The sand was gritty.

For some reason or another, it had managed to embed itself everywhere, catching in the creases of his clothes and curl of his hair. Dusty streaks were on his faces from earlier tears, the ones he had shed in the tomb after winning.

Against… Atem. His other who was no longer his other, but yet would always remain so.

He had not torn his eyes away until the door closed, until that last flutter of cape could not possibly be seen with human eyes.

Even then, a beat after, the last strains of image were burned into his mind and he lingered that moment more to savour the memory. It was what almost made him too late to make it out when the tomb started rumbling and crumbling, everyone reaching back for him or not. That… almost made no difference to him, briefly.

A quick shake of his head dispelled that thought. Instead he replaced it with the irony that life was probably telling him that lingering so in the past is the surest route to death - a lesson that he learned well for the past few years.

He reached up to grab the Puzzle, making an aborted motion when he realized - again - that it wasn't there anymore. The lack of weight made him feel lighter, both figuratively and literally. His collar came off, to be stubbornly wrapped around his wrist in a loose bracelet. He ignored the surreptitious looks from the others, focusing on how his sweat evaporated from his neck.

It felt… exposing. Not only the lack of reassuring leather against his pulse, but the weight of his victory.

Yūgiō.

The entire connotation and denotation of the title felt a little overwhelming, and for a moment he took a deep breath, taking the time to feel himself breathe out. It was a mantle of responsibility he knew theoretically was perfectly bearable.

Not that it made anything any easier.

Most of the past month had been spent in leisure, at least to their friends, but he and Pharaoh spent many hours detailing the publicity such a title would have.

Such tutelage under the other's hand made him feel like he was being groomed for the throne. Despite being assured that he had already more than earned the title, it didn't make the humbling feeling lessen at all. The depth and breadth of his impromptu lessons were a bit startling.

When he finally settled down for bed those nights - which were more often than not, and became their new bedtime tradition - his lingering thoughts revealed that he was being taught more than necessary for an ostentatious title with a bit of publicity.

He was being given a prince's education.

Eyes fluttering at the dust caused by the jeep's air conditioner, his throat tightened at the memory.

Being taught in such a manner was probably the last gift his other self… Atem had given him. Time and again had proven that knowledge was a powerful weapon, and the confidence it ensured was immeasurable.

Unbidden, his lips shaped a hymn that he learned. It wasn't one that was groomed in during the past month, but something he picked up ages ago - one that Grandpa originally sung when he was little, refreshed by the Pharaoh.

The melody was haunting out of context, and he hummed quietly, imagining the sistrums playing along with him. Different bits of scenery snuck in and out of his mind's eye, a significant amount sun-soaked images that he knew were not accumulated by him.

Belatedly, he realized the choice of song was ironic. It was one dedicated to Khepri, a prayer for a successful dawn, another defeat of Apep and rebirth of Ra. Peeking out under sable lashes, he noticed that morning had just passed.

A bit late in timing, he supposed, but better late than never.