Chapter Text
The sky above Cairo was the gold of sunset, its old god sinking below the skyline as a blanket of shadow covered the Giza sands.
Ryou Bakura watched the growing dark through the window of the bus, the dig site long behind him as the sparkling city overtook his view.
He had been in Egypt for over a year. He had come with the aim to work on his thesis, thinking proximity would help his research. It hadn't.
Instead, he had become distracted by the opportunity given to him by Seto Kaiba. The chance, his only chance, to work in the KaibaCorp dig site at Kul Elna.
As the bus pulled onto the highway with a bump, Ryou’s thoughts were drawn to the present. Dropping into the university despite it being late, and despite his full day of travel would save him an early morning. Several items had come back from the Kaiba labs, and there was one in particular he wanted to see again.
He walked the yellow lit Cairo streets, legs still aching from sitting for several long hours.
He was doing what he'd dreamed of as a child, staying in Egypt and going to excavations, but he couldn't say he enjoyed the travel - the monotonousness of the long bus rides and uncomfortable flights was enough to make him miss the simplicity of Japan and its rail system.
He paused his musing as the large, impressive outline of the university's main building loomed into view, its domed top looking down on him.
He climbed the staircase up to the third floor of his department building and let out a relieved exhale as he exited the cold, quiet hallways into a familiar cramped office.
No one else was in, something he was glad for. It gave him the privacy to pour over the contents of the carefully wrapped parcel on his desk, its packaging an unassuming white.
He fingered at its tear-off end, pulling it back with a wince-inducing ripping noise of rigid cardboard. Hands shaking, he reached in carefully, slowly pulling out the plastic and padding wrapped items contained within.
He already knew what was in there, and marked them off mentally as he placed each one on the desk in front of him. A signet ring with a marking known for its trade among thieves. A large piece of broken pottery, its colour the distinct red of the Nile's mineral rich soil. A sword hilt. A metal plate. And, finally.
The knife.
Once it was in his hands Ryou felt a familiar heaviness settle over him. The same he felt whenever he stepped within a kilometre of what would have been Kul Elna's parameter. The same he'd felt the nights and days following the spirit’s loss to the pharaoh.
It had been nearly ten years, but he still knew that feeling.
Ryou unwrapped the knife from its plastic padding, holding the rusted item carefully, eyes travelling the length of it. It had been cleaned since he had seen it at the dig site, and dated. Although Ryou already knew its age, the same age of the Millenium items. Made during the reign of pharaoh Aknamkanon.
How he knew, he couldn't explain, like most of the more bizarre or frightening things in his life; the gut instinct of knowing had seized him as soon as he saw it pulled from the ground, and since then, the nightmares.
He never remembered them, but woke up knowing it had been something horrible, blankets thrown off and body drenched in sweat. He was an insomniac as it was, and the knowledge that he was dreaming of things he couldn't remember kept him up through sheer anticipation. The nagging feeling that he was forgetting something important.
Ryou turned the knife in his hands, wishing for something to happen, anything. A longing for answers that he couldn’t resist.
And suddenly, he was bleeding. Sand was below him, the heat of the sun flashing on his tan skin. The world spun for a moment and he dropped the knife on the desk, breathing heavily.
What was that?
Holding his wrist steady, he inspected his left hand, ready to rush to the first aid kit, the vision fading.
Only there was no blood.
He stared at the spot he was sure he’d felt pain, across the front of his palm, testing the movement of his fingers. His skin looked the same as ever, down to the blotch of scar tissue in the centre, its edges jagged and faded, like the memory of how it had been made.
He stared at it for a moment, turning his hand over and inspecting the larger, angrier scar there. It had taken months for his bones and muscle to heal - and since, his hand had never really felt the same. He clenched his fist.
Ryou looked back down at the blade.
“Not just a dream,” he murmured, the act of speaking to an inanimate object not new to him. He’d had sleep deprived hallucinations before, more often presenting as sounds, or things he’d see from the corner of his eyes. He picked up the knife again.
Its blade was leaf shaped, the handle carved with intricate patterns that had been a brilliant bronze when it was made. He held it up to the light, inspecting the speckled discolouration in the metal with quiet interest. When nothing additionally odd happened, he put it back down with a sigh, surprising himself with how disappointed he sounded.
“What was I expecting, to hear a voice in my head?” He wondered aloud. He sat down in his chair, gazing at the knife for a moment longer, chest still weighed down with the abject heaviness. “Was I foolish for not learning more of you when I had a chance?” He asked softly, shutting his eyes as he thought on it.
Retrospect always made the past feel like a missed opportunity; Memories of moments that could have changed everything had he been who he was now and not the teen he'd been then.
Moments passed and he forced himself back up, placing the items back in the bag, hand lingering on the knife as he re-wrapped it in its protective plastic.
He collected his things and hoisted his saddle bag back over his shoulder, taking one last glance around the room, neck tingling. His desk was as tidy as ever, the package neatly laid in the centre. His cohort’s a mess of piled paper, the window that was meant to give a view of the courtyard outside obscured by a bookshelf.
The world remained the same.
Locking the door behind him, Ryou went carefully back down the staircase, making his way out into the cool Cairo streets. He often walked home from the university, but late at night was different. With so few people out, he found his senses more aware of every noise, and cursed himself for still being so skittish after so many years of travelling alone.
As a child, he’d had what he’d then considered his lucky charm to guide him. If he got lost, it would point the way home. If he met trouble to run from, it would have mysteriously vanished when he looked back.
That was, of course, because his lucky charm had been anything but that.
It had been the Millenium Ring.
But you wore it all the same, did you not, Ryou Bakura?
Ryou stopped dead, eyes quickly scanning his surroundings, spinning around where he stood. No one in front. No one behind. He could feel his heart rate climbing. Whoever had spoken had only been in his mind.
It was familiar. But at the same time, wrong. The spirit’s modus operandi had been aggravating, egotistic, sarcastic in personality.
This voice was -
Devoid of emotion.
“Who’s there?” He wondered aloud, his own voice sounding odd to him, distant. When no answer came, he had the sudden urge to run, and did, legs heavy and resisting his input. Finally, he made it to the main road. There were other people there, and Ryou felt his fear alleviating, though his heart still thumped in his ears. “Dammit,” he muttered, taking a deep breath.
It was just the lack of sleep. That's what he told himself as he made it to his apartment, using his keycard to unlock the automatic door and punching in his floor number when he reached the elevator. He leant against the wall as it started to move upwards, feeling dizzy, and trying hard not to panic.
How did he know that voice?
The elevator dinged as it came to a stop, pulling him from his thoughts, and he took several exhausted steps forward, crying out in shock as his feet found darkness rather than floor. His body toppled forward, gravity pulling him down. Below him, a flash of fiery light glowed. But before the panic of it could really seep in, he was hit with a sudden clarity.
I’m dreaming.
He woke, his head lolled back against his shoulder. He could feel the pain in his neck as he righted it, his eyes adjusting to the light of his office. On the desk in front of him, all the items were still laid out. He’d never put them away.
“What is happening?” Ryou muttered nervously, glancing around him. He gave himself a pinch for good measure.
Deciding that he'd be testing fate if he walked home, Ryou instead called a cab. He usually avoided them due to his limited Arabic, speaking mostly English at the university, but after his dream he felt too paranoid to walk.
When he finally reached his floor, the corridor was intact, right down to the dark blue carpet.
Relief hit him at the sight of his familiar apartment. Bigger than his old home in Domino city, he walked past the kitchen and into the living area, dropping his bag next to the couch and heading straight to his bedroom.
Showering could wait until the morning. As could anything else. He pulled off his travel worn clothes, and found his pyjamas in the dark, tripping into bed. Within a minute of his head hitting the pillow, Ryou Bakura was asleep.
He always remembered the dream once it started.
The first thing he noticed was how hot it was, and how bright. He thought it was the sun, until the smoke began to assault his nose. Opening his eyes, he found himself lying on a rocky path, on either side of him rose the pale stone walls.
Limbs resisting him, heavy and sluggish, he pulled himself to his feet, glancing around to get his bearings. He was in an alleyway, the air hazy with ash. It felt like he was looking at an artist's rendition of an ancient town, the brush strokes muddied and uncertain, like one he might see in a textbook. The walls of the buildings warped, leaning inwards as if to look at him.
He stood there for a moment, watching as fire spread to the wooden roof of the nearest building. It was the same thing he saw every night, watching the world burn until it grew too hot for him to stand, until he woke up and forgot it, only to do it again the next day. A neverending nightmare.
A sudden pain shot through his hand.
Blinking in confusion, he looked down, a thin line of blood appearing on his palm as he watched, the redness beading upwards from a phantom cut.
All at once, he could feel his legs.
Acting on instinct, he began to head down the street path, only half attentive to the destruction around him. There was a loud crash as one of the buildings collapsed behind him, sending rocks and burning wood flying in all directions. He stumbled from the shock, but forced himself to keep going.
He had to escape the dream. Why else would he keep seeing it?
Following the path around a curving corner, he was faced with a dead end, a high stone wall framing the drop to the next section of the sloped town. Steeling himself, he climbed up onto it, his legs hanging off the edge as he looked down. From where he sat, he could see the burning, hazy silhouette of the buildings below. It was like a vision of hell, and he was trapped in it.
Taking a breath, he paused, looking down at the jump he had ahead. He had never been good at sports, and even with his recent attempts at going to the gym, he doubted he’d grown much better. That thought filled him with hesitation, and all at once he could feel his limbs begin to freeze, his fears reflecting in his control of his body.
“Oh no,” Ryou muttered aloud, realising he couldn’t move. “This is just a dream. If it’s a dream, I can make the jump.” His vocal affirmation worked, and he felt the numbness leaving him, though his breath was now sharp.
Was this a dream?
He pushed the thought away, too worried by the implications if it weren’t. He would worry about that once he was awake.
With new found willpower, he pushed off the edge, huffing as his legs struck the ground. The shock made his hips hurt, but it wasn't enough to stop him from continuing on.
He didn't even know how far he had gone, but the longer he was in the dream, the more aware he seemed to grow. Where were the people? He hadn't seen a single soul, the burning buildings and roads deserted. Was he alone?
As if in answer, a sound that was neither the roar of fire or the cracking of wood met his ears. It was distant, so distant. He stood still, resting against a building as his ears strained to hear it again.
Sure enough, there was no doubt. He could hear the sound of a child crying, of choked sobs and desperate cries, echoing below the sound of the destruction around him. His chest seized painfully.
He had to find them.
Ryou began to follow his ears. He doubled back, down a street that took him past a fallen building, flames spitting out at him when he tried to pass. Gritting his teeth, he looked back around for something that could help him. If he didn't find whoever was in trouble, there was no doubt the flames would reach them.
“Come in Ryou, if you were in a game, what would you do?” He wondered aloud.
He would probably test his luck and roll his dice to make a jump past the flames, or use magic to quell it. Only he couldn't do either of those things, so instead he turned his attention to the building opposite.
Like everything else, it was on fire, but he could see through the smoke that the interior had yet to catch alight. If he squinted, he could make out a door on the opposite side.
He didn't even think as he made a run through. It had clearly been a home, the straw beds against the wall were in various stages of disarray, as if the occupants had left in a hurry.
He raised his hands to the heat, making his way through until he found the opening on the other side, leading out onto the street beyond. The visibility even lower now, and he coughed as the smoke filled his lungs, staggering blindly ahead.
All he had to guide him was the sound of the crying. He listened intently, heart thumping when he heard it near his immediate right. He broke into a half run, turning down a side road where several buildings intersected, their shadows hiding the small square from the glare of the flames and smoke.
Huddled up against a door frame, dressed in a simple linen dress, was a child.
He had his hands covering his ears, chin pressed against his knees as he sobbed, his thick white hair obscuring his eyes. It seemed there were no tears though, too dehydrated from the dry air for there to be any left.
Staring in shock, Ryou was momentarily locked in place.
It was a feeling. No. A sensation. One of familiarity. For the 10 years Ryou had carried the ring, he'd inadvertently become accustomed to the presence of another, the lingering feeling of not being alone that had become a part of his everyday life.
He hadn't realised he felt it until after the presence was gone. The shadow of his other self. The spirit of the Millenium Ring.
It had been a long time since he'd felt it, but he knew instinctively that the boy in front of him was the same. It was him. His breath caught with a mixture of fear and confusion. Why? Why was he here?
It wasn't what Ryou had imagined.
He stepped forward, and then again, closing the distance, until there was no less than a metre between them. Instinctively, his fingers brushed against the front of his shirt, feeling for the item that he knew wasn't there.
His chest had started to hurt now, in his core.
The feeling. It was the same, but it was also different.
“Are you ok?” Hearing his own voice surprised him, it sounded louder than he'd intended, echoing.
He held his breath as the other's sobbing choked to a halt, and the head that had been tilted away from him jerked up in response.
Silver tinted lavender, almost grey, and puffy and bloodshot. His eyes were like two full moons. He looked confused, scared, Ryou could see his gaze darting from his face to his hands to his clothes. He did nothing more, and Ryou felt his held breath release.
There was no recognition there. He didn't know him.
“Come on, we need to get out of here.” He held out his hand, watching the way the boy's body tensed at the movement.
After a pause, the other spoke.
Ryou had no idea what he had said. Of course he wouldn't. The spirit was speaking ancient Egyptian - mumbled and broken, his voice filled with fear.
So he lowered himself to a crouch until he was level with the other, the boy's gaze piercing and suspicious.
Not knowing what else to do, he held out his hand again, holding his breath. For a moment the other didn't move, sizing Ryou up with a long stare. The sound of fire and destruction crashed in the distance, though it was further away now.
“Believe it or not, despite everything, I do want to help you,” Ryou murmured, knowing the other probably didn't know or remember Japanese, but wanting to say it all the same.
And though it was clear from the confusion that knitted the boy's brows that he hadn't understood - perhaps it was Ryou's tone, or his soft, sincere expression that convinced him to trust him. The kindness Ryou displayed something that he hadn't experienced often in his short life.
He took his hand, and everything went black.