Pairing: implied Seto/Seth
Rating: PG-13 for now. The rating may or may not change.
Disclaimer: Yu-gi-oh and its characters are properties of Kazuki Takahashi.
A/N: messes up with the format and punctuations. I don't know how to fix it.

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Sand was everywhere, in his eyes, mouth, hair, and clothing, clinging on him like a second skin. The uneven ground shifted ceaselessly under his boots, yielding easily under the weight like soft mud. Sand dunes almost a thousand feet tall loomed up from one side, still and emotionless, threatening to slide and burry any unfortunate victim underneath, the monotonous landscape spreading for miles without any sign of life. Behind him, his footsteps left an endless trail on the sand and lost into the horizon. The sun was an immense round disk that bruised everything in angry red with its blazing light. Even with his trench coat covering his head, he was still dizzy from the heat, his tongue and lips blistered, his face burnt, his skin seeming peeled away to stick into the black turtleneck. He was being dehydrated very quickly but there was no water. Every step he took was a strenuous activity with grains of sand clawing up to his calves as if to drag him into the desert's bosom.

He couldn't remember how long he had been walking. It might have been days or weeks for all he could recall. The only means that assisted him to distinct between days and time was his body's reactions to the rapid changes of the weather. During daytime, it was unbearably and painfully hot but at night, when the stark white moon hung above, it turned dreadfully cold, almost enough to freeze his bones and pulverize rocks. He had spent the unforgiving nights sheltering in hollow regions of sand dunes with his trench coat high up his face and often woke up half-buried under the sand by the time the renewed vigorous sunlight shone down from above.

If he thought hard enough, he could recall the time of himself in the confinement of his bewd jet whose once familiar comfort now seemed forgotten. There was none of that left but the memory of a savage sandstorm that had raged so suddenly and fiercely, and the electrical sparks from torn wires as the cracking sound of metals came. He had been panic and angry at the rapid emergency flashes and artificial voice suggesting a parachute jump but his instinct made him set out with his survival pack barely in time before the jet propelled into a whirlwind where it was ripped apart and its remnants started to burn like fireworks.

It was sheer luck that he had not sustained any serious injury as the result of the haste drop from such height but his luck seemed short-lived. First, his food had been lost a long time ago somewhere along his journey, and second, the little water he had was running out. Even if his resistance and will to live were high, several more miles of walking without shelter or water would be the end of him. At the moment, his every thought focused on the barren sand and heat that were quickly overtaking him. There was no hope left but his legs kept walking forward as if he was a drown man who struggled even as his body was sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

Pulling the bottle of water out with a shaky hand, he rubbed his other hand briefly on his shirt and then his mouth on his palm to get rid off the sand before tilting his head. The precious few droplets dripped on his tongue and that was it. They were the very last drops, enough to moisturize his dry throat, let alone to quench the raving thirst. He let out a dejected sigh, wetting his patched lips with his equally swollen tongue. The empty bottle was dropped and forgotten. Whether he could still walk or when he would collapse no longer mattered when all hopes were lost. The sand continued to rise and fall, the air getting even hotter by minutes if possible.

One step, two steps, three steps. He concentrated on setting his feet straight, following his instinct for a general direction because everywhere, the scenery was the same, and if he was walking in a circle, then let death claim him. He couldn't think much but he dreamt. In his dream, he was in a lake full of fresh water that rippled rhythmically around his body. Opening his mouth, he took in a mouthful of the cool stream but instead of the delightful liquid, the water had turned to sand.

He had fallen again, now a tumble of sand and arms. It was hard to distinct which part was his and which part was sand. Reaching his hands to grab any handhold, the sand slipping through his fingers effortlessly. The failure of the task resulted in him sliding and soon rolling down, the world quickly transforming into a series of yellow dots that swirled in grainy asymmetrical circles. As the fall slowed to a stop, the sand was hot and rough against his face and there was some of them in his nostrils and mouth. He lay still for a moment before moving to swipe the sand off with difficulty -- a useless act for more of it seemed to get on him, almost alive as if it started to become a part of him. Either that or he was turning in sand himself. Struggling to defy gravity, he stood up but his legs gave out. He stumbled again, this time with strength completely drained away from him.

He no longer desired to move, too sleepy and exhausted that sprawling on the abrasive sand that scratched his skin raw seemed cozy enough. He could see an oasis in front of him, very similar as the ones in his many previous illusions. He knew it would dissolve away the moment he attempted to reach it and yet he could not resist from his yearning and hope in the vision. With one arm thrown towards to dig into the sand, he dragged his body forward and started crawling without realizing it. It felt like forever until new illusion caught up on him again more vividly. There was him curling up with a book in his favorite chair, blissfully happy and content as Mokuba hung around, his voice small and cheerful, a gentle breeze cooling down the heat and lulling him into a deep slumber.

He shook his head and the illusion changed -- stranger this time because it accompanied sounds. He saw himself walking, feet light on the sand with a flutter of long white robe. The image was getting blurry but still too bright as though the burning sun was playing some sort of trick on him again. An undistinguishable void was directing at him but it might just be the sound of another sandstorm that would soon sweep him into its arms or burry him under its wake.

He was extremely sleepy. Perhaps, if he could sleep a little... just a little... he would be able to preserve enough strength to cross the desert --