Antumbra
Bakura tightly crossed his arms against his chest and awaited the arrival of the KaibaCorp CEO. Now that the memories of his former life had returned, he had almost everything in place for the ultimate dark game. All he needed before returning home to his ancient land was the power to defy the Egyptian gods—a power, which one creature singularly possessed and which lies dormant in his opponent's deck.
He gritted his teeth against the cool night air brushing across his face. It was long ago, 3000 long years ago, but it played fresh in his mind as if every little detail was occurring for the first time before his eyes.
-o-
"Kisara, I'm back," a little boy of six years said, crouching under the ragged curtain he had wrung over the entrance of the abandoned cubby, a makeshift shelter in the hole of a wall of someone's abandoned home.
A girl of five rubbed her eyes sleepily and murmured a soft yawn, slowly pushing herself off the straw mat and sitting back on her knees. She was an unusual one in these parts with her hair of silver moonlight and pale skin white as clouds on a clear day. He still couldn't believe such a person existed. "Hi," she said, a wide and pleasant smile spreading across her face.
"Look, I brought you bread and a fig," he said excitedly, releasing his hold on the cloth sac and allowing the contents to show themselves. She gasped and picked up the loaf, then glanced at him in wonder of how they came to be in his possession. He beamed. He was pleased of his good work swiping from the bread and fruit merchants in the marketplace; his skills had improved remarkably to where he could easily walk in and through the stalls without so much as a suspecting nod.
"Here," she said, tearing it in two and giving him the larger half. "We'll share it." He accepted the portion and ravenously tore into it.
The two children ate happily beside each other, talking of the games they would play when Bakura returned in the afternoon. He had a ball that his older brother had made and he was going to bring it back with him to show her. She hadn't had much experience playing with other children, he had learned.
-o-
He had been chasing his dog through the late afternoon streets when he found her collapsed outside in the alley. There was no taking her home to his family, as her looks were undoubtedly signs of bad luck. Even with gray hair at his early age, he knew that his dark skin still counted him normal among the other villagers. However, with her complexion in such stark contrast to their own, it was less likely she'd receive the same welcome.
Remembering how he had seen the carpenter move heavy furniture by sliding a cloth pad beneath it, he looked nearby for a similar agent. All he could find were some freshly chopped palm leaves lying in a heap. With some difficulty, he pulled her by the arms onto the largest from the pile and tugged the branch and his load toward a vacant cavity in the side of a wall. It was lucky that there were no rodents or serpents already occupying the space, so he'd be able to keep her in there and away from the public eye.
"Where are you from?" he asked, when she awoke inside the hiding place. "I don't know," she whispered faintly. She and her mother had wandered from place to place, never staying long in a village because of the hostile attention that her appearance drew. "Then where is your mother?" he asked, wondering if the woman was coming back for her.
"Mother's gone," she said, matter-of-factly, her light blue eyes falling to the mat that she was laying on. He didn't ask what had happened, as the answer was plainly evident by the trembling on her lips.
-o-
She looked livelier today after receiving a good night's rest and some nourishment. "You keep the fig," he said, rolling it across the cloth. It tapped her knee gently and her white fingers curled around the fruit. "Thank you," she said, holding it against her abdomen.
He scrambled to his feet as the sunlight crept into the alley. He had to go home and help his mother with the chores. "When will you come back?" she asked, peering up at him with her round sky eyes . "Before sundown," he answered eagerly, lifting the curtain up. "I'll try to finish early so we can have more time to play. Bye, Kisa." She nodded and smiled, satisfied with his commitment. "Good bye, Bakura!" she called after him.
Little did they know that they would not meet again that afternoon, not for another fifteen years.
He was bringing wood home with a neighbor boy, when the Pharaoh's troops stormed in and began rounding up the villagers. They shoved their spears, violently goading the people towards the village square and the massive melting pot that would be their end.
The boys dropped their stacks of wood and each ran their separate ways. He never forgot the image of the blood spilling copiously onto the sandy ground, nor the sounds of the horrific and agonizing screams of the victims that fell around his path.
He'd never made it home, as the fire had already engulfed the most of it, and there was nothing but deafening silence all around that block. His parents, his older brother… They weren't there. They weren't anywhere.
The sun was already sinking in the horizon, bathing the burning village with its blood-red glow.
Kisara, he suddenly remembered. He'd been running and evading the soldiers for hours that he forgot she was waiting for him. What if they got her, too?
He dashed toward the alley, sneaking into the shadows every bit of the way. No, he thought furiously, biting his lip and fighting back tears. No, not her, too.
There was the alley a few blocks from the square.
He slipped behind the houses and ran at increments until he approached the familiar hole in the wall. Ahead of him, the glow of the fire down the street reflected against the tops of the nearby houses. The shadows were passing, the shrieks were deafening, yet he heard none of it. The curtain was torn.
"No," he said, crawling frantically into the empty crevice. "No." He turned around blindly. "Kisara!" he cried. "Kisara!"
He shoved the back of his hands against his eyes and brushed the cascading tears from his face.
"Hurry…Hurry!" he heard the hushed commands say.
He carefully peeked from behind a crevice. An older girl was tugging along a boy, barely older than himself, down the alley.
"Gotcha!" a soldier yelled, snatching them by the arms.
Bakura shrunk against the inner wall and covered his ears until it passed and the struggle was over.
Quaking with fear, he covered his mouth with one hand and surveyed outside to gauge that the coast was clear. The screaming had lessened but its persistence was concentrated at the center of the village.
"Any more of them?" boomed the shadow of a soldier. "No," another answered. Their silhouettes retreated shortly and trailed in the direction of the square.
Furtively, Bakura followed them. The darkness had permeated what was left of the village. The smell of char and blood hung heavy in the air. They led him to a clearing where an enormous boiling pot sat above a raging fire. What is this, he thought, pressing himself inconspicuously behind a wall.
"Bring the next one!" a lavishly robed man ordered.
"Master Akhenaden," the owner of the shadow with the booming voice said, "They're all here." The man named Akhenaden nodded solemnly, his eyes scanning the diminished crowd.
Bakura watched with horror as whole persons were cast into the pot. He felt sick to his stomach. Was this…? Mother, he thought, unable to tear his eyes from the ghastly sight. His father, brother…Kisara… Had they met their deaths in this inhumane way…? Had they died without cause, without dignity, as living sacrifices in the name of the Pharaoh?
A/N: I didn't want to include spoilers at the beginning, so I'm explaining my version of Kisara's origin here. Kisara is albino. I know Seto tells her to go back to her country when he saves her, but I am convinced that she is albino bc of the lack of pigment in her hair (white rather than platinum blonde or any other form of blonde). He could be assuming she's foreign, for all we know, since that's the only scene we get surrounding her origins. In my opinion, it makes for a more interesting twist that she is shunned as an Egyptian rather than as a foreigner, since Egyptians have traded and interacted with foreigners before. The psychology is stronger in the situation if she is "bad luck" for being born a native but being so outwardly different (unusual) from the rest. Hence, she and her mother didn't have a permanent home and were frequently ousted—mother for sheltering her, Kisa for her looks.
I hope you all enjoyed reading…though it's a rather somber tale. Hm…