They walked through a narrow gap between two houses and observed their structure on the way. They looked very much like traditional ancient houses and were made with seemingly cheap materials. Marik was uneasy but Bakura could not have comforted him if he wanted to. Aside from not wanting to reveal their relationship, the spirit was all but entranced. His eyes glazed over as he was taken back through his memories, back to his childhood – before the massacre.

Marik kept quiet and stayed close to his lover, moving only when he moved. He wasn't sure why he had such a bad feeling about this place; he tried telling himself it was just nerves, then something strange happened. His scars began to burn. His entire back felt like it was on fire, the pain akin to when his father's searing blade had first carved into his flesh, only now he felt the knife dipping into every jagged raise in his skin, tracing, refreshing the mark.

The tanned boy was holding his breath, forcing back every scream and moan that tried to escape. His eyes shut tight and he began panting; the fit drew Bakura back to modern times and he stared at his love with a mix of irritation and concern.

"Marik, what are you doing?" he asked, placing a hand on the boy's back. Marik stopped writhing and his eyes opened wide; he was still catching his breath but had noticeably calmed. Bakura continued to stare, awaiting an answer.

Marik swallowed hard before trying to speak. "You stopped it… the pain stopped, when you touched me…"

Bakura glanced at his hand and pulled it away. The burn that had lingered in Marik's lower back began creeping up eagerly. Marik clenched his teeth and Bakura rested his hand on the spot again, earning a relieved sigh from his boyfriend.

"Marik, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure," the tanned boy replied, "my back is burning, but the pain goes away when you touch it."

Bakura frowned and moved his hand to Marik's lower back. The spot cooled but the scars between his shoulder blades began to tingle. After coming all this way, he didn't want to be the reason they had to leave, so he forced a smile.

"Maybe if we head deeper into town, it'll stop," he suggested. "Until then, would you mind?"

Bakura made a face of disapproval, but Marik could see the worry deep in his eyes. Bakura shifted his hand to the center of Marik's back, hoping to relieve as much of his phantom pain as possible and the couple continued on their way.

As they passed what appeared to be the end of the housing area, Marik thought he felt his pain lessen. It wasn't until they began to see merchants (though they looked uninviting, to say the least) that he truly felt his skin cool and quietly told Bakura that he could remove his hand. As much as the spirit had liked having an excuse to touch his lover in public, he welcomed the consent as they were beginning to receive nasty looks from the villagers they passed.

"What were you thinking about before?" Marik asked suddenly. Bakura glanced at him but kept his eyes mostly on their surroundings. The boy pressed, "you seemed… happy."

Bakura scoffed but it lacked his usual arrogance. Marik recognized that he was hiding his emotions. "My mother."

At first, the boy was quiet. He looked to the ground then stopped in place. "I never knew my mother."

Bakura slowed to a stop and observed his love. "Do you know what she was like?"

Marik looked up and started walking again. "Ishizu says she was very kind, unlike our father. Odion says he heard them arguing a lot, that they didn't really get along at all."

"Women don't much have stomachs for violence," Bakura said thoughtfully. "My mother raised me by herself. I never knew my father. A lot of rumors went around that I was an accident, but she didn't treat me like one."

Marik smiled, wondering if Bakura realized how easily he was opening up. The spirit caught the smile and scoffed again, but under the waning sun Marik caught the faintest touch of pink on pale cheeks.

They had passed the street merchants and were now in another area with buildings. Instead of houses, these ones looked like stores. Like the houses, however, they were only as good as limited building material allowed them to be. One stood out from the others as it was not the color of sand and limestone but a smoky, slate grey. Above the door was a weather-damaged awning which once flaunted a pattern of thin stripes in alternating colours. Despite its rundown appearance, Marik was drawn to it, though Bakura was less than amused.

"Don't you think we've done enough shopping?" the spirit chastised. Marik glanced back but offered no response and continued to the door. With a sigh, Bakura followed. "I doubt anyone's in there, let alone…"

His words fell on deaf ears as Marik pressed his shoulder to the aged door and pushed. It gave way enough to make the tanned boy believe it would open so he pushed again. When the door refused to move, Bakura thought he might give up, but he was summoning his strength to give the stone door a shove. Finally, it submitted to him.

"Geez," Marik sighed. "Either this place is abandoned, or the owner doesn't care for first impressions."

Bakura rolled his eyes and followed his eager lover inside. For no explained reason, the door closed behind them.

On the inside, the building looked like an old (albeit unfurnished) house. They passed through a small hallway and came to what was once a family room. A doorless arch gave way to the adjacent room, presumably a kitchen, then another with a window which was most likely a bedroom. Marik turned his back to the window and sighed. Bakura crossed his arms.

"Are you satisfied, Marik? There's nothing here, let's go."

Something in his voice seemed off, but Marik dismissed it. In reality, the spirit could sense something; it wasn't dark but definitely other-worldly, and it was bothering him. They turned back through the small house with Bakura now leading the way. As they neared the door, however, he slowed to a stop.

"What is it?" Marik asked, peering over his boyfriend's shoulder. Not only had the door closed by itself, but it had revealed another, more conventional door. Spiritual energy radiated from whatever lied beyond it. Bakura growled lowly and reached back for Marik's hand.

"Let's go."

Marik jumped at the touch and pulled his hand away, wincing at the glare he was shot for doing so. "Bakura, I want to see…"

"No," the spirit firmly interrupted the boy's whining. "There's nothing here. We're leaving."

"Is there something bothering you, Bakura?" Marik asked. His voice held genuine concern but that didn't stop the spirit from noticing the repeated use of his name – a tactic the boy often used when he wanted something.

"Only that we're wasting time here," he replied.

"It's not a waste of time," Marik snaked past and went for the door. "Just a little peek, then we can go."

Bakura grit his teeth but Marik had made his decision. The open door gave way to a questionable staircase and Bakura tried once more to coax his lover away. In a rare show of defiance, Marik waved off his warnings and descended.

Bakura lingered back until the heavy air from below began creeping out through the doorway. Even at the top of the stairs, he wondered how his boyfriend had been unable to sense the foreign energy from below. The stairs went on for over two minutes and it became too dark to see without using the light from his Millennium Ring. If he hadn't known better, he'd have feared Marik fell to the bottom.

When his feet touched flat ground once more, Bakura could hear his boyfriend's voice. He looked to the right and saw faint light coming from behind a translucent curtain. It seemed to be the direction Marik had gone, so he approached it.

Marik looked over his shoulder when the curtain shifted and his eyes brightened. Bakura was less than thrilled as he observed what his lover had found. His eyes came to rest on a woman standing behind a table against the far wall. The table was covered in a worn purple cloth with gold trim; he took little interest in the array of items that lay atop it. The woman had traditional, thick, black eyeliner, and her skin looked as though it were naturally tan but had not seen the sun in ages. She was wearing a gold-toned, beaded headdress over her straight, black hair, and a white dress with a decorated collar.

"Lady Sybil said you'd follow me down here," Marik explained. "She's a psychic."

Bakura sneered. "You don't actually believe that, do you?"

Marik nodded, "I told her you wouldn't come, but she said you would."

"She took a guess," Bakura rolled his eyes. "How did you make it down here in one piece, anyway?"

"Oh, you mean the stairs?" Marik tilted his head. "I was raised underground, I can see really well in the dark."

"You're a tomb keeper, then?" Sybil asked. Marik nodded, then touched his hair nervously.

"I used to be," he explained, "but I'm not really… anymore…"

Sybil closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "You have wronged your family in many ways, it seems."

Marik blushed. "Well, yeah, but I… I helped the Pharaoh!"

Bakura shot a look at the boy who hung his head submissively. Sybil was breathing deeply.

"I have had visions all my life of ancient spirits wandering our modern world," she spoke mystically. "I have encountered beings that possess great and ancient power, yet they seem to draw it from an outside source. Only one spirit has shown himself to me; the guardian of the items which harness dark energy from three millennia ago."

Bakura crossed his arms over the Ring protectively. Sybil's eyes snapped to him and for a brief second he felt as though her gaze had actually penetrated his mind. In that moment her eyes flashed a colour he could not identify then she was normal again. Marik seemed entirely unaware of the exchange. Her eyes trailed slowly to him and she smiled.

"Now then, Marik," her voice was thick with an accent other than Arabic, one that Marik didn't know. "Would you like me to tell your fortune?"

Marik nodded and approached the table. She took his hand in hers and he shivered but smiled politely when she looked up. Bakura raised an eyebrow in mild curiosity. Sybil traced the lines in Marik's hand and fed him information that she saw. She complimented his intelligence and gave constructive criticism on his problem solving and mental strength. Bakura stifled a laugh, knowing by the look in his partner's face that the boy took offense to some of the things she said.

Sybil read off his life line and money line saying little of real interest, then curiously told him that she could not read his marriage line. Marik cast a glance at Bakura who only shrugged. When she began to read his love line, she suddenly lost color in her face and looked at the two boys suspiciously. She cleared her throat but her voice still shook slightly.

"It seems your past relationships are quite disarrayed," she observed, "you don't appear to have found love outside your family until recently, and even within your family you scarcely experienced it. Your emotional development is weak; you tend to remain objective and avoid deep personal bonds, however, you treat the ones you care about with kindness and do what you can to advise them. The success of your relationships relies heavily on your partner's ability to communicate and maintain level ground. You need to know that your partner respects you, and you can't stand to be restricted."

"Are you a psychic, or an astrology book?" Bakura interrupted. "Marik, this woman has done nothing but tell you things that you already know."

"That's true," Marik said levelly, "but how could she possibly know them?"

Bakura growled again. "I didn't come here to have some stranger analyze you. I'm leaving."

"You can't go far," Marik reminded him, "you don't have a motorcycle license, and besides, I have the keys."

"I don't care," Bakura stopped at the curtain. "Come find me when you're done wasting time."

Marik felt a pang in his heart when Bakura actually left but he swallowed his pain and returned his attention to Sybil. She was studying him with increasing unease and he quickly took his hand away.

"Let's do something else," he said, browsing the room for a second chair. He spotted one against the wall and pulled it to the table so he could sit down. "Can you actually read my fortune?"

Sybil picked up a deck of tarot cards from the edge of the table. "I don't think you'll like what I have to tell you."

Marik was visibly confused but still insisted. With a sigh, Sybil shuffled the cards and began the spread.