Bakhura crouches in the sand. His eyes are itchy, his chest aches, and his hands and knees are scraped, but he manages to keep quiet and slide into the shadows like a snake. The guards patrolling nearby have not seen him yet, though they are looking for any sign of his presence. A few minutes ago, he stole food from a traveller's stall and, being the thief that he is, he refused to give it back. He didn't even give them a chance to speak: before they could arrest him, he shot down a shadowed alleyway and ran as fast as he could.

Now, tucked between the grim buildings, he thinks he may have a chance. The guards will give up after a few minutes, leaving him to sneak away. The food in his hand tempts him, but he tries to ignore the growling in his stomach, the saliva running down his lip. He hasn't eaten in days. He tells himself that it's a piece of flatbread – there isn't even any honey on top. But the smell is tantalizing and the more he avoids it, the louder his stomach growls.

Eventually, hunger wins it and he carefully takes a bite. He's wary of his movements and noises, but the sound of his stomach growling is louder than his chewing, so he supposes that it's been that he eats. The bread is hard, chewy, and altogether bland, but it's food and he stole it, so the flavor is a bit better. Food always tastes better after you haven't eaten in days, and there's a taste of pride because he stole it himself. No one helped him; no one helps the Thief King. He is a lone wolf: travels alone, eats alone, fights alone, lives alone. After years of living with only his Ka, Diabound, to trust, Bakhura has developed a particular aversion to trusting others. It's not specifically their fault, but humanity as a whole has given him a damn good reason.

After he has eaten, Bakhura settles more into the shadows and softly calls out Diabound. His Ka materialises at his words. Unlike Bakhura, who is small and scrawny, Diabound is large and strong. Its large, white wings are too big to fit in the narrow alleyway, so they must be tucked to the beast's side. Its strong face watches Bakhura with compassion and worry. He and Diabound are closer than brothers: Diabound is a part of his soul. This thought always makes Bakhura smiles, as it means that he has a strong, pure soul. His Ka is white, without a single taint of darkness on it.

He and Diabound peek around the corner together. The guards are nowhere in sight. Bakhura laughs. Guards will never find the Thief King, since he is the best thief in all of Egypt. Still chuckling softly, Bakhura stands and waltzes out into the open, chunk of bread in hand. The streets are busy and full of harried villagers – too harried, in fact, to notice the little white-haired boy slipping his fingers into their pockets. Most of the villagers don't carry much change on them, as it's approaching dusk and they have already spent most of it on their daily shopping, but Bakhura makes sure that they don't have anything extra on them.

When he's done, he returns to a stall selling fruit and vegetables and asks for the cheapest thing on the back shelf: apples. Then, when the man's back is turned, Bakhura tucks as many things as he can into his robes. At least ten people pass him and two bump into him, but no one notices his theft, and if they do, they don't call him out on it. When the man turns around and hands Bakhura a few apples, Bakhura smiles angelically and drops the coins into the man's hand.

"Thank you, sir!" he says with a quick bow before dashing off, holding his hands tight to his robes to keep the stolen vegetables from slipping out. With his body laden with stolen goods and his pockets sagging with change, he returns to his hideout. He doesn't have a particularly good hideout, but it gives him a sheltered place to sleep for the night and some space to store his loot. To get to his hideout, Bakhura first has to get as far away from the city as possible and to the outskirts. He follows a dirt path out of the city. As usual, he doesn't make it more than a few steps before a guard puts his hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, where are you going this late at night?"

Bakhura knows the drill. These guards believe him to be a thief – which he is – and the only way he can get out of this situation is by giving them a plausible reason. Luckily, Bakhura has about ten up his sleeve. He looks the guard in the eye and says, "But sir, my parents are out there. We are just passing through the city to get supplies, and they told me I shouldn't tarry and that I could only stay until dusk. I – I can't be late! They'll leave without me! They'll –"

The guard raises his hand to stop him. "It's fine, kid. Just have to make sure. We don't want a kid like you dying out there. Now, get back to your parents. I hope you had fun in the city!"

Bakhura puts on bogus smile and thanks the man. The number of times he has to put on that smile makes him sick. He's a thief, the Thief King, and he shouldn't have to suck up to these men. Unfortunately, he is only eleven years old and he isn't strong enough to do anything about it. His dream, his destiny, his future is to kill the Pharaoh, but if he can't even kill a guard or steal something more than food or money, then he's not strong enough. Bakhura yearns to be strong enough. He doesn't like to tell anyone, but there is someone else who makes him strong. Well, truthfully he will make Bakhura strong, but only if he finds the seven Millennium Items. These Items are currently held by the Royal Guard and the Pharaoh. Bakhura doesn't like any of them.

He brushes the thoughts aside as he reaches his hide-out. Every thief should have a good hideout, and Bakhura is rather proud of his. For one, it's impossible for intruders to find. It's hidden behind a big rock, and the entryway is too small for an adult to slip through. Bakhura made it this way for two reasons: one, so that adults cannot get inside; and two, because one day Bakhura hopes that he will be too big to get inside his hideout, and that by that time he will have found a better one.

Bakhura gets down on his hands and knees and crawls through the small entryway. He crawls for a few more feet, until he ends up in a rocky alcove, about the size of a room, and filled with treasures. Bakhura considers himself the Thief King simply because he has never met another thief before. He doesn't steal from anything big yet, just houses and the marketplace, but someday he hopes to raids tombs. There are far greater treasures inside the tombs of the rich, and Bakhura believes that the dead don't need the treasures. As it is, his friends and family never got a proper burial, so why should these people deserve one?

As for the rest of the cave, what little space is not taken up by his treasures is his bed. Bakhura had found the softest pillows at a rich house once, and he stole them and brought them back with him. It was one of his largest heists, as not only was it difficult stealing the pillows, but he had a hard time carrying them out of the city and through the palace gates. The guard's were chary of letting him pass, but he eventually made it out the city and proudly carried his prize home.

Bakhura empties his pockets and robes of his treasures, setting them carefully in designated places around his room. He rearranges the knife at his hip and his other weapons, then settles down on his pillow bed and promptly falls asleep. Just before he falls asleep, he hears the Voice, the powerful Voice that will help him kill the Pharaoh someday, tell him, Good job, Thief King.

Thud!

Startled, Bakhura sits upright, hands flying to the dagger at his hip. Even in the windowless room, Bakhura knows it's late at night. No one should be out at this hour, and they especially shouldn't be at his front door. He's not sure if the thing – person or animal – outside knows of his hideout, but he is angry at them for waking him up. Silently, he crawls towards the tunnel to his hideout and crouches outside of it. His superhuman hearing tells him that the thing is still outside. He curses under his breath.

"Hello?"

The voice makes Bakhura jump. He's never known anyone else who has such good hearing, so he prays that it was merely a coincidence. Coincidence or not, though, the voice keeps talking to him. Bakhura can now confirm that the thing outside is a girl, judging by the pitch of the voice. Bakhura doesn't want a girl near his hideout. She doesn't sound too old, probably around the same age as him, but that only makes him grumpier. Where are the girl's parents?

When she doesn't shut up, Bakhura tightens his grip on the knife and slowly slinks out. If he tells her to go away, she'll learn of his presence and she might tell the guards. That would be the worst thing for Bakhura, who plans on staying under the radar until he's strong enough to take on the Pharaoh. His only choice to get her to leave would be to kill her; he can't trust her to keep a secret.

That is fine, the Voice whispers. Kill the girl.

I will, Bakhura promises. He pulls a piece of fabric over his white hair, and then slips into the tunnel. He begins crawling, making sure that his stomach doesn't drag on the ground or that his feet slip. Any noise will alert the girl, and he wants to catch her off-guard. Bakhura enjoys a good fist-fight, and even a fight with a guard sounds exhilarating, but fighting with a girl doesn't provide the thrill, the rush of adrenaline inside of him. Once he is close enough to the entrance, Bakhura lifts his head up slowly and tries to see the girl. It isn't hard, even if she is dressed in a dark robe. Her hair is white like his and glows in the moonlight. Her pale skin reflects the moonlight, lighting up her face so she looks like a spectre at his doorstep. Bakhura has never seen such a pale person in his life.

Don't lose focus, the Voice says. Kill her.

Bakhura shivers at the Voice's words. I will, he snaps irritably. Just give me time.

To kill the girl, Bakhura first decides on his plan. She seems unaware of his presence, so her hearing is better than her sight. He takes note of her innocent posture, the way her hands are trembling in the cold and how exhausted she appears. Bakhura remembers looking like that, back when he was six years old and an orphan in his village. For days he lie amongst the stars, the smoke, and the blood, too scared and tired to do anything but cry. He's come far. Clutching the dagger tight in his grip, Bakhura shoots forward.

He's never missed before. He knows his aim was true, but it seems that the girl was aware of his presence. She must've heard him jump, for she'd stepped back and hit her arm with his, keeping his dagger away from her body. Quickly, Bakhura slashes his dagger at her; his other hand goes for her wrist or arm in an attempt to keep her still. The girl avoids his dagger and shakes him off, but her attempts are weak and Bakhura gets a hold of her upper arm and pushes her to the ground. Before she has a chance to stand, Bakhura knees her in the middle of her back and holds her to the ground.

"You're trespassing," he hisses.

The girl coughs harshly. "I am sorry! I did not know this was your place."

"Damn right it is," Bakhura confirms. He presses his knee harder into her back, eliciting a cry. The knife shakes in his hand. "I have to kill you," he whispers. "No one can know where I live, even if they promise me that they'll never tell a soul."

"I am sorry you cannot trust me," the girl says.

"You don't even know why!" Bakhura snaps. He raises his dagger above his head, looking at his target. He should be able to puncture an artery in her neck and kill her. The kill will be messy, but at least the guards won't be at his doorstep in the morning, trying to drag him out of his hideout. "I have to kill you."

But he can't. Bakhura knows he can't. He's only killed two people in his life, and one of those was an accident. The thought of taking another's life makes him sick, even if he wants to take the Pharaoh's. He just… He's not ready. Yet. But he tries: he stands over Kisara for minutes. He holds the dagger above his head, closes and opens his eyes, almost brings it down once… but he doesn't kill the girl. He can't. Finally, he chucks the dagger back into the tunnel and screams loudly, slamming his knee into the girl's back. "I can't kill you!" he snarls, aiming a kick at her midsection. "Why did you come here? Why couldn't you be anywhere else! You're going to ruin everything!"

"I am sorry," the girl pleads, still gasping for breath. She holds her ribcage tenderly, leaning forward as though to ease the pain in her back. With her free hand she tucks her long, white hair behind her ear; strands of hair still fall in front of her light blue eyes. "Please do not kill me."

"I already said I can't kill you!" Bakhura shouts. He fists his hands in his own white hair. Out of his rage, Diabound materialises, and Bakhura suddenly lashes out again by sicking Diabound on the girl. The Ka's snake-tail shoots out, knocking her to the ground. The attack not only makes the girl cry out, but her eyes suddenly flicker blue. Bakhura hasn't seen that before, since he'd pressed the girl's face into the cool sand, but now that she is facing him, he is worried by this strange sight. He goes to attack her again, but her eyes glow blue and the girl's head tips forward. From her body appears a thick white cloud, first circling around her and then materialising above her head. Bakhura knows a Ka summon when he sees one, and it appears that this girl also has a Ka-beast, and one that can leave her body at will. The Ka takes the form of a white dragon with blue eyes. Together with the fear of being turned in, Bakhura can do nothing but fight her.

Diabound obeys his wishes and flies forward, tackling the great white dragon with its arms. Its snake-like appendage attempts to bite the other beast's neck, yet the dragon is strong and puts up a valiant fight. It shakes Diabound off like a rag doll and, when his Ka is recovering, the dragon lunges and sinks its own teeth into Diabound's neck. The pain Diabound receives makes Bakhura howl. Hearing his master's cry makes Diabound fight harder; the Ka beast slashes at the dragon's chest with its nails, creating three large scores.

The fight between the two Ka beasts continues, but Bakhura is more worried about the girl. He is able to move and help his Ka, but it appears this girl went into a state of unconsciousness when her Ka was summoned. She remains on the ground, unmoving, with her unnatural blue eyes lighting up the night sky like two small beacons of light. It is mildly disturbing, even from a distance.

Bakhura isn't going to sit and wait for the fight to end, though. He runs after the girl and begins dragging her into the cavern. At first the dragon doesn't notice him – it is too preoccupied in the heated battle between Diabound – yet when Diabound slams it across the face with its fist, the dragon's face is pointed towards him and it catches him with its master. A loud roar pierces the air as the dragon tears away from Diabound and charges at Bakhura. Quickly, he shoves the girl into the opening and dives after her. He hears the dragon's jaws snap somewhere behind him, and he is grateful to not feel a pain from his feet being severed from his body.

He wastes no time in pushing the girl through the small tunnel and into the main room. Her eyes are open and glowing blue; the dragon's roar confirms that the Ka is still there. Bakhura doesn't know how to put it back inside her, but he calls Diabound back. He will protect Diabound at all costs. With some guilt, Bakhura realizes that he is also protecting this girl, but in his mind, she is his prisoner. If he let her go, she would blab to the nearest guard. Not only does she know what he looks like, but she knows of his secret hideout. He'd have to move, if he wanted to remain safe.

After a few minutes, the dragon's roars settle, until the only noise outside is the gust of wind whooshing past the front door. Bakhura huddles in the back of his hideout with the white-haired girl. He swears he's not afraid, but the idea of keeping this girl prisoner worries him. He's never had a prisoner before. He's only ever killed two people, and one of them gave him the scar on his face. At the thought of his scar, Bakhura subconsciously raises his hand to his face, tracing the long line of ripped skin down his left cheek. It's been years and the scar still looks hideous, as though –

"That looks like an awful scar," the girl says softly.

Bakhura jumps at her voice. He didn't know she was awake. Her eyes are no longer glowing, meaning that her Ka is safely back inside of her. He quickly runs to the other side of the room and grabs an iron manacle he found on the ground. He never thought he'd actually use it, but it appears there is a use for everything. Before the girl can argue to run away, Bakhura pounces on her and snaps the manacle onto her thin wrist. He attaches the other end of the manacle to a chain in the wall that Bakhura placed there ages ago when he wanted to hang something up.

When he is done, he smirks. "I gave the other guy a much worse one," he boasts.

The girl falls quiet. She carefully sits up, still holding her stomach and gingerly watching her back. Her pale skin is tainted by dark bruises from their fight. She nonetheless shows no signs of attacking him, either with her dragon Ka or with words. Instead, she sits up fully and peers around his hideout. Her long hair hangs limply in front of her face, and Bakhura wonders if she can even see through all her hair. He doesn't say anything, though. He wants her to speak first.

Finally, she talks: "Is this your house?"

Bakhura hardly considers this place a house – it's only one room. His cheeks flush at the pseudo-compliment. "Yes," he grounds out, looking the other way.

The girl does not seem to notice his embarrassment. She pauses to clear her throat, then says, "My name is Kisara."

"I'm not telling you my name," Bakhura snaps. "I don't like people."

Kisara seems unperturbed by this. "That is fine, but I must call you something. What would you prefer?"

She talks funny, Bakhura says to himself.

You should have killed her, the Voice chastises. She will pose a problem in our plans.

I'll think of something, Bakhura snarls. Let me deal with her.

The Voice does not say anything, and Bakhura wonders if the Voice ever gets mad at his sour mood. He shrugs it off and faces the girl. She looks expectantly at him, tangling her fingers in her long hair. "… Call me Thief King," he says. If she's going to call him by a name like they're friends – and Bakhura spits the word out like bile – then she might as well call him something fancy. He'll be the true Thief King someday.

"Very well, Thief King." Kisara sits up straighter, folding her hands in her lap. "Am I to assume that I will not be leaving this room for a while?"

"Yes," Bakhura growls. He doesn't like how nosy she's being. It's annoying. He walks over and grabs another loaf of bread to munch on. The fight has made him hungry. He pauses at his stash, thinking about getting something for Kisara. A dark thought festers in his mind that he should let her starve to death, as then he won't need to kill her with his knife, but he has nowhere to keep her while she starves. He doubts she'll be quiet, and it takes an awfully long time to starve someone. Plus, if she is too loud, someone will overhear. Then he'll have to deal with the guards.

Growling glumly, Bakhura snatches another loaf of bread and stomps back to his place. Out of anger, he tosses the bread at her head; this time his aim is true, and it bounces off the side of her head before landing on the dusty floor.

"Don't waste it," he berates her. "I mean, I stole it, but it's my food and I don't want you wasting it. Either you eat it, or –"

"Thank you, Thief King," Kisara says with a smile, effectively cutting off his rant. Bakhura sullenly looks away, but from the corner of his eye, he sees her bow her head slightly before taking a bite. To avoid her gaze, he rips off chunks of bread with his teeth and chews noisily. Either Kisara is not disgusted by his uncivil eating habits, or she pays little attention to it, for both children eat in peace. When they are done, Bakhura tells her that she is staying there to sleep. He does not trust her; even now, he is nervous of her presence. The alcove is rather small, so she could attack him…

Bakhura settles down on his pillow bed and scrunches his eyes closed, but sleep does not come. Perhaps it is because he is not tired and the adrenaline has not left his system. Perhaps it is because a foreign girl is sleeping in his hideout, not a foot away, and he is slightly worried that she will attack him with her Ka in his sleep. Whatever it is, Bakhura has a difficult time sleeping. To make matters worse, within seconds he hears the girl fall into a blissful sleep, with her breath evening out.

Stupid girl, he mutters.

You should have killed her, the Voice says. It mocks him.

I know.

Over the next few weeks, Bakhura and Kisara fall into a sort of routine. Every morning, Bakhura wakes up and eats something for breakfast. He eats whether she is awake or not, and if she is not awake while he is eating, then she must wait until he remembers to feed her or if he eats again. Once he is done breakfast, Bakhura hurries out to the marketplace to steal. Kisara does not come. She once asked if she could accompany him, but Bakhura knew a stupid question when he heard one. That was a stupid question. For one, she would get caught. He didn't care if she went to prison, but he sure as hell didn't want to. He couldn't kill the Pharaoh from within a jail cell. Another reason is because he cannot trust her to keep quiet. She is fairly quiet, yet Bakhura refuses to believe or trust anything this white-haired girl says, simply because she is his prisoner. Being his prisoner means that she is chained to the wall with an iron manacle while he is out. He unchains her when he returns, but this is a precaution to ensure that she doesn't talk to anyone except him.

For the most part, Kisara accepts it. She never tries to break the manacle around her thin, pale wrist, nor does she try to pull herself free. If Bakhura says to stay in the alcove, she listens and stays inside. If he tells her to eat, she eats. There are no arguments between them. For Bakhura, this means that he is always in control of her. He's always been in control of his life, and the only orders he will take are those from the Voice; ergo, why should he have to take orders from her? Thankfully, the girl accepts orders.

When Bakhura is home, he finds her presence to be a comfort. He will admit that he was wary of her presence for the first week. He'd expected her to attack him, to run away and tell the guards of his hideout. He'd expected her to betray him. Yet she didn't. Kisara remained faithfully in the room. Now, Bakhura finds his evenings to be a pleasure. When he returns, he unchains her and tells her to sit on the bed. Occasionally, he will ask her to help him sort the loot, but only if he knows there is nothing truly valuable that she will steal. Either way, Kisara does not complain. She never complains of his lousy mood or vile eating habits. She is unnaturally quiet at night, but Bakhura does not believe that the girl is afraid of him. She doesn't cringe nor cry when he threatens her. This bugs him. If he holds a knife to someone's neck, they quiver and shake and cry; when he holds a knife to Kisara's neck, she remains still and stares at him with her big, blue eyes.

The two of them settle down into what could be described a camaraderie, albeit a shaky one. Bakhura doesn't trust Kisara with his secrets, but he trusts her enough to touch his treasures. After a month, it never passes his mind to chain her to a wall throughout the night, as she's never touched him before.

One thing that Kisara does not do is call her Ka beast out. Bakhura has not seen the dragon since their first encounter, when Bakhura hurt the girl and the dragon appeared to defend its master. Kisara never talks about the dragon, either, and this worries Bakhura. Does she even know of the dragon's presence?

One night when the two adolescents are sitting around the pillow bed and eating wet dates from a golden goblet, Bakhura asks, "Where are you from?"

This is the first time he has attempted communication with the girl that is not about their basic necessities: eating, drinking, sleeping, or thieving. The girl looks up from her food, cocking her head to one side in confusion. With her eyes upon him, Bakhura stubbornly looks away, stuffing more dates into his mouth to hide the blush on his cheeks. Kisara looks back down.

"I do not know," she whispers.

"Is that because you won't tell me?" Bakhura growls.

"No," Kisara says at length, "I do not know where I am from."

This intrigues Bakhura. Even he remembers his village, Kul Elna. He remembers the little mud-houses crowded around dirt streets. He remembers the well, the thousands of buildings scattered across the hill like goats on a mountain. The picture is vivid in his mind… So why can't she remember?

"Where are you from?"

"I'm not telling you!" Bakhura snaps. He doesn't bother to look at her. "I'm asking the questions."

"All right." Kisara says no more. She shifts her body on the pillows, tucking her pale legs underneath her body. Her long, white hair has become rattier and dirtier, even dirtier than Bakhura's own hair. She hasn't left the alcove since that night, and while she shows no inclination to leave, Bakhura is sure that she yearns to see the sun and sand again. It must be rather dreary in the hideout.

You are becoming soft, Thief King, the Voice says. It sounds meaner, nastier – it sounds jealous.

Am not! Bakhura rebukes. It's not like I'm gonna let her out of my sight. I'm just… He pauses. Never mind.

He turns his head away impishly, ignoring the way Kisara looks at him oddly. When she returns to her food, Bakhura ventures, "Do you want to bathe?"

The girl barely lifts her head. "How will you bring the water in here?"

Bakhura pauses, then begins scouring the room for a bucket. He finds one and holds it up for her. "I'll bring you back some water. I…" His voice tapers off. He glances at the chain manacle. "Promise me that you will stay here?"

Kisara lifts her head fully. Her eyes are wide, innocent, but there is another emotion: trust. "I promise, Thief King."

Blushing slightly, Bakhura turns his face away from hers and begins dressing for the cold weather. The clothes he owns are too big and ratty, but the multiple layers will protect him from the cold, and the cloth over his face will keep the sand out of his eyes. When he is ready, he grabs the bucket and heads out of the hideout without a backwards glance.

He does not make it far before the Voice begins talking: You are making a stupid decision, Thief King, and someday you will pay for it. That girl is not to be trusted; she will turn upon you. If you want to avenge your village, you must kill the girl.

Bakhura snarls. No, if I want to avenge my village, I need to kill the Pharaoh. She is not important.

She is important to you.

The words cause him to stumble. He cannot argue with the Voice, as it can read his thoughts, memories, and emotions. The Voice knows that he is growing soft towards Kisara – but is that wrong? Is it wrong to trust someone? She appears to have no connection to the Pharaoh, nor to anyone in this world. Like him, she is an outcast, a shadow, a nameless face that rarely appears in the crowd. No one seems to know who she is. She herself doesn't know who she is. Therefore, Bakhura sees no problem with keeping her. Perhaps, in the long run, she will help him kill the Pharaoh.

Your death will be because of her, the Voice says before it slips back into Bakhura's mind.

As scary as the omen is, Bakhura feels that the words are empty. Kisara will not turn on him, and he will not die because of her. He enjoys her presence, yes, but if they were both going to die, Bakhura knows that he must save himself. He must kill the Pharaoh someday to avenge his village.

He quickly fills the bucket at a nearby oasis, and then runs as fast as he can back to his hideout. Just before he enters, he wonders if he shouldn't have trusted Kisara. What if the girl escaped? Was it wrong to allow her such freedom? She won't leave the hideout, but, for now, this is the smallest service he can offer her.

He slips back inside the hideout holding his breath – and promptly exhales in relief. Kisara sits on the pillows, hands folded in her lap and legs tucked neatly underneath her. She seems to have not moved. Bakhura scans his hideout for any noticeable difference, but he finds none. With a shrug, he steps towards her and settles down on the pillow-bed, bucket in hand.

"Wash up."

Kisara stands, but does not make any further movements.

"Well?" Bakhura says, tapping his foot impatiently.

"I… I do not know what to do."

"Aren't you going to wash your hair?"

Kisara pauses before nodding. Bakhura hands her a rag and she takes it experimentally. It appears she's never sponge-bathed before, but Bakhura ignores her confusion and begins busying himself with rearranging his treasures. He wishes he could go out in public, dressed like a royal prince, but the guards would know he'd stolen everything and he'd taken them away. It was depressing that he could not show of his riches to the world.

Bakhura hears Kisara whisper something and he turns around.

"Kisara!" he shrieks. "What the hell are you doing?"

The girl is naked before him, wiping her arms of with the rag. Bakhura has seen the female body before, as children often go nude and many women expose their breasts, but these women are always strong, tanned, and well-muscled. Kisara is not. For one, her skin is abnormally pale for an Egyptian girl. She also has many scars on her body, which remind Bakhura of his own scars. She does not appear embarrassed; for once, she ignores him and continues cleaning herself.

"Kisara," Bakhura growls, averting his eyes, "I said you could wash your hair. I did not say you could wash your body."

"But I cannot wash my hair with this pail. I will get water everywhere."

She's arguing¸ Bakhura realizes. He is surprised that this fact pleases him. Stiffly, he replies, "Fine. I'll do it for you." Before she can object, Bakhura begins clearing an open spot on the floor for her to sit. He places dirty clothes on the ground to soak up the water. "Sit here," he commands. She does. Bakhura then drags the bucket over to her location and positions himself behind her. He wonders if he should tell her to dress, but decides that seeing this girl naked should not be any more awkward than seeing the women in the village naked. Kisara is just pale, and prettier, and Bakhura's age.

He shoves the rag into the water with a low growl, splashing water over the sides.

"Is everything all right?" Kisara asks. Her bravery throughout this is astonishing.

"No," Bakhura admits. He cups his hands and, without warning her, drops the water over her head. She gasps as the water hit her head and drips down her face. Bakhura ignores her and continues to wet her hair, until the long strands are flat. Then, carefully, he takes one of his combs and begins brushing her hair. The fist-sized tangles are near-impossible to remove, but Bakhura likes Kisara's hair and does not offer to cut them out. He simply pulls the comb through her hair, ignoring the girl's cries when he pulls to hard or snags the comb on a large tangle. When he cannot get a tangle undone, he uses his fingers to pull it apart. All the while he hums to himself. When he is done, he massages the soap into her hair and brushes through it once again, making sure her hair is the smoothest.

"… This is very nice," Kisara admits in a wavering voice, even though there are tears in the corners of her eyes and her hands are balled in tight fists. "Thank you, Thief King."

The compliment is unexpected. "Don't thank me. I'm sure I yanked out half your hairs."

"It did not hurt."

Bakhura rinses out her hair. Carefully, he takes the strands in his hands and begins braiding them. His mother used to have long hair and he loved to play with it, braid it. His cheeks burn with embarrassment, but if the girl dares to mock him, he can always threaten her with the knife at his hip. She never does. After a while, she hums along with him. Their voices bounce around the small alcove, creating a melody only the two of them can hear.

When he finishes, he stands and begins putting away the comb, the bucket, and the soap. Kisara remains on the ground for a moment, feeling her hair with her fingers.

"You'll pull it out, if you keep touching it," Bakhura mumbles.

"I'm sorry." Kisara drops her hands. "Thank you, Thief King."

"Don't mention it." He settles down on the bed, attempting to fall asleep. He doesn't hear Kisara move, and when he opens his eyes, she remains on the pile of wet cloths. Bakhura notices the way her shoulders tremble and the slight blue tinge to her skin. At first, he wonders if he Ka is returning, but then he notices the blue tinge to her lips. She's cold. The girl seems unaware of this, even though she is shivering. Sighing, Bakhura grabs one of his shentis and throws it at the girl.

"Put that on," he says, "unless you'd like to freeze to death. You can sleep with me tonight."

For the first time since they met, Bakhura sees a tinge of pink on the girl's cheeks. He smirks. Returning to bed, he nestles under the covers and buries his face in the silky pillows. After a few minutes, he feels the blankets shift and she slips in next to him. Her hand brushes his and the touch shocks him. His eyes open. She is inches from him. The blush remains on her cheeks, even as she restlessly falls to sleep.

You are making a horrible decision, the Voice tells him.

I'm making my own decision, Bakhura returns.

Their companionship blossoms after the first night. Bakhura had been reluctant to let Kisara sleep in his bed, yet oddly he feels safer with her nearby. Her Ka has never returned, but Bakhura is certain that the dragon would not attack him. He and Kisara have achieved friendship. They are friends. Bakhura no longer has to chain her to the wall when he heads out to thieve, and when he returns he allows her to sit outside and watch the sun set from behind a rock. She never attempts to leave him; she says that she never will. It is now her own will that keeps Kisara with him, not his overpowering presence.

The Voice begins to harass him more. It tells him that he is stupid, that he will be killed, and that Bakhura will never avenge his village. Out of anger, Bakhura tells the Voice that he doesn't it to help him. He can kill the Pharaoh on his own, and he doesn't need the power of the Millennium Items. He and Kisara are strong enough to take on the Royal Guard and the Pharaoh. Besides, Diabound does not seem fazed by the girl's presence. Once, Bakhura introduced Kisara to Diabound, explaining that his Ka was his brother and only family. Kisara said that Diabound was strong, like Bakhura, and that he should be proud of achieving such a powerful Ka. Bakhura beamed at her compliment.

What was once imprisonment is now a steady friendship. They do not share much between each other, but Kisara does not seem to desire more about him. She has become braver over the months; she demands things such as food or water, and even follows him outside of the hideout to watch him leave. She no longer has to sponge-bathe, for Bakhura now takes her to the oasis to clean herself. He admits that stripping in front of the girl was awkward, but he quells his embarrassment by boasting to her about his scars and muscles.

On the anniversary of their four-month friendship, Bakhura offers to take her to the city for the first time.

"But will we not get caught?" Kisara asks.

"Not if we dress up." He holds up various pieces of clothing. None of them are extravagant by any means, and certainly not the best fabrics he owns, but they resemble an outfit that the average villager would wear while touring the city. "If we disguise ourselves as villagers, then the guards won't catch us," he explains.

Kisara smiles. "All right. I would like that."

As embarrassing as it is, Bakhura takes pride in his appearance. He's recently washed his hair to cleanse it of all dirt and grime. The clothes he chooses for himself are classy: a knee-length shirt that, while too big, is embroidered with red thread. Perhaps it is a bit fancier than the average villager, but Bakhura doesn't think the guards will suspect him of thievery. To complete the look, he slips a bracelet onto each of his wrists.

"How do you think I look…?" he boasts, turning around. The words die in his throat when he spots Kisara. Like him she is emaciated and decorated with scars, but her appearance makes his heart beat faster. She brushes her long hair out of her eyes with a delicate hand, head turned to the side to face him. The long, white dress gives her an ethereal look, yet the small blue-gemmed necklace gives the outfit color and style.

"You look well," Kisara says, blushing slightly. She tucks her hair behind her ears, but it falls back in front of her eyes.

"Here," Bakhura says, pushing her to the ground. "Let me braid your hair. You don't want it in your eyes when we're out in the city."

"All right," Kisara concedes. She tucks her feet underneath her body and sits on the ground. Bakhura quickly braids her long hair, tying it at the ends in a loose knot. When she stands again, the hair in her face is tucked back, exposing her blue eyes and pink lips. She smiles at him, reaching out to touch the scar on his cheek. "Thank you, Thief King." Bakhura blushes. He slowly lifts his hand up, but does not pull Kisara's away; instead, he puts his hand over hers.

For a moment, it is just the two of them, standing amongst piles of treasure and dressed like adults. There is no Voice, no guards, no evil, no Millennium Items, no Pharaoh in Bakhura's head. Today is his day with Kisara. He smiles at her – a genuine smile, not a cocky smirk – and takes her by the hand. The two of them exit the hideout together.

Kisara beams when they get outside. She's been outside, yes, but only a handful of times in the daylight and never for an extended amount of time. In the distance is a cluster of buildings: the city. She seems to quiver with excitement. Nervously, Bakhura fiddles with his knife, flicking it up in the air and catching it before it hits the ground. He will be lying if he says he isn't worried about visiting the city. He's never just "gone out" before. There's always been a reason, a mission, a purpose for going out, and it was always because of thieving. He won't be doing any thieving today.

He pulls his hood up over his face and helps Kisara with hers, being careful of her hair. The two of them depart, hand in hand, towards the city. They are quiet at first, but Kisara pipes up after a few minutes. "What will we see today?"

"The markets, mostly." Bakhura's pockets jingle with change. He's sworn not to steal a thing. "We can browse, see some of the shows." He pauses to glance at her. "You've never been to a city before, right?"

"I have," she says. "But not as a guest. Other villagers throw rocks at me because of my skin tone."

"Keep your hood up, then. I doubt this city will be any different."

When they reach the palace gates, they are let inside without a second glance. Bakhura squeezes Kisara's hand. The girl does not squeeze back. Her blue eyes are concentrated on the sights, the people, the buildings; she breaks into the brightest smile and gasps. "It's beautiful," she whispers. She takes a few steps forward. "It's beautiful," she repeats.

Bakhura thinks otherwise, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. This city is elitist, superficial, and full of filth. How can Kisara like such a place? If it wasn't for the hood over her head, she would be stoned by the villagers. Yet these thoughts seem to have no place in the girl's mind, for she is enthralled by the wonders of the big city. Bakhura remembers that she has not seen civilization in four months, and that her only company has been him.

He doesn't let her gape at the buildings for long. "There's much more to see," he tells her as he tugs her down the road. They pass by hundreds of eclectic people who don't pay the duo a second glance. The marketplace is oddly busy for an early morning, and Bakhura wonders if there is a special attraction today. Curious, he takes Kisara to a merchant's stall and, while browsing the goods, inquires if something special is occurring today.

"Why, the High Priests are in the city today. No one knows why, but isn't it a great day to see the Royal Guard pass through our streets?" The man continues his tirade animatedly, but Bakhura pays him no attention and scowls. That's why everyone's here? To see the scum who obey the Pharaoh? An awful taste fills his mouth, causing Bakhura to make a face. He swallows quickly as the merchant returns to normal.

"Thank you," Bakhura says. He leads Kisara away, eyes downcast. Everyone respects the Pharaoh and his Priests, yet only Bakhura knows of the horrid crimes they've committed. Everyone says the Pharaoh is an honest, respected man who is Ra in flesh. No one questions his judgment. No one questioned him when the Priests suddenly bore strange golden artefacts and the peace in the city was restored. Bakhura spits on the ground in disgust. No one will ever think that the Pharaoh massacred a village to create the Items and made a contract with the Darkness. No one! Furiously, Bakhura tugs on his hair. It isn't fair that everyone trusts the Pharaoh! Someone with power has to know that killing innocent people to save a city is wrong. Why did they have to kill?

"Thief King?" Kisara whispers. Her hand is on his and her eyes are locked with his. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Bakhura snarls, wrenching his hand out of hers.

"I can see you are not," Kisara returns. "Will you tell me what is wrong?"

Bakhura has never told a soul about Kul Elna. Can he? Can he retell his gruesome, tragic story to a girl who is as much of an outcast as he is? And if he does, will she believe him? What will she do with the information? Bakhura wishes that she would believe him and turn against the Pharaoh, so that they could kill the Pharaoh together and get revenge for the genocide of his village. However, can he trust her? What if, instead, she turns on him and runs to tell the Royal Guard? Bakhura doesn't think he can kill her, even if she betrays him. He trusts her…

"The High Priest!" a man gasps, and suddenly everyone in the city is on their knees. Bakhura quickly drops down, tugging Kisara with him. This act demoralizes Bakhura, yet he knows he cannot stand up to the Priests. He does, however, sneak a glance at them. There are two men and a women walking down the street, all three carrying a Millennium Item. The first man has a tall, pointed hat and long, blue and white robes. His face is stern, eyes piercing, expression menacing. He could kill Bakhura with a flick of his wrist. In his hand is the Rod. The second man looks much friendlier, smiling shyly to the crowd. It makes Bakhura sick when the Priests pity the villagers. This man's robes are all white, and his head is covered by a shawl. The Millennium Ring rests on his chest, shining in the sunlight. The woman walks between both of them, and her presence is overpowering. She is beautiful and strong, confident as she struts by the villagers. Her pure white dress is beautiful, yet it is her golden headdress that makes Bakhura gasp. Her Item, the Millennium Torque, is fastened around her neck.

Take their Items, the Voice hisses.

Bakhura jumps. The Voice hasn't spoken to him in months; they'd severed communication since Kisara had become a part of his life. No, Bakura says. It's too dangerous. There's three of them and one of me. I can't even steal it, Diabound or not.

Use the girl, the Voice says. Sacrifice her and steal the Items. If you want to kill the Pharaoh, you must collect all seven Items. You are not strong enough to kill him without my power.

I am! I can kill the Pharaoh without your help. Kisara and I are strong enough to take on the Pharaoh. Someday, we'll kill the Pharaoh!

The Voice laughs at him. Bakhura shivers. Next to him, Kisara gives him a worried glance.

You are weak, Thief King. You need my power, else you will fail. I told you before: Your death will be because of her. If you do not kill her, she will kill you. That is the truth.

That is a lie, Bakhura snaps. I'm not listening to you anymore. I won't steal the Millennium Items for you. Get out of my head!

The Voice is silent. Then a searing pain tears through his head and Bakhura screams. He falls back into another person, but before he can say anything another shot of pain goes through his mind. He can feel the Voice creeping through his mind, slowly tearing him apart. Bakhura's finger begins to quiver on its own, and Bakhura comes to the grave conclusion that he is losing control of his body.

No! he shouts.

If you will not obey me, then I will take over. I am done playing games, Thief King. You are my vessel, and you will do as I command. Before Bakhura can fight back, the Voice mentally slams into him. It is a weird feeling, as though he is a soul driving his body and someone momentarily takes the reins from him. He is knocked aside and his vision spins. Shaking himself, Bakhura quickly takes off down the road, disregarding the confused and appalled stares of the other villagers and the terrified look from Kisara. He doesn't see her follow him, but he desperately hopes that she will stay away. He doesn't think the Voice will be nice to Kisara.

Bakhura manages to make it out of the city and behind a large rock, where he allows himself to scream, writhe, and claw at his head. The Voice nestles inside of his mind, fighting him for control. The blows they exchange are within him, and they seem to only cause pain for Bakhura.

"Get out of me!" Bakhura cries out.

You do not disobey me, Thief King, the Voice says. The Millennium Items will be returned to the Memory Tablet once again, and I will be free. You will not stop me!

I don't want the Millennium Items! Bakhura cries. I want to kill the Pharaoh. That is my revenge!

The Voice snarls; it sounds more bestial than human. Another spike of pain shoots within his mind. Bakhura writhes in the sand. He does not know what to do. He calls out Diabound and begs the Ka beast to attack him, but Diabound seems torn. It appears that whoever controls Bakhura's body controls the Ka. Since both he and the Voice are fighting for possession, Diabound is a mixture of their two souls: one half is pure white with a feathery wing, while the other is dark and grotesque with a bat-like wing. Bakhura is horrified to see his Ka in such a state.

"Diabound, help me!" he begs. "You listen to me, Diabound, not the Voice!"

"Thief King?"

Bakhura whips around to find Kisara standing a few feet away, hands fisted in her nice dress and her braided hair blowing in the wind. She opens her mouth, but Bakhura silences her when he screams loudly and curls in on himself. He wishes he could rip his brain out and live without it, for the pain it is causing him is immeasurable.

"Thief King, what's wrong?" she demands, falling to her knees.

The pain is too strong to form words. Bakhura rips at his hair, tufts of white stuck between his fingers. There is blood underneath his fingernails from when he clawed at the top of his head and at his face. Nothing he does eases the pain.

"Please, Diabound!" he sobs. His Ka looks at him, torn, before raising its hand and smacking him across the face. Bakhura isn't sure if this attack will get the Voice out of his head, but for the first time he hears the Voice groan. Perhaps Bakhura must attack himself to destroy the Voice. Meanwhile, Kisara stands nearby, hands in her hair and tears streaming down her face. She screams at him to stop hurting himself. Bakhura refuses to meet her gaze. He will not obey the Voice any longer. He can't tell her what he did… what he thought was right many years ago when he was left in Kul Elna. He can't tell her how he made a contract with the Darkness, the same Darkness whose power runs through the Millennium Items.

As Bakhura prepares himself for another blast from Diabound, he feels something else in his head. It is comforting, inviting, and Bakhura quickly latches onto it. Behind him, he hears the roar of a great beast, but it is not the bestial roar of the Voice. To the side, Bakhura notices the blue light surrounding Kisara and her expressionless face.

The dragon! he says to himself. He holds on tighter to the dragon, whose presence wraps around his injured mind and slowly tears him away from the Voice. Bakhura wishes he could close his eyes, but for some reason he keeps them open. A fight between light and darkness rages within his mind: on one side, a darkness pulls at him, valiantly trying to enter his mind and control him; the dragon on the other side is the light, which caresses him and holds him close. The two powers fight for dominance over him. Soon Diabound joins the dragon, and Bakhura is glad to see that his Ka is almost all white and beautiful. The Voice is leaving him! They're winning!

But that hope soon perishes when the Voice shoots forward, wrapping itself around the dragon and Diabound. He hears Kisara scream from behind him, and Bakhura can do nothing but press his face into the sand and scream with her. His soul feels like it's being torn apart. Perhaps that is what is happening. After all, Bakhura isn't sure how to break a contract with the Darkness. He assumes that he can't – that he will die – and this is why he is seeing a white light at the end of the tunnel. The Darkness, the Voice, clings to him by his ankles, yet Bakhura shakes it away and falls towards the light.

Just before he dies, Bakhura feels two presences in his mind. One he knows is Diabound; he knows the feel of his Ka well and would never mistake it for anything else. The other presence is slightly more foreign, but, too tired, Bakhura doesn't push it away. The other presence wraps itself around him, slowly materializing into the form of a girl with white hair and blue eyes. Bakhura can barely discern the presence as Kisara, but as his fuzzy eyes try to adjust to the blinding light, he catches her eye and smiles tiredly.

"I will never leave you," she whispers. Her hand grasps his and she squeezes his gently.

Too tired to respond, Bakhura presses himself against the girl and, with all of his strength, holds onto her. There is a hole in his heart that he will never avenge his village, never kill the Pharaoh, never be free, but he wonders if that was ever his purpose. Thieving has always been his purpose; he was born to thieve. Yet was he born to kill the Pharaoh? That may have been his wish, but sometimes wishes and dreams do not come true. Perchance he was meant to die, either with Kisara in his arms or not.

The light buzzes around them, Diabound and the dragon holding tight to their masters. Bakhura swallows as he feels himself falling away.

"I will never leave you," Kisara repeats.

Bakhura knows she isn't lying.