Disclaimer: Don't own anything.

Of A Lesser God

By Fiver

Atem knew something was wrong.

He just felt like something was missing – which meant something was missing because this was the peaceful afterlife he'd earned and he wasn't supposed to pine for anything here. Except the living, perhaps. And he did miss Yuugi and the others, but that was a different kind of ache. It was a longing he could pinpoint, and when he'd mentioned it to Isis, she'd assured him with a smile that he'd see them again someday. It was bearable. He just had to be patient.

But this other feeling – that there was some kind of empty space here in his perfect resting place – was maddening. No matter how he puzzled over it, he could not identify its cause. And, perhaps most frustratingly, no one else seemed to be afflicted by it. He spoke of it to Mahaad, who looked mystified and then simply assured him that it would pass.

It was hard to keep track of time here, since it generally seemed to be whatever time of day he wanted it to be. But a long time went by. And the feeling didn't pass.

"...You really feel like something's missing?" Mana asked him one day as they lounged in the shade in the palace gardens. (Was this really just a replica created from their memories? Everything was so lush and perfect and real.)

"Yes," Atem replied, gazing up vacantly at the endless blue sky.

"But you don't know what?"

"No."

"Then..." She looked puzzled. "How do you know anything's missing at all...?"

Atem laughed weakly.

"I don't know," he admitted, pushing himself into a sitting position. "It's just a feeling, like...like when you leave the house without your phone or your wallet and you just know you've forgotten something..."

He noticed Mana was looking at him blankly and felt slightly abashed for using such a modern analogy.

"It's driving me crazy, anyway," he said conclusively.

Mana was silent for a moment (which, in itself, was a little odd), worrying at the soil with the tip of her shoe.

"Well, you know," she said finally. Her voice was light but unusually serious. "There was one other person who played a big part in your life in Egypt. A person who isn't here now, I mean."

Atem looked at her questioningly until she frowned.

"You know," she said, fixing her eyes on the ground. She looked uncomfortable.

"...You mean the Thief King?" Atem asked in surprise when she refused to offer further hints. She just shrugged in response, not seeming to like his incredulous tone. "But why would...?"

"You told us that you played a game to defeat Zorc," she interrupted. "A game set in a world just like our home. Just like here. Only it wasn't here. It wasn't real."

"No," he agreed. "It was a...reconstruction, I suppose."

"So even though you recovered most of your memories," Mana went on, "you still don't remember what happened the first time you fought that battle. Do you?"

He blinked.

"I know I sealed Zorc and myself in the Puzzle..." he said uncertainly.

"But what if there was more to it than that?" she said.

"...Do you know something...?" Atem started to ask, forehead creasing.

"I don't know enough to be sure of anything," Mana said with a slightly apologetic smile. "But one thing I've noticed is that your uncle sure does disappear a lot."

Atem blinked.

"Everyone comes and goes," he replied, confused as to how this was relevant. "Everyone gets to be wherever they want to be..."

"I know that, silly," she giggled, batting his arm lightly and looking a little more like her usual self. "But sometimes, when I see him leaving, he sure doesn't look like he's going anywhere he wants to be. He looks scared."

Atem sat in bewildered silence. He'd never paid much attention to Akunadin's movements.

"If this 'feeling' you have is anything to do with the Thief King or Zorc, your uncle is the person most likely to know something," Mana said insistently, looking at him with imploring eyes. "It all stems back to the creation of the Items, right? And who knows more about that than him?"

"I wouldn't be remotely surprised if this turned out to be related to the Items," Atem admitted dryly. "They seem to be the source of all the trouble in my world."

Atem had never spoken to his uncle about the night the Millennium Items were created. Since Akunadin was here and not Ammut's belly, he'd assumed that the matter had been laid to rest. But now, as he watched his uncle stride down the palace steps with a look on his face that could only be described as haunted, he began to wonder if perhaps it wasn't as simple as that.

He followed Akunadin from a short distance. Since Mana's odd suggestion was the only lead he had, he saw no harm in pursuing it. His uncle walked and walked and eventually the world of the palace and the surrounding city began to fade. Atem was briefly concerned that he wouldn't be able to follow, since the world was changing according to Akunadin's wishes, but when he wasn't tossed back onto the streets of Thebes, he supposed he wasn't breaking any rules.

For a short time they wandered through white nothingness, like the emptiness between radio frequencies, and then a new environment slowly began to form around them. Soil appeared beneath their feet, and greenery and trees sprang from it, as if they had just turned a new page in a pop-up book. There was a large pool of clear water nearby, and Atem realised they were in the centre of a large oasis. He couldn't help but frown and wonder why his uncle would come to such a place.

Then he saw the temple.

It loomed up unexpectedly, and almost bizarrely, in the middle of a clearing. It was unmistakeably a temple – Atem knew instinctively that it could be nothing else. It simply had that air to it. However, had he been asked, he would not have been able to say which god or goddess was worshipped here. The design of the building was completely alien to him – it was crafted entirely out of glittering white stone (too pure and gleaming and perfect to be any building material from Earth) and, though the carvings on its outer walls were sparse, those that he could see seemed to represent stories and teachings that he had most definitely never encountered during his lessons as a child.

And yet, as he watched, Akunadin went inside. He stared after him, mystified.

At great length, Atem began to make his own faltering way up the shining white steps, only hoping that the deity to whom this strange and magnificent place was dedicated would not be offended by his ignorant presence.

He stopped in his tracks when he reached the entrance. From the threshold inwards, the floor was black as soot. There was a startling dividing line where the blinding white ended and the heavy black began. Apprehension stirred in the pit of his stomach as he stared into the temple's startlingly dark interior. He could make out the distant red-orange flicker of firelight but, out here in the bright sun, he had no hope of discerning any precise details. With a deep breath, he took his first step into the foreboding darkness.

He was surprised by how quickly his eyes adjusted. He found himself in a huge, cavernous and very empty room, carved entirely out of the same inky stone as the floor. It was pleasantly cool compared to the everyday searing Egyptian heat outside. At the far end of the room there was a modest-sized doorway, and it was through this that a fire was casting its unsteady glow. Atem hesitated only a moment before beginning the journey across the wide expanse of floor. He walked softly but his footsteps still seemed to echo jarringly around him, making him feel self-conscious and oddly disrespectful.

The room on the other side of the doorway was smaller and slightly warmer than the enormous hall he had left behind – the warmth undoubtedly coming from the large fire blazing in the centre of the slightly raised platform in front of him. The air smelled strongly of some kind of spicy incense.

This room was not empty. In one corner, Akunadin knelt with his head bowed before what appeared to be a small shrine, murmuring words that Atem couldn't hear. Drawing closer with piqued curiosity, he saw that the shrine was covered with and surrounded by crudely made but clearly humanoid dolls, each about five inches tall and formed out of clay. There had to be at least a hundred of them. And from this distance, though the exact words still evaded him, Atem was suddenly aware that his uncle's muttering was anguished and frequently punctuated with low moans. He raised his head for a moment and Atem almost cried out when he saw that the Millennium Eye, which Akunadin did not normally possess in this world, was suddenly back in his left eye socket – and it was bleeding.

"Uncle..." he began, aghast, taking another step towards him.

"You should not disturb him," a soft voice informed him. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned his head slowly.

There was a figure kneeling before the fire, silhouetted against the blaze. As Atem watched, they rose and approached him slowly, descending the few stone steps in their bare feet. Their skin was dark, their body swathed in a voluminous red robe. Their hair shone white even in the red-hot gaze of the flames.

As they neared, Atem saw that it was a woman – young and slender, and with her long, pale hair held in place by golden bands on either side of her head. She smiled at him.

"Welcome, Pharaoh," she said, inclining her head in a small but respectful bow. "I hoped you would come."

For a long moment Atem could do nothing but stare, and they stood in a silence broken only by the crackling of the fire and Akunadin's pained muttering.

"...Forgive me," he said finally. "Who are you?"

The woman's smile widened a little.

"My name is Meskhenet," she told him, laying a hand across her chest. She paused, and Atem wondered if he was supposed to recognise the name.

"I am the last priestess of Zorc the Dark One," she said conclusively.

There is so much nothingness in this nowhere-place. Sometimes I wonder if I am simply part of that nothingness now – but no, that can't be. The dark one is here with me. He could leave, could go somewhere that isn't nowhere, but he stays. Keeps me safe.

"My child, my child," I hear him whisper. "Forgive me, my child..."

"What is there to forgive?" I ask.

(Nothingness does not speak. Therefore I am not nothing yet. I am still here. I am still me.)

"For this," he says. I know he means this not-place of nothing, though I can't see him. Can't see anything. I can feel him, at the edge of my mind. It feels like he is holding me, even though there is nothing to hold. "For everything."

"...I forgive you," I say plainly. What else could I say? I could not hate the dark one. Never.

"Child..."

He wraps himself more securely around whatever's left of me. Like a bag to hold the broken pieces of a vase. Strange.

A question lurks at the back of my mind and creeps its way forward, and soon I have to give it voice.

"But," I sigh, "who will forgive me?"

A sickening jolt of fear lurched through Atem – fear of a young woman barely his own height and, as far as he could see, unarmed. He found himself, on ridiculous instinct, reaching for where his deck would have been – had he still been in Yuugi's body and not here in the afterlife.

Yes, the afterlife! The peaceful afterlife. There may be inexplicable feelings of emptiness here, but there were no threats. No danger. Surely not.

"Don't be afraid," Meskhenet said kindly, as if reading his mind.

Atem suddenly realised that she was older than she looked. Her form was youthful and healthy and vibrant (because this was her afterlife too, of course), but something in her dark eyes spoke of wisdom only attained with age.

"...Are we enemies?" he asked cautiously.

She gave a pleasant and guileless laugh – not mocking, but amused. And somehow sad.

"Come," she said, reaching out and taking his hand. "Come and look into the fire."

Bewildered, Atem let himself be guided gently up the stairs.

"...My uncle," he said uncertainly, glancing over his shoulder at Akunadin, who did not seem to have noticed his presence. "Why is he...?"

"He refuses to let himself be forgiven," Meskhenet sighed quietly. "His soul has been absolved, and yet he continues to repent."

"Repent?" Atem repeated, puzzled.

"...Ah, Pharaoh," she said with another kindly but melancholy smile. "Can't you guess where a priestess to Lord Zorc might have come from...?"

He felt a little sick as it struck him with cruel suddenness. His stomach twisted even further when he remembered the dolls.

"Kul Elna," he managed faintly. "You're from Kul Elna, aren't you?"

"...Come and look into the fire," she said again, kneeling on the floor and gesturing for him to do the same. Shaken, Atem obeyed.

The flames were strangely hypnotic – and became even more so when Meskhenet picked up a small clay dish containing some kind of powder, which she began to throw into the heart of the blaze.

"There was never a temple as grand as this in Kul Elna," she was saying, her voice fondly reminiscent. "This is the perfect temple I always dreamed of for my Lord, and so I created it here." She paused. "It's empty, though. So I suppose it doesn't mean much."

"Why is it empty?" Atem asked as another handful of powder was added and the fire sparked and flared. "Where are your people?"

"...We only had one small shrine back then," she murmured as if he hadn't spoken. Atem's eyes widened as, within the flames, faint images began to flicker into being. Narrow streets, mud-brick houses...and people. People in roughly-made clothing bustling by, going about their business. "To an outsider I'm sure it would have looked very unimpressive. But it was enough for us, and our Lord asked for nothing more. It was our sacred ground. The inside was painted black, just like in here."

"W-why black?" Atem found himself asking dazedly as the town in the fire rushed by, the images suddenly slowing when they reached yet another mud-brick building, no more or less eye-catching than its neighbours. Whatever eyes he was looking through swooped inside this building, and it was indeed completely black inside. It was empty except for a flat stone slab (for offerings, he supposed) and a burning torch. On the back wall there hung a clay mask. It took him only a split second to identify it as Zorc. It too was painted black, with two splodges of red for the eyes.

"Because," Meskhenet replied simply, "Lord Zorc is a god of darkness."

A festival in the fire now – people dancing under the stars, chanting songs he did not know, each of them wearing that same snarling mask.

"Why do you worship a god of darkness?" Atem asked, tearing his eyes away from the phantom people in the flames and looking at the young but aged priestess next to him, who seemed to be the furthest thing from evil. She was smiling again. She looked almost sympathetic.

"You have been taught to fear his name," she said. "What were you told? That he is the bringer of darkness?"

"Among other things," Atem answered frankly. Meskhenet shook her head.

"We call him a god of darkness because he is strongest at night," she told him, sounding like a teacher explaining an important concept to a promising pupil. "Lord Zorc watches over homes and travellers in the dark. He protects his people from the dangers of the night – the jackals and the bandits and all other threats hidden in the darkness. He keeps his people safe."

Atem glanced back to the fire. The scene had changed again – he could now see inside one of the many small houses. A woman was hanging one of those clay masks just inside the door. For protection, doubtlessly.

"His face is fearsome, but not to be feared," Meskhenet said with a nod. "Do you understand? A smiling face would not scare away intruders or evil spirits, would it?"

For a moment Atem accepted her words implicitly, perhaps lulled by the mesmerizing flutter of the flames and the heady smell of incense. But the moment ended, the spell broke – he remembered.

"I fought Zorc," he blurted out.

"You did," Meskhenet agreed with a nod. "You saved many people, Pharaoh."

"But...you said..." he stammered, trying to organise his thoughts, which seemed to be swiftly abandoning him. "Why...?"

She gestured patiently to the fire, and he realised humbly that she was doing her best to tell him everything, and would achieve this much faster if he stopped interrupting.

"Kul Elna only ever had one priest or priestess at a time," she resumed in soft tones. Atem saw them flash by in the flames – countless men and women with pale hair and red robes. "And that person was not chosen by the villagers, but by Lord Zorc himself. Each generation, a child would be born with a special...affinity to him. A connection. That child could hear his voice and speak with him, therefore making them Zorc's representative..." She paused and tugged indicatively on a lock of her hair. "But we never had to wait for any child to tell us that they could hear the dark one. It was clear from the moment they were born. White hair is a sign that you have been touched by the gods, you know."

Atem thought of Ryou Bakura. Wondered if he considered himself blessed.

"My successor had to begin his training younger than most, poor child," Meskhenet said with a weak laugh. "I was getting old. And he had so much to learn."

The scene in the fire returned to the blackened inside of the shrine building. A pair of wrinkled hands was arranging flowers on the offering slab. The owner of the hands turned around when a scuffing step was heard from behind them.

Atem supposed he should have known what (who) he would see. Deep down, he probably had known. But a creeping awareness of what was to come could not have prepared him for the sight of that little boy with his shock of star-white hair, hovering awkwardly in the doorway and looking like he'd really rather be playing with his friends.

It was him, unmistakeably.

But he was so small-!

"There you are, Bakura," the owner of the hands – Meskhenet, when she had been alive and showing her age – said cheerily. "Come and help me with this, dear. My back hurts awfully today."

"Oh, Gods," Atem breathed.

"...Please do not despise him," Meskhenet whispered. She looked like she wanted nothing more than to dive into the flames and hold that little boy close. "Please, see everything. Then decide."

"How much was I not told?" Atem demanded suddenly, looking at her desperately. "Why is there so much I don't know-?"

"...What you need to understand, Pharaoh," she said softly, "is that Lord Zorc always protects those who are loyal to him. And if he cannot protect them...he will avenge them instead. Without fail. He will not stop until it is done. Because my Lord loves his people."

Atem was silent. He was on the brink of being scared.

"Look closer now," Meskhenet urged him, gesturing to the flames once again. "Please. Look deeper. See where this tragedy began."

With growing trepidation, Atem obeyed – and felt a lurch of horror when, this time, the surrounding temple and its priestess and his uncle vanished. He seemed to be within the fire itself, part of the images playing out there...but then why was there still fire-?

Ah. Because Kul Elna was burning.

The people were screaming and running around him (and through him, for that matter – he wasn't really here, after all) and on all sides soldiers were closing in, bearing swords and flaming torches and with faces as blank as any of Malik's Ghouls. And commanding them, Akunadin.

"Round them up!" he ordered, his voice cutting through the chaos. "In the name of the Pharaoh, do your duty!"

Apart from the soldiers, another group of men stood stoking a great fire beneath an enormous cauldron filled with molten gold. Next to this inferno, there was a horribly familiar stone tablet with seven equally familiar shapes hollowed out of its face.

Atem knew what was going to happen. But that didn't stop him from shielding his eyes when the first body was thrown like a mere piece of meat into the melting pot.

Suddenly, everything was quiet.

He dared to look up and saw that he had moved – he was once again in that humble shrine on the outskirts of the village. Here, Meskhenet – her back bent and her face deeply lined – and Bakura – who looked a little taller than he had in the last scene in which he'd appeared – were sweeping the floor almost reverently. However, Bakura's head suddenly snapped up, his eyes wide.

"...What's the matter?" Meskhenet asked him in surprise.

"...Something..." he mumbled, making his way towards the door.

Do not look outside!

Atem jumped as the disembodied voice boomed through the tiny enclosed space. Bakura froze.

"...Why?" he asked in a very small voice.

"My Lord, what is...?" Meskhenet started.

Both of you must stay here, the voice rumbled. You will be safe here. The others are crying out. I must go to them.

"Crying...out...?" Meskhenet repeated dubiously, but the deflated look on her face a moment later was enough to tell Atem that she knew that the owner of the voice had left the building.

"...I can hear screaming," Bakura said nervously.

"The dark one will keep his people safe- Bakura! You were told not to look outside-!"

It was too late. The young boy had cracked the door open just a little and peered out. A single glance was enough.

"There's a fire," he gasped. "There's fire and everyone is screaming...!"

"Bakura, come back inside," Meskhenet said with clearly forced calm.

"But my mother!" he cried out. "I have to find her-!"

"Bakura, stay here," the old priestess said sternly.

"You stay here!" Bakura shouted at her, his face pinched with fear and desperation. Without another word he threw the door open and ran out into the night.

"Come back!" Meskhenet cried after him. He paid her no heed, and her stiff movements made it clear that she could never catch him. Her lip quivered and she bowed her head.

"Oh my Lord, keep that foolish child safe..." she whispered.

The shrine dissolved around him, and soon Atem found himself following that same foolish child as he sprinted heedlessly through the deserted streets. He ducked into a house, calling out for his mother. It was empty. Of course.

Atem wanted to scream.

Bakura resumed running, heading directly for the glow of that hellish fire, just like any impetuous child looking for their mother would. When he reached the scene, he stopped dead, half-hidden behind a wall. His eyes became wide and uncomprehending as he watched the horror unfold. Atem wished he could reach out and cover those eyes. Did he see his mother being dropped into the bubbling gold? Or was she one of the equally unlucky ones whose throats were slit simply so there would be no witnesses...?

Bakura wasn't moving, any thoughts of escape or hiding having clearly abandoned him as he stared blankly at the progressing massacre. Atem wondered how a soldier didn't spot him and drag him out to die like the rest.

Then he noticed the shadows.

He blinked a few times, wondering if it was a trick of the smoke or the mind-blurring awfulness all around him. But no, he was sure – there were shadows creeping over Bakura's skin, cloaking him in darkness and hiding him.

Zorc was keeping him safe, Atem realised dimly.

He glanced over at the few villagers who still had breath to scream. He wondered why their god wasn't protecting them.

When the killing was over, the cauldron was carried down a flight of stone steps into the ground. The village's tomb, perhaps? It hardly mattered. It was certainly a tomb now.

Bakura didn't follow. Atem did. He saw the Items being forged, saw Akunadin and his priests gather them up in greedy wonder. Then he saw the ground shudder and split, and the dark one himself rose out of the earth. Atem looked on in shock as Zorc snatched up his uncle in one clawed hand.

How unfortunate for Akunadin that the Millennium Eye was the only Item in his possession at that moment. However, after all the hideous bloodshed he'd just witnessed, Atem hardly flinched as he saw his uncle gouge out his own eye in order to use the Item he had created.

A flare of bright light, and Zorc was driven back, weakened. Akunadin and his priests fled. Atem found he couldn't rejoice much for their successful escape.

He returned outside to find Kul Elna's one surviving child huddled against that same wall, still looking too stunned to cry. As Atem neared him, he saw Meskhenet approaching as quickly as her aged body would allow.

"Where..." she started tremulously, looking around with stricken eyes. "My Lord, where is everyone...?"

"Dead."

The single word fell from Bakura's lips, but it was not Bakura's voice.

"They're all dead," he reiterated, raising his head to look at her. His eyes looked horribly old. Horribly pained. Meskhenet hesitated only a moment before reaching out to the god in a child's body.

"You are terribly weakened, my Lord..." she murmured.

"I could not save them," he said, sounding dazed.

Meskhenet trembled a moment before giving up and falling to her knees, a ragged sob tearing from her throat.

"Who did this?" she wailed. "Why...?"

"Soldiers from the Pharaoh's army," Zorc replied. He had smoothed Bakura's face out into an expression of deceptive and almost eerie calm. "They acted in the name of the Pharaoh. In the name of Ra himself. I...could not..."

Meskhenet crumpled completely to the ground, sobbing without restraint. Atem could not blame her. In a single night, their entire world had been reduced to ashes – and seven gold items being whisked away to the Pharaoh's palace.

"This is not the end," Zorc said abruptly. Such a fierce voice coming from the lips of a child would have been comical if it hadn't been so starkly terrifying. Those eyes blazed with murderous fury. "My children will be avenged. I will see to it that the Pharaoh himself suffers pain equal to this. I will...create balance..."

"...My Lord," Meskhenet whispered in a quavering voice. "I am not strong enough for such a mission. I...I cannot..."

It was clear to Atem in that moment that the frail-looking, elderly woman would not survive the night. Her world was gone. Her people were gone. The nearest town was perhaps a day away.

"...I understand," Zorc said softly. He laid one of Bakura's small hands atop her head. "Bakura shall be my acolyte. He is young and strong, and he will help me grow strong again. Thank you for your loyalty, child. Go in peace."

Meskhenet's eyes misted over – she gave a tiny smile and then she was dying right there on the blood-soaked ground. And suddenly Bakura's eyes were a child's eyes again and he was finally crying, grabbing at her shoulders and shaking her.

"No, no, don't die, not you too, don't leave me alone-!" he begged. It was no use.

You're not alone.

Zorc's voice, a phantom once again, ghosted around him, mingling with the ashes in the light breeze.

Don't be afraid. The dark one will keep you safe.

The scene started to fade – Atem was thrown back into the temple with the image of a child screaming in the ruins of a dead village still branded onto his mind. He realised his eyes were wet. Meskhenet – the Meskhenet of here, dead but so vibrantly alive – petted his arm as if he too were a child.

"I'm sorry," he managed to rasp out, scrubbing at his eyes because what right did he have to cry about it? "I'm so sorry..."

"It was not your crime," she replied gently.

"But..." he stammered, feeling so lost. "But I was always told that...that Kul Elna was a thieves' village, full of tomb-robbers and..."

"We were not tomb-robbers," she interjected, not harshly but swiftly all the same. "We simply worshipped the wrong god in the eyes of our neighbours. We had no interest in Ra, just as Ra had no interest in us. For that reason we were considered heretics. And gossip is vicious, Pharaoh. We did not accept your beliefs, and therefore we must have rejected them. Therefore we must have desecrated them. Hate makes it easy for people to believe the worst."

"I understand," Atem whispered.

"I do not want to force this guilt upon you," Meskhenet said when she saw the look of despair that must have been dominating his face. "Only to clear the names of my people. My village was no more evil than any other village. I ask you to think of my people with pity, and not contempt."

"...Why was Zorc unable to protect you?" Atem asked her. If only their god had been stronger, none of this would have happened. He tried to imagine a world without the Millennium Items. A world in which Egypt would have fallen to its enemies, but in which a little boy called Bakura would probably have grown up as happy and contented as any other child.

"Your father the Pharaoh did not know what his brother planned to do in order to create those Items," she said slowly. "But he offered his blessing nonetheless. The sacrifice was carried out in the name of the Pharaoh, the earthly incarnation of Ra-Horakhty himself. Your name carries great weight. Actions performed with such a blessing behind them are...very powerful."

Atem was silent for a long time – trying to absorb all this, trying to understand just how much this changed things.

"...There's something else, isn't there?" he said finally, daring to look her in the eye. "I...I came here because I felt like something is missing. That feeling hasn't gone away yet."

Meskhenet smiled faintly at him and got to her feet. She descended the steps once again, and went and laid a hand on Akunadin's shoulder. He jerked violently when she touched him, as if he had still been completely unaware that anyone else was here.

"Come, now," she said. "Repay your final debt."

His face crumpled like a baby about to cry. He looked ready to protest.

"He will forgive you," Meskhenet said calmly. "But the truth must be told now."

Akunadin glanced up and his eyes widened when he saw Atem kneeling before the fire.

"No..." he moaned quietly.

"Yes," Meskhenet said firmly, holding out her hand. It seemed like an age passed before he took it and allowed her, with surprising strength for one so slight, to pull him to his feet.

"Uncle...?" Atem said uneasily as they joined him.

"Forgive me, my Pharaoh," Akunadin murmured.

"The gods have forgiven you for the crime committed at Kul Elna," Atem reminded him. He cast a pointed glance at Meskhenet. "And it seems Kul Elna has forgiven you too."

"He doesn't mean the massacre," the priestess said mildly.

"...Then what?" Atem asked in confusion. Akunadin briefly shielded his face with one hand, as if trying to hide in shame.

"I was afraid you would tell your father," he said despondently. "You spoke of it to Mana, and you know she never could keep her mouth shut. I couldn't let you tell your father, and so I had to make you forget..."

"What?" Atem demanded, suddenly feeling cold all over despite the scorching heat of the fire. "What did you make me forget...?"

"...My Lord Zorc was weak after the massacre," Meskhenet spoke up quietly. "But he had...a plan for his revenge."

"And what was that plan?" Atem asked.

"The entire village of Kul Elna was slaughtered, save for one child," she said. "Zorc's plan, therefore, was to lay waste to the palace at Thebes and kill all who lived there. Except for one child." She inclined her head in his direction. "You."

He stared, aghast.

"But he wanted you to understand why he was bringing such suffering upon you," she went on. "And so, part of his plan could be carried out while he was still weak."

Atem silently waited for an explanation. Just when he thought none was forthcoming, Akunadin reached out with a shaky hand and touched his fingers to his forehead.

"Forgive me," he said one last time.

The world went black.

Atem awoke in the night, stranded in the middle of his bed that still felt far too big for him. He was eight years old, and not tall for that.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily, wondering what had woken him at a time like this. Glancing around his darkened bedchamber, he gave a strangled gasp when he saw there was a boy standing at the foot of his bed.

Atem backed up against the wall nervously, never once taking his eyes off the stranger. His father always told him he was safe in the palace, that there were guards at every door. And...yet...

This boy was indisputably here.

"Wh-who are you?" Atem managed in his bravest squeaky whisper.

The boy eyed him dispassionately, as if he were a talking doll and nothing more important. His hair was bright white, and Atem couldn't help but stare. He'd never seen a person with white hair like that before.

"...My name is Bakura," the boy said finally.

"And wh...what do you want?" Atem demanded, trying to remind himself that he was a prince who would someday be Pharaoh. And trying to ignore the fact that he was cowering in his bed.

"My master sent me," Bakura replied simply.

"Your master?"

"The dark one. He is a god."

"Why did he send you...to me?" Atem asked uncertainly. He decided he'd really look like less of a baby if he got out of bed. He regretted this decision, however, when he got to his feet and realised that Bakura was taller than him. And older than him, by at least a few years.

"He has a message for you," Bakura said flatly.

"...How did you get in?" Atem asked curiously when Bakura didn't immediately begin to relay this message. Since the other boy didn't seem to be planning on killing him in the immediate future, he felt this was a rather pertinent matter.

"My master lends me his power," Bakura said, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I can control the shadows. They hide me. I can go wherever I like."

"Really?" Atem said, expression brightening. "Can you teach me to do that?"

"No."

"...oh."

"Why aren't you scared?" Bakura asked, sounding faintly annoyed.

Atem just shrugged, knowing that Bakura would probably get angry if he told him it was because it was hard to be scared of someone who was just a child like yourself.

"Why is your hair white?" he said instead, approaching him and peering at it. "Are you a demon?"

For the first time, Bakura's expression morphed from passive to something much more child-like – a pouting scowl.

"Your hair is more strange-looking than mine," he retorted. Atem supposed he couldn't really argue with that, so he didn't.

"...Can you really make the shadows hide you?" he asked.

Bakura didn't reply – just reached out and grabbed his hand and started dragging him towards the door.

"H-hey, where are you-?" Atem started, his voice regressing to its initial panicked squeak.

"Be quiet."

Bakura pulled him from the room and started running down the corridor, tugging Atem along behind him. They went so fast that, in the dark and the exhilaration, Atem quickly lost track of where they were headed. They passed countless guards, but Bakura would simply flatten them against a wall or duck around a corner, and no one ever seemed to notice them.

"They really can't see-!" Atem started to giggle in glee before a hand was clamped over his mouth. He supposed that meant the shadows didn't stop people from hearing you.

When Bakura finally stopped running and let him go, he grinned in delight to see that they were in the gardens. He only ever got to come here after all his lessons were done, and by then he usually had such a headache that all he could do was lie down in the shade and take a nap.

"Wow..." he breathed, trying to stifle nervous giggles as he gazed at the moon reflected in the pond. "If I had that power, I'd come here every night."

"...Why?" Bakura asked with a frown.

"Because...it's nice here," Atem laughed. "Don't you like it?"

Bakura looked taken-aback.

"I don't know," he muttered, folding his arms.

"...We could play a game," Atem suggested hopefully.

"I don't play."

"Why not? Are you no good at games?"

Bakura scowled again. Atem laughed and ran off to hide in a small clump of trees.

"What are you doing?"

"I bet you can't catch me," Atem called to him.

Unfortunately, he lost that bet. Every time he thought he'd evaded Bakura, the other boy would simply appear next to him, having obviously been lurking in his shadows. This went on for quite some time, until Bakura looked thoroughly perplexed and Atem was lying on his back on the grass, gasping for breath.

"You're...good at that game..." he wheezed.

"..."

"...Hey," Atem said suddenly, sitting up once he'd caught his breath. "You said you had a message for me."

"Yes."

"...Well? What is it?"

"You won't like it, you know."

"Oh." Atem fidgeted, his earlier nerves returning. "But...won't your master be angry if you don't deliver it?"

"I'm going to deliver it," Bakura said plainly. "I'm just saying you won't like it."

He took Atem's head in his hands and pressed their foreheads together, and suddenly Atem's mind was full of fire and screaming and blood and gold and blood-!

"Make it stop, make it stop-!" he heard himself wail.

"Watch until it's done," Bakura ordered.

After a while Atem started to feel like it would never be done. When Bakura finally released him, he slumped back to the ground, trying his very hardest not to cry. He could feel himself trembling all over.

"...That was my village," Bakura said at length. "The Pharaoh destroyed it."

"M-my father doesn't kill people!" Atem blurted out, staring up at him as fiercely as he could from his teary eyes. "My father is...he's good!"

"Everyone in my village was killed, and their bodies melted down to make the Millennium Items," Bakura reiterated stubbornly. "In the name of the Pharaoh."

Atem just whimpered.

Bakura whisked him back to his room and went to leave without another word.

"W-wait," Atem whispered. "Will you...come back?"

Bakura peered at him over his shoulder.

"Do you want me to come back?" he asked sceptically.

"Maybe...not with a 'message' next time," Atem said with a shaky shrug. "But it's fun to play in the gardens at night."

"...Don't tell anyone I was here," Bakura said coldly. "Or the dark one will get you."

He did come back.

This time, there was no blood or fire or death. Just the gardens, and one child reminding another how to play.

Bakura came again and again after that. Always at night, always without warning. Weeks or even months could pass between visits, but he always came back.

On the sixth visit, Atem saw him smile.

He'd lost count of the number of visits, though, by the time Bakura told him about his master's plan.

"He wants to kill them?" Atem repeated in horror. "Everyone in the palace?"

"Except you," Bakura said with a shrug. They were sitting at the edge of the pond, dipping their toes in the cool water. "He says...it's fair. That it'll make us even."

"Because your village died?"

"Right."

"...Oh."

There was a drawn-out silence.

"...That's it?" Bakura said finally, sounding highly irritated. "'Oh'? That's all you have to say?"

Atem tugged at his own hair fretfully.

"Your master is a god," he said quietly. "I can't stop a god, can I?"

"Only the Pharaoh can stop a god," Bakura said before looking scornful. "But he couldn't stop my master."

"It's horrible," Atem mumbled despondently. "So many people died...and the only way to make it better is for more people to die? And I...my father..."

He trailed off helplessly.

He almost fell over when Bakura unexpectedly flung his arms around him, grabbing him in a brief, crushing hug. It was over so quickly that Atem wasn't sure it had ever happened at all, and he just sat there a few minutes feeling dazed and stupid.

"...I don't want my master to kill them anymore," Bakura said, eyes fixed on the dark water. "Even if it's fair, it...it's no good."

"No good," Atem agreed.

Bakura chewed on his lower lip, looking very annoyed with himself.

"I don't want you to get hurt," he said finally.

"...Thank you?" Atem said uncertainly. Bakura sighed and stood up.

"I don't know if I can stop my master," he said bluntly. "He's getting strong. But I can make a promise."

"Promise?" Atem repeated dubiously.

"...I promise that I won't hurt you," Bakura declared, his expression solemn. "For as long as I live in this world."

"I-I promise too!" Atem said earnestly, rather excited to be making such a grown-up pact.

Bakura snorted.

He never came back after that.

Atem didn't speak for a long time after the reel of memories finished playing. He sat and stared at nothing and tried not to fall apart.

"...When he didn't come back you became worried," Akunadin said, looking shamefacedly at the floor. "That was when you mentioned him to Mana, and I heard about it from her. I looked into your mind with the Eye. And I erased everything I found."

"I never even noticed..." Atem said dazedly.

"No one would miss the memories of a time when they should have been sleeping," Meskhenet offered comfortingly.

"He..." Atem stammered out. "I mean...we..."

"Yes," Meskhenet agreed.

"But then...why did he never come back?" Atem asked feverishly, too confused and desperate for an explanation to remember to be angry with his uncle. "And...and he fought me, later...!"

"I imagine he didn't come back because...well. He must have asked Zorc to spare your family and friends. I don't think my Lord would have liked that," Meskhenet said sadly. "To him, it must have seemed that you had...corrupted his last child."

"...But the battle!" Atem protested, still lost. "Bakura fought me, he...the Puzzle..."

"Bakura did not fight you," she corrected him. "Zorc did."

Atem felt like giving up. He just looked at her pleadingly, silently begging for an explanation that made sense.

"Shortly after that last visit, your father passed away," Meskhenet said. "He died before my Lord could take his revenge. To him, that was unacceptable. His plans changed. You became his new object of vengeance."

A shiver went down his spine and he didn't even try to disguise it.

"But..." she continued, a smile tugging at her lips. "That was a problem, don't you see? You and Bakura...you promised not to hurt each other. A promise like that is binding. Bakura would not fight you. And even without your memories, I am confident that you would not have fought him."

"Then...what happened?" Atem asked, though the pieces were starting to come together in his mind.

"My Lord took control of Bakura's body," Meskhenet said, her smile fading. "He styled him as a tomb-robber, since that was the reputation of a child of Kul Elna. And he challenged you. He fought you. But as long as that promise existed, the battle could never be conclusive..." She paused and sighed. "So he sealed a part of himself within the Millennium Ring, and forced you to seal him and yourself within the Puzzle. He waited for your resurrection in the twenty-first century, and he did everything to ensure that you would go to face your fate in the world of your memories." For the first time, she looked as though she was struggling to remain composed. "Because he needed a world where you two would fight each other."

Atem closed his eyes for a moment. Meskhenet sniffled slightly and dabbed at her eyes.

"My Lord is the one who needs forgiveness, Pharaoh," she said shakily, looking back towards the fire. "A god is not infallible. He lost sight of himself. He hurt his last child. Hurt many innocents. Because...because he had to avenge his people, you understand...?"

In the fire, Atem could see flashes of all the crimes committed in the modern day by the phantom he'd known as Dark Bakura. The protective god had become twisted. All because the people he'd loved had had their lives stolen away.

Atem shook his head. He was so sick of the suffering.

"Meskhenet," he said abruptly. "Why is your grand temple empty? Where are your people?"

"...The souls of those sacrificed to make the Items were damned," she murmured. "They cannot enter the afterlife."

"Damned?" Atem repeated. "In the name of the Pharaoh, I suppose?"

"Naturally," Meskhenet replied, her eyes lighting up slightly. She knew what he was thinking.

"Then as Pharaoh, I pardon their souls," he announced, getting to his feet and throwing his arms out wide. "This temple needs the people of Kul Elna."

A searing flash of white light illuminated the whole room, blinding them for a moment.

The temple was full.

Atem blinked a few times, staring at all the people who had just appeared, smiling and crying and hugging each other. Meskhenet ran to join them, laughing in unabashed delight. Even though the light had faded, the inside of the temple suddenly seemed brighter.

"...Uncle," Atem said quietly as friends and family were joyfully reunited around them. "There has been enough pain. Forgive yourself. It's done."

Akunadin nodded uncertainly. When Atem next looked at him properly, the Millennium Eye was gone again. For good this time, he hoped.

"Pharaoh?"

He turned to see Meskhenet coming up the stairs towards him, leading another woman by the hand. A woman with dusky eyes which were oddly familiar.

"She wants to ask you something," Meskhenet said, gesturing to her. She stepped forward, smiling shyly but with glowing cheeks and hope in her eyes.

"Where is my boy, Pharaoh?" she asked him imploringly. "Is he here? Where is he...?"

For a moment Atem had no idea who she meant – and then he realised where he knew those eyes from. He glanced at Meskhenet, who nodded.

"...I'll bring him to you," he told Bakura's mother with a grin before turning and hurrying out of the temple.

Back in the oasis, he slowly approached the sparkling pool. It reminded him of the pond in the palace gardens. As fitting a place as any for a reunion, he supposed.

"...Thief King Bakura of Kul Elna," he said to thin air, a smile curving his mouth. "The Pharaoh forgives you and your master. It's over now."

There was no flash of light this time. Atem wondered if it hadn't worked, if Bakura's soul was somewhere that no one could reach, and panic seized his heart – until he turned around and saw him sitting quite calmly on a rock nearby.

They just looked at each other for what felt like a long time. You chose how you looked after death, and Bakura looked much the same as the last time Atem had seen him – a tall, dark-skinned young man, perhaps in his early twenties, wearing a red cloak. Fitting, for Zorc's last priest. The jagged scar on his face was notably absent, however.

"...I hope you remember everything," Atem said finally, folding his arms. "If I have to look at all those memories again, I might never be the same."

A pause. A smile.

"I remember."

End!

ONCE AGAIN, FINISHED AT 2AM ON THE DEADLINE DATE. NOT PROOF-READ. NOT BETA'D. BUT...finished! xD

So it turns out Bakura really did defeat the Pharaoh. At...tag.

Wow I need sleep xD

(Thank you to everyone who wrote me such lovely reviews for my Tier 2 fic ;A; I'm so sorry I didn't write replies, these have been the craziest few weeks Dx)

Fiver x