Straightening, he rummaged in the waistband of his shendyt, uncovering that strange rod that Yuugi had seen him carrying. He adjusted his grip on it and stared at the card.

At first Yuugi really did think he was out of his mind, but then something brilliant sparked around that bulbous, eye-shaped lump on the staff, like light glinting off a mirror. Wind swept across the cliff and Yuugi’s skin tingled alarmingly, buzzing with sharp prickles of static.

“Uh,” he said, rocking from foot to foot. “Set…”

Thunder split the air.

Yuugi leapt a foot off the ground. Dark clouds were materializing above them, towering skyscrapers, forming and swirling in empty air like dark oil bubbling up from a floor drain. Snakes of lightning crawled over the growing vortex. And Yuugi could see a stretched, fiendish face forming amongst the clouds, huge, curling horns, heavily clawed paws parting the stormfront.

Holy shit. Holy shit that’s an actual monster. That’s my monster. The one on the card. Oh my god I’m gonna faint.

The thunderhead burst.

Rain, torrents of it, poured down on them, soaking clothing and hair in an instant. This was flood rain, monsoon rain, fat drops striking Yuugi’s head through the cloth as though he were being pelted with small stones. Behind him, he heard a roar and realized dizzily that the sudden rush of rain was flooding the canyon below them, a torrent of whitewater. Above, the monster shrieked, deafening.

Set had the staff held high, his eyes bright and triumphant.

“Do you see now, Yuugi from another world?” he shouted, his words almost lost in the howl of the storm. “ This , is magic.”

Chapter Text

It was indescribable, to feel the thrum of magic unleashed, pushing up under his skin, the reflection of the fiend’s cold intelligence in the back of his mind. He was alive, electric, the heady feeling of mastery pulsing through him. Set closed his eyes against the downpour, let the drops strike his face, cooling overheated skin and rinsing away the dust of the day.

He opened them, turning to look at Yuugi once more, and felt a jolt of shock.

Yuugi was standing, looking out into the storm, fascination writ large on his face, which seemed...distorted somehow. The features and expression subtly wrong.

He was Yuugi, but he was not-Yuugi.

Set felt something around his heart clench.

Cousin , he thought, and felt the name skip along the surface of his thoughts, floating just out of reach before escaping entirely.

The shadow of his kinsman turned Yuugi’s face in his direction, a familiar smirk playing about his lips.

“Amazing,” he said, lifting his hands, turning them palm up, watching rivulets of water pouring off his fingers. “Could I do this?”

For a moment Set couldn’t breathe; he knew that voice, distorted slightly but devastating in its familiarity.

Set swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. “You taught me how to do this.”

That sharp gaze snapped in his direction, eyes going wide. And then Yuugi was blinking out at him, expression gentled if a bit confused. Set reined the fiend back in, watched the monster dissipate and the remnant clouds begin to disperse. The rain stopped. He hesitated, and handed the scrap of stiff material back to Yuugi.

They stood unspeaking on the soaked sandstone, Yuugi’s fingers playing with the handle of the dagger, until at last Set mastered himself and motioned him back to begin the descent.

Isis met them on the road, just outside the outskirts of town, the hem of her skirt coated in mud and wearing a worried expression. The magic so close beneath his skin, Set could feel the hum of the Necklace at her throat. He realized with a thrill that the rains had reached all the way to the far bank.

“What happened?” Isis said. “Was there an attack, the thief? I thought I saw—”

Set waved her off. “No attack. Merely a demonstration. Let’s return before someone else comes to investigate. We’ll discuss it at home.”

She frowned at them but turned back, heading the way that she had come. Her dress had been soaked, clinging to the curves of her hips and Set felt a brief, unexpected stir of excitement.

Back in the house he hovered in the corner as Siamun dished out beer and roast rabbit, unable to sit still. Isis shot him a questioning look when he finally stepped forward to accept his portion but he only shook his head and hoped she’d take the hint.

Yuugi seemed drained and quiet, perhaps processing all that had happened. Set wanted to ask him if he had other...scrolls, tablets? They didn’t feel like any material with which he was familiar.

It was Siamun who asked the question for him. Once the dishes had been cleared, the old man caught Yuugi by the shoulder before the sleepy young man could rise from his seat, but it was in Set’s direction that he looked.

“So,” said Siamun, tone deceptively pleasant. “Shall we discuss that most unusual weather today?”

Yuugi glanced at Set with uncertainty and Set sighed.

“Show them,” he said.

Yuugi reached for his sleeve, and hesitated.

“All of them?” he said, and Set felt a leap of anticipation. He’d been right.

“Yes,” he said recklessly, trying to hide that he hadn’t known until that moment. “All of them. And the…” He gestured towards his throat.

Yuugi swallowed, looking hunted, but fished out what looked like a small block, which turned out to be made of many leaves like the one he’d handed Set. He fanned them out and placed them on the table, flipping the storm fiend upwards so it was clearly displayed. Then he loosened his coat and exposed the Pendant hanging around his neck.

From across the room, Set heard Isis’ breath hitch.

Siamun gaped at them, his eyes flicking from the paper tablets to the reassembled Pendant. Yuugi’s hands twisted in the hem of his coat.

It was Isis who spoke first.

“And they work?” she said. “No blowback, no...instability?”

Set shook his head. “You saw a bit for yourself, I think. It’s no different than the tablets, except for portability.”

“Did you make these?” said Siamun, leaning over the table, bushy brows furrowed.

Yuugi shook his head. “It was a company...a man I guess, back in my world.”

“A man?” said Siamun, looking suspicious. “A magician, you mean.”

Yuugi opened his mouth, and closed it. He appeared to be thinking.

“These,” he said after a long silence. “Were made by a...scribe who copied them from another scribe, and so on. But the originals, they were made by a man. A...very strange man, but I don’t know if he was a magician.”

“Did you ever meet him?” said Set.

Yuugi nodded. “Just once. I beat him in a duel. Barely, he was...really strong.”

“Nothing unusual about him?” said Isis. “Anything odd about his person? Tattoos or strange clothing?”

Yuugi’s gaze slid towards Set. “Sort of,” he said. “He had a metal eye. Gold.”

Set stiffened, and he heard Isis curse under her breath.

Siamun shot them both a look and turned back to Yuugi. “That would have done it,” he said, not unkindly. “So a man in your world learned to wield Shadow Magic. To create, as we did, bridges for the monster- ka to pass through into our world.”

Yuugi frowned. “But that...doesn’t make a lot of sense. A businessman gets ahold of a mystical object that lets him summon monsters and uses it to...what? Make a game for kids?”

Set had to admit it did sound a bit far fetched. But still… “There’s little doubt what you saw was the Eye,” he said. “It went missing some time ago, it and the Ring, and none of us can track it. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that it was pulled into another world. Perhaps this magician had another purpose for it.”

Or , he thought darkly. The Eye had another purpose for the man.

Yuugi boggled at him. “So uh,” his hand dropped to touch the Pendant. “When you were talking about ‘objects of great power’, you meant this? And that Eye?”

“Seven in all,” said Isis. She drummed her fingers on the table, a quick, nervous gesture. “Each with their own unique gifts.”

Siamun snorted. “Gifts bought in blood.”

“As are all things of value,” said Set.

“The power to bend men to one’s will,” said Isis smoothly, as though they hadn’t interrupted. “To peer into the heart, look into the mind.”

“Look into the mind?” said Yuugi. “You mean like, to know your thoughts? See through your eyes?”

“Undoubtedly,” said Isis.

Yuugi’s brow creased. “The man,” he said. “The magician. When we dueled, it was like he could predict my strategy. Like he knew every monster I would summon before I could summon it.”

Set raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “And you still defeated him?”

Yug looked embarrassed. “I..uh, I—yeah.” He picked at the table. “Just don’t ask me how.”

Set crossed his arms, mulling over the new information. It wasn’t unthinkable for the Items to extend their reach beyond the bounds of time and space, but it did create some uncomfortable possibilities. For a cold moment the feeling of smallness, of being caught in the ropes and pulleys of vast workings that he could barely grasp, suffused him. He remembered that looming monstrosity, teeth longer than a man was tall, eyes red as the setting sun, burning like coals in a black, endless void, and that terrible, choking hatred, and he shivered.

“Regardless,” he said, gathering himself. “This changes the nature of the game. If our enemy has truly slipped his bonds, we may not be without weapons to combat him.” He looked at Yuugi. “Perhaps you are an emissary after all.”

Yuugi looked down, fiddling with the edges of his coat. “And this?” he said, avoiding the implication. He cupped the Pendant in his palm. “What does this one do?”

“A tool of judgement,” said Isis. “To allow the pharaoh to read the heart of criminal and supplicant alike. To give reward and dole out punishment.”

“It was a tool of judgement,” said Set. “Now, it is a prison. For monster, and man.”

Yuugi’s eyes widened. “So...there’s someone, something , in there besides him?”

Isis’s head whipped in Set’s direction and he caught her eye, raising a quelling hand. “The demon of shadow we spoke of. Our pharaoh used his own soul as a binding sacrifice. Presumably, both are still contained within it.”

Yuugi’s brows crinkled. “But if he was your king, why did you say no one knew his name?”

“Magic,” said Siamun heavily. “A sacred name, the key to a lock. He cursed himself out of existence, out of history, gave up his right to the afterlife, all to protect us.”

“But surely there must be a physical copy—”

“All destroyed,” said Set, shortly. “I managed one thing as pharaoh at least. As for the memory…” He shrugged. “Gone, like dust in the wind.”

Yuugi’s shoulders slumped. Silence descended over the room.

“He doesn’t know either,” said Yuugi at last. “He thought he was a jinn, a monster.” He tucked the Pendant closer against his body, almost a protective gesture. “He doesn’t even know what he looks like. When he’s not...in me I guess, there’s just a shadow. Two glowing eyes.”

Set couldn’t keep himself from flinching. The idea of being cut from existence, wiped of face and form and self, made his entire being rebel. And his cousin had done it willingly.

“In you?” said Isis.

Yuugi actually flushed. “I mean—I, he can,” he waved his hands about in a fruitless gesture. “He can be in my body, I suppose. I don’t know how he does it, or why. It’s only sometimes.” He shot Siamun and then Set a guilty look. “He beat that guy at dice. The one who…”

“Ah,” said Siamun. He let out a little snort. “Well now I understand it. He was the worst to gamble against. The luck of Horus, that one.”

Isis looked intrigued. “Can you call upon him? Ask him to come out?”

“Later,” said Set. “It’s been a long day for everyone.”

Yuugi rubbed his still-bruised face, looking utterly drained. Siamun hesitated, then straightened, rising and moving over to clasp Yuugi by the shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said, with utter sincerity and Yuugi’s eyes went wide with surprise. “Whatever comes of it, all of this, thank you for sharing your soul and self with him. None of us...well, he was willing to accept the unthinkable.” Siamun’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “I’ve seen the souls of many in my time. To accept him so, to give him respite, is an act of hospitality and generosity. So thank you, on behalf of a pharaoh who does not know himself enough to do it.”

He released one of Yuugi’s shoulders and flicked his nose. “Now,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Bedtime.”

Set prowled the hut as Yuugi gathered up the tablets and bid them goodnight. The last bloody rays of the sun had streaked the horizon, and he lingered in the doorway as Siamun rolled out bedding and Isis banked the fire.

Slender, flax-roughened fingers slid along his forearm, raising sparking trails under his skin, and he had to fight the urge to let the magic bubble up again. Tension sang in him and he turned, her hair, still faintly redolent of cheap perfume, brushing against his face, hiding his mouth from view.

Under his breath, he spoke in her ear. “Meet me outside when it’s full dark.”

She didn’t reply, but squeezed his forearm.

Louder, he said. “I’m going for a walk.”

Outside, he paced, distracted, counting the stars as they emerged. He wanted to call upon the fiend, ride the storm once again. He wanted to fight, to strike, to rend. He wanted to feel the pulse of power in him once more. He wanted...

An echo of memory, the scream of a dragon.

A shadow in the moonlight. He turned and caught her, warm curves under rough cotton. He pulled her against him and she pressed her face and forehead to his, breath mingling, fingers groping across his bare back. They stumbled, dizzy, overwhelmed, found stability against the storage shed wall. Her hands were on him, night air on hard flesh. He hiked her dress and found her naked beneath it.

Her nails bit into his flesh and he plunged forward into her.

Chapter Text

Yuugi slept, the half-dreaming sleep of emotional exhaustion and too much sun. Images floated through his mind, rippling, distorting before bursting like bubbles, monsters moving in void, shadow and flame, fresh blood on bright gold.

He woke to darkness, bleary, wondering if he’d slept twelve minutes or twelve hours. Aware that something had disrupted his rest, his addled brain struggling to identify what it was.

A noise, soft and high and human, tugging on something deep and familiar in the back of his memory.

Last year, Jounouchi had showed up at school toting an unlabeled VHS tape and wearing a smarmy expression. He’d slipped the tape into Yuugi’s backpack with a wink and made him promise to only watch it alone.

Easier said than done. Yuugi had waited for days before he dared try anything, hours after the household had gone to bed, listening for any indication of his mother or grandfather stirring. Then he’d crawled out of bed, leaving the lights off, and crept downstairs on silent feet to the television and VCR. Popped the tape in, keeping the volume just a tick above totally muted, and stared in fascination.

It was short, and heavily censored, impressionist blurs of skin tones moving in suggestive tandem. But they hadn’t censored the audio. He’d knelt there on the carpet, trembling, frozen but ears tuned as the actress gasped and moaned and whimpered, her voice undercut by wet, staccato noises. He’d watched it to the end, removed the tape, cautiously raised the volume to where it had been and shut off the static snow of the set. He’d padded silently up to his room. He’d found a handful of tissues and hid beneath his comforter, fist stuffed against his mouth as he made himself come again and again, ears ringing with the memory.

Yuugi couldn’t breathe. His ears burned, shamefully pricking, a woman’s ecstatic whimpers. A moan, faint and desperate and masculine, split the air, and the woman’s hitching breaths increased in speed.

This was mad, this wasn’t right, this was embarrassing. This wasn’t a pair of faceless actors, he knew whom it was, whom it had to be. He wasn’t part of this, he had no right.

But he was hard, for the first time since he’d arrived here, after the pain and fear and exhaustion and endless stress and god help him he wanted.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and shoved his hand up under his shendyt.

He kept his mouth pressed closed, breathing harshly through his nose, trying to pretend he was elsewhere, in front of the television, trying to keep his mind blank, focus only on the rhythm, on how good it felt. He was getting there, just a little further. His eyes slitted open, fist squeezing tight—

He froze.

The shadow was on the wall, darkness on darkness, glowing eyes watching him.

Yuugi’s throat closed up and he stared, stupidly, hand still on himself, bereft of words, bereft of thought.

The shadow stirred, edges rippling, and he felt a trickle of curiosity, and beneath that, nearly hidden, a shy, encouraging nudge.

The shadow could feel what he was doing, he realized, dizzy. Was sharing his touch, the feedback of his pleasure. The thought sent a bizarre frisson of excitement through him, curling warm and heavy in his belly.

For a moment he teetered on a fulcrum, balanced between mortification and desire. But then he adjusted his grip and continued, slower this time, teasing. No longer trying to finish himself as quickly as possible, but offering of himself, welcoming.

Glowing eyes widened and he felt a shocked burst of positive feedback. He kept his gaze steady, and continued. The shadow squirmed.

Tickling against his wrist, and he glanced down to see tendrils of shadow winding around his hand, there and not there, matching his rhythm, caressing parts of him his fingers did not reach. The shadow slid partially off the wall, spreading over him, physically and mentally.

A faint surge of memory, echo of an ancient story: I had union with my hand and I embraced my shadow in a love embrace…

A spike of startled pleasure from the shadow and a string tightened around Yuugi’s gut. He pushed, mentally, urging—

It was sensory overload, the alien impression of another body pressing against his as he spilled into his hand, over everything, over them. He thought he felt hot breath on his neck, desperate fingers clinging. He rolled, nuzzling into the bedding, hiking his hips as if he could tuck the shadow beneath him. A starburst of color and sensation exploded in his brain, he felt the shadow arch, the echo of a cry.

And then it was over. He laid still, panting, head and ears buzzing faintly. Blackness tugged at the edges of his vision and he sank into it.

Yellow, buttery light enfolding him, the comfortable cradle of a modern mattress. There was a weight on him, resting against his chest, between his legs.

He stroked the man’s hair, pushing damp locks back from his forehead. The man trembled, pressed closer, legs tangling as though he could merge them.

Yuugi tangled his fingers in the man’s hair, felt the sweat on his scalp. “They said you were a king,” he said.

The man didn’t answer.

“But more than that,” said Yuugi. “A friend, a kinsman, a good and noble man.”

“Not so noble,” said the man, voice saturated with bitterness. “If I was a king, I’ve no knowledge of what sort. But I know in the core of me that something horrific happened, and I could do nothing to change it.”

Yuugi considered this. “Maybe,” he said at last. “But we’re often subject to forces beyond our control. Grandpa used to say all we can do is work with what we are given, and heal what wounds we can.”

The man grunted. “And what meaning am I to find in this? That I am not a demon, merely a dead man? That fate has some purpose for me and so I inhabit this half-life by wearing you like a cloak of flesh?”

Yuugi flinched, but held the man tighter. “If need be,” he said. “And as for meaning, I don’t know any more than you. Things have a way of revealing themselves, eventually. It’s on us to be prepared.”

“That man spoke of a demon of shadow,” said the man at length. “Sometimes…” he swallowed hard. “Sometimes in the darkness, I will hear something. Or feel it perhaps. A presence, vast and ancient and hateful. And it sees me. Not as a man seeing a man, but as a man seeing an insect. Something insignificant to be crushed under the heel.”

Yuugi shivered. For a moment he felt a pressure, crushing awareness, like the strong hand of a typhoon buffeting the walls, curling around the room that enfolded them. He stiffened against it, imagining a safe, the lockbox in the back of his grandfather’s shop, and felt it recede, if barely.

Yuugi sighed.

“Not so insignificant,” he said. “Or the demon wouldn’t be there in the first place.”

The man’s vivid red eyes rounded in wonder and on impulse, Yuugi kissed him, felt him melt with a soft, startled sound. He drew back after a long moment, panting.

“I’ll help you,” he said. “Help you find out why you’re here, help you...deal with the demon.” He squared his shoulders. “Stop it, or find out how to kill it if we have to.”

The man’s expression softened, the curve of his mouth a little sad. “That means a great deal, but I fear you’re asking the wrong question.”

“Question?”

“Not ‘how to kill it?’” said the man, his gaze going distant. “But rather, can it be killed at all?”

Yuugi woke a second time to desert heat and a lingering, soporific sense that he tended to associate with his mother and grandfather’s annual trip to Osaka for the vendor show. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to pull his brain together.

He’d...something last night. With a guy. A guy made of shadow, loaded down with a whole bunch of magical extenuating circumstances, but still a guy.

He wasn’t sure what to make of this. He knew, in a vague sense that some guys...did things with each other. But it wasn’t something anybody really talked about. He remembered seeing some sort of report on the news, an organization of people like that had sued the city of Tokyo over use of a public building of some kind, but neither his mother or grandfather had commented on it.

People “like that”. Did that mean he was “like that”?

In an effort to avoid considering this disquieting thought too deeply, he began folding his bedding and setting it aside to clear a space on the floor. It was then that he noticed something.

Or rather, the absence of something. He knew, vaguely, that he’d passed out without cleaning up the night before, but when he tentatively lifted his shendyt and examined himself, he found no trace of any of the usual...leavings.

Had it all been a dream? Even with dreams he’d woken up more than once with his thighs sticky. And when he gave a slight little nudge in the shadow’s direction he felt a burst of sleepy, sexual satisfaction.

Mystified but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth, he put away his bedding and poked his head out of the shed. The yard appeared deserted, so he scurried out, found a nearby bit of vegetation and urinated, before stripping and squatting by the canal to clean the sweat from his skin with a rag he’d swiped from the various baskets and debris in the shed, which he’d been using as a washcloth.

He was scrubbing dust from his face when he heard the door open and looked up to see Set emerge from the house, the shine of his bald head dampened by the dark peach fuzz of regrowing hair. He didn’t look at Yuugi, but merely slouched over to a nearby skeletal shrub and hiked up his shendyt.

Yuugi started to hastily look away, but froze as the glint of red caught his eye. The urine puddling at the base of the shrub was swirled with blood, rapidly mixing and disappearing against the dark earth.

Oh my god.

Set coughed and Yuugi jerked his eyes away, heart pounding, a faint sickness blooming in his gut.

“What’s wrong?” said Set. “You never seen your own before?”

“I—I don’t do that,” said Yuugi hastily, recalling his grandfather’s bizarre, droning lecture on how this particular symptom of a common disease had developed into a cultural symbol of manhood. “Bleed like that, I mean.”

Not yet you don’t.

Set grunted. “So you are still a boy then. No matter, give it time.”

“Yeah,” said Yuugi, numbly, unable to correct him, unable to explain, trying not to think too deeply of the dizzying concept of mortality. That, whether or not they were consumed by a demon, Set would die, Siamun would die, Isis would die, all dust long before Yuugi entered the world. And that if he didn’t find a way home, Yuugi would die, pissing or coughing blood, in the unforgiving sands of a foreign land.

Roused by the dark turn of his thoughts, the shadow-man squirmed in the depths of his consciousness.

Set shook himself and lowered his shendyt, his expression unconcerned.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s work to be done.”

Yuugi nodded, wrung out his rag, and rose to follow him.

Walking the streets of the town at the heels of the three of them was somehow more nerve wracking than it had been to wander the market alone. They drew attention for one, subtle but frequent glances that made Yuugi wonder just how well concealed their history as the pharaoh’s retainers was. It certainly didn’t help that Set walked like he was the most important person in existence, whether or not he was wearing a shabby cotton shendyt and a shaved head.

Set and Isis moved ahead, heads close as they murmured inaudibly to each other. Siamun was one stall down, scanning a potter’s wares.

“Want your fortune read, mister?” said a small voice from somewhere near his hip.

Yuugi started, looking down and half spinning in place. The child hopped backwards, his little coat flaring out around him, and reached up to tug anxiously at the hood that draped over his head.

Yuugi blinked stupidly at the kid. He was maybe half as tall as Yuugi, couldn’t be more than seven or so, his skeletal legs caked with desert dust and his face thrown in shadow by the beating sun above them. The child’s hands, grubby from dirt, twisted the hem of his coat.

“Mister?” There was an edge to the word, as though the child was gearing up to flee. Something painful twisted in Yuugi’s gut and he kicked himself.

Squatting down, he fished out the coin he’d kept from the debacle with the dice game and offered it to the child.

“No need,” he said gently. “You look hungry. Take it if you need to.”

The child snatched the coin from him and backed up a step, the currency vanishing somewhere into the folds of his clothing. But then he hesitated, bare toes wiggling in the dirt, as though thinking to himself.

“You sure you don’t want your fortune read, mister?” The child seemed almost embarrassed. “I’m pretty good at it. Not all official with the birds and blood way they do it in the temples, but I can read castings, stones and dice and the like.”

Yuugi paused. “Sure, okay. Let’s step over here.”

They slipped between a pair of stalls, back into the mouth of an alley, and crouched together in the dust. The child produced a handful of what looked like garbage, two little wooden sticks painted in various colors, a couple of tiny shells from some kind of sea snail Yuugi didn’t recognize, a shark tooth, and five carved bone dice, similar to the ones tucked in Yuugi’s sleeve.

Holding one of the sticks like a calligraphy brush, the child drew a lopsided circle in the dust, dividing it into five quintiles with short, sharp swipes. He tucked away the sticks and shells and displayed the dice in his palm. These too were sketched with designs, and Yuugi glimpsed a leg, the familiar outlines of the vulture and quail chick and eye, a stork, and the rippling, waterlike coils of a snake.

“One quintile is for the self,” the child said, the words sounding well-practiced. “One for friends. One for enemies. One for the past, one for the future.”

He tossed the dice and caught them, before scattering them across the circle. They rolled and bounced, skidding to a halt in the dust. Yuugi leaned forward, curious.

“Two, the vulture represents scavengers in the house of friends,” intoned the boy. “Three, the stork in the house of the future, you will need three times the wisdom of one to survive what the future will bring.”

Yuugi’s stomach twisted with nerves, but he kept silent out of politeness.

“Four, the chick represents weakness in the house of the past,” said the child. He glanced up at Yuugi from beneath the fringe of his hood and Yuugi thought he caught a glimpse of a lock of pale hair striving to escape.

Pale? That’s weird, everyone I’ve encountered here has dark hair.

“And one,” said the boy. “The serpent in the house of enemies, rising up from below, unseen by the eye, to strike the unwary foot.” He indicated the last two dice, clustered closely together.

The hair on the back of Yuugi’s neck rose. He opened his mouth, and pain exploded against the back of his head.

He reeled, nearly faceplanting into the circle, stars snapping in his vision. Rough hands grabbed him and he flailed, squirming and twisting as they tore at his coat. Someone grabbed the leather thong around his neck and heaved.

And suddenly Yuugi was dying, choking and screaming noiselessly as he gasped in vain for air. His vision blackened, a nebula of lights and shadows as he fought and fought and no no no .

Then someone was tearing the Puzzle from his throat and Yuugi couldn’t even process why this was bad bad bad very bad because there was air, God blessed air and he sucked at it like a man dying of thirst would water. He was dumped in the dirt and he heard the thudding of fleeing feet, his oxygen-starved brain unable to focus, his vision blurred.

Somehow he ended up on his feet, staggering towards the mouth of the alley.

“Set!” he cried, crazily, a despairing, unthinking call. “Set!”

Hands on him again, not gentle but not rough and he wept, eyes blurred with involuntary, agonizing tears. Set steadied him, Isis and Siamun crowding around, shielding them from the street.

“What happened?” Set demanded in a harsh whisper.

“A child,” Yuugi gasped. “A little boy. He had a—” He moaned and narrowly kept himself from vomiting. “He took the—”

To his shock, it was Isis who swore, vicious and filthy and utterly unladylike. “Which way?” she said.

Yuugi pointed, shaking and found himself swept off his feet as Set and Isis yanked him along down the alley, Siamun hurrying after them.

Chapter Text

The streets of the town were a maze, and while Set and Isis were like bloodhounds in their persistence, soon everyone had to admit that the boy and his helper, or helpers, had vanished. Yuugi leaned on Siamun, horrified and heartsick, while Set and Isis argued in low tones.

“Enough,” said Siamun at last, bringing their collective attention back to him. “We won’t find him if he doesn’t want to be found. I say we go back and perform a proper scrying, narrow down his position.”

Set’s mouth went tight, but he looked over each of them in turn, gaze lingering on Yuugi, who tried, desperate, to straighten himself and appear if he didn’t feel like puking.

Concussion, fantastic, I wonder what they did for cranial damage before they even knew what the brain was for?

The echoing silence in his mind at this droll observation nearly made him sick again.

“Fine,” said Set, curtly. “We go back and search.”

An involuntary noise of protest escaped Yuugi’s throat. Set didn’t react, instead spinning on his heel and stalking off in the direction of the river.

The hut felt claustrophobic and Yuugi sat, numb and shaking at the table as Siamun stirred the coals of the fire and Set stomped out the door, muttering about having something to which to attend. But it was Isis who seated herself across from him, sharp eyes meeting his own. She’d tugged the edge of her wrap down and the golden eye necklace at her throat gleamed in the slanted sunlight through the door.

“You said it was a little boy?” she said.

Yuugi flushed, shamed and miserable. “Yes, but there was someone else and they—”

“You misunderstand,” she said, gentle. “I was not casting doubt on your ability to defend yourself. I’ve encountered him as well. A small boy, skinny and wearing a hooded coat, yes?”

Yuugi nodded.

Isis let out a slow breath. “As I feared.” To his surprise, she smiled kindly at him. “While this is bad news, it could perhaps be worse news. I’m familiar with the shadow he casts, if you will, and I think I can track him.” She regarded Yuugi. “Though he may attempt to conceal himself. You said you have a connection with him, with the man in the Pendant?”

“Had,” said Yuugi miserably. “It’s gone silent.”

“Entirely so?”

Yuugi opened his mouth, then paused and reached out, in the way to which he’d become accustomed. At first there was nothing, but then he stretched and stretched, imagined reaching out further and further—

There!

His eyes flew open; he hadn’t even realized he’d shut them. “He’s there! I don’t know where and I can’t hear anything specific but he’s alive!” He flushed again. “I mean, not alive but…”

Isis nodded. “Good.” She reached out and clasped his hands, rough palms and fingers enfolding his own. “I want you to reach out for that connection.”

Yuugi obeyed, eyes sliding shut again. It was straining to the point of distraction, but he gradually became aware of a tingling, tickling sensation along his nerves. It felt like thread sliding across his fingers and the faint scent of lotus blossoms and he started.

“Be calm,” she murmured.

It was her , he realized with a surge of shock. Not invading his mind but sliding along the surface of it, gently plucking strands that reached out into infinity.

One of the strands jangled, like a chorus of small bells and Yuugi flinched as his head rang with the impact. Isis made a quiet, frustrated noise and the pressure in his head increased.

“Hold tight,” she said, and pain clamped around his temples like a vise. He gritted his teeth until he was sure his jaw would crack, eyes watering.

Isis swore again, low and barely audible under her breath, and her hands dropped from his. The pressure in his head instantly eased, and he found that he could breathe again.

“It’s too tangled,” she said. “I thought I could find the Pendant but he’s doing something, clouding the path.” She rubbed at her own temples, eyes briefly closing, exposing her ears as she pushed her hair back. “Maybe if he had something of yours, I could follow it. Let me eat and I will try again.”

Her second attempt proved no more fruitful, and when darkness swallowed the little building, Siamun finally put a stop to their efforts.

“Sleep,” he said. “You’ll do no good exhausting yourselves and it’s a day’s travel to the nearest town. It’s doubtful they’ll leave in the middle of the night. We’ll split up and comb the town in the morning.”

Isis frowned at him, but subsided. She peered at Yuugi, her eyes glittering in the light of the lamps. “On a less mystical note, did he say anything to you? How did you encounter him in the first place?”

Yuugi ducked his head in shame. “I…”

“Anything at all,” she said gently. “He may have let slip a clue to his whereabouts.”

“I thought he was a beggar,” said Yuugi. “He offered to read my fortune. I gave him the money, told him he didn’t have to, but he insisted.” He shrugged helplessly. “He drew some symbols in the dirt and threw some dice.”

“What sort of symbols?”

Yuugi rubbed his face. “A circle, divided into five parts. He said parts of it represented the past, the future, stuff like that.”

“A circle in five parts?” she said. “That’s not the symbol used for casting the dice. It would have been four.”

“Four, five?” said Yuugi, shrugging again. His head was still pounding. “What does it matter?”

“It matters,” said Isis. “Because a circle divided into five parts is the symbol for the afterworld.” She laughed harshly. “Of course he would have learned that.”

Yuugi frowned. “So what, you’re saying he was reading my fortune wrong?”

Isis regarded him. “Yuugi, I was trained in the Unapproachable temple when I was only a child. I have no name but that of the holy sorceress. I was casting stones before I could walk.”

Holy shit, she’s talking about Philae. That place isn’t even above water anymore.

Isis’s eyes narrowed and the hair on the back of Yuugi’s neck rose. “So, when I tell you that he performed a reading wrong, he performed a reading wrong . Now tell me precisely what he did, and don’t leave anything out.”

Yuugi did so, relaying numbers and symbols and positions as Isis listened, hands folded before her.

“Amazing,” said Isis. “Every word of that was wrong.”

Yuugi squinted at her. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“Well he didn’t curse you,” she said. “Which is what I would have expected. But all his interpretations of the dice were incorrect.” She frowned. “Strangely.”

“How were they incorrect?”

“First,” she held up a single finger. “The vulture is a symbol of the pharaoh, not a scavenger. Two associated with the vulture indicates the unity of something divided.” Her expression turned thoughtful a moment, and then she shook herself and held up a second finger. “Three of the stork turns the glyph into the symbol for ‘power’. It indicates an impending upsurge, good or evil it’s impossible to say.”

“Possibly both,” said Siamun from the floor, where he’d been rolling out bedding in pointed ignorance of their continued conversation.

“Four quail chicks fills a nest,” said Isis. “It can also suggest a coming together to overcome a challenge.” She gestured around the hut. “It may represent the four of us for example.”

“One can only hope,” said Set, shutting the door behind him. “There, if any of his cronies get any bright ideas, they’ll find a few nasty surprises in the bushes.”

Siamun groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t summon a horde of scorpions again.”

“Fine,” said Set dryly. “I won’t tell you.”

Isis sighed. “The snake is a symbol of Apep, enemy and devourer of Ra, he always did like that one. And the leg likely indicates a location of an impending battle, possibly in the East, although it would depend on which Eye was on the last die.” She snorted. “But of course, all of this assumes that he’s anything but incredibly self absorbed. It’s probably much simpler than that.”

“How so?” said Yuugi.

Isis smirked, a sardonic edge to her smile. “Read the phonograms. It’s his name. Bakura .”

Yuugi frowned. He shook his head, wondering if he’d misheard, and immediately regretted it as pain bounced between his ears like a struck gong. “What did you say?”

“Bakura,” said Set from where he’d seated himself on the floor, his lip curling. “Brat of Kul Elna. Who thought nothing of selling himself to a demon to wreak vengeance on us all.”

“And what would you have done?” snapped Siamun. The older man had bedded down, facing the wall, his back a stiff line. “For the sake of all the gods, it’s late and I’ve been more than tolerant. We’ll discuss this further in the morning .”

Isis nodded. “Of course.” She nodded to Yuugi. “Thank you, you have given me much to think on. Rest well.”

Yuugi sincerely doubted that he’d be able to rest a single minute, but he retreated obediently to the shed. He didn’t bother undressing, but he did tuck the dagger Set had given him into his belt—too little too late—before lying on his back in the darkness and straining for the slippery thread that slid, eel-like, out of his reach wherever he tried to touch it. At last he had to give up due to his splitting headache and curled up, counting his heartbeats.

‘If he had something of yours’ , Isis had said. What had she meant?

And that name. Bakura was what he’d heard, the syllables truncated, tinged with an accent that seemed familiar in a way that the names of none of the other were. Was it only his mind making the correction? He knew a Bakura, a transfer student with pale hair who’d arrived at the beginning of senior year. He’d actually caught the young man in the library alone during lunch, bent over a Dungeons & Dragons manual, and spent an enjoyable half hour discussing the game with him. They were supposed to play soon…

Yuugi shook his head and sighed. He wished, in a small and selfish way, that his grandfather was there to tell him a story to help him fall asleep. Or even Siamun. He’d take the drunken exploits of Sekhmet or the journeys of the sun, or the contendings of Horus and Set—

Yuugi sat bolt upright, head and heart pounding so loud he was sure he was going to deafen himself.

Horus and Set. Oh my god. I didn’t even think of that.

The version Siamun had relayed had been vastly different than the one Yuugi had heard from his grandfather. Different in ways that had made Yuugi squirm and turn red to the tips of his ears, but a single detail stuck out in his exhausted brain like a beacon.

Both Horus and Set had retained a magical connection to the other, and could track each other through it.

Through their...semen.

You’re insane. You’ve lost your mind. You think because you and he...you don’t even know what really happened. It might have been a dream. You think he’s still carrying around some of your...oh my god I can’t even believe you’re thinking about this.   

But was it any more insane than anything else that had happened since he’d come here? So tired that he could barely see straight, Yuugi let his head sag, hands coming up to cradle where the Puzzle would hang if he had it on him. Let himself remember hot breath on his neck and warm and overflowing adoration, weight on his hips and desperate noises in his ears. Focusing on the memory, he reached once more for the thread in his mind.

He didn’t remember getting up, didn’t remember stumbling through the darkness across the canals. He only remembered standing before the stable on the outskirts of the town, moonlight on dark sand, and the hooded child standing before him, ringed by hard-looking men in rags, carrying torches, the Puzzle dangling from one tiny fist.

“Bakura,” he said.

Chapter Text

“Well,” said the little boy. “Isn’t this a surprise?”

Yuugi swallowed hard, glancing at the group of silent men. “I...I understand that you’ve—you’ve got every reason to be angry. But please, I’m begging you, please give it back.”

“Do you now?” said Bakura. He pushed his hood back with a free hand, exposing a messy mop of long hair that looked silver-white in the odd mix of moon and torchlight. “Do you understand , Yuugi, child of the future?”

How did he—?

Yuugi’s hands were twisting at the hem of his coat, a compulsive, anxious movement. Bakura’s face looked nothing like he’d expected, fine-boned features and sallow, milky skin and familiar, weirdly familiar, like he’d seen it before? Someone he knew? His size also tugged at something in the back of Yuugi’s mind.

None of them had indicated the age of the child of Kul Elna, but considering that Set and Isis looked to be in their twenties and this boy looked at most ten, something wasn’t adding up. Surely he hadn’t been a five-year-old child at the time?

Yuugi frowned, curiosity wavering against fear. “Who are you?” he said. “You’re too young to be the boy from the village.”

A hideous smile spread across Bakura’s face, stretching the angles and edges of him until it seemed he might crack. “You mean this body is too young to be the boy from the village.”

And all at once Yuugi realized he was looking at himself. A body and face distorted by a being of shadow, crawling up from within. What had the man said, wearing him like a cloak of flesh? Sickness bloomed in his chest.

“Let him go,” he blurted out, a visceral, involuntary protest. “Please, not a child.”

Bakura threw his head back, white hair tumbling loose, and howled with laughter.

“Not a child!” he crowed. “Oh that’s rich, coming from a guest of the Pharaoh’s kin. Not a child, you say?” He thrust one skinny arm upward, the Puzzle swinging. “As if there were no children melted and poured into the forge that birthed your magic!”

“Please,” said Yuugi. “You can...take me instead. I can carry you, like I carried him.” On impulse, he reached out, palms upward in placating offering. “We can talk, negotiate, whatever you want.”

Bakura lowered the Puzzle, shaking his head in wry amusement. “You truly would, wouldn’t you? An amusing offer, but I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way.” His grin stretched in unnatural fashion. “I hold all the cards, if you will.” His eyes narrowed. “Or perhaps, not yet all of them.”

Yuugi’s hand flew to his sleeve, the lump of his deck concealed within and Bakura’s eyes glittered. “Yes I know what you carry, child. The white dragon, harbinger of war, herald of the king.”

Yuugi started.

Grandpa’s Blue Eyes? How would he even know I have it?

“Yes, that will do, I think,” said Bakura, tappping his chin with one finger. “The white dragon, and in return, my men do not tear you limb from limb.”

Yuugi trembled, but balled his fists. “That doesn’t seem like much of an exchange.”

“No?” said Bakura. “Then by all means, offer a proposal.”

Yuugi’s heart was pounding so hard he could swear he could hear it. He unclenched one fist and reached to finger the lumps of the dice through his sleeve. “A game. If you win, I give you the dragon. If I win, you give me back the Puzzle and allow me to leave unharmed.”

Bakura cocked his head at him, one thin eyebrow creeping skywards. “Interesting. Perhaps I’ve overestimated your cowardice. Or underestimated your foolishness. Do you know what it means, to challenge me?”

Yuugi didn’t have the faintest idea what sorts of rip currents he was courting, but he nodded sharply.

Bakura worked his jaw, thinking. “As the challenged, I pick the game. Dice is traditional of course, but…” His gaze focused on Yuugi, sharpening. “I have something a bit more interesting in mind.” He grinned. “We’ll have to take a little trip, however.”

He gestured at the men behind him. “Take him.”

Yuugi tensed as the men ringed him, two grabbing him roughly and dragging him in the direction of the stables. He felt his wrists wrench and bruise as he was bundled onto the back of a horse, draped across the creature’s withers like a slain animal. He caught a glimpse of the shadow of a corpse, slumped against a wall of the stable and felt his guts twist.

They thundered out into the desert, heading north, making for the dark cliffs. Yuugi focused his attention on the heaving sides of the horse as the animal pitched and bounced beneath him and prayed he wouldn’t be sick.

“Boss,” he thought he heard one of the thugs say. “What was all that gibberish you two were spouting? He some kind of magician too? Should I have the boys gag him?”

“Shut up, you idiot,” snapped Bakura. “It’s none of your concern.”

But Yuugi’s fingers clenched, his eyes staring blindly, the words echoing over and over in his head.

‘I can understand you now, not before with all that gibberish you were spouting.’

Gibberish. Bakura hadn’t been speaking Coptic or Demotic or Old Egyptian or whatever dialect these people spoke. He’d been speaking…

Bakura , Isis has said, the pronunciation alien in her mouth, but not alien to him , not alien to Yuugi.

A face swam into view before him, expression calm and amiable and older. His mind filled in the gaps, rounding out the cheeks, smoothing the lines of rage and hatred. It couldn’t be, it was impossible, it was insane . He struggled to lift his aching head, caught a glimpse of a skinny, pale leg, a bare foot against the horse’s dark coat.

“Bakura, ” the word bubbled out of him, the cadence of his mother tongue. “ Ryou Bakura.”

The boy went rigid and his mount whinnied shrilly, breaking formation and dancing sideways as a small heel dug sharply into its ribs. Pain exploded against the side of Yuugi’s skull as the man gripping him cuffed him sharply. Somewhere in the background, a high, child’s scream and that alien, distorted voice shouting something about defiance and punishment.

Nausea and confusion and then he was being dumped in the cooling sand, scraping his hand and sending his limbs flailing every which way. Small hands wrenched him from the ground by the hem of his coat and suddenly there was a knife at his jaw, the edge of the blade digging into him.

“If you repeat that name,” Bakura ground out, and Yuugi somehow knew that he wasn’t speaking any tongue that the men around him would understand. The Ring and the Puzzle hung side by side against his narrow chest, huge and absurd, and to Yuugi’s dawning horror he could see the dangling points of the Ring digging into fish-pale flesh, barely visible dark tracks of iron-scented blood snaking down the skin. “I will cut out your tongue and leave you to bleed out alone in the desert. Do you wish that, Yuugi? Do you wish to die miles and millennia from your home? Do you?”

Yuugi’s own panicked breaths were a maelstrom in his ears, but he swallowed hard, set his jaw. “It is you, isn’t it?” He slid his hand behind him in the cool sand, under the hem of his coat. “You but not-you. How did you get here?”

Bakura snorted. “The one wrenched through time and space asks me how I got here? I walk in darkness, boy, I have always been here, and there, and now, and then.” He thumped the tiny fist clasping the knife against Ryou’s chest. “The boy is here because he already was, and will be.” His eyes glinted and as he leaned in close Yuugi thought he saw the pale face flicker, turning shadow-black, shining gold eyes burning out of the featureless wraith like embers. He seemed to be getting into his stride. “Time, little Yuugi, is a vast, shifting desert, not a spinning thread. Those of who can read its infinite pathways have only to—”

Yuugi swung the dagger.

He couldn’t wield it that deftly yet and he narrowly escaped getting the blade caught in the folds of his coat, but swing it he did. Bakura jerked away, ducking the incoming weapon, only to realize too late that Yuugi hadn’t been aiming at him.

The knife sliced through the leather thong holding the Puzzle, sending the object tumbling into Yuugi’s free hand and smearing sticky blood across his knuckles. He caught warm metal, felt the shadow surge into him, vast and urgent and angry.

It wasn’t like the dice game, it was like sparring with Set. They lashed out as one, knee striking Bakura in the chest and sending him tumbling back. They were on their feet, ducking under a blow from one of the men and striking out low with the dagger at another, a glancing strike that drew a bloody line across the man’s shin. The man yelped, recoiled and they dove into the gap.

Yuugi’s brain was still reeling from the fear, the overwhelming information, but their combined consciousness didn’t hesitate. They dodged around another man, and grabbed for the trailing reins of one of the horses with the hand that held the knife.

Yuugi had never ridden, had never even seen a live horse before their time in the stable, but they vaulted onto the dancing creature’s back like their legs were springloaded, grasping at rough strands of mane and leather, clasping the barrelled body between their legs. The horse trumpeted in alarm and bolted, leaving them clinging to its back as men shouted around them. The animal’s mane whipped their face, blinding them as they bent low over its back. Yuugi’s head covering tore free, flying off into the night, lost in the desert in an instant. Behind them, they could hear the thunder of hooves.

Their mount, knowing only that it had been ousted from its stable and dragged into the desert to be surrounded by shouting men and all manner of alarming things, made for the distant lights of the town with the kind of spirit usually reserved for fleeing for its life. Yuugi, personally, was perfectly willing to let it, but then something huge exploded in the sand to the left of them, raising a pothole the size of a pond and sending showers of grit pelting Yuugi’s face. The horse shrieked in alarm and veered, but didn’t stray from its ultimate course. Alarmed, they twisted, looked.

A dark, skeletal shape writhed through the air above them, propelled by huge wings, its serpentine body lashing wildly. A monster, like the fiend that Set had summoned, and Yuugi’s fevered, addled brain gave it the name of Zoma, holy shit Grandpa had that one in his shop . The creature screamed, a sound like an enraged raptor, and dived. They kicked the horse sharply, sending it zigzagging across the dunes. They felt the breeze of the monster’s passage.

Yuugi’s heart felt like it was about to pound out of his chest. He was sick with adrenaline and dizzy with fear. But they had to do something. His brain told him it was impossible, it couldn’t work.

They stuffed the knife between their teeth and Yuugi felt it cut the corners of his mouth. But their hand was free, diving into the pocket of his coat. There wasn’t time to look at what they’d drawn, only—

A blaze of light erupted and Yuugi heard the deafening scream of a creature not of this world. A brilliant yellow dragon exploded into existence, the downdraft of its spiked wings nearly blowing them from the horse’s back as it spiraled up into the sky. Yuugi had no time to think, to register that Curse of Dragon was far larger in person than it had looked coiled into a tiny square of cardstock, because the world was in flames.

The dragon strafed the desert, fire pouring forth from its jaws, sending the temperature soaring and lighting up the mountains to the north and the silhouette of the town ahead. Screams broke the night, the sound of men and horses burned alive, and Yuugi cried out in sympathetic horror. Above them, fiend and dragon were locked in aerial combat, clawing and tearing and Yuugi felt the dragon’s victory, vicious glee and fury as fangs broke tough hide and ripped .

His eyes streaming from smoke and heat, Yuugi dug his heels into the horse, which needed no encouragement. Its hooves pounded sand in teeth-rattling rhythm as it thundered into the outskirts of the town.

The streets, to Yuugi’s terror, were filled with people, drawn from their houses by the sound and flames. They blew past them in a blur, a cacophony of confused, unintelligible shouts, and then they were plunging back into darkness, clearing the far side of the town, some latent instinct from Yuugi, or perhaps the shadow, pointing them unerringly towards the river.

Set met them on the banks at a dead run, clad only in his shendyt and sandals, his mostly bald head gleaming in the moonlight, the wicked curve of a khopesh in his hand. Yuugi wasn’t sure if it was himself or the shadow that managed to pull their mount up short, the frothing and foaming horse staggering to a halt with a sideways lurch that sent them sliding half off its back. Set was beside them in an instant, wrapping a hand in the horse’s bridle, bracing them with his body to keep them from landing in the dirt.

“What were you thinking?” Set shouted at him, eyes wide and alarmed, but his grip gentle, supportive as he allowed Yuugi to slide to the ground, holding him upright as he had in the town. “What did you—”

But Yuugi was weeping with relief, knife and Puzzle clutched close to his chest, huge, body-shaking sobs, hysterical, his mind echoing with the incandescent joy of the shadow rejoining it, the catharsis of the moment, the warmth and stability and solidity of another human.

Set stared at him in shock for several moments before his head jerked up, gaze scanning the darkness. “Were you followed?”

Yuugi choked out a laugh. “I don’t know,” he said, his eyes streaming, blinded. “I left an awfully fucking big beacon.”

Set regarded him, an unreadable look on his shadow-darkened face. “So you did. That was quite impressive. The boy?”

Yuugi shook his head. “I don’t know. His men, they—” he swallowed hard, ears ringing with the echo of the way they’d screamed . “I think it—I killed them.”

A quiet shout out of the night and a few moments later Isis and Siamun were hurrying towards them, the old man puffing and leaning on Isis.

“He’s unhurt,” said Set as they approached. “He managed to retrieve the Pendant.”

Isis breathed out a brief prayer. “Thank goodness for that.” She looked out into the dark, in the direction of the unique, writhing hubbub of a town woken by dragonfire. “Let us get out of the open. Quickly.”

“Agreed,” said Set, and before Yuugi could open his mouth, Set scooped him up off the ground, bundling him up in his coat, miraculously not lost in his adventure in the desert. “Bring the horse.”

“Yes, my pharaoh,” said Isis, in a tone that made it clear that the title was something that she used when she was annoyed with Set, but she hurried over to the heaving horse, which was nosing about in vain in the direction of the water. “Hush, little one, you’ll have a bit of a drink when we get back.” She patted the pale nose. “Only do keep quiet. Our wise king has forgotten he no longer has the option to pardon us all for horse theft.”

Despite the adrenaline coursing through his body, Yuugi found himself on the verge of passing out. Set moved with surprising speed for a man laden with his weight, his steps sending Yuugi jostling against his chest. The thong holding the Puzzle was still clutched in his hand; he seemed unable to relax his grip.

“Bakura,” he mumbled, his brain struggling through the soup of sympathetic hormones.

Set glanced down at him, but kept walking.

“He said...he knew I had the...the tablets,” said Yuugi, with great effort. “But he knew I had one, a special one. I was only carrying it because Grandpa—well, but he knew it was there. And he wanted it. Called it the herald of the king or something.”

Set’s pace hitched, but he didn’t stop. “I don’t recall any of the monsters being called so,” he said, quietly. “There were the Gods, monsters upon which only the pharaoh could call, but nothing which might be called a herald.”

“Maybe,” said Yuugi, bleary. “But he—god I know what I saw. He called a monster. Just like you did. Just like I did. He’s just a kid, but he almost killed me. And you can’t fight what he called with a khopesh.” His stomach turned at the thought of Set, or Siamun, or Isis, facing down that madly grinning child and the monsters that seemed to be at his fingertips.

Set was splashing slowly across one of the canals near the house, stepping up onto the bank as behind them, Yuugi heard Isis and Siamun murmuring, and a faint whinny from the horse.

Yuugi eased his grip on the knife, resting it carefully on his stomach, and pawed slightly at the sleeve of his coat. It was so dark he could barely see, certainly not well enough to tell what he was drawing, but somehow he knew what was in his hand. Maybe it was the shadow, a brief touch of magic bringing the necessary item to his fingertips.

He flipped his hand palm up, displaying the Blue-Eyes White Dragon between two fingers.

Set dropped him.

Yuugi narrowly avoided dropping the card, sprawling hard on his tailbone as Set cursed and tried to catch him. They ended up on the ground, Set kneeling, Yuugi on his ass, but he kept his hand up, out, offering.

Set stared at him, at the card in his hand, utterly frozen. He reached out, fingers inches away, hesitating. “Where did you get that?” he said, voice quiet and utterly serious.

“It was my grandfather’s,” said Yuugi. “A friend gave it to him, after he saved his life. Can you use it?”

“Use it?” a laugh tore itself from Set’s throat, sounding painful. “She serves whom she choses. And I never understood why I—”

“She?” whispered Yuugi, and Set flinched. His hand curled and he wrenched his gaze away.

The shadow lurked behind Yuugi’s eyes, buzzed under his skin. “She meant it, didn’t she? Isis. When she called you pharaoh.”

Set’s eyes were wide and pained, an expression on his face that Yuugi had seen only once before, on Kaiba of all people, when he’d been tossed in a heap, broken and beaten, outside of Pegasus’s house, his brother and business stripped from him. He’d stared at Yuugi, his face a mask, eyes bright and intense, and Yuugi had known in a heartbeat that here was a man who’d had everything taken from him, had hope so thoroughly stripped from his soul that all that was left were the brittle bones.

“I,” said Set. He searched their face, eyes lingering on Yuugi’s features. “He left it to me. The kingdom. The responsibility. And I failed.”

They reached out, a mingled impulse, card still tucked between their fingers, pressing their hand against Set’s chest. But it was Yuugi who said. “Failure is a part of life, as is defeat. It doesn’t mean you can’t be victorious again.”

Set’s hand closed around theirs, slipping the card from their fingers, eyes dropping to peer at the barely visible ink, expression etched with longing and a sadness that neither Yuugi nor the shadow could interpret. But as Set’s grip closed around the card, they felt a deep sense of rightness, like a piece of the Puzzle spotted into place.

They withdrew their hand and searched in the darkness for the knife they’d dropped in the tumble. Yuugi’s legs were shaking uncontrollably, but he gathered them under himself and attempted to stand.

Set caught him as he struggled upright and he had the strange, faint impression of the shadow’s arm looping around his shoulders, steadying him. As one, man and boy and ghost, they limped into the house, shutting out the terror and vast, unfathomable uncertainty of the night, at least for a little while.

Chapter Text

Morning found Yuugi sitting at the table, being fussed over by Isis and Siamun, who was splitting his attention between them and a young man who’d showed up at dawn with a cut on his leg. His presence at least, Yuugi concluded, was a probable good sign that no one had made the connection between them and the holocaust of the night before, as he doubted anyone would be going anywhere near them otherwise.

The young man, whose name Yuugi had missed, was of the cheerful, chatty sort, and sat drumming his fingers against the table to some unheard rhythm as Siamun dressed and bandaged his leg.

“Quite a night, eh?” he said. “I don’t know about you all, but I didn’t sleep a wink with all that noise and excitement!”

Siamun grunted in an uninterested manner and neither Yuugi or Isis made a sound. Yuugi studied the table, idly pretending to sort bunches of dried herbs, while Isis puttered about in the kitchen space.

The man didn’t appear to notice their disinterest. “But did you hear the most exciting bit? Everyone saw the monsters, but rumor has it there was a ghost about in the village!”

Siamun stopped bandaging and blinked up at the man. “A what?”

The young man straightened himself, eyes shining. “He galloped through town at full speed atop a white horse. Granted it was dark, but the elders in the town say they saw him, torn clothing and hair wild. They’re saying it was the ghost of the nameless pharaoh!”

Yuugi froze, hunched slightly over the table, heart pounding. His hand twitched to the edge of his head covering, a new one, that Isis had insisted on replacing last night despite the darkness and late hour. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Isis go still.

Siamun snorted, tightening the bandage. “That’s—”

“They are right,” said Isis, in an airy tone, just loud enough to cut him off.

“Huh?” said the young man.

“What?” Siamun spluttered.

Isis turned, her head bowing, hair slipping, half-shielding her face. “An omen of the past,” she intoned, in a way that Yuugi had never heard her do, a ringing, bell-like tone that sent the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. “The rage of the pharaoh, at the deposition of the rightful ruler. He cannot rest, and so the monsters waken at his anger!”

Her hands flew to her face and she let out a sound of distress, her eyes rolling. “I see it now! The rage of the gods, monsters pouring forth from the earth to right this terrible wrong!” She wavered and tottered over a few steps, collapsing at the table. She covered her face and moaned, low and undulating. “Fear the wrath of the nameless pharaoh, Muwatalli of the uplands! Fear it!”

Yuugi reached out towards her in alarm. Both Siamun and the man stared at them, wide-eyed.

“Uh,” the young man said. His face had gone rather ashen. “Perhaps I should go.”

“Yes,” said Siamun, quickly. “My, uh, daughter is not well.”

The man hastily paid them and fled the house. Once his scurrying footsteps could no longer be heard, Siamun rounded on Isis. “What is wrong with you?” he spat.

To Yuugi’s shock, Isis lifted her head. She looked perfectly calm and composed, her expression even. “Nothing,” she said. “But that man is a caravan traveler. He had a clay bead with a symbol from one of the northbound routes around his neck. In a week, news of the monsters and rumors of the sighting of the pharaoh’s ghost will be all the way to the White Fortress, maybe sooner.”

Siamun let out a noise of frustration. “They’ll know where we are!”

“And?” Isis’s voice was hard. “There will be those among Muwatalli’s troops who remember the sieges, remember seeing their fellows being torn to pieces and burned alive. Let them, and let them and the faithless nomarchs quake in their sandals, and remember that the gods do not take kindly to usurpers.”

Siamun’s gaze flicked briefly in Yuugi’s direction. “And if they come, then what?”

Isis’s eyes followed and Yuugi felt a surge of something sick in his gut as their eyes locked. “Then we burn them,” she said softly, stare never leaving his. “We burn them all.”

Siamun stood suddenly. For a moment he seemed to swell, as though angry words were struggling to burst from him. But then he turned, abrupt, and stalked out of the house.

Isis sighed and Yuugi hunched in unease. He kept hearing the screams of men and horses echoing in his head.

“Is that really what Set would do with the cards?” he said quietly, before he could help himself. “Use them to wage a war?”

Isis was silent for a long time. “Before he took Aneb-Hetch,” she said at last, instead of answering. “The five nomarchs who swore their allegiance to Muwatalli arranged an assassination attempt. We’d thought they might use poison or something; none of us had considered that they might mingle contaminated textiles into incoming shipments. Smallpox. By the time we grasped the situation, half the palace was dying. The streets of the city were lined with the dead. Muwatalli’s troops were afraid to come near, of course; they were no more immune than we. So they surrounded the city, bound blankets soaked with oil to the backs of their horses, lit them, and drove them towards us.”

Yuugi’s breath hitched.

“Four nights,” said Isis, unreactive. “Four nights the city burned, the air rang with the sound of screams, perfumed with burning flesh, the walls blackened with soot.” She turned tired, hard eyes on him. “The war was already waged, Yuugi from another world. It is merely time to strike back.”

He could think of nothing to say.

Isis rested her head on her folded arms, as though staving off a headache. “I am sorry,” she said at last. “That was wrong of me. You are a boy still, and not prepared for any of this, no matter who or what shelters in your soul, no matter how much you might look—” She broke off and pressed her face into her forearms. He heard the slight, broken hiccup of breath.

Yuugi bit his lip. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t horrified by what she’d said, but he found himself filled with a deep sadness, a sick and dawning realization that there was no good answer, no right solution to any of this. He remembered Bakura, laughing nigh-hysterically in the night and felt a hot surge behind his eyes, fear or sorrow or something so tangled he couldn’t begin to unwind it.

“Do I really look like him?” he said, when he couldn’t bear the silence any longer. The shadow had withdrawn, a barely felt hum in the back of his mind, restless attention turned somewhere inwards.

Bright eyes raised to meet his own and she looked at him across the brown, bare expanse of her arm. “Only some,” she admitted at last. “Out of the corner of the eye or in shadows, moments of distortion.”

“I wish I could see him,” he said, half to himself. “He wears my face but it’s only a reflection. I don’t think he likes it, but I mean, who would? No name, no face, no self.”

“They are sheut , only shadow,” said Isis listlessly. “Bakura retained his name but that is what the demon does. Tears men from their bodies and leaves nothing but darkness behind.”

Yuugi shivered.

“But,” she said, slowly, with the air of someone forming a thread of thought of disparate fibers. “That is not to say that nothing remains of his face.”

Yuugi blinked. “What?”

Isis regarded him shrewdly. “Would you like to see it?”

Yuugi’s eyes went wide. “Like in a carving, a drawing?”

“In a memory,” said Isis. She reached out, making as though to rest the tip of a finger on his forehead. “May I?”

Yuugi squirmed with unease but nodded. He expected the brushing sensation of before, but instead his eyes dropped closed independent of his will and a picture, an image constructed of thought and memory, fully formed and alien, popped into his mind. A young man, his age, bright, unusual eyes and hair, yes very like his own, warm brown skin, clad in gold and linen and Tyrian purple like a woven river of blood. He was laughing, not loudly, but a soft chuckle, face writ with mirth and gentle joy. The bottom dropped out of Yuugi’s stomach. He looked so young, not more than Yuugi’s age, but already developing faint, careworn lines at the corners of his eyes and his mouth. A familiar stranger, staring back at him out of eternity.

Isis’s touch left him and the image faded.

“Oh,” said Yuugi, because the tangled knot of emotion in his chest would allow him to say nothing else.

Isis’s gaze searched his for a long moment, as if she might see the shadow-man hidden somewhere behind his eyes. Then she looked away, got up from the table, and went to pour them both a measure of beer. Yuugi nearly spoke again, but Set entered the room, looking tired and dusty but his face lined with steely resolve.

“They’re not in the town that I could gather,” he said, setting his khopesh down on the table with a clunk. “I can sense the shadow of him if I strain, but it’s faint.” He nodded in Isis’s direction. “My senses aren’t as sharp as yours, but I’m pretty sure that if they were about to come and burn the house down around all our ears, I’d pick up on it.”

“No doubt,” said Isis. “They probably went to ground somewhere.”

“The north,” said Yuugi suddenly. “They were taking me north of the city. He didn’t say where.”

“The tombs,” said Set, his voice heavy with weariness. “It figures.”

“Or the altars,” murmured Isis. “Perhaps the demon doesn’t deign to be called into being just anywhere.”

Set grunted in acknowledgment. “Where is Siamun?”

Isis sighed and pushed herself up from the table. “No doubt seething and gearing up to lecture me. I’ll go and find him.” She indicated the jar and bowls. “Eat.”

She swept out of the room in a flick of skirts, and Set seated himself. Suddenly self-conscious, Yuugi hopped up and picked up the jar to pour out the beer. Set eyed him. “Thank you,” he said.

Yuugi nodded and sat to finish his own bowl. His stomach was a mass of knots, but he forced the remainder down, aware in some dim way that he’d need the sustenance.

Set watched him over the rim of his bowl. “You know,” he said at last, when Yuugi set his down. “If Bakura has truly returned we cannot leave him. He is the key, or the door if you will. Zorc will not stop until all the world is burnt to ash, and as long as his vessel exists, so does the danger.”

“Zorc?” said Yuugi. “You mean the demon has a name?”

“All beings have names,” said Set. A faint sadness passed across his face. “In the proper way of things, that is. Even the entities that move in the shadow-mirror to our own world have them.”

“I see,” said Yuugi. His chest ached and he rubbed at it through his coat. “And so what? You want to kill Bakura?”

“You disapprove.”

Yuugi hung his head. “It’s not my place to approve or disapprove. This isn’t my world; I can’t judge what you’ve been pushed to to keep yourselves alive and protected.”

“What if I wanted your help?”

Yuugi flinched hard, his leg knocking against the table, right into one of his newly acquired bruises. He rubbed at his knee, sharp, agitated movements. “I…”

“I want to speak to him.”

Yuugi looked up, gorging rising in his throat. “Him?”

Set stared at him, eyes flinty, and did not answer.

Yuugi turned away. He didn’t know how to do what the man asked voluntarily, but with great reluctance, he “reached” out for the shadow, imagined beckoning.

Shock, disorientation, and then he was standing on the reed mats on the dirt floor, watching his own head lift, a fierce, alien expression on his features.

“You upset him,” the shadow-man growled, and Yuugi flushed, for all that Set couldn’t see it. “Explain yourself, magician.”

“The pharaoh never explains himself, kinsman ,” said Set. “You taught me that.”

The shadow-man scowled with Yuugi’s mouth. “What do you want?”

“The boy has given me an invaluable weapon,” said Set. “And for that I owe him a great debt. But we have been here before and the white dragon will not be sufficient to bring down the demon of shadow. Bakura will try to draw it from the prison it shares with you.” He set down his bowl. “The prison you created from its own talisman.”

The shadow-man stiffened. “And your suggestion is what? Re-break the Puzzle to prevent the demon’s escape?”

Yuugi jerked, an involuntary movement, a soft, inaudible cry escaping him. Neither of them acknowledged him.

“No,” said Set. “The prison was...shall we say, porous. That much was evident. The demon will manipulate time and space and the lives of men to free itself. I say we let it. And then we destroy it.” He smiled coldly. “Either we succeed, or we fail, and the world falls with us.”

The shadow-man’s expression was cold. “I care nothing for the world,” he said. “I do not know it. But the boy is precious. I will not place him at risk.”

Set’s eyes widened slightly and he reconsidered the shadow-man. Yuugi couldn't breathe. His heart, well, his heart was currently three feet across the room, but it felt like his heart was bursting in his chest.

“Whether you willingly place him at risk is of no consequence,” said Set at last. “Zorc will free itself, and he will be at risk. It only matters if you are willing to put yourself at risk to help him. Or are you only a back alley peddler of cheap magic, fending off common thieves?”

The shadow-man leapt to his feet and the insubstantial air around Yuugi fairly pulsed , ringing like a church bell struck by a giant fist. Yuugi doubled over, gasping, his ghostly head throbbing and for a moment saw the very disorienting vision of his own face, rippled and distorted, cut from shadow, golden eyes shining like beacons.

“I have walked the pathways cut by god and demon, pharaoh ,” he hissed with Yuugi’s voice. “I would cast lots with the guardians of the afterworld if they offered him harm.”

Set actually looked mildly impressed. “Nothing so dramatic.” His mouth twisted in a hard, humorless smirk. “But it does indeed involve the gods.”

“Explain.”

“It is the birthright of the pharaoh to call upon them,” said Set. “Three monsters, powerful enough to clash with the demon and not be utterly destroyed.”

“Then why don’t you call upon them?” said the shadow-man.

Set looked contemplative. “I have never tried,” he admitted at last. “The magic was sealed, the tablets long destroyed. But even if I were successful, the strain of maintaining such beasts is no small feat.”

The shadow-man crossed his arms and snorted. “So you admit weakness.”

Set’s eyes narrowed, hard. “You may not remember watching your fellows being ripped screaming from this world, drained of life and magic, kinsman , but I do.” He mastered himself and regarded Yuugi’s body steadily. “One pharaoh was not sufficient to wipe the stain of shadow from the world, but perhaps, with two, we may even the odds.”

The shadow-man hesitated. “What are you planning?”

“We leave at midnight,” said Set. “Head north, for the desert altars. He will be there, I am certain of it. The veil between our world and the shadows will be thinnest there. We bring the battle to him.”

“Fine,” the answer was crisp, and Yuugi nearly raised one ghostly hand to object before letting it fall. He thought of the heaviness of Isis’s grief and the simmering rage he’d felt when Bakura had grabbed him and was momentarily grateful that his astral consistency kept him from shedding anything so pedestrian as tears.

Set inclined his head. “I’ll inform the others. You should go and rest. We’ll no doubt need all our strength.”

The shadow-man grunted in acknowledgement, but instead of drawing Yuugi back into his body, he turned and stalked out of the house. Yuugi followed him, helpless, trying not to freak out as he passed right through one of the mud walls.

The sun was just starting to sink into the west, the sky turning orange and the shadows long. The shadow-man stopped to watch a moment, looking out into the desert, before entering the shed that had been their haven in a world that neither of them were a part of, whether they had ever been or anymore.

He turned to face Yuugi. Their eyes met.

“I…” said the man. A strange, helpless look crossed his face. “I feel I should apologize.”

Yuugi shook his head. “No apologies.” He snorted. “It’s not like you called me back across millenia to have me fight a monster war.”

The man’s expression closed, turned inwards. “No,” he said quietly. “But I…” His eyes were distant. He swallowed hard and looked up at Yuugi. “I think that I...something in me called to you.” He cupped the Puzzle in his palm. “When you touched the Puzzle, opened your heart to me, it was like…” His hand tightened around the object. “It’s selfish, but I don’t want you here. I want you far from harm, in that bright, warm, safe world I see sometimes in your mind. I don’t remember this conflict that they say I am a part of, that they say I should care about.. And if you are hurt or killed because of this, because of something that I—”

He broke off, because Yuugi had taken three steps forward, placed insubstantial hands on his cheeks, and pressed their foreheads together.

“None of that,” he said softly. “I won’t say I’m not afraid, but for what it’s worth, I’m glad to have met you. And no world is safe and bright and warm all the time.”

The man’s eyes closed in pain and he turned, mouth seeking the lump of metal in Yuugi’s knuckle, dropping a gentle kiss on his hand, like a courtier of another age.

“We learn to stand on our feet,” whispered Yuugi, something bright and warm and painful twisting in his chest. “And when we can’t stand, we lean on those we love, and who love us in return.”

Bright, startled eyes opened and Yuugi pressed them tight together, resisting the urge to meld back into one being.

The man’s eyes dropped. “You should not love a shadow,” he said, quiet and controlled but with a deep undercurrent of despair. “You deserve a lover of your time. A lover with face and form. A lover with a name.”

Yuugi battened down on the unbearably exciting upsurge of emotion that welled in him at the word lover lover my love I have a lover . “I would love you if you were nothing but shadow,” he said. “But you have both face and form of your own.” He slid his hands down the man’s arms to lace their fingers. He had no fleshed idea of what he was doing, but he squeezed tight, concentrated, and kissed him.

The man’s eyes fell shut, but Yuugi’s were open, and so he saw it.

A rippling wave of golden light, like the glow of the shadow’s fingers when he’d made the Blue Eyes whole again, traveled from the peak of the man’s head, leaving behind the visage of the man he’d seen in Isis’s vision, linen and purple and gold and brown skin and black hair. Dizziness suffused him and suddenly they had switched places, the young man a transparent but strangely solid ghost in Yuugi’s arms. He pulled back, reached up to run his fingers along the ridges of golden bracelets, up to the warm crook of the elbow.

“A beautiful face,” Yuugi whispered, half in awe. He had no idea if “beautiful” was something you were supposed to say to a guy, but the poleaxed expression it elicited made him want to kiss the man all over again. The man stepped back, Yuugi’s fingers sliding free, and stared down at himself, the clothing, the differences in height and frame.

“This…” he said, as if he could barely believe it. “Is me?”

Yuugi nodded, unable to speak. The man ran his hands up and down his own forearms, as though reconciling the idea. When he lifted his gaze back to Yuugi’s, his eyes, brighter and a different color than Yuugi’s own, were filled with emotion.

“If we are ripped from existence, Yuugi from another world,” he said. “I will find you again. Even if I have to swim the ocean of chaos to do so.”

They slept in each others arms, and waited for midnight.

Chapter Text

The desert at night was bitter cold, and Yuugi clung to Set as their mount loped across the dunes, resisting the urge to press his chest right against the other’s man’s back for warmth. Siamun and Isis followed in their wake, mounted double on another horse that Set had appeared with sometime during the confusion of the previous night, and abjectly refused to explain how he had acquired it.

In a secret, shameful corner of his mind, Yuugi had imagined they’d show up at the altars and Bakura would be nowhere to be found, but no such luck. On the upside, he did appear to be waiting for them alone. Yuugi’s panicked dragon shenanigans had apparently done a number on his recruitment pool.

Not that it probably mattered, if the massive, milk white creature, feathered wings mantled in the moonlight, a hissing, serpentine tail the length and thickness of a subway train, perched atop the stairs of the altar like a nesting bird from hell, was any indication.

“Well, that answers that question,” muttered Set, bringing the horse to a stop well back from the altar. “He’s pulling out all the stops.”

“What is that?” said Yuugi, boggling. “It doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Diabound,” interjected Siamun, pulling up alongside them. “Holy monster of Kul Elna. Don’t let the appearance fool you, it’s unbelievably dangerous.”

Amid Diabound’s massive coils, Yuugi could see the tiny figure of Bakura, staring out at them. As he watched, Bakura rummaged and produced something from his coat. He tossed it into the air and caught it, and though it was too distant and too dark to make out, Yuugi felt a strangely familiar echo of unease. Set stiffened and he heard Isis draw in a sharp breath.

“So he did acquire the Eye,” muttered Siamun. “I wonder where he found it.”

“It matters less where and more that we’ve brought all seven Items within orb of each other,” said Isis. “In a place where the barrier between our world and the shadows is far too thin.”

“Holy monster?” Yuugi’s brows furrowed. “I thought you said he was possessed by a demon.”

“He is,” growled Set. Yuugi felt his thighs tighten and their mount danced under them nervously.

“Regardless of your personal feelings on the matter,” said Siamun sharply. “A ka manifested of righteous vengeance cannot but be holy. Do not forget that.”

“He said,” said Yuugi slowly, a deep and sick feeling blooming in his gut. “He said something about children, melted and poured into a magic forge. Is that what you meant? When you said the Items were rooted in great suffering?”

Behind Siamun, Isis hung her head. “He spoke the truth,” she said. “Ninety-nine souls, taken from the village and rendered like animal fat into magic to forge the Items.”

In front of him, Set tensed. “A village of—”

“A village of men ,” snapped Siamun. “And women, and children. Men that bled and breathed and grieved as you do.”

“And what would you have me do?” shouted Set, a sudden, echoing bark of noise in the night. Yuugi clung on impulse, an instinctive response to his anger and Set paused, before modulating his voice. “Surrender to that ?” He swung his arm at the restlessly moving monster under the moonlight. “Or have you forgotten what it was to see Zorc walk the sands of Kemet with none to stop him?”

“You,” he said, and tried not to cringe when they all looked at him. The shadow pulsed and flickered under his skin, restless. “You did say that you wanted to bring him out. To destroy him, yes? Doesn’t that involve a certain amount of surrender?”

Before Set could answer, Bakura cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed, far louder than Yuugi thought his child’s lungs should be able to manage. “You going to keep me waiting until we all die of old age, lapdogs of the living Horus?” He laughed, the sound echoing off the cliffs. “Or should I say the dead Horus?”

Set growled under his breath and kicked the horse into motion. The animal was clearly unnerved by the presence of Diabound, but it trotted closer, wheeling as they reached the stone steps. Set dismounted and Yuugi scrambled after him. Once he’d gotten clear, Set leaned over and slapped the animal smartly across the rump. The horse let out a startled sound and took off in the direction of the town.

Bakura snorted, arms crossed over his chest. “And here I would have thought you’d have left yourself a getaway option.”

“No running,” said Set. He unsheathed the Rod and held it out before him. “We’ve come to parlay, brat.”

Bakura cocked his head, silver white hair swinging and Yuugi had a brief and dizzying vision of Ryou sitting at library table, nose in his book. “Oh? Well this is a twist, isn’t it? Let me guess, you’re here to surrender the Items?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Set. He was ascending the stairs slowly, warily. Yuugi and the others followed and Yuugi felt his heart skip a beat as they moved into the implacable shadow of the monster on the altar. “You want your master. We want him dead. So our desires happen to align.”

Bakura laughed. “And how’s that?”

“We’ll help you summon him,” said Set. “If he kills us all, well, the world is his, isn’t it?” He spread his hands, encompassing the desert around them. “And if not, then we’ll have killed him, won’t we?”

“Interesting,” said Bakura. “Now, of course you must have some reason for trying something so foolish. No doubt you believe you can conquer the darkness. Or you have some trick up your sleeve. But you know what?” He grinned that too-wide grin, teeth bone white in the gloom. “I don’t care. Zorc decimated your ranks when last we clashed, and you won’t survive a second bout. So, Pharaoh Set, I accept your offer.”

Isis nudged Yuugi up towards Set’s left as they topped the altar. Scales hissed on stone as Diabound’s massive coils slid behind them, encircling them. To his right, Yuugi glimpsed Siamun moving, slowly and with great dignity, a clinking set of scales cradled in his hands.

“As you came here, I take it you found a way to open the door for your master without the Stone,” said Set, shifting forward with a mou of disgust on his face to avoid bumping into Diabound’s tail.

Bakura shrugged. “Perhaps you are incapable of conceiving of opening a prison by any other way than the front door, but I have no such handicap.” He smiled disarmingly. “Of course, it is still helpful if one has a tool. Or a key if you will.”

Set smiled thinly, a faint cast of harsh amusement in his eyes. “Ah yes, that’s right. My kinsman’s name, which he so very inconveniently wiped from existence.”

Bakura scowled and his gaze darted towards Yuugi. “Well then you’d better find some way of un-wiping it, then, hadn’t you?” He displayed the Eye between his small fingers. “Or do we have to send someone in to fish it out?”

“Please refrain,” said Siamun dryly. “That gets a phenomenal amount of blood everywhere. Besides,” he leveled a stern look at Bakura, managing to look exactly like a disapproving grandparent. “As I am sure you are aware, sending one of us into your master’s prison is a rather large gamble as to whether we’d find anything of value.”

Gamble.

Yuugi’s heart gave a wild swoop. It was a mad, impossible thought, but it overwhelmed him, swamping and permeating. He rummaged with shaking fingers into the sleeve of his coat and withdrew the dice that the shadow had carved.

“Then we gamble,” he said, and swallowed as their attention swung in his direction. He nodded to Bakura and displayed the dice. “What do you say we do this properly this time?”

Bakura smirked. “Oh I do like the way you think, little fool.” The Eye vanished and he produced the handful of dice he’d used to tell Yuugi’s fortune. Stepping forward, he squatted in the dust loosely rattling the bones in his fist. Glancing up at Isis, he bared his teeth. “Would the holy whore like to do the honors?”

Set snarled, stepping forward, fist raised. “You—!”

Isis threw up her hand to stop him. “Don’t,” she said shortly. She tapped Yuugi on the shoulder. “Come,” she said, her tone gentling. “Here, by the center. Give me some space.”

Awkward, Yuugi stumbled forward and crouched across from Bakura, a few feet between them. Isis knelt to his left, the picture of dignity, and leaned forward to sketch freehand in the eddies dirt and sand that had collected on the long unused altar. It was the symbol that Bakura had used, the many pointed logram of the underworld, and she muttered under her breath, an inaudible singsong as she drew.

“You may think that you’ve won, Devourer,” she said, when she finished, resting one outstretched finger on the central hub of the symbol. “But remember that it was the holy sorceress who taught the boy-king to slay demons.”

Bakura snorted and shook the dice in his fist. “Worthless words, priestess. Let’s roll.”

He tossed the bones, and they fell with a clatter. Yuugi didn’t dare look. Instead he shook the dice in his own fist and tried to calm his racing heart. He could feel the shadow, just behind his eyes, and a sudden lurch of nerves sent doubt spiraling through him. What was he doing? Casting for the key to unbind a demon? Had he lost his mind?

He was dimly aware that he’d frozen up, hand clenched around the four dice in a rictus, the roar of blood deafening in his ears.

Warmth, ephemeral and delicate, covered the back of his hand and he blinked in shock.

The young man he’d seen in Isis’s vision was crouched beside him, serious-faced and translucent.

His eyes widened. The man’s expression was calm, with an edge of warm affection as he watched Yuugi.

I trust you.

Trusted him to find the key to the demon’s prison. Trusted him to find the name of his lover.

He let the dice fall.

He watched the bones bounce and spin.

One, three, four, six.

Vulture, owl, chick, snake.

Vulture, symbol of the pharaoh. Owl, guardian of the underworld. Four chicks fill the nest , said Isis’s voice in his memory. He who unites the Kas , murmured Siamun in that bright place.

He stared at the dice and looked up, not at Bakura, or Set, or Isis, but at the young man, crouching ever-patient at his side, watching him with perfect trust and a love that took Yuugi’s breath away.

“Atem,” he whispered. “Your name is Atem.”

Atem smiled.

Then somewhere in the background, he heard the crack of splitting stone, and Bakura began to scream.

For the second time in two days, Yuugi thought the world was ending. The altar beneath their feet cracked and heaved as though in an earthquake. Yuugi ended up sprawled on his ass, saw the others fall, while above them Diabound gave a violent, convulsive shudder, coils slipping off the altar and raising sprays of desert sand.

At the center of the altar, Bakura was clutching his hair and screaming. It was a wrenching, breathless, awful sound, the scream of a child in unimaginable pain. The air was heavy and tight, humid with magic, a tangible pressure crushing Yuugi’s skull until he was certain it would pop like a balloon.

IF YOU CANNOT OPEN THE DOOR, SERVANT, THEN YOU SHALL BECOME IT.

It was a voice of impossible size, though that made no sense at all, and it rang through Yuugi’s head like a hundred church bells being struck at once. It was the void of deep space and the crushing pressure of the ocean floor, screams of agony from a million throats, a cacophony of rage and hate and that fierce, sick joy that he’d gotten a taste of at Ushio’s hands, stripped of limitation and size and expanded to fill the infinite space of the night sky.

The creature rose above them. And rose, and rose. Yuugi’s brain tried over and over in a futile endeavor to put a shape to it, formed horns and wings and eyes and teeth oh god so many teeth .

Oh my god, oh my god, is that Zorc? It can’t be, there’s no way that exists it can’t it can’t it can’t—

To his credit, it was Set who managed to keep his head. He also managed to gain his feet first. He snatched up Isis from where she’d crumpled to the ground at the first surge, his free hand fisting in her dress and dragging her bodily to her feet.

“Fall back!” he shouted over the scream of power suddenly released. Beside him, Siamun was scrambling upright, stumbling towards the remains of the stairs.

But Yuugi was crawling forwards, banging his knees on uprooted stone, crawling towards Bakura, towards Ryou, who’d crumpled into a ball, moaning.

He turned the kid over, found him bone white, eyes bloodshot. No, bloodshot wasn’t right, he was bleeding from the eyes holy shit oh god what’s happening . Diabound had fallen from the altar and was writhing in the sand. Ryou’s, Bakura’s chest heaved, quick, panting breaths that seemed to take far too much effort.

“It’s killing you!” Yuugi shouted inanely, because his panicked brain couldn’t form any more coherent words. “He’s killing you! Push him back!”

Bakura convulsed, body going rigid and nearly escaping Yuugi’s hold. Above them, Zorc roared and the ground and air shook so hard Yuugi thought his ears would bleed. He struggled to get to his feet, trying to drag Bakura towards the edge of the altar. He felt the atmosphere swell with power—

A draconic scream of rage split the night, and Yuugi was thrown to the ground from the downdraft of impossibly huge wings. He rolled over, clutching Bakura’s shoulders, just in time to see his grandfather’s Blue Eyes White Dragon unleash a hellstorm of lightning onto Zorc, lighting up the night sky and half blinding him.

Oh.

Then Set was beside them, dragging them back, shouting at Yuugi to get up get up they needed to get out of range and Yuugi was scooping up Bakura and holy crap he was heavy and running and running and Zorc was snarling and swiping towards the Blue Eyes but then Yuugi was dragged to a halt just before they could clear the altar stairs.

“What are you doing?” said Set, his shouts barely audible over the maelstrom. “Get clear!”

Yuugi turned around, Bakura’s skinny legs swinging, and saw Atem, materialized, at least to Yuugi’s eyes, on the apex of the stairs, his hand outstretched towards the battle, as though hesitating. His eyes met Yuugi’s.

He asked for the gods. Tell him to call them.

Yuugi spun to Set. “Call them,” he blurted. “Call the gods! You have the kin-right!”

The words had barely left his mouth when he felt something bright, something enormous surge up from behind him, dissolving into being and he’d never seen the blood red dragon, endless teeth and coils stretching like it might span the breadth of the globe, but he watched it launch itself into the sky, going to the aid of the white dragon and knew in his core that this was a god.

It was Atem, he realized. Atem had called it to their side and Yuugi turned back to Set, the man paler than Yuugi had thought possible.

“This is our chance!” he said. “Come on, the nest, that was what it meant! We can do it if we join forces!”

Set’s eyes went wide with understanding. Yuugi turned and charged back up the crumbling steps, nearly slipping and cracking his chin with the awkward weight of Bakura. But Set was already past him, the rod a gleaming beacon in his hand, and then the night was lit like day.

Yuugi supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, what with the importance of light and the sun to Egypt, but the golden dragon that sparked into existence, like metal and fire made one, sent him stumbling to his knees, Bakura clutched across his lap. Set and Atem were ahead of them, one solid, the other nearly invisible, and Yuugi had the dizzying sensation of staring through time, back into a place of which he had no part.

“It won’t work.”

He looked down at the boy in his arms. Bakura’s eyes were still bleeding steadily, wet sticky tracks of coagulating red-brown, a hideous contrast to his pale cheeks. He coughed and spat a bit of bloody sputum onto Yuugi’s chest. “Not the herald, not even the gods can stop him. He’ll blot out the world, and all that will be left is shadow.”

“Fantastic,” Yuugi snapped, and knew without being able to explain it that he was speaking in his native tongue. “And that accomplishes what, exactly? Millions of terrified children, just like Ryou, just like you were, get wiped from existence?”

Bakura snarled and fisted a hand in Yuugi’s coat. “You dare—!”

“Shut up!” Yuugi’s head felt like it was going to pop from all the echoing magical vibrations. “I understand , you idiot! I understand that your pain must have been unimaginable, but you’re hurting him.” He thumped on Ryou’s chest sharply and Bakura let out a choked noise of pain. “You’re hurting my friends, hurting the people I love, hurting people just like you . And for what? For him?” He gestured wildly in the direction that his mind was recoiling from in gibbering panic. “He doesn’t care about you, you dumbass! He’s killing you to get into this world and he. Doesn’t. Care.”

“And you do?” snapped Bakura.

“Yes I do!” Yuugi bared his teeth, an instinctive expression. “I care about you because that’s what you do . You care about people, about other humans, and you try to help them!”

Above them there was a horrifying scream. Zorc had the white dragon in his claws and was ripping at its armored throat. The red dragon was fastened on his arm, the golden creature perched on his head like a crown forged of the sun’s rays, blinding, blotting out the gaze of those terrible eyes. At his feet a heavy, monstrous giant tore at his legs with clawed hands.

“Then you’re a fool,” said Bakura, sullen.

“If it’s a fool’s errand to see the humanity in others,” said Yuugi, desperate. “Then I’m a fool. A fool to think I can turn the tide of hatred. A fool to fall in love with the darkness.”

Bakura’s brows furrowed, an expression that finally matched his child’s face. “What are you talking about, mortal?”

Yuugi jerked his hand out in the direction of Atem. “Look at him, you idiot! He’s just like you! Stripped to the shadow by Zorc. He chose that fate, the one you didn’t get a choice about.”

Bakura snarled in his face. “I chose vengeance and I would do it again!”

“Did you?” Yuugi’s voice was hard. “Or did a monster see a child who’d lost everything and chose for you?”

Bakura slapped him, a stinging pain. The Puzzle clacked against the Ring as Yuugi jerked, but he didn’t let go.

“It’s over,” he said, desperate. “You wanted the pharaoh dead? He’s dead. All the magical names in the world aren’t going to change that.” His heart twisted. “What does it help to hurt a child the way that you were hurt?”

Bakura jerked his face away, expression stony. Yuugi felt like crying. He could feel the maelstrom of Atem’s emotions as he fought side by side with Set, weaving a web of magic, maintaining the monsters with sheer force of will.

The white dragon had freed itself, but it was grounded, one wing bent at an unnatural angle. Zorc had the red dragon in his claws and was trying to wrench open its jaws and Yuugi could feel the echo of transferred agony from Atem, running white hot along his nerves and he gasped, lurching low over Bakura.

Don’t give up, he thought, through gritted teeth.

Never.

Against his neck, Bakura let out a low, sighing hiss of breath, his shoulders slumping.

“All over, eh?” he said, sounding as if he were talking half to himself. “Then I suppose I do owe the bastard a lick or two for treating me like a damn slave. Bad as the fucking pharaoh in that way.”

Then Zorc roared in pain and Yuugi thought he might black out. He hung on, barely, gasping and looked up.

Diabound had risen from the desert sands and was coiled about Zorc’s legs like a hunting anaconda, enormous fists sunk into black scales.

“It won’t be enough,” Bakura sounded strangely conversational for someone still leaking blood all over Yuugi. “I wasn’t lying. Even with me, you’re still sunk. The door’s closed, he can’t go back.”

“Well there must be a way to open it again!” said Yuugi, panic surging as Zorc reached down and ripped off one of Diabound’s wings, sending dark blood spraying across white scales. “You already opened it twice!”

Bakura cocked his head, looking thoughtful, and considered Yuugi for several long moments.

Then he started to laugh.

Unreasonably annoyed, Yuugi shook him lightly. “What? What is it?”

“Must be a way…” Bakura wiped his leaking nose on Yuugi’s shoulder, smearing snot across the fabric. He chuckled again. “Boy, you’ve got the means to open it again hanging right around your neck.”

“The Puzzle?” said Yuugi. “What do i do with it?”

The golden dragon shrieked, high and agonized, only to be drowned out by the sound of Zorc’s bellow.

Bakura’s eyes glittered strangely. “You must have made a wish on it, yeah? When you solved the blasted thing? There’s always a boon in exchange.”

Yuugi blinked. “I…maybe? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Have to give it back, don’t you?” said Bakura silkily. “There’s always a cost for these things. You only get the one.”

The bottom dropped out of Yuugi’s stomach.

Oh god.

He’d wished to go home .

He clenched his jaw, felt hot, selfish, stupid tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Home. With Momma and Grandpa and Anzu and Jounouchi and Honda and everything.

But…

But if they fell here, there wouldn’t be home, home wouldn’t exist. And all the people that he loved wouldn't ever exist, and really, how was that any different than them being lost to time? At least if he did this, they’d exist in some fashion, hopefully. Happy and safe and alive.

He hoped his mother would be alright.

He closed his eyes, set his jaw.

I give it up , he thought fiercely. I’ll stay here. I won’t go home. So please please please open the door and take this monster away from here.

Nothing. A crack of lightning and a thunderous shockwave made his head spin.

“Might want to hurry it up,” said Bakura, through gritted teeth. His breathing was more labored.

Panicking, Yuugi thought harder. Why the hell wasn’t it work—?

A memory intruded, unexpected and incongruous. Him, his grandfather, the kitchen, a Sunday morning, light streaming in through the apartment skylights, turning the walls a butter gold.

“Remember, Yuugi,” said his grandfather, going up on his toes to peer into the toaster. “It’s the wording of the wish that’s important. That’s why you ask to win the lottery rather than for a million dollars .”

The knowledge hit him like a fist to the gut and left him just as breathless.

He hadn’t asked to go home. He’d asked to be back home. Back home with all the people he loved.

And now…

His head came up, drawn inexorably, painfully, to Atem’s back, the rich purple folds of his cape flapping in an intangible breeze.

No doubt sensing the starburst of agony in Yuugi’s heart, Atem half turned, startled. He looked awful, his form flickering, revealing sections of the shadow-self beneath it. His eyes widened and he took a step towards Yuugi.

And Yuugi knew. He already had the key. He just had to use it.

Set had never explained what summoning your ka felt like, but as a monstrous black creature clawed its way out from inside him, Yuugi thought he couldn't truly imagine anyone doing this willingly.

Chains clanked and scales scraped on stone, the creature’s breath like the black void of space, cold, so cold. Somewhere below him, Bakura was laughing, a hysterical, half-sobbing sound, like a hyena in pain, but Yuugi only had had eyes for the manifesting figure.

Gandora .

On the battlefield, Zorc froze, that terrible gaze swinging in their direction. And Yuugi recited his knowledge of the beast from memory, to keep himself from shattering.

Red lights split the night, a thousand cutting beams, ripping apart everything in their path. The gods screamed, the white dragon screeched, and in the center of it all, Zorc roared in a mix of pain and unimaginable rage.

It hurt , oh god it hurt, a fierce hot agony, filling him up, draining him, dragging his life from him as the beast obliterated everything in its path. Ahead of him, both Set and Atem were on their knees, man and ghost alike rendered a slave to the pain. But Yuugi hung on, felt fire cut through flesh and scale, rip at the fabric of reality like a knife through linen and he screamed as he felt his head threaten to rip apart—

And then silence, a great ringing silence, as though the universe had snapped back into place like an enormous rubber band and it was gone gone gone everything was gone .

Yuugi pitched forward and everything went dark.

Chapter Text

Yuugi’s chin clacked painfully on the stairs, his palms skinned by carpet. Stars exploded in front of his vision, bright flashes of white light that left him reeling. He stared dumbly at the carpet, gaze focused on the fibers just inches from his nose.

Then, thudding steps on the staircase and, “Yuugi! Are you alright?”

His grandfather. Hardly daring to move, Yuugi slowly lifted his head, and looked.

Sugoroku frowned down at him, reaching over to feel at Yuugi’s arms. “I told you you need to be careful. You could break something that way.” He turned over Yuugi’s hands to examine the palms. “Maybe a little clean up before dinner, yes?”

Yuugi couldn't speak. He just nodded rapidly, and then immediately regretted it when his head protested. He let his grandfather lead him to the bathroom before tapping on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said. His smile felt strange. “I can manage.”

His grandfather eyed him suspiciously. “If you insist. You’re certainly old enough to bathe yourself. But maybe skip the tub? I’ll be back in twenty to make sure you haven’t drowned.”

The door closed and Yuugi was left alone. He stared around the bathroom, familiar tile walls and floor, the shower, soap and shampoo laid out exactly as he’d know they’d be, under the glare of electric light that felt somehow harsh and unnatural. He stripped and sat on the cold tile, staring at the faucet, letting the chill and silence soak him. Somewhere he heard a fan click to life, the whir of blades and whump of air through ductwork.

Then he turned on the shower to its hottest setting, and scrubbed until his skin was pink and raw.

The next day was a school day, because of course it was.

His grandfather was still eyeing him worriedly, but neither of them were able to muster an excuse that would satisfy his mother, so Yuugi found himself trailing into class a few minutes shy of the bell. Anzu smiled at him as he entered, only for her face to shift into a worried mask. Jounouchi’s expression went strange and hard, the way it did when he was evaluating a situation and determining who needed to be pounded. Yuugi smiled back at them in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.

He’d forgotten to do the homework of course, but he didn’t wind up being penalized overmuch. He took notes and answered questions as if in a dream. The afternoon heat left a faint, buzzing warmth between his ears.

At lunchtime the three of them approached him. He’d retreated to the roof to eat his lunch, rice and leftover curry from the previous night.

Anzu sat beside him, watched as he picked his way through his food, the explosion of spice and flavor almost too much after months of beer and plain bread. Honda and Jounouchi hung back, a looming, protective, but deferring to Anzu as the expert in this situation.

“Yuugi,” she said gently when he only smiled at them in greeting. “Are you alright? Scratch that, you don’t look alright, what happened?”

Yuugi shook his head. “It’s alright,” he said. “It’s nothing. A bad dream only. I didn’t sleep well.”

Anzu scrutinized him. “Are you sure that’s all it was?”

What could he say? It did seem like he’d had one, a dream, or an experience, that made no sense in the clinical, well ordered modernity around him. “I’m sure.” He tried a smile again and it felt more natural this time. “It’ll pass. How are you guys? It feels like ages since we’ve talked.”

As he sat there, in the bright sunshine, absorbing the warmth and gentle chatter of their conversation, he thought, just maybe, he might be alright after all.

He was hanging up his school jacket, brushing off some bits of dust and lint it had collected, when his hand landed on the weight of his deck in the pocket.

He froze, muscles locking up. He hadn’t thought about the cards, too distracted, too numb, too avoidant. But now he took a deep breath, and pulled it out, walked over and sat at his desk, put the deck on the surface.

He rested his hand on top of it, felt nothing unusual. Well, no more unusual than the usual, faint warmth he always sensed, but nothing else. The cards remained cards, ink on paper stock, no more.

He turned them over and began to leaf through them, a soothing tactic he’d developed from going so many places with nothing but his deck for company. He thumbed through them, the familiar faces, every piece present, like the parts of a—

His grandfather’s Blue Eyes was missing.

Yuugi stared. His heartrate accelerated, but he made himself go through them again. One at a time.

It wasn’t there.

He sat back in the chair, nearly sending it rocking onto two legs, and stared up through his skylight window, eyes blind.

What did it mean? It had happened? He’d left his grandfather’s most prized possession in the hands of a man who’d died millenia before Yuugi had been born?

His brain tried to encompass the implications, ran headlong into a bunch of quantum physics it didn’t understand, and promptly quit. He reshuffled his deck and tucked it back into his jacket pocket. Laid on his bed, and tried to sleep against the endless silence.

It was a futile endeavor.

Later that week, he went to the library for free period, some vague notion of catching up on his homework in his head.

The room was deserted, most of the students having left for other, cooler options, and Ryou was sitting at one of the tables, arms folded, a heavy book laid flat before him.

Yuugi was ashamed to admit that he hesitated in the doorway, his hand on the lintel, squeezing so hard his knuckles ached. Seeing Ryou now, it was impossible not to recognize him as the small boy he had been, body wrenched and distorted by a spirit almost too big for it.

Then Ryou looked up and spotted him.

“Hello, Yuugi,” he said, though his gaze and tone seemed strangely neutral. “Going to get a bit of reading done?”

“Uh,” said Yuugi eloquently. “Yeah I was thinking so.” He swallowed hard, but squared his shoulders and marched across the room, sitting down at Ryou’s table, the same side even, one chair between them for politeness sake. He slung his backpack across the back of his chair, fished the first book he could find from its depths, set it on the table, and started reading.

His gaze slowly crept towards Ryou, who looked to be completely and obviously absorbed in his book. But then a sharp glance flicked his way and Yuugi hastily brought his eyes back to front.

Twenty minutes into a riveting description of some geometric proof he was supposed to be learning for next week, Ryou flipped his book shut with an audible thud and stood straight.

“I’m going to visit the lavatory,” he said. “Would you come with me?”

Yuugi blinked. Come with him? He knew Anzu and Miho usually visited the bathroom together but wasn’t that more of a girl thing?

“I need your assistance with something,” said Ryou, deliberately. “Please?”

Yuugi’s eyebrows crept skywards. “Uh, sure?”

Mystified, he followed the other boy to the restroom, then watched in absolute bafflement as Ryou proceeded to check all the stalls for occupants, starting with the farthest one from the door. Seeming satisfied, he leaned against the inward-swinging door, let out a faint sigh, and looked at Yuugi.

Then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

Yuugi nearly swallowed his tongue. His eyes felt like they were going to pop from his skull, and he had the strangest urge to throw up his hand and babble excuses that yes Ryou was the hottest guy in the whole grade but they were at school and he was definitely kind of grieving for somebody right now and also it was the middle of the day —

Hottest guy in the whole grade. Oh god, he really was like that. How had he never noticed?

“Uh, Ryou,” he said, his voice pitching higher than he thought it could pitch since he’d first hit puberty. “I’m uh, I don’t really think that—”

But then the words died in his throat, because Ryou had yanked aside both sides of his shirt, like Superman about to change costumes, and Yuugi could only stare.

Stare at the twisted, ropelike scars on his chest, white and ancient and in the form of the Ring . A perfect circle, as though it had been burned in, the shape of the Eye staring out, and five round dots where the dangling points had plunged into his flesh.

“Oh my god,” said Yuugi, his brain flatlining. “It’s still there.”

“So you do recognize it,” said Ryou, a faint, grim flash of something like triumph crossing his face. He regarded Yuugi steadily. “They told me I was mad, thought I did it to myself.” His eyes grew shadowed. “But I remembered it. Remembered you.”

Yuugi clapped his hand to his mouth, shaking. “Oh god,” he repeated.

Ryou sighed, his head dropping forward, sending a cascade of pale hair over his chest, and began to button his shirt.

“Did I,” Yuugi didn’t know how to phrase the question. “Did I hurt you? When Gandora—” He stopped. It felt crazy to even say it.

“When I was eight years old,” said Ryou, instead of answering. “My father took me on an expedition. The Valley of Kings. Beneath the sands he found…” He hesitated. “He found it . Guarded by a man, a stranger with eerie eyes. My father wanted it, tried to pay the man for it. The man said it wasn’t for him. But when he insisted, the man relented.”

Ryou closed his eyes as if in pain. “I’d followed him, like the idiot child I was. I watched him put it on, the Ring. And then I watched it burn him alive.”

Yuugi bit his tongue so hard he was sure it would bleed. His breath was coming in short rasps.

“It came to me,” whispered Ryou. “It recognized me. Worthy vessel , it said.”

Yuugi felt a wrenching sort of horror, the kind that came with seeing a distorted mirror of yourself, a kind of hideous knowledge that it could have just as easily have been him, Atem twisted by pain and horror beyond all reason. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and knew it was meaningless.

Ryou’s shoulders rose and fell. He opened his eyes, soft and brown, and looked at Yuugi. “That’s what he said. Before I woke up back in England. Ten years ago.”

Yuugi’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Ten years ago?”

Ryou nodded. “My father is alive,” he said. “He runs the Domino Museum. We moved here a year ago, when I transferred in. Other than that…” He shrugged. “Nothing happened, you understand?” His eyes were acute. “Nothing happened, but I remember it happening. And well,” He gestured at his chest.

Yuugi nodded, a sharp jerk. “I...I woke up where I left. Earlier this week. But there was, uh, something was missing.”

“Ah, this week, so that’s why you were so much older,” Ryou shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of it. But it helps to know I wasn’t totally mad.”

“I’m sorry,” said Yuugi again, because he could think of nothing else say.

“Why?” said Ryou. “I was a child. I couldn’t reason with someone like him, someone with pain that deep, that old. Even if…” He swallowed. “Well he wasn’t the only one who knew what it was like to lose family.”

Yuugi hung his head. “I...that’s why I kept trying. I couldn’t believe, at the end, that he was beyond reaching. He didn’t deserve having someone else give up on him.” He laughed bitterly. “I guess none of it mattered in the end. He’s gone. They’re both gone.”

“I suppose so,” a strange shadow crossed Ryou’s face. He regarded Yuugi. “You lost quite a bit yourself, didn’t you?”

Yuugi shrugged. “I saved the world and got screwed by the wording of a wish, didn’t I? It evens out.”

Ryou’s gaze dropped to the floor, considering. “I suppose this is a foolish question,” he said abruptly. “But would you like to hang out sometime? We never did get to that D&D game we discussed.”

This time, Yuugi didn’t hesitate. “I’d like that very much,” he said.

And Ryou smiled, a gentle, brilliant expression that eased some of the ache that still echoed in Yuugi’s soul, and they walked back to class together, already hip-deep in game logistics.

Three months later, his grandfather plopped down at the Sunday breakfast table, and announced that the Domino Museum was going to be hosting a traveling exhibition on ancient Egyptian art, and that he’d been invited to come and help set up, and that the curator who was coming along was, in his words “quite the babe”.

“You’re coming with me,” he informed Yuugi, clapping him on the shoulder.

Yuugi blinked at him. “What?” he said. “But it’s Sunday! We’ll have customers!”

“Nope,” said his grandfather. “This takes precedent. And it will be good for you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you moping about the place.”

“I’m not moping ,” said Yuugi.

“Sure you aren’t,” said his grandfather cheerfully. “Now finish your waffles and get your shoes.”

Grumbling, Yuugi shoveled the last bites of waffle in his mouth and went to get his coat. In deference towards manning the cashier for the day, he’d swapped out his uniform for clean black jeans and a grey, long sleeve shirt and the studded jewelry that tended to help him make more sales when he wore it. He wasn’t sure it was appropriate wear for a museum, but if his grandfather didn’t like it, he shouldn’t have sprung this so suddenly.

The Domino Museum was a huge building with white, classical pillars lining the front. Because he was with his grandfather, they skipped the central lobby and went down a side staircase to the basement level. His grandfather guided him down a long hallway to a room piled with numerous wooden crates of various sizes. A woman was leaning on one of the crates, bent over a clipboard, marking something down. An almost unearthly beauty, dark hair in long, beaded braids, sharp eyes, long skirts of cream colored linen.

Yuugi’s brain promptly crashed and burned.

“Isis?” he blurted.

She glanced up at him, visibly startled. “I’m sorry?”

“Yuugi!” his grandfather elbowed him sharply. “Where are your manners?” He bowed slightly. “Miss Ishtar, my deepest apologies. My grandson meant no disrespect.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “No, no don’t worry about it. You only surprised me is all. I suppose that Mr. Bakura must have told you my name.”

There wasn’t even a hint of recognition in her eyes.

Yuugi bowed mechanically, mumbling an apology and a proper greeting as he tried to kickstart his brain back into functionality.

“You’re here a bit earlier than I was expecting, I’m afraid,” Isis— Miss Ishtar was saying. “Arthur’s still upstairs in the cafe getting a cup of coffee. My interns aren’t arriving until tomorrow, and I’ve still got a few things to sort out  and move down here before we can get started with the logistics. Why don’t you go up and join him? I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

His grandfather rubbed his hands, gleeful. “Excellent. He still owes me a cup after he lost that bet over the carbon dating on that pot they found in Amarna.” He nodded at Yuugi. “You stay here and help Miss Ishtar move things. Can’t have her doing it when there’s a strapping, lazy young man about.”

“That’s not—” Miss Ishtar started, but his grandfather was already skipping out of the room, a predatory grin on his face.

They both stared after him, simultaneously dumbstruck.

“I suppose he’s forgotten I helped dig up quite a bit of this myself,” said Miss Ishtar dryly.

“Uh,” said Yuugi. “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t worry overmuch,” she said. “You can call me by my first name if you prefer. No need to stand on ceremony.” She frowned at her clipboard. “I suppose you can come along.”

Yuugi followed, awkward, as she navigated the maze of crates. She tapped a large one fondly. “This is going to be the centerpiece of the exhibit,” she said, smiling to herself. “Based on what your grandfather’s said of you, I suspect you might like it.”

“Why’s that?” said Yuugi, only to realize that sounded very rude indeed. “I mean, I’m sure I’ll like it! I like old things, I mean, oh damn it,” but Isis was actually muffling a small laugh into her hand.

“Calm yourself,” she said. She studied him for a minute, looking thoughtful, before nodding. “Grab that crowbar sitting on that crate over there and help me.”

He obeyed, and together they pried the lid off the crate with great care. Isis reached in and started pulling away the shredded packing paper.

“It’s a stone tablet, thirteenth century,” she said, reaching over to set the material on top of a nearby crate. “Phenomenally old, and well, you see…”

But Yuugi wasn’t listening, because there was a Blue Eyes White Dragon staring up at him from out of the stone.

“I…”

“We were very excited to acquire this piece,” said Isis. “It was created during the reign of a pharaoh for whom we don’t have a great deal of data. He was deposed by a Hittite invader only a year or so after his coronation.”

Set stood at the bottom of the tablet, simple stone features, but still recognizable, but instead of his bald head, he wore the Double Crown, his hands upraised, as though he were launching the Blue Eyes from his palms. The other monsters ringed the pair, the dragons red and gold, the hunched monster, even Diabound was there, the small blank outline of a warrior below it and many disembodied hands lifting it skywards. At the top of the tablet, fanged mouth open in an enraged roar, was Zorc.

And at Set’s side was a shadow, back to back, a featureless figure, terribly familiar hair, with the harsh triangle of the Puzzle hanging from its neck.

Yuugi couldn’t speak.

“As far as we can determine,” said Isis. “A group of his nomarchs conspired to overthrow him and then a plague weakened his forces. He fled to avoid assassination.”

She shrugged. “Generally that would be the end of it. But this pharaoh was determined. It’s not entirely clear how he did it, but he overthrew the usurper and took back his capital city.” She nodded at Yuugi. “Present day Thebes.”

“You don’t know how?” said Yuugi finally. His head was buzzing again.

Isis shook her head. “Records at the time...well, you have to understand that in the past, people sometimes might speak in metaphor.”

Yuugi frowned. “What do you mean?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, the Hittite records from the period said he fought off their forces with a dragon.”

“A dragon?” said Yuugi, trying to make sure he’d got the right word. “Like that?” he pointed at the Blue Eyes, frozen in stone. “A dragon dragon?”

“Well obviously not a dragon dragon,” said Isis. “Probably some kind of siege equipment. Maybe he set fire to the city, there was some evidence that it had been burned.” She snorted out a faint laugh. “Though it certainly makes for a good story. He ruled for quite a long time. Him and his sons after him.”

“His sons?”

She nodded and lifted her head, surveying the crates with a critical eye. “There’s a fragment of one of his stelae in one of these. It’s got the names of his family on it. His cousin, who preceded him as pharaoh as far as we can gather. He died early. His First Wife.”

Yuugi gripped the edge of the crate, trying not to sway. “How many sons?” he said, inane words to fill the silence and keep from saying something phenomenally insane.

“Three,” said Isis. “Or well, possibly four. There’s still quite a bit of debate over that. It’s thought his first child died in infancy. It was strange, he’s only listed on the stela with a prenomen.”

“That’s weird?”

She nodded. “Very strange. Even if he’d been stillborn or died shortly after birth, he still should have been named fully.” She shrugged. “We may never know, most of the pharaoh’s monuments were degraded.” She smiled. “Still, the son, if he existed, holds a place of honor, and it’s a very lovely prenomen.”

“Lovely?”

“ Meryatem ,” she said. “‘Beloved of Atem’.”

Yuugi couldn’t breathe.

“I have to go,” he heard himself say. His head was buzzing, ears ringing with white noise.

Isis looked at him, startled. “Are you alright?” she said, her face tightening with concern. “Are you ill?”

“Yes,” Yuugi said, mechanical, numb. “Sorry, excuse me. I have to go.”

He didn’t remember making it home, blind and choked by hot tears, finding the house empty. He crawled into bed fully clothed, pulled the blankets over him.

Then he gripped his pillow and screamed until his throat gave out.

Yuugi did end up vomiting, so he at least had an excuse when his grandfather came home livid. Sugoroku softened quite a bit when he saw Yuugi’s puffy face and to Yuugi’s surprise, sat on the bathroom floor beside him and stroked his hair while Yuugi breathed through a pain his body kept trying to translate into something it could understand.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Lately it felt like all he did was apologize.

His grandfather sighed. “It’s alright. Well it’s not alright , but it’s understandable. I’d still like you to come back next weekend to help with the last bits of the setup. This is important to me.”

“I will, Grandpa,” he rested his cheek against the cool ceramic of the toilet lid. “I just…”

His grandfather rubbed his back, a gentle, circular motion. “I keep hoping you’ll tell me what’s wrong, but it’s been months and something’s clearly still bothering you.”

Yuugi focused on the white porcelain inches from his eye. “What if I…” he breathed through his nose and tried not to throw up again. “What if there was, hypothetically, something wrong with me?”

“Wrong how?”

“What if I…” he could barely conceptualize it. “What if I liked...someone I wasn’t supposed to?”

He could practically feel his grandfather frown. “Not supposed to?”

“A guy.”

The words hung in the air and Yuugi wished he could snatch them back. He pressed his lips together and concentrated on breathing.

His grandfather was silent for a long time.

“You know I came to Japan when I was seventeen, don’t you?” he said at last.

Yuugi nodded. “You said your father left Japan, married your mother in Europe.”

“Poland,” said his grandfather, a strange tone in his voice. “He and my mother died before he could bring us back, before he could be recalled. Pneumonia. It was 1939.”

Yuugi went still.

“I didn’t have a visa,” said his grandfather. “No real proof of citizenship either. So I ran.” He regarded Yuugi steadily. “A kind diplomat at a Lithuanian embassy listened to my broken Japanese and wrote me a visa. Against protocol. Against orders.”

“That’s why Professor Hawkins calls you Solomon sometimes,” whispered Yuugi.

“It is my given name,” said his grandfather, a short, unamused laugh escaping him. His expression turned contemplative. “My point is, I saw them. Not all of them, but I saw them, starting to be packed up. The yellow stars, like what they would have given me if they’d caught me.” His eyes met Yuugi’s. “The pink triangles.”

Yuugi tensed and swallowed hard.

“I saw them,” said his grandfather softly. “Men just like you or me. Men deserving of dignity and respect. Do you catch my meaning?”

Yuugi hunched, felt a couple of tears squeeze out of the corners of his eyes.

“I love you, Yuugi,” said his grandfather. “And that will never change.”

Yuugi nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Is it the director’s kid?”

Yuugi laughed weakly, a wet little hiccup. “No, Grandpa, it’s not Ryou.”

The next Sunday turned out to be baking, the streets saturated with lingering heat. Yuugi was soaked with sweat by the time he labored up the stairs to the museum behind his grandfather.

Most of the major pieces of the exhibit were already on display, the tablet Isis had shown him hanging on the wall under a hefty layer of clear glass. Isis herself came to greet them, looking unfairly unruffled by the humid morning.

“Dr. Mutou, Yuugi,” she said, smiling. “Feeling better, I hope?”

Yuugi flushed. “Yes, very sorry.”

“Not a problem, I assure you,” said Isis. Her eyes twinkled. “My brother and the two other interns came in on Monday and I’ve been working them to the bone.” She nodded to his grandfather. “Arthur’s in the main exhibit checking lighting. Why don’t you join him? Unless you’d rather check the Japanese on the information cards?”

His grandfather snorted. “And let a blind man with no aesthetic be in charge of lighting? Not likely.” He lurched off towards the main hall.

Isis chuckled softly and turned amused eyes to Yuugi. “I’ve got one of the interns fetching a box from the basement, but I fear it might be too heavy for him. Would you mind going to help him?”

Yuugi nodded. “Of course.”

The basement was blessedly climate controlled, the lights a little dimmer than he recalled. The room of crates had been partially emptied and organized, though there were still here and there scattered a few boxes. He could hear someone rummaging around, muttering to themselves in Arabic.

“Hello?” he called.

“Isis?” said a voice, Japanese, an unfamiliar accent. A rumpled head poked over the edge of a crate. “I told you I’d be up in a—”

And Yuugi was dying, his air gone, because Atem was staring at him over an expanse of unvarnished wood, his eyes wide. Atem with his wild hair tied up in a ponytail and a delicate gold chain around his neck and Atem it was recognizably Atem and Yuugi was going to fucking pass out.

Yuugi wheezed, sucked air through a windpipe that felt three sizes too small.

“Oh my god,” he squeaked.

He didn’t have more than a second to think of whys and wherefores and whether or not Atem would have any idea what this strange, lunatic foreigner was gaping at when Atem crossed the massive room in five steps and crashed into Yuugi with the force of a freight train.

They went down. It was inevitable. Yuugi’s legs concluded that they could no longer support him and he ended up on his ass on the tile, his arms full of Atem, blindly clutching and sobbing and Atem was kissing him, his face, his forehead, his eyes and oh god it was really him. Atem was whispering something that sounded like “I told you, I told you, I promised,” over and over like a hymn and Yuugi’s brain couldn’t process it all.

At last the frenzy eased and Atem rested against him, forehead to forehead, sharing breath and warmth and Yuugi felt something sharp and painful slide back into place inside him. He wanted to ask how, when, how much do you remember.

What came out was, “You speak Japanese?”

Atem blinked at him, thrown. Then, to Yuugi’s surprise, his gaze slid to Yuugi’s collarbone and he looked a bit embarrassed.

“I realize,” he said, and oh god the cadence of his voice was exactly as Yuugi remembered. “That exploiting knowledge absorbed during my time in your mind may be considered a form of cheating.” He flushed very slightly. “But they did not offer the language in Cairo primary schools, and I did not particularly fancy having to wait and pass enough college language courses to convince the rest of the world before being able to see you again.”

And Yuugi kissed him, laughing and Atem was smiling, bright eyed and tender and suddenly Yuugi could breathe again, the world a vivid riot of color and emotion.

“How?” he said, pressed his forehead against Atem’s shoulder.

Atem was silent for a time. “It was a long road,” he said at last. “I had name and shadow, but I had to remake myself, reunite with soul and self.” He laughed softly, half to himself. “But thanks to you, I think, I had help.”

Yuugi’s brows furrowed. “Thanks to me?”

Atem smiled at him, secretive and Yuugi knew .

“The second intern,” he breathed, his heart leaping. “He didn’t—”

Atem shook his head. His gaze was distant. “It took two to row the ocean of chaos, as it turns out. But he is a stout comrade, even when he is a pain in the neck.” He rested his hand in Yuugi’s hair. “I suspect it helped that I assisted him in petitioning, on the grounds that neither of our hearts could be weighed as merely shadow.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” whispered Yuugi.

Atem enfolded him again. “I promised that I would be,” he said. “It is the least I could do, after what you did.”

“Zorc?”

“Gone, as far as we could tell.” Atem pressed his jaw against the crown of Yuugi’s head, the vibrations of his voice humming through his scalp as he spoke. “Set laid the remains of the Items to rest with offerings to Kul Elna. And I…” He went quiet a moment. “I asked for a mortal life. Perhaps not an ordinary life, but one that could be shared.”

Yuugi squeezed his hand tightly.

“Come with me to meet my grandfather?” he said.

Atem rose and helped him to his feet. “Of course,” he said. “Am I invited for dinner?”

“Always,” said Yuugi, and they ascended together, hand in hand, into the light.