Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It takes three kidnapping attempts, one assassination plot, a small-scale palace break-in, and a bizarre nightmare for Atem to finally make up his mind.

They’re on the brink of a war with two of their long-standing enemies, a sand-striped country just to the west of the Gis desert called Zorna, ruled by the iron fist of their new, self-appointed king, and the less revolution-prone but equally dangerous kingdom of Orichalcos. The capital city is located no more than a few hundred miles away from the border that they’ve shared with Orichalcos for more than three centuries now. It wouldn’t take much effort for their enemy to launch a swift attack.

It doesn’t take long for the professional assassins sent by King Dartz himself to reach Atem’s palace, his throne room.

It only gets worse once Seto brings the council the news – Orichalcos and Zorna have made an alliance. They have rioting masses on one side and professional dark Magicians on the other and their foes absolutely refuse to stand down until they get what they want – the young King’s head on a golden platter.

Atem’s a merciful ruler unlike his uncle before him, but the damage that the old man has caused cannot be undone in the span of the mere four years he’s been ruling over Khemet. He’s gained support and has done everything in his power to help out the poor suffering from massive crop loss due to the constant droughts – Atem has personally left the royal palace time and time again just to hand out vital necessities, meet the folk – but it seems that it wasn’t enough. People still doubted the young King’s competence, reoccurring lapses in judgment. Atem knows that he isn’t perfect but he puts his damn best into everything he does. He wants to be worthy of the winged crown that he bears.

Atem wants to become the kind of man his long since deceased father would have been proud of.

Sadly, it seems that he’s finally reached the end of his wits. The people have spoken, countless hurt souls he’ll never be able to remedy with measly visits and food handouts.

The council is at a loss of what to do. No matter how many negotiations Khemet’s spokesmen go through, the answer remains the same – the King’s life for country-wide safety. King Bakura demands justice for his slaughtered clan, spits into Atem’s men’s faces. Dartz just thinks that he’s incompetent. A child.

Atem can clearly see through the latter’s intentions. He knows that the moment he’s out of the way, the King of Orichalcos will undeniably do everything in his power to gain control over the lands of Khemet, even if it means destroying every kingdom that dares to get in his way.

Whenever Seto comes back from these “meetings”, he looks ready to slaughter everyone in his path, stride wide and jaw set.

“A grave war is upon us, my King,” Isis says during their nth council meeting, her eyes mournfully closed. Murmurs sweep over the table. “Dartz is gathering an army of Magicians as we speak, a number far greater than ours. In the west, Bakura is undeniably plotting to resurrect the Titan of Zorna. All of our negotiations have failed.” Seto scoffs at that and actually crosses his arms, a very rude gesture. “I’m afraid there isn’t much we can do but prepare for the worst.”

Atem has known that it’d come to this. He even considers giving himself up for the safety of his people but he’s talked out of it before he can so much as finish the sentence.

“We’ll think of a way,” Siamun nods. His wrinkles seem even deeper in the torchlight. They all look tired, stressed. “Our strongest Magicians are currently hard at work. Mahad has reported to have found some interesting scrolls that might hold the answers to our troubles. He claims them to be the ancient scripts containing the secrets of unlocking godly power.”

Atem leans in, interested. “Speak, Siamun,” he urges. The multiple gold rings glow on his fingers as the young King waves a graceful hand.

The council falls silent, surprised. Only the sounds of maids and guards scurrying around behind the intricate double doors interrupt the otherwise tomb room-like stillness.

Siamun straightens up, and clears his throat. “The Magician is certain that these scripts contain the information required to finally crack open the magic seal and awaken our gate Guardian.”

Isis puts a hand to her lips. Whispers fill the room again. Seto’s cobalt eyes widen a fraction as the priest whispers a disbelieving “Obelisk!”

Atem vaguely recalls being no older than five, sitting in the late King’s lap and listening to the adventure-filled stories of the first ruler of Khemet and the three Gods that have descended from the sky to save their land from the plaguing evil of the Great Titan Zorc. The three Gods – or the Three Saving Graces as they were called in all of Atem’s scholar scrolls – easily defeated the titan with the help of their divine power of light, turning it into a plume of stringy shadows. After the epic battle foretold, the Gods scattered all across the continent, never to be seen again. However, one of the Gods willingly chose to remain in the ruins of the lower city to watch over the King’s palace, falling into a deep magical slumber and turning into a stone pillar.

Using the God’s body as the base, the citizens built a grand wall around the capital, and so the God of War Obelisk turned into their city’s guardian deity, the keeper of the main gate – a statue of frightening height, an attraction to the travelers. Impenetrable to any magic or tools.

Atem’s fascination with Obelisk used to be insane but somewhere down the road, he’s grown out of the kid-like nonsense. The young King deemed the God story a simple myth, a little something meant to scare children into obeying their parents lest Obelisk will awaken and punish the naughty kids by devouring them.

Lost in thoughts of the past, Atem hears out the council’s opinions and adjourns the meeting, retreating to his study.

The old scrolls are yellowed with age, covered in fine layers of dust. The multiple charcoal drawings of The Three Graces, that Atem has drawn back when he was still a little kid with a sense of wonder bigger than the world, are smudged. His father loved them. He’d constantly say that if Atem wasn’t born for greatness and the heavy burden of the crown, he would’ve made a fine artist.

The lines are drawn in the shaky chicken scrawl of an eight-year-old – the Winged Dragon of Ra looks like an actual chicken - and despite himself, Atem smiles fondly.

A full week later, Mahad discovers the instructions on how to make the War God rise once again. Atem barely maintains his kingly façade, boyish excitement visible to anyone who’s known him before he got to wear the jeweled crown.

“Your Highness,” he bows low. “There’s nothing to lose and I think that this may be our last bet to save as many as we can. Please grant us your permission to continue our research.”

Atem agrees to it immediately.

That evening he decides to take a stroll outside the walls of the palace. The maids bow to him and the guards avoid eye contact as Atem passes by, chin high and shoulders back as he was taught. The remains of sunlight dye the vast sky in hues of brilliant red. The horizon is mostly obscured by the grand wall. In the distance, Obelisk seems to be made of silver rather than stone, nearly glowing. Countless birds perch on top of its huge horns – whereas the kids are frightened by the humongous statue, the birds are rather fond of it.

From the corner of his eye, Atem notices that he’s being followed.

“Can’t I take a walk in peace these days?” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What now? Is the country getting attacked?”

“I don’t think that’d be very wise, Your Highness.” Mahad ignores the offhand comment, rises, and comes closer. “Rumor has it that Zornas’ rebellious ideas have finally reached the outskirts of our city. It won’t take long before people begin questioning their King and start rioting. Not everyone has pledged undying allegiance to the crown. It’d be in your best interest to stay inside the palace until it all dies down.”

With a self-deprecating smile, Atem turns to face the Magician. “At this point, I don’t think there’s a single person out there who doesn’t want to see me dead.”

Mahad nearly looks offended, sputtering. “Nonsense! I, your loyal servant, your sword and shield–“

Atem guffaws. Mahad’s eyebrow twitches under the long fringe. It seems that he hasn’t trimmed it in a while. “It was a joke, my dear friend. Relax for a minute. Besides, you know me. I can take care of myself just fine.”

The Magician huffs, finally drops the status play, and reverts back to one of Atem’s best friends – a nag completely done with this bullcrap. “I know you can do it, Atem, but it still doesn’t mean that you should go out at night without any guards to back you up! What if someone corners you? Will you slash your way out of that one?”

Atem lovingly pats at the silver hilt of the sword resting at his hip. “But of course. Or I will magic away with the spells you’ve taught me.”

“You and I both know that you have no talent for magic.”

“I never implied otherwise. I have you to do all the spellcasting for me.”

Mahad’s shoulders slump in that familiar ‘what am I going to do with you’ way. He gathers himself together immediately, though. “Instead of aimlessly wandering around, how about you come visit the workshop? Mana’s been dying to see you.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t be dying if you’d let her take the day off.”

Normally the Magician would bristle at a proposal to waste time, but he only seems defeated. “There’s not much to be done about it. After all, she is my apprentice. It’s a rough time for all of us.”

Suddenly, Atem feels a wave of deep gratitude and appreciation for his Magician friends wash over his being. He follows Mahad back inside.

The sun sets over the wall.

Mana makes dried fruit tea and continues pouring over monolith translations. They’re making progress, Mahad promises, even though he looks like he’s in physical pain when he sees what’s left of his table, now completely covered in quills and moldy scrolls.

Atem dusts off a stone tablet. It depicts a wicked-looking snake-like dragon, lightning shooting out of its twisted maw. It’s shabby but recognizable. Osiris the Sky Dragon.

“If you really do manage to properly translate these scrolls, how will we ever find the missing Gods?” Atem asks, frowning. “I mean, no one actually knows what they look like. These are all made-up images. For all we know they might not even be dragons.”

Mahad sets down the cup, takes out a torch, and leads the King to the cramped side room where he keeps the spellbooks. Atem makes sure not to touch anything – Mahad does not appreciate it. He picks up some heavy tomes and leafs through their crusty pages, eyes scanning the ancient texts written in a language long lost. “Oh, I think we’ll find out whether they’re real dragons or not soon enough. You see, there are some spells meant to locate Osiris’ divine presence; however, not only are they hard to perform, it takes time as well. It’d be faster if we used a… different method, but that’d be dark magic. We’re looking for safe alternatives.”

A lapse of silence follows as Atem thinks it over. They’re lucky that King Dartz has no knowledge of these scrolls in particular; otherwise, they’d be in big trouble. After all, the sole reason why their enemy kingdom has gained an advantage over all surrounding lands was due to its new laws legalizing the free usage of black magic. In no less than three years, Orichalcos has become one of the most Magician populated kingdoms out there.

That fact makes Atem’s own Magicians gnash their teeth, scandalized.

They rush back to the workshop when they hear a loud crash. Mana determinedly drags around a few scrolls twice her size, green eyes manic. She nearly trips over herself again, but Mahad takes the heavy load off her shaking hands.

Atem commands them to take the next four hours off and returns to his quarters.

It takes a week for the translations to be completed and another four days for the tracking spell to work.

Then comes the whole ‘abandon your throne for the sake of your God quest’ thing which makes Atem seriously doubt the overall effectiveness of this rather flawed plan.

“Why can’t Seto go instead? He loves dragons and he’s the next in line for the throne. I’m sure he’ll find Osiris right away.” Atem frowns, burning holes into Mahad’s humbly lowered head. His Magician looks one mental breakdown away from gray hairs. “I cannot desert my people in their time of need. I cannot run away!”

“My Lord,” Seto interrupts from the side, glowering, “as tempting as it is, I must decline. My duty is to see this through.” For all the crap that leaves his mouth, Atem sees right through him. His Priest is enraged, seething at the mere thought of being brushed away so easily. Sick of feeling powerless. With his head humbly bowed, Seto’s been trying to regain the trust of their ex-allies, the Big Five – their strongest offense back when his rotten father still called himself a King. The negotiations were long and nerve-wracking. Reaching a consensus seemed impossible.

At the end of the day, Seto is completely driven by pure spite and there’s no way in hell he’s ever going to leave at such a crucial moment, no matter what Atem tells him.

“It’s my duty as a King to make sure that a wide-scale war doesn’t break out while I’m out on this… wild goose chase!”

“But the prophecy–“

He silences Mahad with a flick of a wrist. “We’re done for today. I refuse to listen to any more of this. Seto, you’re leaving and that’s final.”

The Priest seethes beneath the surface. “Don’t act foolish–“

“Are you calling your King a fool, Priest?” Atem glares, red eyes burning in the dimmed lights. “Need I remind you who has the authority here? If necessary, I will gladly relieve you of your duties if that’s what it takes for you to leave in my stead.”

With a swish of a midnight-blue cape, he speedwalks out of the jeweled hall. 

Atem has a fitful sleep. He’s out in the woods up North, dark and impassable. The foliage is so thick that he cannot see the daylight. It’s too silent except for the occasional sounds that the dry twigs make whenever they snap in half under the King’s leather boots.

Atem feels eyes on him. Whenever he turns around, there’s nothing there.

Sweat beads on the back of his wiry neck, and with a sense of dread, he starts tearing through the mossy ground, leaping over the rotting trunks and mushroom-covered roots. He runs until his lungs ache and his muscles strain. Claw-like branches scratch at his face and robes, tearing them in various places. Atem’s foot catches a protruding fat root and he collapses into the slimy forest bed.

Poisonous snakes rear their ugly flattened heads from the moss to check on the source of the sound. Their beady eyes narrow at the sight of the frightened intruder. Powerful, lean bodies twist and turn, rapidly moving closer to surround the fallen King from all sides. They taste the air with forked black tongues, sharp gazes murderous.

Atem tries to crawl away, but his boot touches one orange rectangle-patterned body. The snake snaps its jaws at him in a warning and lets out a deafening hiss.

The never-ending ssss ssss ssss makes Atem nauseous. He lifts his head to the sky and begins praying to every deity out there, desperately begging for help. He doesn’t want to die yet, he doesn’t.

The deities answer his call immediately. With a strong gust of wind, the thick foliage overhead separates to show a gray patch of a stormy sky. The air smells different, too - electrified, as though a lightning bolt has just struck a tree. He hears a rumble, deep and low, that of a feral animal. Perhaps something even more terrifying, akin to an enraged growl of a beast. It is loud enough to drown out the continuous hissing.

From the darkest corner of the clearing, yellow bulging eyes meet Atem’s frightened stare. They’re connected to a horrible maw, filled with crooked razor-sharp fangs, to a deep red snake-like body, to hooked claws, to wings and spikes. It emerges from the inky shadows and then there’s a blue tongue, the slick of saliva.

“Fool,” the beast roars as the young King stares into the blue-tinted cavern reeking of rot and death. He doesn't dare to breathe, no less move.

Atem closes his eyes in overwhelming terror as the beast snaps its jaws shut and then startles into awareness, drenched in a cold sweat, sheets tangled around his legs. He checks his neck to make sure that his head is still attached there.

He isn’t dumb enough to disregard this kind of omen and anger their Gods even further with his petty disobedience fits. The young King sees Mahad right away and promises to go on the journey.

Chapter Text

‘The Sky Dragon will only descend before the men who have the royal blood of Khemet running through their veins. It will hear out the chosen one’s plea of desperation and guide them to the resting place of Ra <…> once the three Gods are reunited, Obelisk will finally rise from its eternal slumber. The Three Graces will combine forces to bring down the evil (all?) threatening the safety of the royal palace once more.’

“You know,” Atem says as he looks over the messy translation. “You could use some help with sentence structure. It’s choppy at best, not to mention it almost feels as though it’s missing a good chunk of vital information here and there.”

“I’m not here to write scholar stories, Your Highness,” Mahad dismisses, checking the bottles of healing potions. They’re small, glass tinted in myriad of bright colors. “I’m here to translate the monoliths, stone tablets, scrolls and books in the most accurate way possible. Even now I’m still uncertain whether all of this is correct. There are quite a few words and sentences with double meanings. However, the part where it says that seeking out the Sky Dragon comes first is undeniable.” He turns to face Atem who quickly retracts his hand from a hexed fang necklace. “I hope the preparations for your departure are going well? Don’t forget that we leave – “

“At sunrise, yes. I know.” The young King plays with the heavy ring resting on his index finger. Its rubies shine a blood-red. The red of a snake dragon plaguing his dreams. “I’ll be ready... As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Mahad nods. “Excellent. There’s no need to worry, Your Highness. The High Priest can handle on his own for a few weeks. No one will notice your absence.”

Briefly, the King visualizes coming back to the smoking remains of their capital’s buildings and the ruins of his fortified palace, his lovely cousin standing on the top of the wreck and cackling like a maniac. He shudders at the thought. The Magician shoots him a pointed look but Atem brushes it off with some awkward praise, commending the other man for actually succeeding in finding the approximate location of an ancient God spoken of in children’s stories.

They set out with the first rays of dawn. It’s rather chilly – the summer is already waning – so the King huddles deeper into his cobalt blue cloak and pulls the hood low over his eyes. The sun is a cold sphere of white fire steadily crawling up the cloud-veiled sky, providing no warmth whatsoever and effectively blinding Atem’s small entourage consisting of Mahad and Mana.

Mahad tells them that according to his calculations, they should be reaching their final destination by the end of the week.

Usually Atem enjoys long horse rides with his trusty friends, the playful banter and a sense of freedom it provides, but they seem completely worn out by the all-nighters and the insane pressure that’s been stacked upon them due to the council’s high expectations. Their Kingdom’s safety depended on the work done by the Magicians.

The small group remains silent for most of the first day. Mana doesn’t make any jokes or wisecracks to brighten the mood and Mahad looks even more detached than usual. Eventually, Atem has to tie the lady’s light bay horse to his saddle because she tips over and nearly passes out. Mahad seats the apprentice on his steed and steadies her with an arm wrapped around the middle. Mana continues to nod off.

Still, they don’t stop to make camp for the night.

Atem’s grip on the reigns loosens and his mind wanders back to the nightmare. He sweats at the thought of coming face to face with one of the ancient Gods and asking it for help no less. What if the God rejects him? What then? Will he perish alongside his doomed people?

Will he die miles away from his home and throne, the place where he’s currently supposed to be instead of chasing some vague signals of mysterious magic?

Mahad has warned him about a dragon’s sense. They’re able to smell human fear, the mistrust. One who fears a dragon will never earn its respect. Perhaps that’s the exact reason why there are so little dragon riders out there. And yet, Atem has heard plenty of less than favorable rumors regarding these people and their abusive ways to supposedly “tame” the magical creatures. Dragons never willingly chose to stay around human settlements and were considered an unapproachable species.

What if this holds true to Osiris as well? After all, God or not, he is still a dragon.

Atem’s never held a deep-seated love for them unlike Seto, who, in his humble opinion, was the perfect choice for this quest. All of the dragons Atem’s ever seen were big and fearsome, grotesque reptile-like creatures with hellfire blazing in their hateful eyes. Easily capable of causing mass destruction - especially the ones who breathed fire and lightning. Just looking at one would make young Atem cower in his shoes, awed yet oh-so-terrified.

Admittedly, lately he hasn’t run into any, but the King doubts that his initial feelings have changed… much.

He remembers his bastard uncle capturing a rare species and hauling it to the courtyard, deadset on using the pitiful dragon as a guard dog. The poor creature screeched bloody murder and thrashed about in its shackle binds, azure blood oozing out of the many gaping wounds in its underbelly.

It was one of the most beautiful creatures the little prince had ever seen, with its gleaming, white scales and wide, startled eyes tinted in the most brilliant shades of ocean green. The roaring dragon looked as though it was carved from ice and snow despite its small “imperfections”. Atem’s cousin had been ecstatic, wishing to go there to touch the majestic beast right away.

Unfortunately, the ‘right away’ never came. The very next day, their attraction broke free of its shackles and burned the King’s guard alive in no more than a single breath - an inferno of pale, snowy flames. Without hesitation, they took it down with a few enchanted spears. Atem stood in the shadow of the pillars, vaguely sickened, whereas Seto shed a few discreet tears, not for the King’s men, but the fallen creature.

The concept of entering the rocky mountain area where dragons reside and no sane human dares to thread makes Atem unbearably anxious.

The vast fields become less green and populated, peppered with huge boulders rather than winding trees, and the forests are sparser as they travel closer to the village that lies at the very edge of the Alcatraz Mountains. The villagers look at them with mistrust and the temperature is low enough to make Atem’s teeth chatter, but the feeling of solid ground under the soles of his leather boots makes it all worth it.

Mahad guides them to his acquaintance’s place – a tavern located further away from the main path – and they finally get servings of a proper hot meal and comfortable beds to sleep on. Mana looks far less dead, reverting to her chipper self as she chats with the owner’s wife and takes notes on what she should bring to their hiking trip.

In the corner, Mahad studies a map, occasionally asking questions.

The pleasant buzz of warmth radiating from the huge fireplace and the fullness of Atem’s stomach feels too good to be true. Like the calm before a huge storm.

Atem crashes in the common room without so much as taking off his dusty riding clothes.

Mahad wakes him up far too early, tells him to wash up. Outside, Mana plays with a spotted kitten, a few leather bags set on the wooden stairs.

It takes a while for Atem to make himself look presentable – he doesn’t have hordes of maids fussing over his jewelry and clothes – and by the time he joins the Magicians, the cold sun is high enough to make him squint. They leave the exhausted horses in a small stable and begin their slow trek towards the first mountain looming in the distance.

There’s an abandoned shed located further away, hidden by measly foliage. They make camp and sit down by the firepit to decide on a plan of action. In the evening, Mana makes stew, and once they’re done eating, Mahad ushers them to sleep. It’s far too cold, the floorboards are creaky and wind easily passes through the gaps of the shed. Atem can’t seem to relax no matter what he pulls – counts forwards, backwards, sheep, divine dragons, imagines himself in pleasant situations – shivering and pressing his back closer to Mahad’s, hoping to absorb at least some of the lightly snoring Magician’s body heat. It doesn’t work. They’ve let Mana take the moldy cot and the only wool blanket.

He’s this close to crawling into the bed with her. They used to do it all the time back when they were little. So what if he’s the King now? So what if they’re both grown up and this sort of thing is frowned upon?

Instead, Atem crawls closer to the makeshift fireplace and prods at the dying embers with the poker, spreading them out. They glow in reds, oranges, and yellows like disfigured fireflies, and with a deep sigh, Atem wills his probing headache away.

He sits there for the remainder of the night, huddled up in thin, summery blankets and his cloak, staring at the small dirty window above, watching the full moon set and the sky change into a grim gray hue.

A few hours later, he and his companions startle into alarmed awareness when a loud screech echoes in the sparse forest, coming from the direction of the mountain area. With a muffled curse, Atem scrambles away from his spot by the window and the group turns their cautious gazes towards the holey ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of huge wings flapping around, stirring the early morning chill. Mana’s hand is already set on the wand that she’s kept shoved under a pillow. Mahad’s fingers twitch an inch away from his staff.

The creature flies on, not paying any attention to the newcomers. Perhaps it fails to sense them, but Atem really doubts it. A dragon could locate a mouse if it wanted to.

Mahad’s eyebrows knit together as do Mana’s. “Strange. I expected the shed’s roof to be torn off. We’re in foreign territory.”

“The dragons sure are weird in this area,” Mana nods in agreement and stifles a yawn. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one that doesn’t attack on the spot. Well! I guess that can only mean that we’re in the right place!”

“Only you can find some upsides to this,” Atem exhales, still rattled. He needs to calm down – this is only the beginning. After breakfast, they’ll meet a whole lot more of these beings.

“I think you might be right,” Mahad ignores His Highness, cracking his neck. It must be stiff all over. Atem can’t feel his thighs either. “This could be Osiris’ influence – that dragon seemed to be scouting the area. Don’t let your guard down.”

Atem feels too ill to eat breakfast. Mana’s eyes turn sad and worried when he turns down a loaf of homemade bread for the third time.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassures himself rather than his companions. “Let’s go already. I want to return home as soon as possible.”

Mahad’s staff glows a faint purple as they finally enter the rocky area. The magic cloaks their presence pretty well but Mahad warns them that they aren’t invisible or anything. They still need to watch out in case they’re spotted.

That knowledge makes them choose the more dangerous side roads rather than the main pathways. They glide in between the shadows cast by the jagged stones, diving for cover whenever dragons fly by, making breezes with the powerful flaps of their wings.

Atem thinks that if it weren’t for the swarming deadly creatures ready to breathe fire at them, he’d be enjoying this experience a whole lot more - after all, he’s never been to the mountains before, a plain kid born and raised. The view is rather nice and then not so much whenever they have to scale the side of a steep mountain and there are only a mere few inches of space separating them from tumbling down into their deaths. Atem doubts that the swirling creek below is deep enough to save them even if Mana or Mahad cast some spell to resist the pull of gravity.

It takes exactly that for a black-scaled dragon to notice them. Atem dangles over the edge as Mana strains herself to pull him up, her wand teetering as well. The King blanches when he sees just how high up they are. Frightened, he holds onto Mana’s slippery hands tighter and attempts to dig his heels into the rocky side of the crumbling mountain to haul himself up but Mana only screams at Atem to stop squirming, face turning red from the strain. Mahad can’t help them, too busy with casting spells and protective barriers as more and more dragons spill out from the deep crevices hiding away their nests, roaring in alarm.

Atem feels sick when he notices a lizard-like emerald dragon scaling the sloping surface, its hooked claws piercing the side of the mountain with surprising ease. It glowers right at him and hisses. Atem is forced to confront his recent nightmare yet again. Was it truly a premonition depicting the tragic end of his days?

“I need you to swing me to the side as hard as you can!” Atem yells over the commotion and Mana startles, says something along the lines of “you’re insane!”, but still places her trust in him and the strength in her legs. In no time, Atem crawls up the side of the cliff, picking up Mana’s wand for her. She gets to work immediately while Atem tries to help the magicians out in his own way by taking out his sword and channeling his energy.

The rocks shake and crumble under their feet when deep cracks begin to split open the small cliff, so Mana just says fuck it and blasts a hole in the hollow mountain. The lengthy fall is considerably rough as the trio tumbles down in a cloud of dust and shingle. Sharp pain singes Atem’s left side when they finally land, but they still somehow manage to get up and make a run for it.

Below them, in the deepest, darkest parts of what appears to be an endless cavern, there’s a whole nest of bioluminescent dragons, dark-scaled and beyond furious. They roar at the intruders and crawl up the walls like grotesque spiders, too fast to escape.

Before one of them can rip Mana’s leg off, Mahad follows her example, blasts another boulder, and they’re out in the daylight again. He throws his apprentice through the small opening, then the young King, and fires a wave of black energy at a hovering dragon’s bulging eye. It screeches and falls, taking down some of its counterparts.

The mountain shakes.

The trio flattens against the jagged rock surface, breathing heavily. If Mahad had thrown them any harder, they would’ve ended up falling into the creek below.

There’s nowhere left to run. Mahad makes a startled sound when a flattened head peeks out from the edge of the cliff that they’re barely standing on, the dragon's yellow eyes burning holes into the Magician’s form. Atem reacts before Mahad can raise his weapon and undeniably die – there isn’t enough time for him to cast a wordless spell, he’d be losing a staff along with his arms before he could even blink – and charges at the vile snake-like creature with his enchanted sword. It is caught by surprise, giving Atem just enough time to plunge his blade between the juncture of its fish-like scales. However, they are quick to securely close around the protruding object stabbing its sturdy neck, stopping the sword in its tracks. The dragon screeches at the young King, enraged, and pushes against the hilt, ready to bite his head off, so Atem sees no other option other than to push back.

He feels two pairs of arms grabbing at his dusty cloak but it tears and the King slips out of his friends’ grasp, careening over the edge and then down.

The roar of the wind momentarily deafens him as they fall. Atem holds onto the hilt of the sealed sword like a lifeline while the dragon writhes around in an attempt to save itself, trying to flip over like some useless turtle knocked on its shell. Magic buzzes around them and Atem doesn’t need to look up to know that the magicians have cast some sort of spell to save his life. The dragon freezes, and with a sickening crunch, they finally hit the ground. The force of the fall sends Atem flying away. Luckily, it seems that the dragon is either dead or petrified by the magic spells, beady eyes wide and motionless. Unable to get up and bite the defenseless King’s head off, maim his remains.

His thigh bleeds gore where a sharp rock has lodged itself into the lean muscle, but Atem still stands, feeling concussed. Above, Mahad asks if he’s okay and promises to find a way to reach him soon enough.

Dazed, the King looks around, noticing that the fall wasn’t that big. Apparently, there was another protruding cliff located below.

He doesn’t have the time to breathe a single sigh of relief because the mountainside stirs once more and yet another huge dragon emerges from its shadows, its eyeballs blazing a fierce vermillion. Its sleek scales seemingly absorb all light around it. Atem recognizes it to be the same species as the one that’s spotted them, if not the exact same one.

Atem staggers backward when the humongous beast notices its fallen comrade and those nightmarish eyes turn to burn holes into the meek, bloodied culprit – a measly King with a hand pressed to an injured thigh.

Atem has half a mind to sprint back to the dragon’s corpse to somehow dislodge the sword but his instincts scream at him to run and they successfully win over. This is one of those mighty beasts that he cannot face with a piece of silvery, magical metal.

So he scrambles away, heart hammering in the back of his throat as the dragon roars - a deafening sound that strikes a deep fear and admiration in Atem’s rabbit heart. Thanks to the adrenaline, he manages to scale the side of the mountain with impossible speed, only caring about putting distance between himself and the dragon, desperately running away from the beast’s chilling stare. His efforts are severely unappreciated as it takes a single flap of the dragon’s mighty wings for it to catch up. It lands right above the terrified human, clawing at the shingle to steady itself and sending it raining down everywhere. It wastes no time in lashing out, tail up, and maw low like some bizarre feline ready to pounce.

Atem slides out of the way like a particularly nimble pest, using the tumbling pebbles to his advantage. The beast strikes again but the King only squeezes into a small gap between the boulders and runs again, further and further away from his Magicians, from salvation.

He reaches another dead end and the dragon has him cornered right where it wants him. Petrified by the sight of a death incarnate hovering above him, Atem watches its chest expand. A certain glow spills through the gaps between its scales.

Just his luck. A fire-breather. He’s going to get burnt to a crisp just like his uncle’s men.

The dragon opens its smoking maw as carmine fire illuminates the back of its throat. Faintly, the King thinks that the roaring flames are beautiful despite their dangerous nature. Atem kisses his life, quest, and kingdom goodbye right as the Gods take pity on his doomed soul and send him salvation in the shape of a small figure. It throws itself before the black beast, yelling something incoherent.

Atem gets weak in the knees.

The dragon snaps its horrifying jaws shut and regards the figure. The suspicious look in the dragon's horrifying eyes makes it seem like a sentient creature rather than an overgrown salamander. The cloaked figure flails, yells, and gestures wildly, and with stunned amazement, Atem watches the beast gradually settle down. With a soft hiss, the glow of deadly fire disappears, warming the air between them.

The dragon lowers its head like a scolded mutt, sniffing the humid air. Once, twice. It protectively curls around the small figure, staring Atem down like a particularly realistic statue. The beast’s initial fury dissipates as it visibly unwinds, snorting softly.

Atem’s mouth feels too dry to speak a single word, no less form sentences, his mind drawing blanks.

The post-near-death experience shivers kick in full force.

The figure turns. It looks like a human, a boy no older than seventeen with messy, dark hair streaked blond. Atem is far too shocked to call it human, certain that this might be some sort of particularly realistic illusion that his tired mind has conjured right before his imminent death. Some impossible scenario, an alternative universe where he gets to keep his life.

The not-human glares with the kind of spite that rivals that of a dragon, violet eyes stormy. An ugly crisscrossed scar mars the left side of his pale face, bow-shaped lips set into a deep frown.

The boy reaches out to pet the dragon’s belly – he can’t reach higher than that.

They mutely stare at each other right until the boy’s frown turns a tad confused; however, when he finally speaks up, it comes out strong. Angered. “Who are you, trespasser!?” the boy demands, voice cracking a little. It's surprisingly soft, not meant for expressing rage. “How dare you march in here and threaten my sons and daughters!?”

The black monster snorts in agreement as though it fully comprehends what the little not-human is saying.

Sons? Daughters? Atem blinks in confusion, shaking his head. Somehow, he manages to get a hold of his trembling voice. “Threaten them? I’m sorry, but I think I’m the one being threatened here,” he spits bitterly, finally starting to feel the pain of torn muscles and multiple bruises blooming all over his body. He gestures at the boy’s pet beast.

The boy curls back his lip in distaste, greatly offended. He then softly backhands the dragon’s belly, turning fierce violet eyes its way. “I told you, Red Eyes, no more destruction! Just scare them away so they don’t come back again,” he scolds.

The dragon lowers its head, grumbling.

Atem thinks that he’s tripping on Mahad’s potions.

The not-human commands its nightmarish beast to stay put and be a good boy, as he crosses the short distance between them, staring Atem down all the while. His lavender eyes briefly flicker to the young King's gaping wound, but the gaze is assessing rather than sympathetic. Atem pulls away from this strange being of a man, leaving bloody streaks on the off-white shingle.

The other crouches before him and inspects his tattered appearance. Another heavy moment passes as the boy concludes, “You’re not a dragon rider.”

Atem shakes his head. It spins.

“And you’re clearly not a lost traveler.”

No.

A gloved finger catches Atem’s massive golden earring. The King recoils so fast that he almost experiences whiplash, flinching. His savior sits back on his heels, the stitched leather cloak draping neatly around his lithe form. He cocks his head to the side, curious. “What are you then?”

Atem swallows. He’s completely at this guy’s mercy until he’s reunited with Mana and Mahad. He decides to play it nice. “I meant no harm–“

“You petrified my dragon,” the boy cuts in, tone harsh. “Stabbed it in the throat.”

Atem’s face darkens. “I wouldn’t have had to do it if it wasn’t threatening to eat my friend alive.”

The boy seems annoyed now, shooting the inky dragon a strange look. It almost looks bored, observing the flock of crows flying in circles above its ugly head, tail twitching. In the distance, magical creatures screech bloody murder. Atem is made painfully aware of his friends’ situation, hoping they’ll manage to stand their ground for the time being. “Yellow wasn’t going to do that! It only wanted to scare you away from our home.”

“It sure as hell didn’t look like it! How would I even know what it was thinking at the time!? We were attacked,” the King’s voice rises in volume as he begins glowering, defensive.

The little boy is all up in his face at that, yelling. “What were you doing here to begin with!? Don’t you know that no one enters these mountains for a good reason? It’s your own fault!” he actually probes at Atem’s injured thigh. The King attempts to kick the offending limb away. “If you’re not here to take away my family, then what is it that you seek, traveler? With Magicians, no less.”

Another screech. Atem risks a calculated glance to the side. Sweat slicks his dirty face. “Call off your dragons and I’ll tell you everything that you want to know. Perhaps you’ll even have some useful information to aid me in my search.” A raised eyebrow. Atem ignores it and lies, “Believe me, I do not wish to harm your… creatures.”

The curled-up dragon stares into his very soul, sensing the bluff.

The boy rises at that, dusts off his dark pants, fixes the stitched cloak, and pats down the gray fur lining its hood. “Alright. But first, you must make your Magicians leave this area. I don’t trust anyone who wields the power to inflict damage on my family.” It’s obviously meant to fix Atem’s perception of what those “creatures” mean to the young boy.

Atem’s legs give out three more times before he stands to full height, heavily leaning on his right foot. “If I get to see them off personally and if you promise me their safe return, we’ll have ourselves a fair deal.”

For a moment, the other considers it, but the pained wails of his family are enough to make his heart ache and agree to the mysterious trespasser’s conditions. He whistles Red Eyes over, and asks it to bring their guest some sort of sturdy stick to make his walk more bearable.

Wide-eyed, Atem watches the grumpy dragon drop a saliva-slicked trunk of a young tree before his feet. The figure moves ahead while the King limps after him, trying to keep up.

Just what has he gotten himself into?

Chapter Text

Mahad, exhausted and tattered beyond recognition, lowers his staff the moment he sees Atem. Mana nearly trips over herself in her haste to get to the King.

“Your Highness!” she steadies him while Mahad holds the King's smudged, scratched up face, looking close to shedding tears of relief. The colorful glow that comes from Mana’s wand slowly patches up the torn muscles – all of their healing potions have been lost in the heat of the battle – while Mahad fusses, fusses, fusses.

They don’t even notice that the dragons have become dormant upon their master’s arrival. He stands ways above at a safe distance and observes the heartwarming scene with mistrust reflecting in those big eyes.

Atem dislodges himself from his friends’ clingy grasps and feels dizzy from the influx of magic. “You can’t stay here anymore. Return to the shed.”

Only then they finally see the mysterious boy and Mahad lifts the glowing staff at the same time the dragon lord raises the right arm. The dragons bristle, bellies brushing against the rocks, sharp, horned tails swishing in irritation.

Atem puts a calming hand on Mahad’s vice-like grip, lowers the weapon. “I made a deal, dear friend. I must keep my end of it.”

Confusion and indignation are apparent on his Magicians’ faces as the King reclines against a boulder and fills them in on the current situation. They keep rebutting all of his silly ideas and refuse to leave Atem alone at some stranger’s disposal. After all, retrieving the King from an army of organized dragons would be far more dangerous compared to rescuing him from a horde of wild thieves from Zorna Kingdom.

“He only wants me to leave. I’ll be back by sunrise,” he promises and sighs in relief when the throbbing pain finally wanes. “I can protect myself just fine.” It’s not like killing that bag of skin and bones would be too hard but Atem knows that harming the dragon lord in this situation would be foolish. He’d never be able to escape the wrath of the boy’s pets and reach the border of the sparse groves below.

Mahad glares at the boy idly scratching one of the smaller beasts behind its stubby horns. He’s patient, granting them the much-needed and appreciated privacy. “I don’t trust him.”

“Neither do I,” Mana echoes but Atem feels himself disagreeing. The kid hasn’t slaughtered him on the spot and even gave him a sapling to lean on. No evil scumbag would do this sort of thing.

Sons and daughters. Perhaps he’s just keen on blindly protecting that family of beasts. Nothing more and nothing less.

Mahad sighs the moment he catches a glimpse of the King’s determined look. The mysterious boy glances down to meet the Magician's prying gaze, raises an eyebrow, and goes back to idly petting the dragon. In no time, the Mahad digs his fingers into the crook holding the frame of his staff and the emerald crystal sphere together. He rips the jewel out and hands it over to Atem.

Mana gasps in shock as Atem’s hands tingle from the bursts of power it emits. He stares at the Magician as if he’s grown a second head, then back to the staff’s main power source. “I cannot take this! Without it, you’ll be defenseless!”

“I took a spare one,” Mahad reassures.

Atem carefully cradles the crystal orb as though it is his firstborn. “But this is your strongest gem. None of your spares can compare – you’ve put so much time and effort into perfecting it.” The magic pulses against his rough palm, soothing. Mahad might as well be giving him his actual heart – except this crystal is far more valuable than anyone’s internal organs will ever be.

He closes the King’s fingers around it. “Keep it with you at all times. It will act as an amplifier for your magic and it'll let me keep track of you at all times. Don’t let the kid take it.” The kid in question fails to notice Atem slipping it into the pocket of his pants. “If you’re not back in two days, we’re storming in.”

With a final sniff, Mana fixes his torn cloak and they part ways.

The boy leads him around the mountain and through a secret passageway that slopes down. Atem keeps tripping over the pebbles, holding onto the rocky walls for support, while the boy firmly steps forward, not minding the blinding darkness. Atem complains after he falls over for the sixth time but the boy merely tells him to “watch his step” and keep quiet.

He might disturb the dragons.

Atem wants to laugh at that.

He sees glowing eyes in the darkness, hears movement here and there. Bats screech in the distance.

Above them, holes begin appearing, and at least some light manages to spill in through the uneven gaps. Just enough to illuminate the path and make Atem gasp when he sees the horde of dragons nestled in the crooks below, snoozing. A particularly small one – a baby, probably – is tearing into the poor bats as though they’re some delicious meal. It lets out pigeon-like coos, snapping its toothless jaws.

Well then, no use in lying and saying that Atem isn’t disgusted.

They enter some sort of tunnel and the boy lights the torch hanging by its entrance. The pathway is cramped and the “ceiling” is low enough to make anyone feel caged. Atem startles when three mice flash by, uncaring of the two humans standing in their way.

He feels a small hand on his chest shoving him into the wall. Out of reflex, Atem wants to struggle against it but ceases when some sort of… lizard creature quickly waddles past them on its stubby legs, long body wiggling.

His companion, also leaning against the rocks to grant the lizard space to roam free, releases Atem’s cloak. In the dark, the boy’s fond smile seems a bit creepy. “He’s hunting. Would’ve knocked you over.”

Atem breathes an awkward ‘oh’ and they make another sharp turn in the maze-like pathways. The boy pushes away the equivalent of beaded curtains made from polished, small animal bones strung together – Atem cringes when they brush against him – and they enter what seems to be something akin to a living space. The boy’s den.

The “chambers” are rather wide, shapeless and strangely cozy. There are no windows in sight and somehow that alone explains the dragon lord’s sickly paleness – he’s probably spent quite a lot of time underground bonding with his “friends”.

Not all the time, though, Atem concludes, when he sees that the kid has a proper bed, a bookshelf, a small table, and all of the vital necessities. He even has a small collection of books and the shabby table is covered in cheap scrolls. Not something he’s expected from a possibly feral man living under the same “roof” with definitely feral dragons.

Atem observes the tufts of dried herbs hanging above his head while the host paces around the chamber, fixing some things and cleaning up the mess. He doesn’t speak to Atem but the King hardly minds it, maroon eyes drifting to the walls. They’re covered in coal drawings of shapeless blobs that are supposed to depict dragons, humans, and nature. Most of them seem scrawled by a little child, unable to reach higher than the table. It makes Atem wonder just how long the other’s been living here by himself. Certainly long enough to completely tame and command the world’s fiercest beings with the flick of a hand, a feat no one could ever hope to achieve.

“Take a seat.” The boy gestures and crouches down to start a fire, a blackened kettle by his side. He’s shed the cloak. Atem inspects the old, oversized sweater as the other gets to work. The gloves stay on.

The King awkwardly perches on the very edge of the bed, drumming his fingertips against the knees. His pants are torn and bloodied - Mana hasn’t had enough time to fix them completely - and there’s a puckered scar where his healed wound still aches if he probes at it too much. He keeps his mouth shut despite the bubbling questions waiting to be unleashed.

The curtains rattle announcing a new presence inside the chamber. Atem watches the lizard-like creature as it meets his gaze with yellow, beady eyes. They have barely noticeable off-amber slits for pupils.

It doesn’t blink or move. Atem feels queasy.

The lizard is a rich ruby color and has two bloodied maws, one of them holding onto a poor mouse, its entrails dripping on the floor. The King scrunches up his nose in distaste and the beast gobbles up the rodent just to spite him, keeping steady eye contact all the while. Bones crunch and the remains of a tail drop from the lizard’s greedy mouth.

It grooms itself, pawing away the gore and sits by the entrance like some bizarre dog, wary of this stranger.

By the fire, the boy speaks up. “I’m going to have to confiscate that magical item of yours,” he says, not looking up. Atem startles. The kid puts herbs into two cups. “The one you keep in your pocket.”

Protectively, the young King holds the sphere to his chest, curling up. “No. The orb stays with me.”

The lizard’s spiky tail twitches. Its master stands, languid, knees popping. He doesn’t come closer or force him to drop the object. In fact, he looks at Atem as if the King’s some petulant child he does not wish to deal with. “It’s okay,” the dragon lord sighs, reaching out an expectant hand. Atem glares at the beckoning fingers. “It’s just to make sure that you won’t launch some petrification spell at me. Better safe than sorry. I’ll even put it where you can see it, alright?”

He brushes past this insolent child. “Where?” the King barks. His knuckles turn white.

The boy gestures to a wooden chest-like box resting on the table. Atem puts it inside, swallowing heavily. Without the magic, he feels cold.

The dragon lord pats the carpet, a silent invite for Atem to join him before the fire pit. The lizard now snoozes on the boy’s lap, but the young King swears to Gods that he sees the strange thing opening one eye every now and then to check on them.

They sit in awkward silence until the boy waves an expectant hand. “Well? Are you going to tell me or not? Please, go first.”

“Oh, right!” Atem exclaims, blinking away the heat haze clouding his vision. He isn’t used to speaking up – normally, he has to hear out others first before talking. However, this isn’t the royal palace, he isn’t the King of Khemet and he’s the one who’s trespassed into foreign territory. He’s the guest and it’s only natural for him to explain himself first.

And so he does. He tells the kid who he is – he carefully leaves out the part where he’s supposed to be the King and leaves the honors to his cousin, downplaying himself as a simple member of the royal council and family – of the great perils their country is about to face if he doesn’t do something and seek out the Sky Dragon as soon as possible.

The boy hears him out, looking rather invested in the story, nodding at appropriate times and visibly scandalized when necessary. The lizard stops pretending to be dead, staring in that unnerving fashion.

“I heard that things have taken a turn for the worst but I never thought it was this bad,” the kid mutters, eyebrows pinched. A glowed finger rubs against his lower lip. “Finding the Sky Dragon… this won’t be an easy task for you, uh…”

“Atem.”

“Right.” The boy nods, doesn’t offer his name in return. The King wonders if he even has one. For now, he’ll stick with ‘dragon lord’. “You’re unprepared for this search, Your Highness.” It sounds condescending. “No God would ever show itself before someone who has no appreciation for its kind.”

“But there is a God, yes?” Atem leans in, eyes wide. “I’m not wasting my time here?”

The boy smiles, secretive. Pets the lizard. “A divine presence lives in our valley, Your Highness. Whether it will or will not show itself to you is in the hands of Fate. You cannot rush it and you certainly cannot force it. If you’re pressured by time and war-related worries, I suggest you end your search and return home to the capital.”

Not cryptic at all. “I think that it’s going to take a long while for someone like you to locate it,” the dragon lord continues. “You do not love what the God has created and you do not appreciate the boundaries it has set between itself and humans such as you and I. You’ve violated them and you certainly harbor no warm feelings for the species it has chosen to morph into. Besides,” he slides closer and flicks Atem’s earring, making it catch light. “What kind of fool rushes headfirst into dragon territory with gold and jewels on?”

Self-conscious, Atem tugs at the plates and peers at the lizard. Its pupils have blown out, burning holes into the golden accessories. Its gaze follows the sway of the heavy earring as if intoxicated.

Flushed, the King takes them off along with the ear cuff. He hides them in the folds of his cloak – the clasp has a massive sapphire in it. No wonder that lizard pet has been staring at him ever since it sneaked in.

“Watch your own,” Atem mumbles moodily, noticing the blue stone lodged on top of the lizard’s head. It sticks out a black forked tongue at him. “Have you seen it? The God,” he asks.

The boy actually laughs. “Of course not. As far as I’m concerned, I’m just a simple guy without an ounce of royal blood in me. I do feel it though.” Violet eyes close. “It’s always here. Always protecting us. It has granted me the chance to know the dragons. I feel what they feel. I hear what they say. Their joy, sadness, pain – they’re mine. And I’m all theirs.” He scratches the lizard behind the gem. It makes a funny sound – like a puppy growl.

“Will I ever be able to locate it? His presence? Is it possible?”

The boy observes the desperate King for a long moment. For the life of him, Atem makes nothing of the young one’s expression. “Perhaps. You are of royal blood, are you not? That should make it easier, I think. If you invest yourself into bonding, into sensing and living among The Sky Dragon’s species, if you learn to respect them, love them, then the God should show itself to you. It’s just a theory, though. I don’t know much of this fated prophecy or the state our Kingdom is in – not lately, at least. I have more important things to worry about.” The dragon lord turns giddy, flushing in happiness. “It’s the hatching season! I must be there to take care of the babies.”

Atem stares, dumbfounded. While he’s caged inside the royal palace, chained to kingly duties and losing sleep over the fact that by the dawn of the following day an apocalypse might befall them, these ridiculous people exist – there are guys out there who’re far more concerned with the safety of disgusting newborn lizards rather than an evil Titan coming back to life and wiping out all human life on the face of Khemet. Of course a caveman wouldn’t care for basic human rights, their safety. He clearly doesn’t comprehend the gravely situation all of them are stuck in.

Okay. Okay, that’s–

He tries not to show how much that concept annoys him. The disgusting lizard hisses.

And human lives aren’t the only thing that will be wiped out, Atem is certain. These dragons shall be enslaved as well and there’s absolutely nothing this foolish boy will be able to do, dragon lord or not.

So he tells this human all of that and it doesn’t take long for them to arrange a consensus – Atem is to stay for at least a few weeks to test out the boy’s hypothesis but he must provide for himself and cause absolutely no harm to the kid’s precious family. He’s to help out with housework in return for having a roof above his head and he is to follow the boy around – if Atem wanders off by himself and the dragon lord isn’t within the reach to save his royal ass, what happens then is his responsibility entirely. The dragons will not hesitate to rip him to shreds apparently. There are far too many egg-infested nests to protect.

The boy warns him – during this season, dragon riders sneak into the area in hopes to steal the aforementioned eggs. Atem will have to help the kid fight them off with the power of the orb – he’ll be granted access to it if he proves himself trustworthy enough.

“May I take some parchment to write a letter to my friends?” Ah, the Magicians, the boy echoes, giving him the materials to write a long letter of explanation.

Even while writing, Atem tries to sound as convincing as he’ll ever be. He doesn’t forget to stress that he’s doing it of his own free will and asks them to leave his horse in the stable. He neatly folds the letter into a semi-box, and places the golden cuff inside – proof that it’s him even though Mahad and Mana know perfectly well what his chicken scrawl looks like.

He then asks the kid to command one of his dragons to catch a bird big enough to carry the letter – he’ll then use the orb and one of the first spells Mahad has taught him; enchant the bird into delivering the goods to the recipient. The magic wanes afterward and the bird flies on unharmed.

The boy only waves a hand and rolls up his own small letter. Apparently, he has people to contact.

Atem watches in amusement as the kid makes a mad leap for the lizard that scrambles away, seemingly aware of what’s going on. He chases the pet around the fire pit and the lizard escapes a few times by trampling over the burning wood, unscathed.

“Oh no you don’t!” the boy yelps and then grabs the fussy lizard by the end of the spiky tail. The spikes bend inwards like rubber – soft in texture despite the prickly appearance. The dragon lord presses his letter into the smaller maw and Atem’s into the bigger one. The lizard almost looks annoyed but doesn’t spit out the parchment rolls. “Oh hush!” its master chides. “Take my letter to Jou and Atem’s to the Magicians. Be safe, I love you,” he then kneels to kiss the ruby lizard on its gem. It purrs and scurries away, rattling the curtain.

It’s grossly heartwarming, Atem decides, and joins the kid for the second cup of tea that night – not poisoned, just as the dragon lord had promised. He asks for a name.

Gets none.

“Once I learn how to trust you, I will tell you,” the boy promises, taking a tentative sip.

Atem lowers the cup. “I don’t understand. I could literally kill you in your sleep and you still chose to believe what might be my fabricated story. For all you know I could be a dragon rider trying to make friends with you to get easier access to the nests. You don’t even know if Atem is my real name.”

“I’m no idiot, Atem.” His companion finishes the tasteless tea and goes to the bed to pick up some dark furs strewn across it. “I have no reason to doubt you – you’ve proved yourself too incompetent to be a dragon rider. And besides, I don’t think that an egg thief could have Magicians of that level as escorts. Or Magicians at all. Ones calling them ‘Your Highness’ too.”

Not a complete caveman then, huh. Good points.

Except…

“How did you even hear that? You were too high up on the cliff!”

“My dragons heard it. They’ve told me everything.” Like that makes a lot of sense but it’s a crazy dragon lord he’s talking to.

“Get some rest,” the boy says once he’s done making a makeshift bed for the guest. “I rise with the first rays of the dawn. The bathroom’s down the hallway, the second turn to the left. We’ll do something about your pants tomorrow.” He stretches, cracking the thin column of a pale neck. “Also don’t be frightened if you feel something moving around in the furs – Slifer likes warm places. He usually sleeps on the embers in the firepit, though. But seeing as you’re new, he’ll probably want to keep an eye on you as well. “

Oh good. A lizard and dragon amalgamation sharing intimate space with him. He cannot wait.

Chapter Text

Atem wakes up to the smell of warm food lingering in the air and the faint sounds of clinking. There’s also the quiet pat pat of small clawed paws scratching the ground followed by soft snorts and then a whole lot of movement. The young King grumbles under his breath, turns to face the wall and almost drifts off again but a ruby tail smacks against the side of his cheek. He’s awake immediately, shooting up from the pile of furs to glare at the offender.

The lizard has his little snout stuck in one of Atem’s boots, moving it around as it tries to claw free. The buckles jangle, mocking.

“Good morning,” the dragon lord greets from his place on the bed, scooping out the remains of what seems to be porridge. Atem nearly drools at the scent and tries to appear dignified, noticing that the kid hasn’t left him any. “Tea?”

“No thanks,” the King groans, cracking his neck. His back is stiff all over, not used to the roughness of the rocky surface. “You could’ve done something about your pet stealing my things.”

The boy then shrugs and stacks the dishes, picking up the cup that he’s placed down for Atem. “It’s none of my business,” he chirps, visibly entertained by a noble fuming over a snake lizard stuck in his expensive boots. “Slifer does as he pleases. I warned you before – gold is like a magnet to him. You should simply cut off the buckles if you want your shoes intact. He’ll lose interest then.”

“These boots were a gift from… my cousin!” Atem backpedals at the last moment – they were given to him by one of the best shoemakers out there after he’d saved the man’s nose-diving business. The kind old man had been cheated out of his money and good name by a band of atrocious men, all of which the King had caught and sentenced. Atem could never violate someone’s work like that; the shoemaker had put a lot of effort into making the King’s boots. They’ve served him loyally for three years. Cutting off the buckles would be disrespectful. “Their sentimental value is immeasurable.”

The boy stares him down evenly, face clear of reactions. He nods in understanding. Slifer rattles the poor boot again, rear end wiggling. “I see. It’s understandable, but if this keeps happening, please do not complain. I warned you.”

Atem spends the next few minutes padding around the dragon lord’s den, trying to catch the obnoxious lizard. It senses him approaching and dashes the moment Atem bends to snatch the boot away. After the chase comes the stare down. The King tries to assert dominance, pulling at the leather caught between the lizard’s lower jaws. It refuses to let go, beady yellow eyes burning holes into the human’s.

“Spit it out. Now!” the King hisses a command and the lizard hops back along with the boot. Strong little fucker.

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” the kid warns, watching the exchange and doing absolutely nothing to help out his esteemed guest. Atem doesn’t listen, tries to pry the stupid thing’s mouth open in order to take out the boot by force but it snaps its free jaws, gnawing on his finger like a rabid turtle. With a yelp, he cradles the stinging finger to his chest and tricks the beast by letting go of the golden buckles. Happily, it thinks that the fight’s been won ‘til Atem slams a foot down on the fine dark leather near the sole and retrieves the monopolized object. He puts it on before the lizard can attempt anything. Sticks his tongue out just to spite the little beast.

By the firepit, the kid holds back a snorting laugh.

Atem slides one finger along the wall until he reaches the second turn and then enters the shapeless tunnel that serves as a bathroom with a bunch of small holes punched through the ceiling, letting in natural light. The sky above is a gloomy grey – Atem seriously doubts that they ever have sunny days in this region. There are a bunch of buckets placed by the huge rocks, along with a stack of towels and a thin bar of cheap soap, the kind even the poorest folk of the capital do not use. In the center, there’s an empty wooden barrel that probably serves as a bath. Atem visualizes the small kid taking bird baths in it and nearly cracks up.

Beyond the shapeless bath space, the tunnel goes on, dark and mysterious.

Atem laces his pants and spots a ladder by one of the holes leading outside. Curiosity takes the best of him and he climbs up, nearly falling over due to the strong gusts of chilly wind. Between a few massive boulders, two poles are stuck into the cracks of the mountain. The kid’s laundry is hanging there.

Atem takes a look around. Nothing but grayness and sharp mountaintops in sight. No greenery whatsoever.

No roads and no means of escape.

Atem rubs away the goosebumps rising on his skin and retreats, grateful for what he has even if he’s a sore inconvenience to the kid. He has a mission.

The dragon lord waits for him with a thick thread and a bone needle.

“Here,” he hands the items to the confused King. “Your pants still have that hole in them. It’s probably strange for you.” It is. Atem doesn’t remember the last time he’d gotten this grimy – perhaps when he was eight. His personal maid had nearly ripped off his ear for tracking dirt into the palace. The kid, however, is talking about something else entirely.  His guest has no spare clothes.

The King takes the offerings and kicks off his boots along with the messy trousers. The dragon lord politely looks away until Atem has his cloak draped over his tan legs and his boots are secure under his ass – the lizard’s pupils are blown wide at the sight of the gleaming gold. He’s not gonna risk it.

Atem makes a grand show of threading the needle and pushing it through the material. The kid discreetly observes, petting his ruby beast. The thread slides out of the material three times – one time he forgets the knot at the end, the other two the knot isn’t done correctly and keeps slipping apart.

After Atem pricks his fingers one time too many, the dragon lord releases a pained sigh and takes the trousers away. The “stitching” isn’t even halfway through and the young King sucks on the side of the index finger, flushed and frowning.

It’s embarrassing for both of them.

“There’s nothing wrong with telling me that you can’t sew,” the boy says, examining the crooked lines of a fat thread. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

If possible, the King’s face colors an even darker shade. “I didn’t think it’d be a big deal. The maids made it seem easy.”

The dragon lord cuts the thread and undoes Atem’s work with a single pull. The King almost winces at that. “Must be nice,” the boy hums. “Living in a palace and having others do all the work for you. This is a basic skill, Atem. You can easily do these small chores by yourself.”

“I’m a war tactician, not a housewife,” the King bristles, offended by the other’s condescending tone. No brat should ever tell him what he can or cannot do, even if he is leeching off the other’s hospitality by loitering around, unable to do even this much. “I do not sew.”

The kid actually looks mildly irritated by that regal speech. He pushes the garment back into his guest’s hands, frowning. “Do your Magicians fix your pants for you as well, Your Highness?”

“No, but they magic them back to normal, which is far less time-consuming and way easier. I could do it as well if only you’d return the orb to me. “

The kid smiles at him, mock-sweet – it doesn’t reach those violet eyes. They’re clouded by annoyance.  The lizard pet lets out a hiss, spikes ruffled. They defiantly stare at each other until the boy caves in and digs out a piece of cloth from a shabby chest filled with materials. He sits beside Atem, their knees just shy of touching.

“I’ll only show the needlework once so you better pay close attention. This is the basic stitch.” He doesn’t remove the gloves but the demonstration is clear and the black thread is a stark contrast against the yellowish cloth. It’s done in a neat row and even if the King is still ticked off, he observes the boy working silently. Why he couldn’t show Atem by sewing the hole in the pants shut is beyond him. How stubborn. Once he’s done, he gives the material to Atem. “Make sure it looks something like this, it’ll be your example.  Here. Try again.”

He could’ve done it better if he’d taken his time to be more careful, but he does it however the fuck just to get the little kid off his back. Well, as long as it holds and there’s no hole gaping in the rough material.

Afterward, the kid commends him on trying – no “good job” or anything, though Atem knows it’s pitiful at best. He’s not a boy in learning to be praised.

“Time for you to start earning your share, Your Highness.” The kid then hands him a broom, so crappy it’s about to fall apart from a stronger sweep. “Start with the hallway. I have some errands to run; I’ll be back shortly.”

The King sets the broom aside, angry. “Just take me along! Aren’t you supposed to show me the dragons? I’m not here to waste my time on… mundane work!”

The kid barely reacts to the passionate outburst, sighing low and short. “Everything in due time. You cannot approach these; they hate the scent of a stranger. After you’re done, you’ll help me with some visits. Believe me, I’m not here to waste your precious hours.”

The dragon lord’s gentle tone and defeated disposition make the fight leave Atem’s slight stature – it’s a miracle that he’s rooming with a brat nearly a head shorter than him. Usually, he’s the small one in every room that he enters. The other leaves with a rattle of the bone curtains and a loving “Slifer, keep an eye on him,” thrown over a shoulder. Lazily, Atem gets to work, barely sees what he’s doing – there’s so much light that a torch can shed.

The lizard takes it upon himself to bother the living crap out of the King as he sweeps up the cobwebs, spiders, and mice shit. It keeps getting between his legs like a douchey feline, sprawls out in places Atem wants to clear. When the King whistles some tune to make the time pass faster, the ruby thing yowls as if to make him stop.

Obnoxious.

Atem ends up chasing the beast back into the chamber with his broomstick held high like a war weapon. It guides him into the first turn near the dragon lord’s den and Atem doesn’t need a torch to know what he’s stepped into.

“You nasty little demon,” the King grumbles and sweeps the bunny-like poop out of the crevice. Four times the size. “Oh you’re smug about this, aren’t you? The kid isn’t here to hold me back from turning you into lizard soup. Scram, go now.” He pushes Slifer back into the room with his foot.

By the time the dragon lord returns, Atem has swept most of the hallway, tired from a simple chore. The kid rolls his eyes at the King’s theatrics.

“Bundle up,” he says, pulling out a thick scarf. It’s dark grey, peppered in tribal patterns. “It’s gonna get cold in the lower levels. And put on your gloves – do not forget them.”

The description as to where they’re going is vague at best as they trek down down down, through dingy tunnels and underground caves. Atem’s arms scream in protest as he drags two barrels tied with ropes. The kid carries a bucket and a huge empty bag. Does he get off to torturing royals by letting them push around the heavier stuff? He’s afraid he might pull a muscle – one of these barrels, despite being not too big, probably weighs more than him and the boy combined.

Atem can hear the whisper of turbulent water in the distance – the creek must flow under this mountain as well – and his breath comes out in chilly puffs of white mist. True to the kid’s words, the temperature drops to impossible lows. Atem isn’t too shocked when he sees frost on the slimy rocks.

It’s too dark to make out anything and the path becomes more and more cramped. He nearly has a heart attack when the ruby lizard walks right into his stiff calf.

In the distance, faint light shines through the cracks in the ground, in the mountain, looming above. It looks like a ravine, a very deep one at that – similar to the one Mahad had chosen half an hour into their extreme hike.

Atem stops dead in his tracks. Dragons perch everywhere - big, off-green, horned, terrifying. Did he mention big?

“They like the ravines the best – it’s where they come during the mating season,” the kid speaks up. Even if he cannot see the boy’s eyes, Atem can hear the unbridled affection and joy tinting the soft voice. “These ones are travelers – they wait for the eggs to hatch and leave the area. Have you ever heard the legend of the dragon Timaeus? These are the same species.”

Atem nods. Of course, he’s heard the story of the three dragons and the entrance to the Spirit world. Everything in their lives comes in threes – the legends, the deities, the heroes, the warriors. Atem’s Gods.

The dragons seem suspicious of him, burrowed in their crevices, shielding the eggs. They do not, however, attack.

“Keep the lid sealed at all times,” the dragon lord instructs but Atem’s too scared to hear him out because disgusting little creatures come closer to them – toothless and soft-scaled. They’re greeted by a loving coo “hello, my little ones, have you been behaving?”

Atem freezes up when one of the four baby dragons comes face to face with him. He can see his frightened face reflected in its eyes like they’re some bizarre mirror. His hair’s a mess of black and blond, face pasty, mouth open to express mute horror and shock.

The thing blinks at him with a nictitating membrane. Atem shudders, stare flitting to the chicken-like wings. It’s so young they haven’t fully developed yet. The King sharply inhales when "the little one" lets out a pigeon coo.

“Zero self-awareness,” the dragon lord’s voice comes from somewhere an entire world away. “They’re very curious creatures. And, as I can see, very hungry.”

Atem’s one fear fit away from squeaking out “please don’t turn me into dragon baby food” but the boy only cracks open the lid of his bucket and the hovering beast dumps the shaken King for the scent of death and food. They flock to the dragon lord like excited children to a father, waiting to be showered in presents. The presents consist of dead ferrets and mice and suddenly it makes sense why the barrels smelled so off-putting.

Atem eyes the barrels with distaste. They remain upright, mocking, and their contents do not magically vanish.

The kid has the time of his life feeding his disgusting little monsters. With a lip curled back to show just how much he disapproves of this, the King watches the baby dragon that’s been bothering him gobble up a ferret in a single bite.

“Feed them no more than three animals. The little ones cannot stomach more than that despite their stature – they’re only a few weeks old. This species hatches first.” The dragon lord actually puts his arms around one beast’s elongated, awkward neck, nuzzling affectionately. It seems more interested in the bucket by the boy’s feet, nosing at it. It’s sealed tightly shut.

Sickened, Atem throws some rotting mice into the newcomers’ waiting jaws – more and more babies pour out of the crevices to inspect the fuss and the goods. Feeding carcasses of rodents better earn him karma points in Osiris’ eyes.

Suddenly, the creatures begin convulsing, choking. Atem thinks that they’re having a collective seizure – perhaps his gloomy, hateful aura has killed them all at once.

With a few strangled chokes, the dragons regurgitate the remains of the animals they’ve fed them.

Atem feels physically ill, bile rising in the back of his throat. He forces it down, green-faced.

“What’s happening? I didn’t know that dragons did that,” the young King shakily squeezes out, risking a quick glance at the nearest… mess. There are only bones and gooey greenish stomach acid left behind. He feels the urge to regurgitate his own empty stomach content at the view and the overwhelming, dizzying scent – rot at its finest.

The dragon lord seems excited that Atem’s finally asking questions, nearly vibrating in his spot. “Well, the babies cannot properly stomach their food until they’re at least a few months old! But they still desperately need the meat.” He gestures at the piles of green goop filled with skeletons of poor animals. “The stomach acid of a dragon is stronger than any corrosive substance out there. While they’re still babies though, that description doesn’t quite apply.” The kid bravely goes to one puddle and Atem blanches when he quickly sticks his fingers into the mess to pick out the bones. He places them in a bag, wiping off the stained gloves immediately.

The King takes a cautious step back, squinting. He has a bad feeling about this. “You’re not implying that I should–“

“Get to work, Atem.” The boy stands, wiping off the front of his pants. “These aren’t going to collect themselves.”

Atem runs a twitchy hand through the wild hair, making it face all the directions of the world. “You want me to stick my hands into dragon vomit. To collect bones.”

“Yes.”

“Why, oh Gods, why would you want me to do that!?” he yells, startling some of the aforementioned creatures. The boy’s finger hovers before the King’s open lips to silence him, thankfully mindful of the remains of the mess stuck on his brown leather gloves.

“Our goal,” he whispers, soothing, “is to visit as many nests as we can and collect the leftovers. The bones are vital for tomorrow’s visit. We have a lot of work to do, now please do as I say.”

There’s no room left for argument. Atem kneels, wishing his senses to disappear for a moment. The scent of this vile shit makes his eyes sting and water. “What do I do now?”

The dragon lord tosses him a spare bag. “Pick out the bones, simple as that. And make sure you wipe off your gloves immediately – the acid will eat right through the leather like it's nothing if you don’t. And you don’t want that, trust me. Been there, done that.”

Mournfully, the King gazes at his black leather-covered hands. “These are my best riding gloves…”

“They’re still gloves, aren’t they? Just pray that they’re thick enough to salvage your fingertips. Try again. Quickly!”

“You’re the most unsympathetic person I’ve ever met!” Atem hisses, steeling his resolve. Nausea creeping, he plunges his hands into the goop and it feels like fire against his skin – the chemical reaction is instantaneous.

The dragon lord tosses him a rag at a moment’s notice and scolds him for shoving his entire hand into the mess. Tired, he flops down within Atem’s reach and continues working, fuming.

“Honestly…”

Ahead, Slifer enjoys his dinner – a screeching rat that ceases to make noise far too suddenly. “I’m not unsympathetic, right?” the boy mutters under his breath, hurt by such harsh words.

In the back of his head, he hears a reassurance. Atem is just bitter and pompous – the picture-perfect image of a useless royal out of his habitat.

Chapter Text

Feeding the little monsters takes them the remainder of the day. Before Atem knows it, the cool sun begins setting in the vast sky and its dwindling light dyes the sharp, nature-free mountaintops. At dusk, the area looks as though it’s been set on fire, rocky surfaces bathed in shimmering oranges. Finally the Alcatraz Mountains look less dull and more mysterious, enchanting – fitting for a place that used to be known as “The Valley of Dragons”.

The perfect place to harbor an ancient God with scales as red as the bleeding heavens above.

The young King’s legs ache from all that walking up, down, over, around, and dragging along the barrels, their contents losing mass at a snail’s pace. The dragon lord had led him through the terrible, terrible dragon-infested ravines, and dangerous caves, all wet and cold. Atem had slipped more than once. One of his boots is damp from stepping into a puddle. Their complete waste of time doesn’t get to the kid in the slightest – he moves around with the grace of a newborn gazelle, chipper, bright-eyed, and red-faced. He’s physically strong, practically made for climbing and scaling cliffs unlike Atem whose arms feel like they’re filled with lead, pulling him closer to the lifeless ground. Short height means nothing in the end – the King can vouch for that.

The dragon lord is far from merciless – he offers Atem a hand to help him up whenever they encounter the steeper slopes and doesn’t shy away from dragging around barrels the moment he sees that his companion is too tired to go on. The latter is a small bliss – no matter how well Atem fakes a dying man, the dragon lord can seemingly sense his bullshit, returning the fraying ropes.

Physical labor is an unfamiliar concept in the young King’s lifestyle and being exposed to it so suddenly sucks. Big time. Especially when he’s supposed to be the esteemed guest here, searching for a God to save his kingdom. To save all of them.

Instead, he has to deal with the boy’s pet lizard constantly trying to steal the mice that he’s supposed to guard with his life. He has to feed these… bizarre creatures that sound like a bunch of birds. He has to get used to the feeling of being around them, the kid says when Atem produces a startled scream and takes a battle stance, ready to punch the dragon in the eye for catching him off guard by tugging at his cloak. The big, clumsy thing only wanted to play, the dragon lord yells, putting a firm hand on Atem’s shoulder to calm him down. He’s frightened – it’s visible in the way the King’s jaw clenches and his curled hands are too stiff to lower.

Admittedly, it was Atem’s fault for ignoring the creature when it not so subtly tried to ask for some food. He’d been far too preoccupied with sealing one of the barrels to notice.

“Why are you so jumpy around them?” the kid asks, tentative. He doesn’t mean to pry, it’s clear. For someone who lives all by himself, the boy sure knows how to act polite around others.

Atem sniffles, rewrapping the ropes around the sticky, leather-covered fingers to get a better grip – the material seems a whole lot less thin and smoother around the fingertips now. He makes sure not to initiate any unnecessary eye contact – he’s unused to talking about past experiences with people who do not know him. It’s been years since someone who isn’t Mana or Mahad has asked him personal stuff. Usually, Atem’s the one who does the questioning – royal trials, council meetings, and every other thing.

“Childhood trauma,” the kid doesn’t look satisfied with that short answer, so he generously elaborates, “I saw a group of people die in dragon fire.”

The shorter one stops in his tracks, seemingly contemplative. Genuinely saddened to hear this. “Was it captured before that… accident?”

Atem nods. The boy seems less stricken now. “Figures. It must’ve been scared out of its mind to launch an attack like that. Usually, dragons are aware of their situation and rarely go against more than three people at once. They’re intelligent creatures.”

The young King would argue, but then what he thought to be some bizarre breed of mountain bush unfolds and four small dragons waddle in their direction to butt disproportionally large heads against their “brother”. They look like dark red roses with clawed limbs and thorny stems for tails and peep like a bunch of recently hatched chicks when the kid dishes out hugs, nuzzling against the petal-like protruding scales. 

They… are aesthetically pleasing, Atem decides, when one chirping creature noses at his fingers, demanding pets. Kind of cute, too.

The dragon lord calls this breed “Black Rose” and then introduces Atem to Snowbell, Lily, Scarlet, and Berry respectively. Atem cannot differentiate which is which but they seem very eager to make friends nonetheless. Especially with his fingers that get bitten far too many times to count.

“These aren’t babies, are they?” Atem squints in suspicion and holds his nommed hand close. The creatures’ maws are filled with white, sharp teeth, strangely… bendy in texture. No actual damage was done to his limbs.

The kid guiltily looks up, smiling in a sheepish manner. “Well… no. But they’re still young! The grown ones are thrice the size of a human. Don’t tell anyone but I’m actually extremely fond of these four and always bring them an extra bite.”

He throws a few small mice and the dragons scurry towards it, climbing over each other to get to the dead animal first. The kid laughs fondly and throws a few more with a cheerful “no need to fight, there are still some left!”

The fading light of a dying orange sunset catches the wavy, pale-blond strands framing the boy’s snowy face, the raised scar tissue of his maimed cheek nearly disappearing under its final rays. A peculiar thought worms its way into the back of the young King's head, making him admire his strange companion's kind and beautiful smile. Somehow he even forgets to be disgusted by the sight of two dragons tearing apart a chunky rat, its guts messily pouring out over the rocky terrain, hitting the ground with wet splats.

“I won’t tell a soul,” Atem promises, voice barely a whisper. It sounds strange, even to his own ears, but the King decides not to question it too much.

Scarlet smears scarlet blood on the side of Atem’s face, makes him shudder internally, and effectively snaps him out of his daze.

The kid relieves him of delivery boy duties afterwards and they take their sweet time walking to the creek below. It's shallow, turbulent, and colder than a witch’s tit, but Atem cannot be bothered by any of that. Without waiting for the dragon lord, he sprints towards the gurgling stream and unceremoniously dumps his leather gloves into it to get rid of the remaining dragon muck. Once the King deems them clean enough to pull out, he sees steam coming off the material.

“You shouldn’t touch them until they’re dry,” the kid calls out, and takes the bag filled with disgusting bones. “It's not good for your skin.”

“This has been bothering me for a while, but how come your skeletons aren’t eating holes into the bag?” Atem gestures at it.

With some difficulty, the kid climbs on top of one of the boulders. He kicks his short legs back and forth. “How do you say it… fire can’t kill fire?” Then, he looks at the abandoned bag. “Dragon skin.”

The young King is rather disturbed by this newfound information. “You skin your family?”

“After it dies, yes.” The dragon lord’s clouded gaze flickers to the cloudless sky. Stars are beginning to litter its darkening expanse, the moon rising in the distance. “Dragons remain in our realm for three days and nights and then ascend like every other magical creature. They aren’t meant to rot away, only to return back to the very earth that’s given life to all things living. Since my lifespan is nothing compared to that of a dragon, I haven’t seen many of my kind die before my eyes. However, those that have, were killed by dragon riders. There’s nothing sacred to those… beings.” The boy’s expression turns sour, closed off. Hurt by the notion of excruciating pain that his family members must have felt in their final moments. Disgusted by the lack of humanity shown by actual human beings. “I had to look at the remains of their maimed bodies before they returned to the Spirit world. I had to force my knife through them to get the materials required for survival in these mountains. I’m only human.” His hands begin to shake. “But I always send them off with a proper ritual and goodbye. It’s the least I can do for defiling holy creatures for the sake of my earthly needs.”

Atem feels bad for him. Really. He cannot begin to comprehend what that must feel like, but he knows for sure that those weren’t easy decisions to make. In the end, as the kid himself put it, he is human. He had to do it for the sake of survival, family or not, regret aside. Dragon skin, claws, and horns were invaluable materials to the recluse. “I’m sure they would understand. You did nothing wrong.”

“I’m going to be cursed for this.” The kid sighs, heavy and resigned. “It’s a risk that I was willing to take in order to survive the winters. It’s not like the dragon riders leave a lot behind either way - only destruction and needless death.” He then digs through the inner pockets of the stitched cloak, searching. “Have you seen it? That poor dragon’s ascension?”

Atem shakes his head no. “The King’s men removed it from the palace the moment it got speared. I don’t know what happened to it nor where they took the body.”

For a second, the dragon lord stops his search. “Hmm. I hope it found peace. Typically, right before their final hours, the dragons fly to the Northern continent to die. Have you ever heard of it, the Gateway?”

“Yes,” Atem says, remembering his scholar years. “No one’s ever been able to get to it. They say that the Dragons’ Cemetery is protected by ancient magic so strong, so old, that not even The Three Graces would be able to enter.”

“I wish to go there someday,” the kid nods, dreamily staring at the sky again. “At the Gateway, you can call the spirits of the deceased dragons. Perhaps then I could make amends for what I’ve done. Not to mention the opportunity to witness something this great – it really gets the blood pumping, doesn’t it?” he grins at Atem. It feels like it’s daytime all over again. The kid’s presence is enough to warm up the King, if only a little.

“You’re quite adventurous, aren’t you?” Question for question, Atem’s lips curl in a teasing smirk. “And you seem to like living on the edge.”

The boy’s cheeks dust a soft pink hue at that. He smiles once more. “And you have obviously never seen a dragon ascension, so you’re in no place to judge these wishes of mine.”

“What’s it like?”

Silently, the dragon lord leaps off the boulder, crossing the short distance between them. “Magical,” he quips, tense. It seems like he hit a sore spot – Atem already regrets asking. “They get engulfed in golden lights and disappear. That’s all. I’m sure you’ve been taught about the process.” Tight-lipped, the short boy pushes a bar of soap into Atem’s slack hand. It’s not thicker than the King’s pinky. “Here. It’s for the best if you wash your pants in the creek.”

Atem gapes. Touches the blood-crusted material. “No spares, remember?”

“So what, you’re gonna parade around like that for weeks to come?” Before Atem can retort, he’s interrupted. “I’ll take care of it.”

From the deepest folds of the stitched cloak, the dragon lord produces a woolen scarf, folded tightly and held together by a string. The King takes it and stares some more, unsure how to react.

“What am I supposed to do with a blanket?”

“A scarf,” the kid corrects, passing him a black belt. “It’s long and warm enough, and it should work for the time being. Wrap the scarf around your hips; hold it together with the belt in case it starts slipping. By the morning, your pants should be dry and you can return this to me.”

Utter indignation isn’t enough to fully describe what the King feels but he has no other options to choose from and it seems that the violet-eyed boy will not take no for an answer. Degraded, he trades the riding pants for a… blanket skirt and tries very hard not to look the dragon lord in the eye when he kneels by the creek and gets to work. Atem can still feel the other’s probing gaze on the back and his ears burn in shame – who would’ve thought that he, the King of Khemet, would ever end up in this sort of situation.

Meanwhile, the kid, unperturbed and uncaring of his guest’s clothing “choice” in the slightest, takes the dragon skin bag and idly washes the skeletons ways ahead, granting Atem privacy. Sometimes their eyes meet but they remain silent, finishing up their respective tedious tasks.

The awkwardness is nearly tangible as the dragon lord makes dinner for one and the King keeps fixing the scarf, fearing more exposure than necessary. He doesn’t bat an eyelid when Slifer curls up on his black furs, snoozing.

The kid makes soup, watery and probably tasteless, but rich in scent. Extremely so.

Atem tries to appear unaffected and avoids looking in the general direction of the food as the kid stirs it a few more times and gets ready to eat.

He’s not going to ask no matter how bloody hungry he is. Atem still has a Kingly façade to maintain, along with his rapidly dwindling pride.

Midway through the bowl, the boy finally looks up. “You haven’t eaten ever since you got here,” he states. “Why?”

That gaze seems concerned as if the other’s observing a man in a whole lot of physical pain – and Atem truly is. His stomach is twisting into painful knots, demanding to be filled. “I’m not feeling too hungry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Really? I know that my vegetables and other supplies aren’t much, but you’re welcome to take them whenever you wish. It’s not as if food resources are excluded from our arrangement,” he jabs a spoon in the King’s direction.

“It has nothing to do with the food supplies. I’m sure they’re fine. I’m just,” a hiss, “not hungry. Thank you for your concern, but I’m good-”

Right as Atem is nearly done feeding the other half-convincing filthy lies, his traitor for a stomach growls in a way it never has before. The sound of it is loud enough to make Slifer snort mid-nap as the lizard readjusts.

All at once, heat rushes to the King’s face, searing and uncontrollable. His cheeks turn the same shade as his eyes, mouth opening slightly to stutter meek, mute excuses.

The kid observes, unmoving. Connects the dots to unlock the secret of his guest’s odd behavior.

Once more, they end up in a situation that is embarrassing for both of them. Atem wishes for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Or at least to cave in so that the dragons below can feast on the King’s malnourished corpse. Anything would be better than fidgeting under the other’s intense gaze, clearly judging him.

“You know,” the dragon lord begins at the same time Atem manages to squeeze out a strangled and high-pitched “I-”. “You could’ve simply told me that you can’t cook. We’ve been over this.”

This time Atem says nothing to defend himself, face hotter than the flames licking at the stones of the firepit. He’s never felt this degraded and it’s all thanks to his cursed bodily… responses. He could never stand a lack of food, still functioning under the strict mealtime regime of the palace.

The kid takes his silence the wrong way and sighs, disappointed. “Let me guess, you’re a war tactician, but not a housewife or a cook. What are you, a prince?”

Atem laughs, nervous, trying to shake off the embarrassment. “Khemet is ruled by a King, not a prince.”

“The King was a prince once too, wasn’t he now?” It’s followed by a dismissing shrug and a shift of attention. “Anyways, just go to the crevice and fetch me some vegetables from the basket. Take an extra knife as well.”

Atem already knows where this is going as he inspects the basket, the poor, shriveled carrots, and the small potatoes residing in it. His sense of foreboding doesn’t fail him when the dragon lord seats His Highness down by the firepit and instructs him to peel the potatoes while he sorts through herbs and chops some wilted cabbage leaves. It doesn’t look like it’s going to be anything close to a feast or a plausible meal, but Atem will take what he can get – anything to set his grumbling stomach at ease. At this point, even mud water would taste like the finest soup out there.

The dragon lord isn’t a chef by any means, but he certainly knows what tastes decent and his cutting skills don’t leave behind any marks on his gloves – he still refuses to take them off, constantly switching between different pairs. Atem tries to imagine what the other could be hiding under all that leather and then nearly slices off half of his thumb.

It’s a bloody mess, literally. The kid seems infinitely tired as he wraps off-white gauze around the King’s finger. “Have you never tried to cut things before?”

“Peeling bark is different than peeling potatoes,” Atem wrinkles his nose. The finger, despite the blood, doesn’t hurt too badly. He’ll live as long as there are no infections involved. “Vegetables are too… slimy. Can’t get a good grip.”

He gets a pat on the injured thumb once the kid’s done securing a knot. “That’s okay, no other choice but to learn while you’re living with me. Basic skills and all. Although… we do not have the resources to waste freely, so it’s best if you leave the cooking to me.” Atem breathes a sigh of relief. The dragon lord smiles, barely there. “Though that doesn’t mean that you get to laze around. I’ll still teach you the other stuff.”

“You seem to enjoy teaching others,” the King states, refolding the blanket skirt. “There’s no way I can refuse either.”

“You’re not wrong. As for teaching… when you get to live by yourself, it’s nice to… show someone how things work around here. Be it love for the magical creatures or simply peeling vegetables.” He picks up Atem’s dropped potato missing good chunks of its core, and holds it carefully, smiling absentmindedly. Orange lights dance around in the enchanting depths of those mysterious lavender eyes, sparkling like ocean waves in the middle of a warm summer afternoon. The King feels another heatwave surfacing on the back of his neck.

Scratches it.

Immerses himself in watching the dragon lord work.

The soup tastes more like assorted herbs and less like cabbage, but Atem finishes his share in no more than two minutes. The kid has made him extras and the young King couldn’t be more grateful for it, finally feeling full and comfortable. Fatigue turns into a dull hum buried somewhere deep within his sore muscles, easily ignored. After dinner, the kid takes the lonesome bone bag from the hallway and dumps its content on a dirty sheet. They shine a ghostly white, polished like jewels.

Vaguely, Atem thinks that it could’ve been his hand if he wasn’t careful enough and if the dragon lord hadn’t reacted as fast as he did.

“Need new curtains?” he jokingly asks, poking at a rat skull. The surface is smooth to the touch.

“Nope!” the dragon lord chirps, spreading out the brittle bones to dry. “This is what we’ll be bringing to our next visit!”

“Bones. To a dragon.”

“You’re correct.”

“Do they… hoard them? Like gold?”

“No, of course not. Besides, most of the dragons don’t even keep it – they just like pretty, shiny things.” Slifer turns on its back, dark stomach exposed. It seems that the lizard’s having a good dream. The boy beams. “They eat them.”

Atem observes a ribcage. It’s still a little damp.  “I’m too worried to ask at this point.”

The kid places a rough-looking rasp before the King’s neatly folded legs. “Take it. We’ll round off the sharp ends – the bones are small and they can easily get stuck inside a dragon’s throat if we aren’t careful enough. For comparison, imagine a splinter stuck inside your mouth and you’re unable to get it out.” Point taken, Atem mutters, taking the offered object. “Just throw them into the bucket once you’re done. I’ll help. We’ll do it faster this way.”

“If you don’t mind me asking… what sort of dragon needs to consume bones?” the King pipes up after fifteen minutes of continuous work. This is something he manages to handle quite well even if the skin on his knuckles is a little peeled where he’d accidentally put too much pressure. A small spine cracks between Atem’s fingers when he runs the feathered metal over its surface.

“There are quite a few species with trademark horns residing within this area – though they prefer the tundra of the Northern continent, their home. The bigger the horns – the more brittle the skeletal structure. While the big-horn species are still little, most of the vital minerals meant to strengthen the bones and immune system get sucked out by the rapid horn growth. That’s why these species rarely land, mostly spending time in the air. Easy to catch if their wings are injured – they’re not very fast due to those weak joints. Anyways, by consuming bones, they restore the balance of minerals. It’s…” the dragon lord shoots the bucket a sad look. “Not much, but if I can help them out somehow…”

Atem hears out the story while his mind hangs onto one specific detail and then wanders back to the palace, his chambers. To the huge battle horn hanging off one of the walls, its base decorated in thick emeralds and sapphires. He’d received it as a present for his eighteenth birthday, a humble gift from Khemet’s allies residing in the aforementioned Northern continent – not true allies seeing as they were completely neutral to Khemet’s inner politics and its current looming war predicament. They only ever showed concern when their trades were about to suffer damages or when it suited them the most.

The allied kingdom’s representatives had graciously bestowed their multiple gifts upon Khemet’s new ruler, praising the battle horn’s worth the most. “Your Highness, this belongs to one of the most powerful, rare dragon species residing within our vast land. Its horns are thicker than any diamond out there!”

Not a huge fan of the creatures to begin with and suffering from new responsibilities along with a massive headache, Atem hadn’t been very impressed, only heatedly thanking the guests after Seto had glared him down. He had to be on his best behavior in order to gain the favors of their long-standing allies – it was vitally necessary to avoid all conflict possible while Atem was still a freshly-baked King.

He hadn’t thought much about the accessory back then, banishing it to the trophy chamber. Now, however… now he knows better.

Fingers aching he polishes the dragon snacks meant to help out the aforementioned creatures’ bodies that those parasitizing horns have severely weakened. World’s strongest horns – covered in gems, hanging in the comfort of royals’ homes and serving no purpose whatsoever, collecting dust.

These dragons were killed for absolutely nothing.

The lizard rises to trample all over their firepit, spewing bursts of embers with every careless movement. Frightened by the notion of the ratty carpet catching fire, the dragon lord chases out his pet. Slifer’s beady yellow eyes burn holes into Atem's slouched form right until it finally decides to obey the boy's orders and waddles out of the room, tracking coal and leaving behind soot smears. Dirty trails that the King will undeniably have to wipe off.

He glares at the retreating lizard. Stupid thing.

“I wanted to commend you on doing a fairly good job today,” the kid successfully catches his wandering attention, shyly meeting the King’s eyes. He seems a little flustered. “I know that I might’ve been too rough on you but I can see that it did you good. You bravely fought back your fears, anxiety, and followed my lead without complaints. For that, I cannot praise you enough.”

Caught off guard by the sudden praise, Atem scratches the back of his neck, suddenly unable to lift his gaze. Somehow this acknowledgment makes him happy. “I wouldn’t say that I followed you without any complains, though…”

The dragon lord’s laughter is sweeter than honey, sticking to the heat radiating off Atem's flushed cheeks. Whenever the kid expresses honest glee, Atem feels as though he is being exposed to the first rays of summery sunlight, warm and pleasant against his dark skin. Those violet pools gleam no worse than the twinkle of morning dew stuck on blades of grass. For a brief moment, Atem wonders whether his companion ever had the chance to experience a peaceful dawn, surrounded by lush nature rather than naked, gray cliffs. Wonders whether he ever got to sit around in a field filled with blooming flowers.

The mornings in the capital are so much different than the gloomy ones here.

“That may be true… but despite the struggles, you kept up with me. I feel like now I could leave you here without having to worry whether you might steal the orb to cause mayhem. Despite being a war tactician,” Atem somehow knows that the boy will never let this one go, “you even managed to sweep up most of the hallway. I was pleasantly surprised because I know just how tedious and slow that task can be with Slifer around…”

“I’m sure it would’ve gone faster if the circumstances were different, yes,” the King nods in agreement, still feeling a little shy. Light, despite the tiredness dragging him down. “I think you’re being far too generous. I’m a complete stranger who’s tried to hurt your family for the sake of some wild quest, and yet, you’ve given me a chance to amend my ways. I am very grateful for this opportunity. I hope I won’t fail your expectations.”

Atem doesn’t get to humble himself; to properly lower his head in order to show the other boy just how serious he actually is. The moment he tries, the dragon lord steadies him by the shoulders, voice high-pitched and soft cheeks rosy. “Please! There’s no need to go that far! After all, those of higher social standing should not bow before no-ones such as myself, right?”

Determined to convey his gratitude, the King boldly places his right hand on top of the boy’s leather-clad one, keeping it in place, grip firm. “You are not a no-one, dragon lord!” he exclaims in earnest, heartbeat loud in his ears. “You’re smarter and kinder than most people I’ve met! I don’t see why I shouldn’t-”

“My name is Yugi.”

Atem blinks, slow. Double takes. “Huh?”

The smaller palm shyly slips away from the young King’s now-loose hold. “It’s Yugi. I promised to reveal my name if you proved yourself worthy of being here. You’re a good man, Atem, I know it. You haven’t tried to trick me, and your eyes, your words, are far too honest. It’s enough of a proof to me.”

The King doesn’t question the dragon lord – named Yugi, apparently – how he knows for certain that he hasn’t tried to take the orb, still located in its box, but decides against it. “It’s nice to have a name to match with the face. Calling you dragon lord inside my head was beginning to get a little… strange.”

Yugi gently hooks his slack fingers under the young King’s. His forehead hovers no more than an inch away from Atem’s suddenly very damp hand – a formal introduction of the most respectful kind, usually reserved for those in power - priests, Magicians… the King.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Atem,” he mutters, low. The dragon lord's warm breath catches the dry skin of his bruised fingers. The King feels it ignite, as though on fire, tingling pleasantly. “Well, officially,” Yugi finally lifts his head to face him, grinning sheepishly.

“Likewise,” the King nods and slowly retracts his twitchy palm, fingertips lingering on the rough material of brown leather.

Conversation flows more smoothly between them now that they’ve become official acquaintances and any leftover awkwardness gradually dissipates with every story that Atem tells. Yugi listens, invested and starry-eyed, asking constant questions about the life outside and wondering what’s it like. Atem tries his best to describe the ocean, the woods, the deserts, and the plains in as much detail as possible. The palace and the royal city. The citizens. The people that he works with and cares for. His Magician friends.

Yugi's lavender-colored eyes turn sad when the conversation undeniably shifts to the upcoming horrors of war and the widespread panic threatening to consume the capital city. Feeling guilty, Atem is quick to kill the budding tension by disclosing snippets of his childhood – recalls hiding in tall vases together with Mana and scaring Mahad shitless whenever the older boy walked by, searching for them.

Yugi doesn’t offer anything about himself in return, but his argument is arguably solid – it’s not like much ever happens in these mountains. As for the dragons and the different species – he promises to show Atem as many as possible before they’ll inevitably part ways.

With that, the pair make themselves comfortable in their respective beds, wishing each other a good night. Slifer is quick to poke his snout under Atem’s furs, seeking out warmth. The young King feels oddly generous tonight, so he doesn’t kick the lizard out, covering it instead.

For once, he isn’t plagued by nightmares of impassable forests and beckoning Gods.

Chapter Text

Yugi kindly lets the young King sleep in, smiling fondly when he finally gets a good look at the other man with his defenses down, limbs sprawled out, and mouth drooling a little. He seems so comfortable that Yugi has to tiptoe closer to the fur stack in order to place the mended pants by his guest’s side.

Atem doesn’t react to the movement, only smacks his lips and shifts his left leg poking out from underneath a black pelt.

Curled up on the man's flat stomach, Slifer lazily yawns. The lizard dragon digs small paws into the King’s chest in order to stretch, clawing at the tight black fabric of his collared shirt. The action makes Atem’s eyebrow twitch.

Yugi pats his knees a few times to get the lizard’s attention before it can shred the King’s expensive apparel. He refuses to look at his guest’s half-uncovered torso, feeling the action to be too indecent. “Come along now. Let him rest. He looks like he’s finally having good dreams.”

Atem’s constant muttering and tossing around hardly let Yugi relax on the very first night. He wasn't used to having another human presence inside his den. Having a complete stranger that could easily strangle him in his sleep was making everything even more complicated.

Complicated, yes. That’s the correct term to use when referring to their bizarre… companionship. Complicated, but certainly unexpected. Not entirely unpleasant, though.

Yugi has already forgotten just how much and how deeply he missed real human contact. The conversations. Even arguing over basic things such as cooking and housekeeping. He gets it though; it is a fitting price to pay for this socially recluse lifestyle. One that he’d willingly chosen and one that wishes to continue until he grows old. He doesn’t belong with humans, he has no place in their cozy villages and extraordinary cities.

Atem’s wonderful stories make Yugi long for all of those magical things out there, things he’s only ever heard of in tales, read about in scrolls and textbooks. Yugi wants to see the sparkling oceans, the impassable forests, and the long stretches of fields. He’s heard that even the constellations appear to be different outside the mountains. However, he wishes to witness it all with his family by his side – free and wild, unafraid of being hunted down or villainized.

First and foremost, Yugi craves to take Slifer outside.

The lizard noses at his calf, sensing the boy's clogging sadness. It obediently accompanies the little dragon lord, heading out to complete his daily morning errands. Atem continues sleeping, undisturbed.

The King wakes up in an empty room and finds some boiled eggs and a jug of water placed on the table. Yugi’s bubbly handwriting is neat on a piece of parchment, asking him to eat, do a few simple chores, and wait for his return.

Atem finally notices the pants, folded neatly. The stitching on them is done perfectly, barely noticeable. He doesn’t know why, but he suddenly feels very emotional over a piece of ratty material, clutched tightly in his hands.

Determined to please the host, Atem puts his back into every chore he does, never complaining. He cannot thank the kid enough.

Slifer marches back inside with black muck sticking on its stubby legs and ruins all of the King’s meticulous work instantaneously. He was about to smack the ungrateful thing with a broomstick, which he started wielding with ridiculous precision – yes, him, the King of Khemet, a professional cave sweeper – but Yugi chose that exact moment to enter the room with a dead rabbit in one hand and a mysterious bucket in the other.

He tells Atem to get ready. 

Today, they’ll be visiting the big-horned dragons to feed them the bones that they’ve worked so hard to perfect.

It almost feels like a wasted effort, Atem huffs, dragging the heavy buckets into some hollow mountaintop. It is considerably more bright there and isn’t as cold, so at least there’s that. Yugi tells him to stay close after a blue dragon – A Sapphire dragon, Yugi provides, ever the walking encyclopedia – screeches at him for looking at it for too long. The dragon lord’s presence by his side is the only thing that keeps Atem from crumbling to the ground and shielding his head whenever some beast spreads its spiky wings and flaps them around, jumping from one protruding boulder to another.

“Pretend that you’re unaffected,” Yugi’s warm breath brushes over the shell of Atem’s ear. It’s spoken in a whisper. “They’ll think you’re confident.”

“They can tell I reek of… negativity,” Atem winces, flinching when the aforementioned Sapphire dragon hops into a different corner, staring them down from a better angle. “I don’t think it’s gonna do much good here.”

“Just put all of your trust in me.” Atem’s defeated mutter makes Yugi put a firm hand on the King’s rigid shoulder. Much to his dismay, they stop. Yugi blocks his path, small beyond belief, but his violet eyes blaze something fierce and confident. Deeply reassuring, he brushes a long strand of the King’s thick hair aside. “Come on… don’t you trust me?”

Atem somehow manages to detach his teeth from his abused lower lip, long enough to utter out a strangled, “With my life.”

Because that’s just how it is – the dragon lord had warned him on their first meeting. You either put all of your faith into the boy or perish. And that dragon seemed really keen on making the latter a reality.

It’s painfully hard for Atem to avert his gaze from a death incarnate staring right at him, right through him, observing the young King's contorted face with glowing amber eyes.

Yugi shoves him through a crevice between rectangle-shaped boulders and they approach the big-horn territory. Atem’s eyes bulge in their sockets when he finally beholds the impressive size of their horns, spikes, and fangs. He openly gapes right until he forgets what he’s doing, and Yugi has to put a rough leather-covered hand on the back of his neck to push it down so that the King seems humble enough to appease the fussy beasts. “Manners,” Yugi hisses in a reminder, a little unsettled himself. “Keep a respectable amount of distance, these ones are far too wary of strangers. If you look directly at them for a moment too long, it can get really ugly really fast.”

“Why did you bring me here, then?” Atem questions, focused on the lifeless ground under his dirt-covered boots. With a lot of regret he ended up cutting off the gold buckles – Slifer wouldn’t leave them alone.

“It’s a part of the learning experience,” Yugi’s voice echoes from somewhere above and to his right. Crunching sounds follow as the beasts silently dig into the treat. “You must face all kinds of dragons in their natural habitat.”

“They hate me,” Atem whimpers when he feels movement above him. The shadow on the ground expands and he nearly feels like crying. “They really do. There’s nothing for me to gain here. Let’s leave, please.”

Yugi takes a cautious step forward with arms raised to pacify the grey dragon hovering over Atem’s trembling form. It’s nothing close to a friendly inspection – the dragon seems suspicious, sensing the King’s mute terror. Even Yugi can see how badly he's taking it, breathing heavily. Watching the shapeless shadow below expand, contorting. Approaching.

Not good. Really, really not good.

“Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here,” Yugi hushes, voice quivering as well. The other needs to stop doing that. Right now. “Trust me, okay? Hey, just keep looking at the ground – your feet, Atem, nowhere else. If you can’t, then close your eyes and listen to my voice, can you do that for me?” He takes another step closer, and then another, shifting his body weight with timed precision. The dragon turns its chartreuse eyes away from Atem. Hisses.

“It’s okay if it tears my head off,” the King swallows, heavy and shaky. He huffs a mirthless laugh. Beads of nervous sweat slip down the bridge of his sharp nose, staining the ground. “I’m more than ready to kick the bucket. Don’t know what’ll happen to my quest or the country afterwards, though. I’d rather stay alive for now.”

“Look, it’s not going to kill you–” Yugi gets it out in a single, winded breath, as he watches the dragon pull back its long neck, ready to strike the King down. To protect the man from an upcoming disaster, he blindly pushes the King to the ground and drapes himself over his quivering body. The dragon lord closes his eyes, undeniably terrified, bracing himself for the impact.

He feels clawed paws on his curved spine when Slifer springs into action and hisses at the towering creature in a warning.

Atem’s too busy chanting his mantra of oh my Gods and I don’t want to die to pay attention to the rapidly retreating dragons or to even realize who it was that saved them. Yugi forcefully drags him up to his feet and they bail through a hidden passageway that Slifer guides them through.

Atem's free hand rests over his eyes right until they’re out in the open and away from bloodthirsty beasts with huge horns, their fangs sharper than any blade the King’s ever seen.

Yugi sits him down on the shingle and presses the shaken man into his chest, curling around his form almost protectively, while Atem shivers, still very much horrified. The dragon lord runs a soothing hand through the messy strands, rocking the young King back and forth. “It’s over, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it’d go like this. I had troubles with them at first too. I’m very, very sorry. You’re okay now.”

Once he’s able to properly catch his breath, Atem gently extracts himself from Yugi’s hold, eyes just a little misty and nose runny. He shakes his head, blond strands fanning out over maroon eyes. “No. They sensed my emotions, not yours. It’s my own fault.” He puts his face into his hands, sighing. “At the rate I’m going, this whole pleasing God business seems to be years away. Maybe it’s really impossible for me. I should probably think this through. Reconsider, perhaps.”

“No,” Yugi quips as he stands, leaving the curled up figure to brood on the shingle. “You will do what you must. You can’t back out – you just started. One failure shouldn’t be enough for you to quit your quest. Get up. Get up now.” He pulls on the King’s wrist, hoisting him up. Atem looks completely stunned, hair in wide eyes, lips pursed. “There’s no time for self-pity.”

“But–”

“No buts! If you don’t believe in your own potential, believe in my feelings!” They both recoil from each other, embarrassed by such bold phrasing. “I think you’re doing great!”

Feeling ashamed for this display of insecurities, the King tries to brush it off with a nervous laugh. “Right now, you’re scarier than any dragon out there, little lord.”

“Good.”

“I suppose I don’t have a choice in this matter.”

“You learn so fast,” Yugi sasses, eyes squinted and smile condescending. He grabs the King’s wrist once more. “We still have a lot of work to do! There’s no way we’re wasting daylight for this, follow me.”

Atem watches in mystified wonder as this little human pulls him along, ears tinted a brilliant red, furs billowing. He doesn’t let go of Atem’s slack wrist the entire way down, pebbles scattering with every step down the steep hill. Normally, he wouldn’t be willing to follow someone who’d promised to protect him, which, in turn, led to a close brush with death, but here he is. Feeling rather good after this… not very convincing pep talk.

He doubts that he’ll ever meet someone like the dragon lord – courageous, giving, and protective. Someone who takes no shit from cowardly royals and fierce dragons.

“I won’t run,” Atem promises, smiling lightly. “I already put my faith into you, didn’t I? I have no plans of taking it back, rest assured.”

His only response is a light squeeze on the wrist.

Atem can already easily differentiate between pure murderous intent and docile curiosity. The next batch of dragons that they visit consists of lazy snake-like creatures that lay around on flattened rocks as though hoping to absorb some of the white sun’s non-existent heat. They’re no longer or wider than Atem’s legs, thus not very threatening in general.

Yugi tells him that they’ll be herding the pack to the ravine.

Before Atem can drown the kid in questions – herding calls? For these creatures as if they’re cattle? Really? – a voice echoes somewhere from the hills.

Taken off guard, Atem grabs at his non-existent sword and curses lightly when he remembers it isn’t there, jumping in front of the dragon lord to shield him from unseen enemies. The snakes don’t even react to the disturbance.

“Stay back,” he commands at the same time Yugi gasps, “He’s here! Oh, I told him not to come looking for me!”

Atem blinks when the short boy brushes past and runs in the direction of the voice calling out his name over and over again, sometimes interrupted by things like, “Hey you! Yeah you, you dumb, useless things, where is he!? Take me to Yugi! Don’t stick your tongue at me, lizard. What are you even good for if you just mooch off, do nothing, and don’t even listen?”

The owner of the voice – a guy, and a little obnoxious one too, Atem decides – finds them first, poking his head out from behind one of the boulders. He’s dressed in plain clothes found in any village, and in his right hand, he holds one of the many snake dragons peppering the ground. It’s a limp thing and seemingly bemused by its predicament, sticking out a forked tongue once more.

The blond guy notices Yugi first, brown eyes twinkling with happiness.

“Yugi!” he yells, loud. Too loud. “Finally found you, man!” He then sets down the poor snake creature in favor of hugging the dragon lord. Yugi has to stand on his tiptoes to hold the blond man properly. “What the hell, dude!” the cheerful nuisance chides when they finally part, a little suspicious. “What’s up with that whole ‘I’m too busy, don’t come over, leave the items to Red Eyes’ deal? You alright? Not sick, I hope?”

“I’m all good, Jounouchi!” the dragon lord reassures, a little flustered. Well, this is certainly a predicament. He hadn’t planned on this at all. “You see, I have a guest. Um.”

“A guest?” The blond quirks an eyebrow and then finally meets Atem’s curious gaze, peering over Yugi’s shoulder. “Oh. Uh. Hello there!” he offers, awkward.

The King bows his head in acknowledgment and says, “I wasn’t aware that you had friends,” at the same time Jounouchi does, but who mentions 'guests' instead.

Silence befalls the trio. Atem begins feeling a little uncomfortable, subjected to the blond one's suspicious stares, no worse than those of a dragon. Scrutinizing. Unlike Atem, he doesn’t appear to be even one bit inclined to mask his emotions or hide his blatant discomfort. He is the first one to speak up, saying what all of them are secretly thinking. “Well! This is awkward. Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve stayed out of your way if you needed privacy or something like that...?” Jounouchi trails off, shooting Yugi a meaningful look.

Atem doesn’t know how to interpret it, but the dragon lord discovers the hidden implication immediately. “Oh! Oh no, it’s not what you think!” He waves his hands, frantic. His face colors. “Uh! Well, this is Atem and he’s got some business in the area. I’m helping him solve it, s’all. He’ll be staying with me for a few weeks until – until he finally gets the result he wishes,” the kid ends his speech, oddly determined. The King hides a smile behind a curled fist, fond of the other’s earnest faith. That strange, fluttery feeling curls inside his ribcage again, tightening it.

Jounouchi’s staring intensifies. Atem almost wants to call the kid out on his rudeness. “Atem,” he whispers to himself. The gears turn slow and painful underneath that heap of hay-colored hair, gradually shifting the longer he gapes. Sudden, he recoils, and performs a dramatic double-take, startling the shorter men. Jonouchi's brown eyes are the size of saucers when he gasps in realization, shocked. “Atem!? Like the King Atem?”

Shit.

Unsure how to proceed, the King tries to appear unaffected by such an on-point deduction. The kid’s smart, he has to give him that. Though it doesn’t really help his case – he’s supposed to be undercover here. Face impassive, he tries to save his own skin. “I think it’s too much of a common name to compare me to a King, don’t you think?” He pushes aside the blue cloak, cursing when he remembers the sapphire and gold ornaments. Perhaps Jounouchi won’t notice. “Not much of a kingly look.”

Jounouchi seems confused by the calm disposition, clearly second-guessing himself. Meanwhile, Yugi is eyeing him warily, visibly put off by this sudden reveal. If Yugi found out he’s been lying the entire time, Atem’s certain their bond of trust would go up in flames before he’d get to bat an eyelid. Destroyed beyond repair. Jounouchi comes closer and leans in until they’re on the same eye level. His expression is exaggerated, lips puckered. “Dude, I’d bet my nuts on this – you are the King of Khemet.”

“Seriously, you got the wrong man–”

“Nah!” Jounouchi exclaims and waves a hand to interrupt the other. “I’ve seen more than enough of your portraits in my scholar textbooks and scrolls. You cannot bullshit your way out of this one, there’s no way that you’re not him! You have a very distinctive…” the blond searches for the right words in the King’s presence, suddenly realizes just with whom he’s dealing with, notices the quirked eyebrow and backpedals. He likes his life and head intact, thank you very much. “Very distinctive… regal look. Your portraits do anyways! And, I mean, you do as well, in person, uh–”

The kid looks close to tears at offending the ruler of his homeland, but Atem does not wish to see the insolent blond groveling at his feet. The man’s amusing and good-natured, plus, he’s Yugi’s friend so that immediately makes it all okay. If the circumstances were different though, if he was still back home and someone spoke to him in this exact fashion, he would’ve had them sentenced to at least a year worth of public work. Because apparently, public work is a whole lot harder than taking it easy in prison, Atem has realized, after being exposed to the joy of chores and menial labor.

Yugi silently observes their exchange, fingertips pressed to his lips, scandalized. Surprised, but not too much when he silently snorts. “I guess that whole ‘Your Highness’ thing makes sense now. How oddly fitting.”

The playful jab dissipates the remnants of tension, as the two turn to look at the amused dragon lord. Jounouchi shakes his head to snap out of whatever trance this reveal has put him into, blinking rapidly. “Well, I’ll be damned. Sire, if you’re the King of Khemet, pray tell - just what are you doing all the way out here? Shouldn’t you be,” he waves a hand in the general direction of the royal city. Atem’s duties and his palace. “I dunno, at the Capital? Ruling your country that’s about to get double-teamed? Like, I don’t mean to disrespect, and I certainly have no idea what the hell’s going on, but…”

Atem puts a hand up. “I understand where you’re coming from. Believe me, I’d rather be at the palace as well, but under these unfortunate circumstances it’s… impossible.” His shoulders slump as he sighs, suddenly very tired. Might as well get this out – he already knows that pretty much the entire kingdom is impatiently buzzing due to the bad news. Everyone’s heard of the looming war – even Yugi, who lives inside hollow mountains, and seemingly does not wish to ever leave, invasion or not. “Our current situation is rather… unfavorable at best and there are no other options–”

“What he’s trying to say,” Yugi interrupts. Atem blinks, surprised. No one’s ever tried to interrupt the King while fully comprehending with whom they’re dealing with. The dragon lord ignores the consequences that’ll never come, fully accepts all possible repercussions he’ll never face. “Is that this is a secret mission. We can’t really get into the details, secrecy and all, but the King is trying to make everything alright. The capital’s officials sent him to the mountains, fully knowing that serious danger might befall us all if anyone happened to notice Atem’s absence. It was a conscious decision and probably the best one. The only one.”

“The goal is to earn the Alcatraz mountain area dragons’ trust,” Atem elaborates. Yugi looks at him, grateful. “By doing that I’ll be able to gain access to some… magical items. They’ll aid us immensely, and perhaps even end this pointless feud. I’m ready to fight Zorna’s and Orichalcos’ greedy rulers on my own; however, I do not wish to involve any of my people in it. I’m doing everything in my power in order to achieve that.”

By the time he finishes the heartfelt speech, Jounouchi’s eyes dampen, proud of his ruler. He discreetly sniffles, looking away. “I believe you, Your Highness. You’re Yugi’s friend, and as long as there’s solid proof that you’re the King,” Yugi nods to reassure the blond, “I don’t see why I shouldn’t trust you. I accept your explanation, as vague as it might be, and I know you’ll find a way. A man who went against the council and old traditions just to ensure that every kid can have access to free education is worthy of respect in my book. If there’s anything I can help you with, just ask! Which reminds me,” Jounouchi takes off the rather huge, bulging bag strapped to his back and hands it to Yugi, “These are the provisions you listed out. Anzu put in some extras. The changes of clothes are in there as well. I didn’t know your guest was the King, so…” He scratches the back of his messy mane, smiling awkwardly. Turns to Atem. “I know - only the best for the King, but I hope that you can forgive me. The size should fit…”

“That’s quite alright, no need to apologize, Jounouchi,” Atem thanks, just happy to have a change of clothes. His own felt dirty against his skin, not to mention a little too thin for the daily cave visits.

Yugi chases away a few dragons to clear up enough space for them to sit on a flattened stone. Atem politely listens as the blond one mentions people he hasn’t heard of from Yugi before – "Honda and Anzu are sending their regards, they hope to see you soon! Mai’s doing great, she’s finally getting the hang of knitting, I swear Shizuka almost cried tears of joy. She also said she’ll be visiting me again in a few months if Ma’s no longer sick. Master’s very pleased with my work progress as well, especially that fancy pancy wardrobe commission, said I’ll become my own person before I know it, and once I do, I’ll make you better stuff, Yugi, I promise you that!" - and then wonders if the other is really as much of a shutout as he’s made himself out to be. He seems to have a lot of people to depend on and he certainly has connections in whatever place Jou’s from.

Atem doesn’t question, only listens. He feels happy when he sees how excited Yugi is to talk to his friend again. His violet eyes are soft, warm, and gentle.

Atem almost feels a little envious.

Jounouchi quickly catches the longing look and stands abruptly, dusting off his brown pants. “It’s been nice catching up, but I have to visit Red Eyes now! You do you. Good luck and I’ll see you later?”

Yugi nods heatedly, eyes crinkling when he smiles, wide. “Of course! Have fun you two.”

“Will do.” And with that, he’s gone.

The King feels as though it’s somehow his fault that the other has run off so suddenly. He looks up at the cloudy sky above. Today, it’s a different shade of murky gray. Darker. Looks like it’s going to be a downpour.

Yugi stands before him, offering a hand to help the King rise. “So, shall we practice those herding calls then?”

Atem grins, takes it. “We shall.”

Chapter Text

Herding the snake lizards isn’t very impressive. It almost feels as if they really are herding a pack of cattle – clicking tongues and beckoning them to the cool ravines. Atem has to carefully step over every scaled body that brushes past his ankles, the dull grey of them nearly merging into an equally boring background. The further they go from the hill valley, the thicker the fog becomes, successfully obscuring Yugi’s lithe form up ahead. Atem would freak, being in an unknown territory and all, but he continues to determinedly follow the dragon lord’s gentle voice, urging his sons and daughters to follow. The King tries not to think too much about dead ends and plummeting heights, always checking the ground before putting his feet down. When he looks up, he only sees the blurry outlines of dark skeletons that are the Alcatraz Mountains.

Herding is one of Yugi’s favorite downtime activities, apparently. However, Atem fails to see the ‘fun’ part in it. If anything, it’s a little unsettling – the white fog clogging his nose and mouth, cloaking his surroundings, the rustle of lizards in the distance as they lazily crawl over the bigger rocks in their path.

Yugi picks up the last unwilling lizard and puts it into a crack inside the ground, burying it in sand – an equivalent of tucking someone in. “Nap time,” he says, pets the lizards closest to him and dusts off the gloves. “They always turn sluggish on these days in particular…”

“No sun?”

“Exactly. And they aren’t very energetic to begin with, so naps are good.”

Atem shifts and tries to make out where they are. The edges of the ravine are colored an inky black. Yugi then finds a place for them to sit down and takes out a piece of yellowed, crumpled parchment, passing it to his companion. Atem carefully unfolds it, noticing that it’s rather old. If he isn’t careful, he might rip it by accident.

“I wrote this one down a lifetime ago,” Yugi mutters, seemingly embarrassed. “So tell me if you aren’t able to make anything out.”

The handwriting is… well, that of a kid, but it makes sense, taking the dragon lord’s explanation into consideration. The ink is a little smudged here and there and the writing is too looped at some points, but it’s, “Readable,” Atem nods, taking in the unfamiliar words. “Is this the call? Did you come up with it yourself?”

The language seems familiar in a way, but the King hasn’t been educated on the dead ones of different continents – that was something his Magicians did. From the looks of it, this one seems to have had originated from the North.

“No,” Yugi replies, fiddling with the stringed fang necklaces resting under the dragon skin cloak. “This is a language I do not speak. I’m not even going to lie, I don’t know what any of these words mean,” he confesses, sheepish. Atem laughs.

“How’d you come across it?”

“It was taught to me,” the dragon lord replies, unwilling to elaborate any further. Atem’s left wondering. Could it have been the work of the dragons? Still, he doubts that the creatures knew this herding call in particular… One of those beasts teaching a young boy this sort of stuff? Unthinkable. “It’s an ancient dragon herding call, as well as one of the first songs I’ve ever learned.”

The King squints at the parchment, the loopy lettering. “This is a song? It doesn’t rhyme at all!”

Yugi chuckles, takes it away and stands. “That’s because it is written down. Once you actually speak it, it sounds completely different.”

Atem waves an expectant hand, crosses his legs. “Well then, I’d like a demonstration.”

His dragon lord flusters, averting the wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t have much of a singing voice to please your refined ear, Your Highness.”

The King smirks, almost evil. “You brought me all the way out here to teach me your ancient herding calls, oh mighty dragon lord. It’s only fair that I get to hear what it sounds like when properly pronounced.”

“I’ll recite!” the kid bargains.

“Sing.”

“No.”

“Yes. The King’s word is absolute.”

“You weren’t a King here until an hour ago so that makes it null!” Yugi actually sticks a tongue out at him and turns away with an annoyed huff. Atem blinks, very entertained. After a moment, the boy relents though, shoulders sagging, “…fine. But only after I teach it to you. If I call out to them now, it’ll ruin the surprise.”

Atem isn’t sure he wants the draconic surprises that the kid has in store, but accepts the deal nonetheless, nodding. “Very well. Do your thing, little lord.”

Fingers laced behind his back, thumbs twirling in anxiety, the kid turns his head to the pale sky. Breathes slowly in order to relax, pretend that Atem isn’t there to hear him recite the mantra, ingrained into the core of his being, for the very first time. He can still feel those red, piercing eyes burning the spot between his shoulder blades, analyzing. Silently waiting.

His voice comes out a little too high-pitched due to the nerves, but the words flow smoothly, perhaps a little too loud for Yugi’s liking. He silently prays for his family to turn a deaf ear on this feeble call – they are not meant to show up just yet. He wants to leave the honors to Atem, depending on how well he’ll deal with the correct pronunciation.

Judging by the miffed expression – not too well.

“That was… something else.” Yugi flushes in shame and then Atem corrects himself immediately. “This isn’t about your voice! It’s soothing to listen to, but the words… seemed a whole lot easier when written down.”

“And different, I bet.”

The King nods in agreement, sweating at the thought of learning this bizarre pronunciation. He already knows he’s doomed. “Yes, very.”

After that, they huddle together over the parchment placed between them as Atem tries to twist his tongue to hit the right syllables, struggling.

“No, it’s more of a schai than sch,” Yugi taps at the word that doesn’t fucking contain any of those in written form. The King slowly gets frustrated. “Softer,” he says and pronounces the slippery syllable himself, perfection at its finest. “Like that.”

Atem tries again, groans when he fails. “I can’t even pronounce this word halfway through.”

“That’s because you’re saying it too roughly. Your dialect is in the way. Imagine that you’re trying to calm down a child if it helps?”

Not the best visual, seeing as he isn’t a huge fan of kids when they get fussy, but he tries still. It must come out terrible because the dragon lord cracks a smile, lets out a mirthful giggle. “If this is how you pacify children, I’m sure that all of them start sobbing after meeting you.”

“I reduce grown men to tears, I wouldn’t be too surprised if I found out that the kids share the sentiment,” Atem humors while Yugi laughs away. “I often get told that my stare is far too frightening. Clearly they haven’t had a stare down with my dear cousin before.”

“I can’t speak a word of your family, but I can vouch for your look.”

Atem’s eyes catch the gentle violet ones, suddenly concerned. “Do I scare you?”

Yugi rewards him with that mushy look that he saves for his blond friend. The King’s heart jumps inside his tight ribcage. “No, not at all. Now, let’s try again.”

The fog doesn’t seem so uninviting anymore.

Apparently, Atem isn’t meant to learn the herding call. Or, more accurately, he’s simply too impatient to put actual effort into it and gets riled up far too easily no matter how patient Yugi is. When the kid hits the second verse of the text and then tries to teach the pissy King how to say vaglaskonejeller, which sounds absolutely nothing like its written counterpart, Atem gets fed up. Exclaims an annoyed, “Oh, now you’re just messing with me, there’s no way that this is how it’s actually pronounced, I dare you to say it three times as fast,” and then takes a severe blow to his pride because the kid recites it without batting an eyelid.

Yugi slips off the rock, defeated and hesitant. “You’re positive you won’t be able to learn it?”

“I will never use this cursed devil tongue ever again, Yugi. Ever.” The King exaggerates and joins him on the ground, stretching. The cold surface of their makeshift stool made the backs of his thighs freeze.

“I respect you for trying. It took me a few weeks to learn it too, so I guess it’s perfectly understandable, especially with your dialect.”

“I do not have one–” Yugi puts a finger up, hovering just a hair’s breadth of space away from Atem’s chapped, slack lips. The King closes his mouth and then observes as the boy lifts the hands to his face, cupped around his mouth.

Atem has seen the little kids in the meadows of his home city, calling out to the hordes of cattle every dusk and dawn. He always thought the view to be magical and enchanting. Mysterious. The wet shine of grass, illuminated by the fading rays of sunlight, the comforting sounds of metal bells ringing in the air, accompanied by the friendly moos of the animals approaching their masters. He would watch Mana join the commoner kids, hoping to pet the pretty cows.

The kids always offered to teach the young King how to summon their packs, but Atem was content with simply watching, always on the sidelines, keeping a fair amount of distance.

Yugi’s voice echoes in the ravine, strong and confident, yet surprisingly gentle. It beckons the beings hidden in the fog to show themselves, alluring.

In the corner of Atem’s vision, a long, spiked tail flashes by, swallowed by the white shroud. He rubs his eyes, and analyzes their surroundings again, wonders if it was just his imagination and the lack of rest finally acting up.

A low rumble comes from somewhere up ahead, slightly to their left. The King hears the distinctive beating of powerful wings, indicating a dragon sailing through the hidden sky. The creature lands a comfortable distance away, but Atem can still make out its faint outline, tall and jagged, undeniably dangerous. Awe-inspiring. He takes notice of the many glowing eyes inching closer, hidden in plain sight, veiled by the thick fog – pairs of bright red, chartreuse, orange, amber, and icy blue. 

He startles when he feels a brush of breeze-like breath against the side of his face, strongly smelling of a swamp.

Yugi finishes the call, his ancient song, and turns to Atem. “Don’t be afraid. They’re docile.” Right above the dragon lord’s head, there’s a pair of huge red eyes, nearly lighting up the fog. Atem cannot make out the dragon’s body, but the eerie view is enough to force him to step back. Yugi reaches out to anchor him, offering the young King a steady hand. “Stay close to me if you don’t want them nearby. They’re all just observing you. Come.”

Atem takes Yugi’s smaller hand, palm twitching nervously, as they observe the giant beasts zipping through the clogging fog. Despite the initial pang of terror, slowly but steadily soothed by the warm hand clutched in his, Atem thinks that this breathtaking view looks like it’s been taken out of an adventurous fairy tale – a tale wherein he’s the hero, the dragon lord is his helper, and Osiris is the prize, his treasure, and the ultimate goal. True to Yugi’s promise, these dragons in particular, don’t bother to come any closer, occasionally sticking out their heads to check on their little lord, butting huge maws against his offered palm before disappearing again.

“Pretty amazing, right?” Yugi asks, tone giddy as though he already knows the answer. Atem merely gapes, positively mesmerized, when yet another patterned tail flashes above their heads. He holds Yugi’s hand tighter.

Before the duo can react, something yellow and fast zips by them, shouting cheerfully. “There’s my bud!”

Jonouchi barrels straight into the mystical fog, unperturbed. The nightmarish red eyes that have been observing them all the while, widen comically at the bold human's antics.

“Red Eyes, buddy!” they hear Jounouchi's excited voice, cheerfully exclaiming from somewhere deep within the wall of fog. “I missed you!”

The dragon's snort of acknowledgment is nothing short of affectionate when it finally steps into the view - sleek, inky, and huge. Its strong body radiates raw power and a sense of authority with every step it takes, wiry muscles rippling beneath the armor-like scales. Almost instinctively, Atem averts his gaze, unwittingly recalling their first encounter. The dragon glowers at the young King, sensing the sudden onslaught of his disturbing thoughts. It sets Jounouchi down, happily dangling off one of its horns. In return, the human scratches under Red Eyes' razor-teeth-filled maw. “Who’s my good boy? It’s you! Yes, it’s you!”

The sharp tail that swings to the sides at the blond’s praise nearly catches Atem’s side. So the creature still bears a grudge against him. Figures.

“How’d you find us here, Jounouchi?” Yugi smiles, fond. His friend holds a sapling in one hand. Atem has a feeling as to what this implies. Playtime. “The fog’s gotten worse.”

“Oh, that’s too easy, Yug’. You got a pair of lungs on you, that’s for sure. Could probably hear you all the way from the village.” He then throws the sapling into the fog and the dragon scurries back into it, belly low, almost brushing against the lifeless ground of the ravine. Honestly, it looks like an overjoyed dog. The trio hears it roam around, searching for the ‘stick’. “Anyways, I was looking for this guy, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Figured he’s busy stalking you and the King, making sure you’re safe and all.” He then turns to Atem. “Let me guess, Yugi tried to teach you the call.”

“You’re right there,” Atem sighs, absentmindedly scratching the side of his face. Jounouchi must know it by heart as well if he too has earned the favors of dragons. Not to mention the fact that he could easily enter the mountain area without the fear of being torn to bloody shreds. “It’s like a tongue twister.”

“Oh, you’re telling me,” Jounouchi guffaws, shaking his head in what appears to be defeat. Atem can relate. “It was like speaking with a hot potato inside my mouth. Let me guess, you fucked it up at that voglasko something.”

Atem nods with a joking, “I dared him to say it twice as fast and he pulled it off, the fiend,” while Yugi turns to glare at his friend. “That’s not how you pronounce it! It’s–”

“Ye, ye, I still don’t speak hot potato.”

“It’s not that hard if you practice it a lot of times!”

Jounouchi musses Yugi’s bush for hair even further, earning a disgruntled pout. “You’re probably a special case of one in a thousand. No normal human being can speak that.”

“They used to speak it in ancient North just fine.”

“Well, perhaps this is the exact reason why this language is dead now. Lay it to rest, Yugi,” Atem pokes fun as well, smiling into his curled fingers.

“You!” The dragon lord marches up to the King to poke at his chest. He goes for an intimidating look, but it doesn’t quite work when the kid’s no taller than the sapling that Jounouchi had thrown into the gloom. “I don’t need your negative attitude in my life.”

“But that’s all I have.”

“And your sass!”

Atem shrugs. Jounouchi clears his throat behind them. “Aight, no need to banter like an old married couple. Take it elsewhere, jeez, I’m trying to play catch with my bud here.” ‘The Bud’ reemerges as though on cue, dropping the saliva-slicked trunk by Jounouchi’s beaten-up boots. The blond throws it again, this time in a different direction.

They decide to ignore the marital jab. Once Red Eyes reemerges, Yugi says, “Wait.”

They stand in a semi-silence, only disturbed by the distant flaps of wings and the crumbling of rocky surfaces. Yugi ponders. The inky dragon grows bored soon enough, playfully hitting the back of Jounouchi’s knees with the tip of its tail for entertainment purposes, making the blond crumble. Bright laughter echoes in the ravine.

Yugi turns to the King. “I think that now is the right time for you to approach a dragon. With Jou here, it might go smoother.”

The King’s jaw drops, eyes flitting to Red Eyes’ curled-up form. “I don’t think that’s a very wise decision-”

“You said it yourself, didn’t you? You’re pressured by time limits. I think that now is a good time as any to finally learn and perhaps even reconcile.” Red Eyes snorts at that, glowering at the plummeting cliffs.

Atem really doesn’t feel like going through with this. Still, this will certainly be one of the more important parts of his quest. He has to - no, he must overcome his petty, earthly fears. He needs to prove to this towering beast that he is not afraid of those past encounters. Needs to show his worth to it, to this species. To its God.

Jounouchi is seemingly down for pushing Atem into what could easily become his early departure from the world of the living. He gives the King a basic rundown on how to properly approach and touch Red Eyes – no eye contact, no sudden movements, appear casual, clear your troubled mind, and feel absolutely no fear. Jounouchi stresses that the last part is the only one that truly matters, and takes a few steps back, keeping a close eye on the annoyed dragon. The creature nearly snarls in contempt at the young King's slow approach, its powerful body filled with obvious mistrust, high-strung, and Atem simply does not believe Yugi when the boy tries to convince him that this species is more trusting of humans. One of the friendlier ones.

Atem is all alone now, left standing before a proud, nightmarish beast, capable of breathing carmine flames from hell itself. He tries hard to refrain from quaking in his boots when he finally takes an uncertain step forward, trying his best to appear unaffected. To his side, Yugi gives out encouragement. “That’s it, you’re doing great. Take another step.”

The dragon snaps its horrendous jaws at him and shuffles back as if not wanting Atem to get closer. Jounouchi scolds his pal for acting rude and the beast freezes, a vicious glare fixed on Atem’s slightly raised hand. It shakes.

Gods above, it shakes so badly, and when Atem foolishly cracks open his eyes – when the hell had he even closed them? – the mere sight of those black scales brings back a flash of bad memories, forcing them to the forefront of his fear-clouded mind. Carmine flames. Yugi yelling, bravely throwing himself into the path of destruction, ready to save some stranger's undeserving skin.

Atem's brief vision of past events, makes the black dragon let out an enraged roar. It bristles, spreading out its impressive wingspan, effortlessly slicing through the white fog. Atem courageously meets the beast's wild stare, sees his distorted frame reflected on the surface of those wounded ruby eyes, and yells “I’m sorry!”, right as Jounouchi shoves him away and into Yugi’s petite form. They fall over in a heap of limbs. The blond bravely tries to pacify the beast, but it continues to screech bloody murder into the King's slack-jawed face, as though trying to properly communicate its deeply hurt feelings.

Red Eyes takes off, quickly disappearing into the distance.

Jounouchi sinks down to his knees, exhaling a deep breath. His hair is matted with nervous sweat, frizzy. “Holy shit. I have no idea what you did to Red Eyes, but he’s… thoroughly pissed.”

From his spot on the rocky ground, Atem continuously whispers a mantra mostly consisting of “I didn’t mean it, I’m really damn sorry for everything”. His heart aches for the dragon. The indecipherable, all-consuming sadness. Grief. Head throbbing, the King hugs his waist, tries to will away the disgusting, cold feeling in his chest, coursing through his veins. Chilling his gut. He curls up into a tight ball, shuddering.

Yugi places a hand on the small of his back, stroking lightly. “It’s alright now. It’s simply a backlash of the emotional connection that the two of you shared. Let it out, I know it might be overwhelming at first,” the kid's voice comes out small and beyond apologetic.

The King crawls away from the dragon lord to dry heave his lungs out, choking on the spit and the steady stream of seemingly neverending tears. Consumed by the negative emotions that, for once, aren’t even his. Jounouchi looks just as shocked but still attempts to force out a feeble smile, still shaking lightly. “Hey, at least you tapped into the emotional link territory. That’s pretty impressive for your first try.”

When Atem finally gathers his breath and scattered sanity, he wipes at his wet mouth, knees too shaky to stand. “An emotional bond? Is it always like this? This… godawful. I feel like my lungs are about to burst.” He feels himself on the brink of a full-blown panic attack. Except it’s somehow even worse and it never quite happens.

“Well, Anzu passed out the first time she tried. Honda never managed to even get that close, so I’d say you’re doing pretty damn great, Your Highness.” With a lot of effort, Jou rises. He seems a little green-faced. “Yugi, I think you should stop torturing him for the day. He’s a mess, and you know how mentally straining this shit can be. Go home and relax, alright? I’ll be heading back to the village as well.”

Yugi, who already has the bulging leather bag strapped to his small back, mutely nods, making his way towards the slumped figure of their King. Jounouchi departs without saying a single word. Meanwhile, Yugi kneels next to Atem, keeping a warm, steady hand pressed between his twitching shoulder blades, silently watching the latter cough out his poor lungs.

They stay like this until Atem somewhat rides out the initial emotional high, black spots dancing in his vision. Black like a dragon's scales. Black like the fear that he feels.

“I’m too rough with you,” Yugi states, sounding void. Disgusted with himself. “I won’t do it anymore.”

The King feels like shedding tears at that, feeling like a goddamn failure. A really sore loser.

He says nothing and allows the kid to drape his stiff arm over his shoulders, clinging to the sound of a soft voice guiding him down the narrow pathways and enclosed spaces, telling him when to stop or step forward.

Keep your eyes open. It’s over now. I’m here for you. Walk, Atem, walk.

Chapter Text

Before the fire pit, Yugi sorts out diced herbs and stirs at some sort of elixir simmering inside a metal pot. It fills the den with stringy plumes that smell like nothing, really, but are somehow… vile, nonetheless.

Atem sees none of it. None of the off-green smoke, none of the concerned stares, and none of the faded coal lines of the childish drawings scribbled on the stone walls. His blank gaze is stuck on the crude drawing of an elongated dragon flying through loopy clouds. It somehow looks like the Osiris of his dreamland.

The King doesn’t appreciate it. Zones out.

His chest continues throbbing, the pain dull, but still undeniably there. Alive and pulsing. Twisting his heart with an invisible vice-like grip and splitting his head open. Stabbing him like a searing-hot knife of guilt. He feels disgusting in his own body, skin slick with sweat and feverish. He smells like it too, probably.

Atem cannot stop thinking about that encounter.

Before him, Yugi finally sighs. “I understand that it must be bad for you, but you shouldn’t let it get to your head. It was a miscalculation on our part – we didn’t expect you two to create an emotional link. It’s exactly as Jounouchi said – normally, it takes a long while to do that. Sometimes it's impossible. We should’ve started out with the smaller, less… grudge-filled ones.”

Atem’s neck cramps as he lolls his head to the side, eyelids heavy. He hasn’t moved ever since they returned, legs tangled in the black fur that Yugi had draped over his trembling form. The dragon lord's petite body seems blurred around the edges. The King's eyes sting whenever the remains of Red Eyes’ lingering feelings prick at the back of his mind – searing anger, blame, sadness. “He’s hurting so badly…” Atem speaks up, mouth dry. “At the thought of almost burning you to death while you were busy saving me. Furious at my existence, at what I did to the other one.”

Yugi freezes, too quiet, his head lowered. Atem can see the kid worrying at his lower lip.

“What happened to it, Yugi?”

More silence. The dragon lord inhales, short and sharp, hands wringing at the rough material of his dark pants.

“Please.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Yugi breathes out, then turns to stir at whatever’s boiling in the pot. His shoulders are squared.

It takes no genius to read between the lines. Atem feels like shit, like he’s the lowest of the low. A hero turned villain in a single insincere sentence.

Silence stretches, cold, lonely, and uncomfortable. Unbearably tense. It feels as if they’re back to square one all over again and everything that’s happened between them was but a fever dream – the tender touches, the understanding looks, the shrinking distance. Yugi is out of his reach once more, closed off and stone-faced, summer turned winter.

“I want to visit,” Atem presses on, determined to get what he wants. “I want to pay my respects.”

The wooden spoon slips out of the dragon lord’s hand, nearly disappearing into the pot. “I don’t know,” Yugi mutters. Conflicting emotions flash by in those violet depths illuminated by orange hues. Obscured by the faint wisps of smoke. “I’ve planned on doing this… alone.”

After those words, the King feels more like himself, sitting up properly. “I won’t be a burden to you, I swear on everything that’s dear to me. I’ll keep my distance even, but I beg of you – please, take my feelings into consideration as well. Just… just realize that I won’t be able to rest until I do this. And if not for my sake, do it for Red Eyes. Don’t deprive me of a final goodbye.”

Yugi finally turns to face his companion and properly looks him in the eye, stricken. Atem’s breath hitches when he notices the shimmering beginnings of tears clinging to the boy’s long eyelashes. He hears the telltale sniffle of what will undoubtedly turn into pained sobbing. The glassy sheen of moisture breaks the King’s heart in half, and he only manages to utter out the kid’s name before Yugi breaks down. “I don’t know because I’m unsure as to how I feel about you being there! I know that I should feel disdain, anger. I should blame you for Yellow’s fatal fall. I should feel everything that Red Eyes feels for you, but right now, I don’t feel anything but sadness that it turned out like this.” His voice cracks. The unshed tears make his eyes color a soft sunset-pink rather than lavender-purple. “I can’t help but think that it was simply an unfortunate accident and regret that it couldn’t be avoided. But when I think about an alternative scenario, I feel sick. If it had gone differently, you’d be dead.”

The King lowers his head in sorrow. He barely holds himself back from comforting the boy, feeling it to be inappropriate. Yugi must be harboring negative feelings for him regardless. He does not wish to confuse the dragon lord any further. “Maybe I should have been the one to fall instead,” Atem huffs, feeling on edge. “You wouldn’t have to see your family departing then.”

“And if you had died back then, this Kingdom would surely be doomed. Your friends would’ve had to take your lifeless corpse and bring it back to the capital. A war would’ve broken out by now. Eventually, my family would have been enslaved, controlled, killed, and used for war purposes.” Yugi shuffles closer, hands folded on his bent legs, fidgeting. Uncertain. “So no, I don’t think that you should’ve died in Yellow’s place. I’m happy that you’re alive, working hard for Khemet’s benefit, eager and to save everyone from the looming darkness. Right now, you’re the only beacon of light for us.” Their hands touch then, just barely. Atem can’t hold onto Yugi’s, because the other retracts it far too suddenly. “Death or no death, you of all the people shouldn’t stumble. Don't lose sight of what's important.”

This time, the dragon lord accepts the apologetic bow, only because the King’s eyes shine with renewed determination.

He decides to allow Atem to witness a dragon’s ascent.

Yugi pours the swamp-colored contents of the pot into a glass bottle, and seals it shut, while Atem waits patiently for the kid to finish his preparations. “A part of the ritual”, the dragon lord informs him.

Once he’s done fussing over the materials, Atem offers to clean up the mess. He sweeps up the remaining traces of suspicious white and emerald powder, collecting Yugi’s herbs.

Casually, he asks if he can use the barrel for a bath because he’s positive that he’s dirtier than the dirt itself and doesn’t wish to stink up the dragon lord’s place. The birdbath that he had taken in the creek right after he had washed his pants barely counted for anything.

Yugi gapes, as though having a hard time comprehending what’s being asked of him. “The barrel? No, that’s not going to work. It’s a winter-only kind of deal unless it rains – guest or no, I’m not about to drag six buckets worth of water upstairs for this.” He shrugs and puts away the knife.

Atem is about to ask whether he always bathes in that freezing, turbulent creek down below, but the kid successfully cuts off that string of thought by looking up, his smile coy and secretive. “I’ll show you the bathhouse.”

What Yugi refers to as “the bathhouse” is a huge underground cavern that nearly makes Atem’s lower jaw drop at the sheer beauty of it. Once again, he finds himself stuck in some awe-inspiring fantasy world, neck positively aching from all that turning and gaping, eager to take everything in. The young King does not want to miss a single detail about this sacred place – the clusters of deadly stalactites and stalagmites and the naturally-formed, pale stone walls, their dizzying height nearly eclipsing the dim lights coming from–

“Gandorean crystals,” Atem gasps, successfully stunned into an appreciative silence. The aquamarine light seeping out of the crystals pulses gently, akin to the magical energy contained in Mahad’s orb. Thousands pepper the arched walls of the cavern and the bedrock of the calm spring. Thanks to the crystals’ luminous shine, when the young King bends over to inspect the pool of freshwater, he can make out the shape of every pebble resting below the mirror-like surface, every jagged rock. The air is still inside this makeshift bathhouse; the King cannot feel any breeze whatsoever. Cannot hear the trickle of water.

Cannot hear any dragons, other than Slifer scurrying about by the entrance of the underground cave.

“That, they are,” Yugi hums in acknowledgment, pushing their torches into the crack of the ground. “World’s rarest gems, or so I’ve been told.”

Atem picks up a small aquamarine shard, shell-shocked. “There’s a good reason why they’re called that, Yugi. Nowadays, no one can seem to find any, and you’re… Essentially, you are hoarding a treasure inside these mountains. Is it true that they can purify all kinds of water?”

“Yes.” The dragon lord gets comfortable on his folded cloak, pulling at the fraying threads of his sleeve. “Though they’re not nearly as impressive as people make them out to be. You constantly need to restock them because the effect eventually wears off. They turn into simple stones once the light dissipates. They have other uses as well.”

“I’ve heard. Back in the day, Khemet's Magicians used these to make potions that could suck out most poisons known to man. The bigger crystals could be used raw; the Magicians would simply apply them directly to the affected area. Sadly, this practice didn’t last due to the massive drop in Gandora dragon species. Furthermore, it was later discovered that prolonged exposure to these crystals can be detrimental to one's health, especially skin-to-crystal contact.”

“It's good to hear that they stopped,” the kid quips, huffing. “There are probably countless other ways to negate poison without resorting to massive dragon slaughter.”

“I can already tell that some live down here,” Atem continues, turning over the aquamarine fragment pinched loosely between his fingertips, inspecting it upclose. It was wild to think that something so dazzling could ever be bad for one's wellbeing. Still very much fascinated by the ethereal view of his surroundings, the King then touches a massive boulder situated before him, the top of its grainy surface shimmering in bright greens and blues. From further away, the crystal shards look like a dusting of stars adorning a night sky.

“Yes. Most people tend to reach that same conclusion, especially if they happen to spot a roaming Gandora in the dark of the night. The dragon riders are well-aware that this species lives in our valley. These crystals,” Yugi waves a casual hand in the direction of a huge pile that shines the brightest, “are one of the main reasons why I have to deal with multiple poachers from all across the continent during the hatching season. See, when Gandoras lay their eggs, they get encased in a bioluminescent layer to protect the baby from outside harm. This substance is really hard and takes a whole lot of effort to crack. The easiest way to do so is to bring the eggs to black magic users. When the babies hatch, they leave these crystals behind. The rest is history.”

Pink-faced, Yugi politely looks aside mid-explanation, while Atem sheds his filthy clothes, completely unabashed – learning something new aside, the King craves a decent bath, far too excited to get in as soon as possible. He’s positively flattered by the generous opportunity to swim in this ethereal pool of water.

The dragon lord clears his throat, continuing the story. “Anyways, every season after the hatching, I collect the leftover crystal shells and bring them down here. That way, I can at least rest assured that they won’t fall into the hands of bad people.”

“You’re doing a good job, Yugi,” Atem smiles in appreciation, flexing out the kinks plaguing his upper back. “Gandora hunts are forbidden by the law, one that had been signed by my late father no less.”

The dragon lord grows awfully quiet.

Having turned around at the most inopportune moment imaginable, Yugi feels personally attacked by all of that… naked skin. Sure, he’s seen his best friends nude before, skinny dipping in a pond located at the border of the village, but this somehow feels vastly different. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that he has a King inside his private bathhouse. Or maybe it has everything to do with his guest's backlit figure. Toned, yet lithe, visibly scarred by years of fighting. Undeniably regal.

Somehow Atem manages to make every insignificant action refined and calculated. His body language practically screams of upper class upbringing – a royal one no less, something that Yugi would’ve picked up on eventually, even if he hadn’t known the other’s true identity. But it’s not the poise that he’s mesmerized by, rather it’s the expanse of dark skin, eye-catching in its smoothness. The blond strands falling into his face, brushing against the sides of an angular jawline. The gentle highlights cast by the faint aquamarine light, nicely accentuating the King's considerably broad shoulders. The faint shadows finding home in the dips of his lean muscles.

Over a naked shoulder, Atem glances his way.

Ashamed, Yugi pretends that he hasn't been caught ogling the ruler of Khemet, gaze fixed ahead. Firmly looking past the lean curve of Atem’s torso. “I don’t know if you checked yet, but the water’s really cold. Uh, also there are dragons in there, so you might want to watch your step.”

Atem hops into the pool before Yugi can even finish explaining. Hissing at the freezing water lapping at his thighs, the King squeaks a surprised, “Dragons!?” and then gets splashed by an icy wave. His shrill scream shouldn’t be funny – in the past, Yugi had gone through the exact same thing far too often, right until he was forced to memorize the parts that he shouldn’t thread – but he bursts out laughing at the sight of Atem moodily brushing away the damp strands clinging to his face.

“Did you do this!?” he yells, rubbing at the goosebumps rising along his skin. The King is visibly shaking.

“The dragons!” Yugi squeezes out through fits of tittering laughter. “You stepped on one probably.”

“What kind of fool’s nonsense are you spouting!?” At his words, Atem bends over to inspect the clear water surface, now bubbling mysteriously. So what? Water did this all the time, no? Trapped air or something. “There’s nothing in here.”

The dragon lord wipes away the tears of glee and walks to the very edge of the pool, situating himself further away from the confused King, kneeling down. Yugi sits there, unmoving, for at least a good minute or two, until his violet eyes light up and he pokes at the surface with a gloved finger. A little put off by the strange act, Atem squints at the kid playing with the rippling water, trying to catch at least a glimpse of those supposed “dragons”.

A few bubbles pop. Yugi gets a small squirt of water right into his face.

“I wish I could stick my arms in there and hug you, love. Sadly, I cannot,” he sighs, wistful, and scoops up some water, splashing it in the direction of the dissipating bubbles.

Atem is far too mortified to move, afraid to receive yet another angered spray of water. He does not wish to step on some invisible creature.

“It’s fine to swim, Atem,” Yugi reassures, still crouched by the shoreline. “Just don’t step anywhere deeper than your waist. Swim all the way to the shore to get out.”

“Won’t they drown me?” he asks, unconvinced. He isn't sure whether he is truly ready or if he even wants to swim with Gods know how many beasts, their bodies seemingly invisible to the human eye.

“Don’t be silly. Water dragons are like, um. Water fairies. I think that’s what they’re called in folktales. They wouldn’t hurt a fly. There are plenty of them in your capital, I’m sure of it.”

And so, Atem swims with the dragons. Wherever the crystals shine just a tad brighter, he can almost make out their translucent shapes – eel-like creatures with nubby horns and long catfish barbells that occasionally brush against his body, tickling it. There are at least three of them by his side at all times, cautiously inspecting the stranger and snorting out bubbles. The dragons scatter the second he starts soaping his hair, the suds making them very unhappy.

Yugi idly picks at the countless fake stars dusting the ground, and asks the young King whether the sky is truly any different back in the capital city.

It is, he says. Brighter, wider, and more familiar.

All things considered, Atem knows that he isn't being truthful, consumed by homesickness. He wants to go back, wants to perform his kingly rites and rituals, say a proper farewell to the dwindling summer days and usher in a bountiful fall. Wants to see his friends and his people. Obelisk's gigantic form slumbering in the distance, patiently waiting to be reunited with its divine companions.

Flushed, Yugi turns down all incoming offers to join the King for a proper swim. Once the dragon lord completes his own little birdbath and feels less like mud and more like himself, he warns Atem that he should be getting out before he catches a cold. Only then does the young King take notice of his own chattering teeth. His lips are probably tinted blue due to the chilly temperature. Slowly, he hoists himself up the hard rocks, reaching for the clean towel placed next to a fresh change of clothes that Jounouchi had brought. He roughly elbows Slifer out of the way – the lizard has made a nest for himself using the thick sleeves of Atem’s new sweater – and gets the towel stolen in return.

“Get back here, you damned lizard!” The King hops out of the water, stumbling after the nimble pest jumping over rocks and waddling towards Yugi. He tries not to think about how stupid they must look to the dragon lord – a butt-naked royal chasing after his meddling pet, running around in circles, jumping over boulders and the bigger stones – solely focused on the task at hand: getting back the fluffy cloth and wringing the ruby beast’s neck with it. “Return it, thief! Gods know if you don’t, I’ll-”

He doesn’t get to finish the threat because the tiny asshole tears straight through the gap between Yugi’s feet, flustered and yelling at his pet to stop messing around, trying to aid Atem in his quest. The suddenness of the action makes the dragon lord stumble forward, and the King crash into his lithe frame. Deeply embarassed, Atem tries to salvage the remains of his balance, steadying his companion, but fails. They fall rather painfully, tangled in a heap of limbs.

Yugi thinks that he should be allowed to daydream, if not ogle, but he’s never actually expected to receive an armful of a wet, naked King, red in the face from rage and shame. Thankfully, Atem is far too busy glaring at the thieving lizard to notice the shorter boy’s rather peculiar reaction. Slifer looks almost too smug, blinking slowly to fake an air of innocence.

There are delicate collarbones in Yugi’s vision, followed by a wide chest, a very well-defined chest at that, when Atem reaches over their bodies, the movement swift and calculated, successfully snatching the towel hanging out of Slifer’s lower maw.

A drop of water hits Yugi’s hot cheek. With an embarrased squeak, he rolls out from under the King, heart thundering wildly as though he’s been running up the mountainside. Blind to the dragon lord's internal struggle, Atem continues wrestling the insolent lizard for the towel. Slifer loses soon enough, perhaps no longer interested in their little game, yellow eyes drifting to the flustered dragon lord, as though sensing his distress.

These warm, muddled feelings. Discreetly, Yugi checks his pulse and feels around his ribcage, a tad confused.

“You alright?” Atem questions once he’s back on his feet, this time with his pants on. The towel is securely draped around his shoulders. “You look like you’re about to throw up.”

“I’m fine,” the dragon lord squeaks out through the gaps of his fingers, firmly pressed to his mouth. His face feels as though it is about to melt off. For some reason, the mere sight of Atem’s shirtless torso makes Yugi feel severely ill. He kind of wants the King to dress up already. This isn't good for his heart, beating loud and uneven. “Just a little dizzy.”

Blind to the other’s obvious suffering, Atem nods, and continues pulling on his defiled boots.

Yugi tries to not notice the trails of moisture shining on the back of the King's neck. Fails miserably.

Held in his quivering arms, Slifer rests a clawed paw on its master’s scarred cheek and nips at his flushed nose hard enough to make the dragon lord wince.

Get it together.

Chapter Text

Atem didn’t think that the winds in the mountains could get any worse right until they step outside and he’s proven wrong once again. It feels as though there’re a thousand tiny knives slicing away at his clean skin, carving intricate patterns. Yugi nearly tumbles down the edge of a cliff when a particularly strong gust of wind sweeps over the area, punishing. It successfully rips off Atem’s hood, exposes the damp strands, and blows grains of sand to rest under his eyelids. So much for bathing.

Yugi determinedly marches on ahead, a hand held before his face to ward off the swarming cloud of dust threatening to choke them. No human should live in this area, Atem decides, and stays close to the dragon lord who doesn’t need to look under his feet to know when exactly to jump over a crack in the rocks or a bigger stone. They don’t talk the entire way there.

The shingle glows beneath the pale light emitted by a breathtaking full moon and the King stays back on the steep hill, awkwardly toeing at the yellowed fledglings of grass. Everything here appears to be dead.

The dragon is lying on its stomach, probably turned over with the help and effort of Yugi’s family.

“No matter what happens, don’t touch the remains,” the kid warns, voice quiet. “Judging by their state, it won’t be long before Yellow’s departure from this plane of existence.”

Only then does the King notice that the creature looks nothing like the huge snake that had plummeted to its death, saving Atem’s measly life in the process. The one he’d stabbed in the throat had sleek grey scales and bore those trademark yellow eyes that possessed no real threat within.

This one is pitch-black, shimmering as though made of coal-like sand or minced crystal, absorbing the shadows of the night. The King is certain that if he were to touch it, it’d fall apart like a tower of cards. Its remains would surely turn into a pile of dust, painting the off-white shingle a murky black.

He watches the dragon lord unpack. The kid takes out a few stones with some unreadable runes etched into them, placing them down to face the four directions of their world. He kneels in the center of the circle and fills an old ceramic bowl with the emerald concoction. Drops a yellowed fang into it.

Atem hadn’t thought the boy capable of performing actual magic during these supposed “rituals” but the liquid still sizzles, spewing out bright yellow sparks. They dance around on the elixir’s still surface and elongate the flickering, sharp shadows of the dragon lord’s weary face. The imagery forces the King to recall Mahad’s cluttered study and the elder Magicians’ workshops, his carefree childhood, brewing harmless potions together with Mana, far more excited by the whole process rather than the end result. Mesmerized by the pretty lights shining in all colors of the rainbow and those playful golden sparks.

Yugi folds himself until his forehead rests on the shingle, hands placed before his curled up form and on either side of the bowl. From this distance, Atem cannot hear what the other’s muttering, but figures that it must be some sort of ancient spell, spoken in a foreign tongue. A fifteen minute long prayer.

He wonders whether he should kneel before the fallen beast as well, but decides against it, too afraid to interrupt the ritual. Beside him, Slifer stands still as a marble statue, completely focused on its master, whose voice grows stronger and louder with every line.

The night seems to grow darker, the countless stars above disappear, and Atem’s torch snuffs out. Harsh wind sweeps over the cliff where he’d almost met his demise three days ago. His mouth hangs open when the dragon’s corpse suddenly crumbles apart at the very top, scatters through the area like dandelion seeds turned ash. The wind howls in the lifeless mountaintops, momentarily deafening the King as it becomes more and more strong. He places a chilled hand on the billowing cloak just in case it decides to fly off, and before Atem can even react to the ensuing chaos, all movement ceases, everything stills, too deadly silent.

The dragon’s core is filled with millions of small firefly-like lights, waiting for the right moment to burst out of their black shell. The energetic sparks from Yugi’s bowl gravitate towards the blinding mass of gold and the moment they touch, the dragon’s remains noiselessly explode.

It rains gold rather than ink and Atem touches one lazy light, a little surprised when it passes right through his finger. The area feels tingly, a little warm. The innumerous glowing lights make it seem as though it’s dusk rather than midnight. Atem feels as if he’s lost in some fairy tale world. He’s heard multiple stories of Spirit Scattering from Siamun, but never thought it’d be this breathtaking. Sorrowful.

They say that there’s beauty in sadness, but there’s nothing beautiful in the way Yugi crumbles before the no longer shining bowl and lets out choked up sobs, disturbing the otherwise peaceful night.

The grass revives wherever the light touches, soft green stems brush against Atem’s dirty boots.

Yugi’s drowning in artificial starlight but Atem’s far too scared to approach, clinging to his promise. He shakes from the sheer need to physically be there for the dragon lord, apologize over and over again, but figures that the kid doesn’t need it right now. Doesn’t need the killer of his “child” to express half-assed attempts at sympathy.

Look at it however you want, in the end, it’s entirely the King’s fault that Yellow is dead.

Yugi holds up pretty well, all things considered, raising a heavy head and desperately reaching out to the cluster of fake stars. He attempts to hold onto them but they keep slipping away.

Slifer begins acting weirdly then, chewing on the hem of Atem’s blue cloak and pulling on it. The dragon nudges his snout against the back of the King’s boots, snorting in aggravation when the dense human doesn’t react. Runs to Yugi’s hunched form and then back to the stunned fool, circling around him for good measure. The King finally deciphers the hidden message.

“You want me to go to him?” he whispers, a little amazed by the creature’s display of smarts. “I shouldn’t. He definitely shouldn’t be seeing me right now.” The King’s eyebrows rise at the peculiar look that the lizard shoots his way. He’s certain that if it had a human face, it’d be rolling its beady eyes.

Perhaps the strange little lizard’s right – it’s better to go now than to stand around in the dark, secretly wishing to speak to Yugi, console him somehow. If the kid punches him in the face – and well, Atem’s certainly deserved it - so be it. At least the dragon lord will know that he cared enough to walk up there.

Wordlessly, the King kneels beside Yugi, keeping a fair amount of distance. He lets his red eyes fall shut and interlaces his fingers - a prayer for the departed.

Once he’s done, the boy speaks up, shaky and rough around the edges. The golden lights are beginning to drift further away, towards the vast cloudless sky. “Someone once told me that when a dragon ascends and its soul passes through the Gateway, it turns into stars and constellations. Always watching over me, always with me. All I have to do is look up at the sky and I’ll see them the way they see me.”

His eyes are void of life as though he’s just sent off a part of himself rather than a beloved family member. He talks and talks, trying to redirect Atem’s attention away from his very much hurt feelings. Talks to forget, to avoid disclosing his innermost thoughts.

Atem sees right through this bullshit façade of bad self-defense.

“Stop that,” he cuts right in, gaze intense. Taken aback, Yugi only swallows and falls silent. “It’s okay to be mad. It’s okay to yell and scream and cry when you must. It’s fine to hate me for this – it’s only human, Yugi. There’s nothing wrong with it. So rather than putting up a tough front and trying to justify some forged emotions, let it all out. Take it out on me the way you should. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

“I can’t,” the kid begins, lower lip quivering, but Atem’s even stare is enough to convince. He takes in a shaky breath. And then another.

And then he screams. He screams and cries, curses and yells, and the King soaks it in like a ratty rag, all of that hurt and pain, while Yugi claws at the shingle until the last of the flickering lights disappear into the distance and fade away. The howling wind returns to the mountain range, bringing along sound and drowning out the dragon lord’s voice, pathetic and muffled. Hoarse from use. “You stupid King, I couldn’t hate you. I could never fucking do that.”

When the kid’s emotional high dies down, Atem gathers the scattered materials, putting them back into Yugi’s pouch. “We should head back while the moon’s still high,” he points out, awkward. “Here, let me help you up.”

Instead of a lean hand, the King receives a fang, pressed into his slack, waiting palm. It’s not very big and shines a pearly off-white. Atem twists it between an index finger and a thumb to take a closer look. There is a small metal loop protruding from its wide end, holding a brown leather string. A necklace. 

“I forgot to give it to you before… before the funeral,” Yugi hiccups before Atem can ask, fairly surprised. He wipes at his runny nose. Those violet eyes are puffy and reddened. “It’s a token to celebrate your first emotional connection with a dragon. Besides that, you’ve been doing so well. You earned it fair and square.” With a lot of effort, the dragon lord stands up, declining all help offered. “Yellow’s baby tooth.”

Happy to have earned the kid’s respect and glad to have finally become worthy of owning something this important, the King expresses his genuine gratitude, but alas, presses the offering back into the dragon lord’s hand, closing their fingers around it. With a tiny smile dancing on his chapped lips, the King shakes his head. “I’m flattered to have earned your favor, but for now, I want you to keep this safe for me. You can return it once I become truly worthy of Osiris. When that happens, I’ll wear both his and your feelings with pride.”

It’s a heavy promise to make, but Atem wants to show Yugi his worth by introducing him to the dragon God. He wants Yugi to be there to witness his grand moment, for Yugi to hear his plea to Osiris, asking him to save the kingdom of Khemet. To become the kind of man that Yugi already views him as – a beacon of hope for those in their time of need.

The dragon lord looks at him for a moment too long, and nods with a soft-spoken, “Okay.”

Chapter Text

The next five days go by in a similar fashion – meals followed by errands, chores, learning about dragons, one-sided story times, and then blissful sleep. The simple chores are still a major bother, but now, they are kind of more enjoyable. The meals are plain but serve their purpose well. Atem gets used to the hard ground under his back, the fine layer of dust constantly sticking to his cheeks and Slifer’s fat ruby body squishing his ribcage inwards every night – he’s long since given up on chasing the annoyance away. The nightmares are few and far in between, thank Gods for that, but the King always wakes up drenched in cooling sticky sweat - the fading images of empty, impassable woods and pointless roaming in search of Osiris still fresh in the back of his tired mind, startling him into awareness. Sometimes he dreams of the capital city and the palace in smoking ruins. In those contemplative moments of privacy, he wishes for everything to end already, the quest and the tension of a looming war, craving a good night’s rest void of ominous dreams.

The dragons are still wary but way calmer around the stranger now. Almost accepting.

He manages to establish some emotional links with the younger ones. They make Atem feel funny, as though he’s a kid all over again, excited for the smallest of things – the strange-shaped pretty rocks, longer blades of yellowed grass, the lights dancing on a puddle’s surface, catching the pale sunlight.

Every single emotional bond is warm, pleasant yet somewhat weird, but they’re mild at best and they don’t threaten to suffocate him with head-splitting negativity.

On the eight day of his stay, Yugi decides to take him to the Gandora den, holding his hand the entire way down and warning him when to watch his step, navigating them between the boulders. They had to put out the torches right before entering the dim lair – Gandora species did not appreciate fire and warmth in general.

If the underground cavern was impressive, then this is on a whole new level, Atem concludes, when he looks up at the towering black dragons, not paying the newcomers any attention. These sights never cease to amaze him and the King seriously doubts that he’ll ever be able to take everything in without feeling as though he’s ascending. This wondrous beauty has no proper place on their plain continents, their world. This isn’t something meant to be witnessed by unappreciative mortals, especially the ones who would willingly wish for these beings’ demise, trampling over their lairs to satisfy simple, often meaningless, needs.

Yugi’s whistle is close to piercing within the enclosed space, lit up by luminous aquamarines coming from the eggs waiting to hatch. Many of these dragons snooze with their tails protectively curled around their future babies, waiting for the nightfall. Nocturnal beings, Yugi had told him on their way down, easy to spot and kill, because while destructive, they aren’t too fast.

Atem’s eyes flicker to the huge Gandora dragon approaching the unexpected guests. He appreciates the dazzling glow of the turquoise-colored, bioluminescent gems covering its sturdy limbs. Its eyes glow in the dark, observing the little lord. Yugi puts up an offering – a thick rat held in a gloved hand.

The dragon carefully nibbles on it, afraid to catch the human’s fingers. Yugi tells Atem that it’s fine to look it right in the eye – unlike the others, Gandora dragons trust those who can meet their gaze dead on. It is how they evaluate one’s worth.

Atem’s red eyes meet the ethereal ocean-blue ones, and Yugi gives him the okay to offer another rodent. There’s a beat of hesitance before the dragon accepts it from the King’s twitchy palm.

“He likes you,” the dragon lord tells the flustered King, unsure how to properly react to this surprisingly smooth exchange. He half-expected his head to get torn off – somehow the bigger ones always wanted to harm him in one way or another. “Give him a few more, and before you know it, you’ll be able to pet him freely, too!”

“A dragon likes me,” Atem exhales the foreign, surreal sentence, suddenly giddy. Almost anticipating to touch the magical creature.

“I’m sure my mother will fancy you as well. We shall see once she actually gets here.” Yugi grins, looking at one of the larger nests ahead. In a sea of turquoise, the ruby-gemmed Gandora sticks out like a sore thumb. It is far too focused on fussing over the eggs to heed Yugi’s call. “She’s just probably unsure if you’re a good man yet, but we’ll fix that right away.”

“Your… mother?” The King tunes out the rest of his companion’s chipper rant, eyes widening significantly.

“Dragon mom!” Yugi exclaims a little too loudly, and titters once the red-gemmed beauty finally approaches, allowing her “son” hug her close. She closes her pretty ruby eyes, radiating affection. “Good girl.”

“Is this her?” Atem whispers, a little startled. The Gandora glares at him no worse than Red Eyes, mistrust rolling off her powerful body in hostile waves. The King wishes to look away but forces himself to meet her burning gaze, refusing to blink even when his eyes start watering midway through. This is far too bizarre to fully comprehend, but he knows absolutely nothing of Yugi’s past, his human parents, or how the dragon lord even ended up where he is today. However, Atem does know for a fact that Yugi is not an actual… dragon child. It is biologically impossible. Right? Right. Laws of nature and all.

At this point, he isn’t sure of anything.

Yugi pets her nose until the dragon settles down, smiling at Atem’s miffed expression. “This one’s raised me ever since I was a toddler.” The kid gets slobbered when the dragoness licks the side of his face with a bumpy pink tongue. “She still thinks of me as one. She’s always been prone to giving me baths.”

Wide-eyed, Atem mutely feeds another rodent to the turquoise-gemmed one. Once the dragon lord spots a small, squeaking creature awkwardly waddling their way, he attempts to gently pull away from his dragon mom's insistent care. The goofy-looking creature is no bigger than Atem and doesn’t appear to have a solid grasp on proper walking. It lets out a few excited chirps when Yugi hugs it, licking at the boy's scarred cheek in a cheerful greeting.

Atem’s heart swells at the cute sight, throat tight.

The dragon lord doesn’t get to cuddle the world's most adorable baby dragon for long. The red-gemmed Gandora drags back her unruly son by the stitched cloak, eager to finish cleaning her only human child. 

The squeaky thing, deprived of his Yugi rights, takes a deep interest in Atem instead.

“Go on, play with him. He won’t leave you alone otherwise,” Yugi mumbles, wary of the slobber threatening to spill into his mouth if he isn't careful, one eye closed. The dragoness thoroughly washes the pale blond strands, making them stick up. With his hair "styled" in that fashion, he looks far too much like the young King. “Try taking a smaller mouse to tease him a little bit. Then simply throw it for him to chase after.”

Atem does as told. Right when the baby dragon is about to gnaw on the mouse, he puts it out of reach. The action doesn’t seem to annoy it in the slightest, in fact, it only makes the creature even more eager and energetic. Atem snickers when the dragon tries to check behind his back to retrieve the rodent’s carcass. He turns along with it, stepping backward with every attempt.

In the back of his mind, the King feels the chipper creature’s presence. It’s far too young for them to properly connect, but he can already tell that it’s a happy little thing, untainted by the cruelty of the world.

“How can you tell their sex?” Atem sees no visible indications – it’s a black, soft-scaled dragon with tiny turquoise gemstones growing out of its awkward limbs and disproportionately big head.

“It’s all in the nubby horns growing out on the sides of their mouths. Their direction to be more precise.” Yugi pats the dragoness’ sizeable pale horn. “If they face inwards – it’s a girl. Outwards – male. Your new fan is a boy.” Atem takes notice of the small bumps that’ll one day grow into sharp weapons. Thanks to the distraction, the mouse gets snatched out of his hand.

Temporarily relieved of the little one's undivided attention, Atem turns his gaze to rest on Yugi and the ruby-gemmed Gandora. She is careful and gentle with the boy, mindful of her razor-like fangs. Motherly. When Atem looks at the relaxed kid sitting between her clawed paws for a moment too long, the dragoness glowers at him, visibly offended. Annoyed with the young King attempting to monopolize her human son’s attention. “She’s angered because you won’t let me enjoy my bath properly. According to her, I’m distracted by you.” Yugi pats her horn. “The red ones are very temperamental and usually quite vicious. Must be because there aren’t many of them left.” His shoulders sag. Gandora freezes up, mid-lick. “At this point, it’s an instinct for survival. Not to mention that the ruby-gemmed genes are recessive. Perhaps we’ll get more reddies this time around, right?”

It suddenly dawns on Atem that the little turquoise creature shouldn’t even be alive at this point – the entire cave is filled with crystallized eggs. And yet, here it is, butting its soft, silken snout into Atem’s slack palm, glowing eyes closed. Loving. The King scratches at the empty space between the pebble-like gemstones. “Why are you already out of your egg, kiddo?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you come out later with the rest?”

Yugi’s voice is colder than ice when answers, standing up. “The same reason why most of these eggs won’t ever get the chance to hatch – interference from outside. Everything taken from Gandora dragons has value. Besides, the best way to distract a furious, protective Gandora, is to do something terrible to its eggs. The Magician who was with you seemed to know this very well – his attacks were the sole reason why you managed to get out of this cave alive.” Yugi waves a hand, and all of a sudden, Atem gets filled with a sense of dread, strong enough to twist his innards into tight knots of anxiety. He remembers flashes of the rough fall. The bioluminescent creatures scaling the wall, roaring. The earth-shaking commotion. “His rebounding magic shattered the eggs of one nest. There were supposed to be three of them. In her grief, the little one’s mother disowned the sole survivor. The others are looking out for it, so he’s okay now.”

Atem’s head is filled with white noise.

The tiny dragon continues slowly blinking at him with those big, innocent eyes, completely unaware of the fact that it was now standing before the man who has brought upon the untimely deaths of its siblings. Thanks to Atem, his mother disowned him.

The black creature approaches him, wanting to play some more, and pokes its soft snout against Atem’s heated cheek. The King feels himself flush, consumed by overflowing shame and bone-crushing sadness. Something stings, pulling at his too-dry eyelids. Through the fog clouding his mind, the King senses them, the countless pairs of glowing eyes focused on his wound-up body, reading him like an open book. Gazing into the deepest, darkest corners of his twisted, evil soul.

He feels vile, somehow. Without realizing it, Yugi has successfully confirmed his plaguing doubts. The lingering suspicions rush to the forefront of his mind all at once. Deep down, he knows he isn't worthy of being here, pretending to be someone chivalrous and selfless in front of some unseen God. A part of him knows that Osiris will never descend before him, the foolish King of Khemet, will never hear out his plea. Not after Atem’s “amazing” debut in the Alcatraz Mountains - the home of his God. This impossible quest has caused too much damage to those around him, and he should seriously consider walking away now with his head bowed in shame and defeat, shoulders heavy with the insurmountable burden of guilt.

The King’s gaze flickers to the turquoise-gemmed Gandora staring right through him, still and unblinking. Somehow, Atem can tell that it is judging and evaluating his mortal soul. Deeply upset with himself, the King shakes his head, showing that he has come to terms with the inevitable rejection. Even so, he never breaks eye contact with the magical beast. He deserves this scorn. He understands. “I’ll never be forgiven for this.” Then, to the little one, he says, “I’m awfully sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. If only I could make everything right, undo this somehow, I’d do so in a heartbeat.”

The King approaches the feeble creature to hold it close, the tight hug making him feel a certain kind of way, one cheek pressed into its underdeveloped scales. It chirps at him, clearly distressed, small body wiggling.

Yugi’s unwavering grip on his tense shoulder is undeniably grounding, but the King refuses to let the dragon go, eyes sealed shut. His heart aches and burns. Aches for these dragons and their cruel fate that he could not put a stop to even if he tried. No new laws, signed by his hand or not, could ever protect these creatures.

Atem will return home empty-handed and void of hope. No ancient Gods anywhere in sight.

“Atem, please,” the dragon lord's command sounds urgent, his breath batted. “Look up right now, you have to see this.”

Six Gandora dragons stand around them, forming an uneven semi-circle. Their mighty heads are bowed low and their beady eyes appear to be closed. They stand completely still, statue-like. Seemingly made of crystal rather than flesh and bone.

Atem’s eyebrows furrow in concern. “What’s happening? Why’re they doing that?”

Yugi looks close to shedding tears of joy, teeth clamped tightly on his lower lip. He shakes the King by the shoulders, radiating pure excitement. “They’re showing you respect! The lowered heads are a sign of forgiveness.” Shocked speechless, the King lets the dragon lord cradle his face, not minding the dirty gloves in the slightest. “They’ve forgiven you, Atem!”

And he knows it to be true. He feels the sympathy, the gratefulness for the foolish King’s apology. They feel his grief, just as he feels theirs. Yugi’s tender grasp loosens, palms slipping away with a light, almost feathery stroke.

Atem catches the boy’s left hand before it drops and loosely cradles it, bowing before to the dragon lord’s ruby-gemmed mother, who radiates nothing but acceptance, and a deep understanding. She admires Atem's courage. She thinks him to be impulsivity, boldness, and stupidity mixed into one. He is careless enough to bring about such unfortunate accidents.

Atem acknowledges everything that she conveys. He "hears" her out and never shifts the blame, taking everything in wholeheartedly.

He is yet to properly grasp the intricacies of these emotional bonds, is yet to fully understand them, but he tries to. And that is the exact reason why the dragons bow their heads, acknowledging the stubborn bravery residing deep within the young King’s heart, rooted to his very core.

Whereas Yugi nearly skips in his step, positively floored by this wonderful development, Atem falls silent, thinking everything over once more.

Connecting with the Gandora species has opened his eyes. He knows that from now on, he’ll willingly protect these creatures, even at the cost of his life. The King is determined to ward off all and any poachers lying in wait, ready to break into the mountain range, eager to harm and steal that which does not belong to them, threatening the safety of the dragons' nests. From now on, he will try everything in his power to change the creatures’ unfortunate fates, even if he has to rewrite half of Khemet’s ancient laws. Even if he has to uproot his subjects' beliefs. These are his honest feelings.

He wonders if this will be enough to summon Osiris, to please his Gods.

Then there’s also the issue with the dragon lord and his mysterious origin. Before this eye-opening encounter, Atem didn’t think too much about it. Everyone was entitled to privacy, and he did his best to respect Yugi's; however, now he realizes that the lack of information no longer satisfies him. Bothers him, even. He wants Yugi to feel comfortable enough around him to tell him the truth. If not the whole truth, the least he could do was answer some basic questions. Where did he come from? Where and when did he meet Jounouchi? And most importantly, how did he manage to grow up all by himself?

A Gandora dragon raised him ever since he was a toddler? Even an uneducated peasant could find loopholes in that explanation. If that were true, Atem doubts that they’d be able to communicate like this. Like two… normal people, statuses and lineage aside. If what Yugi had told him is true, right now he’d be nothing more than a feral caveman, who would’ve gladly killed Atem on the spot, no questions asked.

These thoughts continuously plague his mind when he sits on the very corner of Yugi’s bed, fingers loosely interlaced between his spread legs. Yugi is poking around the firepit, humming a cheerful tune. To celebrate Atem's accomplishments, he promises to make a feast. 

The dragon lord leaves to wash the spit out of his hair. It gives Atem just enough time to steel his resolve, chest a tad too tight for comfort.

When Yugi returns, Atem is still frozen stiff in the same place where he left him, a deep frown etched between his sharp eyebrows.

“What’s wrong…?” the dragon lord asks, tone delicate. “Aren’t you happy?” He sits down on the ratty carpet and before the King’s legs.

The taller man leans back with a heavy, weary sigh. Yugi looks like a kicked puppy, face creased in concern. His skin looks paler than usual.

Atem doesn’t know how to bring it up, running a sweaty hand through his thick hair. “No, I am. Of course, I am. My mind’s simply occupied by other things.”

“Such as?”

You. “The things that you’ve never told me, Yugi. I’m not saying that you should disclose your innermost secrets to me, but I feel like you don’t trust me enough to tell me about yourself, and that feels… pretty awful, if I’m being honest. I want to know where you come from. How’d you end up here? Where’d you meet Jou and those other friends of yours? How’d you manage to grow up in this extreme environment? Were you always alone, and if so, who taught you human language, writing? Who named you?” Atem looks aside, a little solemn. His shoulders drop, defeated. The collar of the sand-colored sweater nearly slips down one of his shoulders – proof that Jounouchi was way sturdier than the King, even when he was still a teen. “Things like that. Basic background information.”

Yugi’s lips disappear inside his mouth. He looks at Slifer warming up by the firepit. The blue gemstone growing out of its forehead glows mysteriously, catching the orange light of the dancing flames.

“Should I?” the kid asks no one in particular. “But that’d make him freak.”

The fire crackles ominously, spewing out sparking bursts of embers that reflect off the lizard’s creepy, unblinking eyes.

Atem waits.

It’s time to tell him.

Yugi inhales. He releases the cherry-tinted lips out of their merciless prison. “I…” He shuffles a little closer to the curled-up pet. “Atem, there's no proper way for me to say this, but I’ve been lying to you all along. From the moment we met, I already knew what you seek. I knew you’d show up here eventually and, well…" Yugi gently collects the lizard, dangling it before the King’s confused face like a ragdoll. Its eerie gaze is more intense than ever. “The thing you’ve been searching for, spent an entire week agonizing over – it’s been here all along, right beside you. This is The Sky Dragon. Slifer is Osiris, Atem. He’s the one that saved me when I was a baby and raised me with the help of other dragons ever since.”

The King remains quiet. Stares at the ruby beast, then back at Yugi.

Cracks up laughing. “Good one! You almost sound like you mean it!”

Yugi’s face is stone-like, expression unchanging - a perfect mask that refuses to crack no matter what. The kid is completely filled with fear of the unknown.

The grin slowly dissipates from Atem’s face, replaced by a suspicious frown. A rotten sense of dread worms its way into his lungs. “Wait, you’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“You’re telling me that this thing is Osiris.”

“Yes.”

The King huffs an incredulous snort, rolling his eyes. He rubs the back of his neck as if thinking of a good enough response. Yugi’s too silent. He violently flinches when the King’s maroon eyes snap to him, gaze dark and stormy. His voice is loud, the crude words cracking like a whip. “Are you taking the goddamn piss, dragon lord!? Is this some bad joke to you?”

Finally, it gouges a reaction from the kid. His lower lip trembles and the boy cowers, securely pressing the bristling ruby beast into his chest, head lowered. He seems positively frightened, unused to being spoken to so harshly. Yelled at. “I’m not trying to joke here. I only wanted to tell you the truth – well, Osiris thinks that it’s the right time for you to finally know his real identity–”

“Osiris!” the King sneers, jumping to his feet. “Don’t you dare to carelessly toss around his name like that! There’s no way this disgusting little beast is the Sky Dragon meant to save Khemet. There’s no fucking way and nothing you say will ever convince me otherwise, child.”

Yugi is close to tears when he kneels before the enraged royal boiling beneath the surface - ready to set the entire place on fire if he doesn’t get a proper explanation for this. He’s been a huge fucking fool, an utter idiot for trusting some shady kid with nothing to his name. He’s wasted precious time as the kid spun sweet, manipulative lies and wrapped the King around his little finger with words of encouragement, and pretentious trust. His faux affection.

A child has tricked him, the King of Khemet, into doing chores.

“Hear me out, please! I’ll prove it to you somehow. I told you that I can communicate with them on my first day, right? That wasn’t a lie,” the child begs, desperate. “Don’t walk out on me, Atem, you need to know. It is your right.”

“Right now, your promises mean nothing to me, dragon lord,” the King grinds out through clenched teeth, ribcage squeezing painfully. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does to accuse the gentle kid of mockery and deceit. A part of him refuses to believe that he’s been duped like this. He decides to give the child the benefit of doubt because that’s just how the King is whenever his heart grows fond and dictates his actions rather than his calculative mind. “As of now, I refuse to believe a single word coming out of your treacherous mouth.”

The not-God lizard glares hatefully when Yugi speaks in a shaking and winded voice, desperately avoiding eye contact. As if Atem’s a fire-breathing dragon ready to strike him down. With the way he currently feels, he might as well morph into one. “He wants me to relay this to you, word for word: foolish King of Khemet, had it not been for the dreams and images that I’ve sent you, right now you’d still be blindly lurking in the darkness of your looming peril.”

The dragon lord’s words carry a certain weight to them, so powerful that the King sits right back down like some scolded child, shocked. The nightmares flash before his eyes at neck-breaking speed, dreams of a ruby dragon tearing his head off in a single bite whenever Atem hesitates to follow without asking any questions. Questions that the God refuses to answer until the King is able to stand his ground without succumbing to the fear of pressuring expectations, too big for him to bear – poisoning his resolve and attacking him like snakes hidden in the damp moss.

“You… must’ve heard me talk about it in my sleep. There must be a good explanation for this. This means nothing, there’s no way that the lizard is one of The Three Graces. This isn’t Osiris,” he says with far less conviction now.

Yugi continues translating, the words spilling out of his mouth, unbefitting. “You’ve proven yourself worthy of my attention, foolish King, but you still have a long and grueling way left to go. I do not wish to speak to you until I deem you respectable enough to stand tall and proud before my true form to make your plea.”

The dragon lord startles when the King falls on his knees before him, grip bruising on his squared shoulders. He cages Osiris, gaze wild. The small pet looks thoroughly unimpressed, irritated even. If this is truly the dragon God, Atem decides not to waste any more of his rapidly dwindling time. If he must beg, so be it. “Look, if it’s really you, you should know better than anyone else that we do not have any time left to spare. I know that the enemy is ready to strike, I know that you can feel this destructive danger better than anyone else. Zorc’s about to get resurrected. I want to return as soon as possible to put a stop to that.” Yugi winces in his vice-like hold, pained. Atem’s too desperate to pay attention. “So cease this whole trial of worthiness crap all at once and guide me to the resting place of Ra this instant. It’s your duty to protect our Kingdom and you’re… busy playing a glorified house pet!”

The King is too far gone to take into consideration the fact that he just insulted a God, but is roughly reminded of his place the moment the dragon’s gemstone glows a blinding azure and Atem sees a vision that strikes overwhelming terror in his unprepared heart.

An enraged Osiris screeches at him in his true form, slightly different than the one constantly reappearing in his nightmares, but still just as huge and terrifying. Lightning flashes among the rain-filled clouds overhead as the beast descends before the King, ready to take his insolent life, lower maw open. The God is infinite – Atem cannot see the end of its snake-like body, hidden by the thundering storm.

“Look at me, human!” Osiris’ command echoes in the heavens.

Pained, Atem gasps, and the majestic view disintegrates. The glow of Slifer's gem fades away. The vision is short and more than effective. The King scrambles away as far as he can, shaking fists curled in Yugi’s bedsheets to ground himself, heart hammering in fear.

He’s fully convinced now.

Osiris huffs and hops out of Yugi’s hold, waddling outside without bothering to look back.

Cautiously, Yugi slides closer to the shaken King whose gaze is unseeing, rattled to the very core of his being. Certainly, he hadn’t expected that. He doesn’t know what to make of this reveal, especially now that he has successfully ruined his image in the God’s eyes.

“He said that if you dare to speak to him in such an undignified manner ever again, you’ll be losing your life.”

Atem mutely nods, shuddering at the afterimage. He knows that Osiris isn’t messing around.

Oh Gods, he chased around one of The Three Graces with Yugi’s broom and threatened to turn it into lizard soup.

“So, uh, your questions,” Yugi begins, trying to defuse the tension. He’s painfully awkward. “I can give you the answers to them if you still want to listen to me.”

The King nods again.

Chapter Text

Yugi properly sits Atem down by the fire pit, drapes a sandy-brown pelt around his stiff, still quivering shoulders, presses a hot cup of tea into his hands, and then talks, talks, talks, eyes fixed on the crackling flames.

It sounds like a surreal, abstract fairytale, a scenario that would have no chance of unfolding in real life if it were anyone else but Yugi – the boy who was raised by the Sky Dragon Osiris, the deity of Khemet, and Atem’s god. Chosen for this wild quest, Yugi is Atem’s counterpart and his inevitable fated meeting.

And so the story goes.

Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, lived a God. The god was a lonely, sad creature for it had lost its beloved friends and companions to a post-war magical slumber. And thus, it was the only one left, aimlessly wandering around the continents and visiting various places – the sandy lands, the vast woods, the deepest of oceans, and the rockiest of valleys. The god was searching for a place to belong to; a nice, acceptable niche to spend the centuries to come, filled with constant waiting. One day, a new hero would appear before it and reunite the deities of Khemet once more. That much the god was certain of, for it had seen multiple visions of a brave boy with royal blood running in his veins and eyes brighter than rubies. A boy who would attempt to end a grave war threatening the peaceful lands of Khemet once more.

The god took a liking to one valley in particular – a no man’s land filled with ancient magical creatures that struck fear and awe in human hearts. Creatures worthy of respect and freedom, worthy of ascent. The god decided to stay with them and took on the form of the Urya species, grand and divine, vast like the endless skies above.

The god loved and protected the dragons residing within the valley and tried to learn from them everything it could, as it waited for the new heir to the throne to show up, this boy from its vision who would undoubtedly become the new savior.

Centuries stretched on, long and similar and passing. Osiris patiently waited, lonelier with every fleeting day despite the never-ending knowledge and warmth it gained from its fellow dragons, as well as the knowledge of the human world, of the flora and fauna, ancient magic, and the surrounding universe. Something was missing in the god’s life, something that’d bring it joy and love – the kind it only felt when all three deities were together, stronger than ever, more powerful than any other being in the world. Whenever the three of them were together, life was but a drop in the ocean, and death was nothing more than a mysterious concept. However, the more time the Sky Dragon spent wallowing in its loneliness, the more those concepts kept shifting to the point where living would often get painfully empty.

And then, the Creator heeded the Sky Dragon’s pleas, sending it a new vision – one of family and the joy that it had yearned for.

Tragedy struck a year later. A caravan of foreigners passed the dragon territory and Osiris’ beloved family attacked the trespassers all at once, burning the carriages and the animals to a crisp, extinguishing all human life almost immediately. Displeased, Osiris decided to check the remains of the wreckage, haunted by the strange vision that it had seen.

In the middle of the blazing inferno, there was a human child – the sole survivor. Covered in soot, crying, and from then on, parentless. Wide-eyed and scared, disoriented.

About to be sent to the afterlife by a ferocious Sapphire dragon, white flames lighting up its throat, rising to its jaws.

Osiris couldn’t find it in itself to condemn an innocent child to such a cruel fate – the boy was innocent, he would not harm the dragons, the Sky Dragon’s family – thus, the God interfered, whisking the sobbing, snotty-nosed toddler away.

The god looked into the boy’s amethyst-colored eyes, remembered its vision and decided to take the child in as one of its own. Osiris would keep the human boy safe and sound, raise it to stand on his own, give him a new family.

“You’re safe, little one,” Osiris soothed the boy in human language, wishing to be understood. “There’s no need to fear.”

The kid didn’t even question the foreign voice echoing inside his mind as the god curled around the child’s body, raising the body temperature of its more compact-sized form to pleasant warmth. Tired from crying and the day’s events, the boy fell asleep, grasping Osiris’ spiked tail in a soft, baby hand.

“I was somewhere around two-three years old at the time,” Yugi hums, sipping on the lukewarm tea. Atem notices his fidgety grasp, constantly tightening around the metal sides of the cup. “Definitely no older than that, or so Slifer – pardon, Osiris – told me. He said that he saved me because I reminded him of the boy in his vision,” he looks at the King, nearly a mirror image of himself. “When I was young, he’d tell me that one day I would meet our new savior. Every summer, I’d cross out the years left to our meeting. I’m not too sure why I did it, maybe because I was completely entranced by the stories of Osiris’ visions. He’d always know what would happen to me.” Yugi gets up, knees letting out a pop. He looks tired, older. “He’d tell me what to avoid, what to eat, where to go. I don’t recall getting sick a single time in my life.”

He looks older than Atem feels, anyways.

The dragon lord moves aside the chest where he keeps all of his apparel, showing Atem more coal scribbles. That small patch of the lair is filled with vertical lines, crossed out in fives – the King counts fifteen.

Yugi had anticipated his less than impressive arrival for over fifteen years now.

The kid runs a gloved hand over the markings, smiling crookedly. “I’d add one on the date Osiris had rescued me from dragon fire – June 4^th. I guess that would make it my birthday…? Unofficially?” Yugi laughs, but it sounds forced and the corners of his lavender-hued eyes crinkle too much. There’s too much teeth in his grin for it to be genuine.

Silence follows. Atem takes pity on the poor boy and offers, “Mine is on July. The 26^th.”

“The constellation of the Great Lion,” Yugi whispers in reply, sounding far away. He then turns around to push the heavy chest back into its original place. “Regulus is a very beautiful star indeed. It fits you.”

Never one for astrology – save for the times he, Mana and Mahad would sneak out to the outskirts of Khemet to stargaze in peace and Mahad would point out Leo, Ursa Major, Draco – the King has nothing to add in order to contribute to this rather one-sided conversation. Awkward, he nods and then hums his agreement when he comes to the realization that Yugi cannot see his face. Vice-versa. 

Yugi is seventeen, perhaps even older – only a few years younger than the King. Mentally referring to the dragon lord as “kid” is slowly beginning to sound somehow unbefitting and even belittling now that Atem’s acutely aware of their small age difference. He does, however, look deceptively younger – the air of innocence and his kindness do their job far too well. It’s a stark contrast against Atem’s regal, heavy-duty-burdened poise.

Rather than a young adult barely out of his teens, Atem himself feels like a little kid sometimes. Helpless and lost, often missing his late father to the point of chest pain and stinging eyes, wanting nothing to do with ruling or righteously judging criminals - everything that consists within the key formula meant to create the perfect king. A hero.

Thankfully, Yugi pulls Atem out of his daydreams. “Thanks to Osiris’ protection, I was able to approach the dragons and earn their trust to the point we started looking out for each other like any other family would. For granting me this opportunity, and for being kind enough to give me a new family, I will forever be grateful until my final breath. I can’t imagine what my life would’ve been like if I was incapable of connecting with these creatures on an emotional level. It’s… not a life for me at all.”

It explains why the dragon lord didn’t get ripped apart to bloody pieces and how Yugi actually managed to integrate his being into the dragon community to the point they mistook him as one of their own, Atem musses, and continues listening. He was right. There was no way that anyone could ever live with these feral, distrusting creatures - even if you did attempt to live out your entire life with them, even if you left behind your ties to humanity in order to become a cave hermit within Alcatraz Mountains. Dragons and people simply didn’t mix together, not in this sort of sense anyway. Some were more tolerant, some were less – but then again, even people were like that, right?

“I had no problem talking to them. They understood me just as well as I understood them, a thing that didn’t strike me as odd when I was a little boy. The dragons were like any other human to me – people that I had yet to meet. To them, I was Osiris’ offspring – I still am. Osiris took the role of my guardian, a parent if you may.”

Atem’s eyes widen significantly at the toneless explanation – one of the Three Graces, a parental figure of a human? A human that it discovered in a forbidden territory no less?

He’s heard a lot of stories of minor deities attaching themselves to men, to the objects they owned, falling in love with foolish mortals and then watching over them, protecting the mankind either selflessly or with certain intentions in mind, but never, not even once did Atem think that he’d ever hear something like this. That he’d hear the story of Osiris and little Yugi. An inconceivable story of Khemet’s deity raising a child and taking care of it day in and day out, teaching the boy human language, educating, telling all kinds of stories, stealing food and essentials from the nearby villages just to make sure that his little one would stay warm throughout the winters, making sure he ate and rested well before Yugi himself could properly do any of these things, too young to survive on his own.

Whenever Osiris would disappear, sometimes for days stretching into weeks, the other dragons would take over, babysit the human child and keep it out of trouble. Yugi grew up surrounded by the Gandoras, who had taken a liking to him and his earnest, fearless stare. Atem thinks of the dragon lord and his ruby-gemmed mother, of their bond and affection, visualizes a younger version of Yugi playing with the recently-hatched dragons and getting mistaken for one of them – just paler, differently shaped, and a whole lot softer.

Yugi takes in a deep, shaky breath and Atem watches him peel off the ever-present gloves. His slim palms are marred with scars, varying in size and graveness – some are deeper, some less so. Self-consciously, Yugi rubs at the off-color, bumpy scar tissue covering his sharp, protruding knuckles.

Atem says nothing, patiently waiting for Yugi to bare himself, literally and figuratively. Yugi’s fingers curl in the thick sweater that once was a lovely shade of dark blue and raises it to his ribcage.

The King tries very hard not to put a hand to his mouth.

The dragon lord’s torso is thin, perhaps even a bit too much, but the lean muscle seems strong and capable – years of lifting heavy barrels have done their number on the young man. But it’s not the dips in Yugi’s abdominal muscles that catch the King’s attention, rather it’s the reddish, blemish-like scar tissue that crisscrosses in random patterns all over Yugi’s sides.

He looks like he’s been whipped with a handful of nettles and other poisonous plants, to which the dragon lord’s body was having a severe allergic reaction. It looks like it hurts. However, even through the faint nausea, Atem realizes that these are old scars that likely haven't been causing any real discomfort to Yugi for years now, at least judging by the faded look of some smaller pink patches.

“It’s understandable that you’re disgusted.” The King wants to say something along the lines of no, never, you’d never make me disgusted, but the scars are glaring at him, making Atem feel queasy, so he keeps his mouth shut. Nowadays, he doesn’t have much to say, too lost in his own thoughts. Yugi smiles. This one is sad. “You saw just how much my mom loves bathing me. And I did mention that too much exposure to Gandorean fluids isn’t good for human health. Well, I didn’t really know it at the time. Nor did Osiris.”

And so, Yugi the dragon child, lived out his days in the safety of the rocky caves, hidden away from the greedy humans residing in their small, insignificant villages, surrounding the mountain area. If it weren’t for Osiris’ strict care and his stories, Yugi thinks that he most likely would’ve ended up becoming a savage, uncaring of the world outside the mountains. But Osiris wanted the little one to interact with his own kin, to explore the vast lands and make many trustworthy friends along the way, go on grand adventures. Slowly, but surely, Yugi started wanting it for himself as well, yearning for the things out there, the sights that he hadn’t seen ever since he was little. What were these humans like? Were they like dragons – noble, kind, and protective?

Osiris would warn him then that humankind was greedy, jealous, and prideful, but there were plenty of good sides to balance out the bad ones. There were some things that only humans could give Yugi, things that dragons could never properly provide – a different kind of comfort, friendship, and love. Perhaps even a family.

When the child was old enough to run around by himself, Osiris named him Yugi, after one of the greatest ancient explorers and zoologists, constantly reappearing in the boy’s bedtime stories.

Yugi was twelve years old when Osiris deemed him old enough to venture into the nearby villages to mingle with fellow men. Yugi couldn’t sleep the entire night, fussing over his appearance – Osiris had made sure he looked presentable enough to pass as a wandering traveler – and tugging at the collar of his shirt. He felt like there were far too many layers of clothing suffocating him. Combing his bush for hair was already a challenge in itself and Yugi hardly remembered the last time he was so… clean. He had spent half of the day just looking at his own reflection on the surface of a sizeable puddle outside – the rainy season was already coming to an end. He looked… normal. Human.

He looked exactly like he’d imagined people to look, their appearance described in Osiris' stories of mankind.

To say that meeting people was an overwhelming experience would be putting it nicely. While Yugi knew all about the language, could understand the others perfectly, upon the first visit to Jounouchi’s village, he had realized that he should’ve practiced speaking out loud more. The words just wouldn’t leave his throat no matter what and he’d get far too flustered or intimidated to properly approach anyone or answer the multiple questions that the old ladies at the marketplace would bombard him with, determinedly trying to sell him various vegetables, most of which Yugi had never seen or even heard of before.

At the end of the day, completely emotionally drained, Yugi sat down in the shade of a towering oak tree and silently observed some kids playing with a ball, mesmerized by the seemingly telepathic teamwork and their interactions rather than taking interest in the unfolding game. Osiris’ encouraging words echoed somewhere in the back of his head – find friends, little one.

But Yugi found out that he was simply too shy, too self-conscious of his background and peculiar lifestyle. He was different from the rest – raised in the mountains by a horde of ferocious, dangerous creatures. There was no way he could hold a decent and smooth-flowing conversation with the rest and Yugi found out that he was an impressively bad liar, nor did he really think of a possible backstory for himself beforehand. Subconsciously, he was expecting a failure in communication right from the get-go.

As Yugi considered returning home to his cold cave, feeling more than a little under the weather due to his plaguing, heavy thoughts, Jounouchi had approached him and the rest was history.

Jounouchi liked him enough, a mute-ish shy kid from lands unknown, and he slowly dragged Yugi out of his socially-stunted shell, introducing him to more people in the process – Anzu, the baker’s daughter, and Honda, a helper at the local inn. They didn’t mind Yugi’s lack of responses and included him in their games, brought him snacks to share in the shade of the tall pines of the grove. Yugi would go back home, flushed with happiness, and when no one was around to hear him, he’d practice speaking, and brush up on his writing skills. It didn’t take too long for him to learn it all – he was a smart kid, a talented one. Osiris would constantly praise him, embarrassing the little one in the process.

Two years later, when they were fourteen and Jou had become his best friend, Yugi decided to tell the blond boy the truth – he didn’t actually have an ever-absent father, nor did he live in a village on the other side of the grove. Rather, his father was a great, dog-sized, intelligent dragon who raised him in the forbidden area, the dragon-infested territory. Also, while his cave wasn’t perfect, it served him well.

Jou heard him out, wistfully nodding his head, and told Yugi that he knew about it all along – that one time, he wanted to make sure that Yugi got back home safely and followed him into the grove. He saw him take a different path, though, one that wasn’t crossed for many years now.

Afterwards, Jou would walk him back, each time wandering further and further into the mountain area, showing no fear of the dragons glaring at him from their steep cliffs and jagged rocks. One of the dragons, a beautiful beast with scales darker than the inkiest night and a pair of brilliant scarlet eyes, tried to scare the unwanted guest away, puffing out its chest and swinging its sharp tail, but Jounouchi only gasped in overwhelming awe and called the carmine fire-breathing monster “magnificent”.

Red Eyes snapped its jaws shut and sat before the blond, tilting its head to the side, as though confused. Jounouchi asked Yugi if he could touch it. Those innocent words earned the human a sharp smack across the back of the knees, and the dragon quickly looked away, as if to say “wasn’t me”. Jounouchi only huffed out an incredulous laugh and hugged the offender’s tail in a challenge, wrestling its tail spikes.

Right then, Yugi decided to let Jounouchi come over more often, certain that nothing bad would ever happen to his best friend. After all, he’d managed to playfight their fiercest dragon into submission, earning everyone’s favor and respect.

Jounouchi was a carpenter in training, a very good one at that, and it was more than easy for him to get access to all kinds of materials, so he took it upon himself to furnish Yugi’s humble abode after the shorter boy had shown him around, the back of his lean neck aflame from embarrassment. It wasn’t bad but it certainly wasn’t something befitting a teenage boy, or any human for that matter, so Jounouchi tried his best to fix it, eager to provide Yugi with a normal life – as decent as it could get with a lizard parent no bigger than Honda’s beloved hound. A very fierce one at that, Jounouchi had concluded, when he cooed at the ruby creature and nearly got his hand ripped off when he attempted to pet it. The key in smooth communication is respect, Yugi told him, offering the guest some bandages.

Even now, though, Jounouchi still thought of Slifer as somewhat of an asshole.

“Anzu and Honda didn’t freak out when I told them the truth as well. Honda could hardly believe it at first, but my explanation sort of filled in all of the missing gaps involving my background. Besides, Jou was very passionate when it came to defending me, so… Well, I only have my friends to thank for this cave, for the clothes that I wear and the scholar scrolls that I own, along with other various necessities, such as food. Since Honda and Anzu can hardly pass through these parts, they usually send bundles either through Jounouchi or Osiris. And that’s pretty much it. Now you know my life story,” Yugi says sheepishly and scratches the back of his head. Halfway through, he’d put his gloves back on.

Atem looks at his distorted reflection in the untouched cup. It stares back, depicting a tired man with smudges of dirt on his dark face and lines of exhaustion lining his ruby eyes. The image has none of the kingly glory that Atem is used, reflected on the still surfaces of marble pools and golden fragments of the royal palace. Swaddled in expensive fabrics, covered in jewels.

His eyes look strangely soft and round without the golden paint and coal outlining them.

The fire nearly sizzles out, so Yugi probes at the embers, spreading them out across the pit.

“Your scar,” Atem speaks up, voice quiet, but the dragon lord hears him just fine. He halts his movements and waits for the King to elaborate. “How’d you get it?”

Yugi seems to be thinking it over. It was something that happened a very, very long time ago, and the shock, trauma, and the blinding pain that came afterwards were far too much to deal with at the time. He still remembers. “An unfortunate accident.” He pokes at the firepit some more. The metal rod slowly heats up, gradually reaching the gloved palm. “I was young and stupid. Osiris was away on one of his trips and I decided to approach the more shy dragons. Needless to say, it didn’t work. I scared one and it split my face open with a claw.” Yugi recalls getting backed into a boulder, breathing heavily and trying to soothe the freaked-out creature, but it simply wouldn’t listen, thinking of him as an enemy. That was the first time ever that he was scared for the safety of his life. He absentmindedly touches the scar. Atem’s even gaze follows the movement. “Osiris showed up before it struck the final blow. I haven’t seen it since.“ If he closes his eyes, Yugi can visualize the blinding lightning, and hear the thunderclap followed by a deafening roar. He remembers seeing the shadow of some enormous, grand beast lunging itself at the poor dragon. He doesn’t recall what happened afterwards.

“I have… never seen the god in his true form,” he tells Atem. He isn’t sure that he even wants to – the shadow alone was more than enough to make Yugi weak in the knees, and not at all due to blood loss. “That much I can promise you. Osiris will not fully show itself to anyone but the chosen hero, and I am no exception. He’s been evaluating your worthiness since day one. Your kindness, your reaction to these surroundings. He only wanted to make sure that you were not a rotten king and that you truly deserved the help of the Three Graces. He was the one who told me to take your Magician’s orb away so that you wouldn’t attempt to flee or hurt us before the end of the trial.” The dragon lord shifts in his place, cheeks turning a little pink. Atem notices, even in this lighting. “I saw you there, helpless and resigned, with a look on your face unbefitting of a hero, and I immediately knew that it was you. The chosen King, the future hero of Khemet. I rushed to your aid without fully comprehending that. It’s like–” Yugi meets his eyes. “Something compelled me to. Some force, I don’t know. I’ve been waiting for your arrival for fifteen years, Atem. Grew up with the thought of you, the image of you, someone wonderful and brave. I’d never lie to you to cause you harm. I want to fully support you throughout this impossible quest. So please, don’t ever doubt my words or my personal feelings, okay? They’re true.” Yugi rests a palm on his chest and then reluctantly reaches out to the King.

His hand is warm against the young King's chest. Atem feels those lithe fingers and bites his lower lip, feeling conflicted. A part of him screams at his lack of judgment, begging him to take this story with a grain of salt – Yugi has already lied to him and there was no way to check if everything that he just said was true. But he wants to believe Yugi, the noble dragon lord who’d shown him kindness and truly wanted him to succeed, even more so than the people back home. Yugi supported him, fully and unconditionally.

Atem figures that it’s about time he started learning from the example set by the earnest young man sitting cross-legged before him.

He covers Yugi’s palm with his own, giving it a light squeeze, and nods in reassurance. “Very well. I shall take your words into consideration.” Along with your feelings, the King thinks and his gaze lingers on the straying lock of blond, caressing the bumpy, white scar on Yugi’s cheek, out of place. Briefly, he considers gently brushing it away to join the rest, but places his head in his palms instead, groaning. “My Gods, if I am to take your word for it… just a few days ago that thing was stuck inside my boot. My boot, Yugi. Legends shall be foretold of this event.”

He’s going to have a hard time coming to terms with Slifer’s real identity considering what both of them had gone through. Yugi laughs, and reassures the King that everything will be alright - he just needs to let the insulted god brood in peace. He’ll get over it soon enough, for he is forgiving.