Yu-Gi-Oh is the property of Konami and Kazuki Takahashi, and this work is only a very appreciative celebration, from which we hope to derive no profit of any kind.

"We have to do something, Rishid."

"I know, sister." The tall tomb keeper's calm appearance belied his inner turmoil. Tense, his fingers clenched, he was still feeling the effects of his latest fight with his younger brother, who'd been rebellious, and upset ever since they'd returned from Domino City, a month earlier. This was only the latest time that Malik had riled up the household, screaming about how suffocated he felt here, how bad memories and the constant burden of the Tomb Keepers Tribe were killing him. Rishid, knowing their underground home is the wrong place for his brother, couldn't really argue. But where else had there been to go? Where else was there for the Ishtars, who'd been tomb-keepers for so many generations, that they no longer even had any connections they could appeal to in the outside world?

"We all need to leave here," he said, his voice modest yet firm. "This isn't a good environment."

"It's going to take time to find a new home," Isis replied, her own voice tight. "It's going to take time to get back on our feet. I'm not sure how… "

"I know you can do it." As always, Rishid had utter faith in his sister. He didn't care, and he knew Isis and Malik didn't care either, that they weren't actually related; the Ishtars have never treated him any different less for being adopted. "But in the meantime, every day, every hour, every moment, that Malik stays here, is killing him."

"I know." Isis looked into the direction of where Malik had gone, knowing she'd never be able to find him, if he wanted to hide in the labyrinth of underground corridors and passages that made up their home. "I wish I knew what I could do about it. We can't send Malik away to just anywhere. He'll think we're rejecting him."

"Malik needs something new to challenge him." Rishid sounded like he was thinking as he talked. He sounded troubled, a little uncomfortable. Maybe he was thinking about the peaceful life he and Isis could share if it was just the two of them living together. That wasn't rejectingMalik, was it? Was it his fault if what was best for him, would also make life better for Rishid and Isis? His voice gets stronger, as he starts to feel more justified in what he's saying. "Is there someplace he could go," he said, his voice sounding stronger, sounding like he was beginning to feel more justified, "that would be far away, and totally different from here? Someplace where he'll learn to do different things, be a different person..."

Isis looked at him, and his voice faltered. "I mean he needs to feel like a different person," he said. "All he's ever been able to do here is help us guard the past. Don't you know someone who could give him a job?" he asked. "Maybe someone associated with the Museum?"

"You want Malik to have a job?" As tense as she was, Isis lashed out. Then she caught herself at once. Catching Rishid's hand, "I'm sorry, brother," she said, her voice tired. "But we have to be realistic. Malik has no skills. How would he have gotten them, brother? When did father ever give any of us the chance to learn anything normal?"

"He knows Japanese," Rishid objected. "He knows the basic outline of the world. Sister…"

"He taught himself Japanese with the goal to participate in Battle City. He knows some of the world because of you. Look at him, Rishid, just look at him. I know how much you love him, I love him too; he's our brother. But he's so far behind other students his age, there's no way I can enroll him in any school." They both fell silent, still sitting together. After a while Isis let go of Rishid's hand, her elegant fingers going up to touch her neck, as if to feel if the Tauk was still there. It wasn't, of course. "And now you want to send him away… faraway?"

"Sister, please," Rishid spoke again. "I want what's best for him, you know that. He's my brother too. But if we have to be realistic. We aren't doing him any favors by keeping him here. He's been caged for so long. I want him to meet the world, fly towards new opportunities, new changes, new discoveries. He deserves so much more than to stay down here with the dark and the silence."

Isis sighed. "What can I do?" she said. "There's no position available at the Museum right now, except as a tour guide. Do you really think Malik..."

"You have to give him a chance," Rishid interrupted, then cast his eyes down at once, adding, "I'm sorry. Please finish your sentence."

"I doubt Malik will feel happy as a tour guide. He needs someone to learn from, someone who knows how the world works, how business works. I can't teach him that. He needs a mentor," Isis said. "He really needs someone to show him."


Fingers wrapped around her mug of tea, Isis stared at the phone in front of her. She'd come into work early today, wanting to make this call from the Cairo National Museum where she could have privacy. Isis shivered. She'd thought long, after that last fight with Malik, searched her mind for some way that she could give him the chance he needed. Then she'd remembered: She had the phone number of Pegasus J. Crawford; he'd left it with her when he gave the God Cards into her possession. Could that be the solution to her problems? Pegasus, in the far away United States, could help Malik. He was a businessman, a man of the world, and he owed the Ishtars far more than he probably even knew. Malik would be in a safe, controlled environment with him; he could learn business skills, and how to life as a normal person. The idea had problems, she knew. Pegasus hadn't seemed like the most stable of people when she'd known him. But she didn't have much choice, now did she?

Sighing, Isis picked up the phone.


7:30 A.M. found Pegasus J. Crawford at his desk, in his office on the top floor of Industrial Illusions Headquarters, the one with the wall of windows and the view of the California coast (kind of wasted, he always thought, since he spent all the time he was in there, working). A cup of coffee at his elbow, a stack of Duel Monsters prototypes in front of him, he was making extraordinarily good use of the time before a meeting, for someone whose reputation was more for being a self-centered playboy than for working.

From the outside, his past experiences didn't seem to have marked him any. His hair in place as always, his clothes perfect and tidy, he sat there calm-faced, just turning pages, just looking over one sketch after another and making notes as needed with his red pencil. He looked the perfect businessman, role-perfect in his position as head of an international gaming company, and a stranger might have been surprised to find out that a year ago he'd been an active duelist himself, in competition for the title King of Games. They'd have been all the more surprised if they'd known that had been in his own tournament, held on his private island, Duelist Kingdom. And if they'd found out how he'd lost to a 17-year old? And about the second defeat he'd suffered that night, the one that had almost ended in his death? Let's just leave it at this: From the outside, Pegasus J. Crawford looked like any other executive at the height of his game.

He was about to go into a meeting. Industrial Illusions had a programming department, but it wasn't the company's specialty. It didn't have to be, not with Duel Monsters so big, coming off two successful tournaments in a row. Companies were lining up to design games for them, and all he had to do was find the one that could do the best job. That was all that was on his mind, just the upcoming meeting, the questions he was going to want good answers for, before he chose to go with any one company. The last thing on his mind was Egypt, even though he'd made, not one, but several visits there – Even though those visits, and the things that had happened there, had really been the genesis for the game which was making him so fabulously rich and successful now. And, when he heard the phone ring through to his office, all he thought was that perhaps the representatives from LJN weren't going to be able to make it to today's meeting.

"Pegasus J. Crawford," he said, picking up the phone. "Who am I speaking with?"

"Isis Ishtar." That was all she said, just her name, and her confidence that that was all she'd need was justified, by the drawn-out silence that was his only response. She allowed it to draw out for a moment, not to overwhelm him, but to give him the time to gather his wits.

"Isis," Pegasus didn't bother to address her formally either. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Had he composed himself this quickly again? She couldn't read his mind; she had no way to know one way or the other. Well, she could conduct business as well as anyone.

Cutting right to the chase, "I am calling on behalf of my brother. Malik," she told the American. "I don't know if you met him when you were in Egypt. He was still very young at the time." ….And their father had been alive, and forcing him to study the ancient scriptures and 'prepare for his ultimate sacrifice: the carving of the Tomb Keepers' on his back, the holy and sick tradition she so abhorred. "Malik has grown up," she continued, "in circumstances that weren't good for him. I want his life to improve, to be better."

"A fascinating story," Pegasus interrupted, his tone dry and hard to read, "but I'm about to go into a meeting right now. I don't have time to listen to a lot of stories. What do you want from me, Isis?"

"All I want is a place in this world for my younger brother. He deserves it, and I know you can help him."

"You're asking for an internship?" Pegasus glanced at his watch. "The HR department handles that. I'll put in a good word if you like," he said. "What was your brother's name again?"

"No." A firm, solid 'no'. "I am asking for a mentor, a tutor. I need someone who will personally teach Malik how the world works. It has to be you, Pegasus. You are the only one who can do this for him."

"I'm sorry Isis, but you're barking up the wrong tree." Pegasus looked at his watch again; if he were a ruder man, he'd already have transferred the call to someone else, who could let the woman down easy. "I can't help you, businesses just don't work that way. If your brother wants to apply for an internship..."

"Our tribe helped make you the man you are now. The discovery of the Monsters, the mythology, the entire history behind it: Where would you be now if it weren't for us? Would you send us out into the cold now, after a simple request for help?"

"Your tribe took advantage of me way more than I took advantage of them." Was Shaadi a member of whatever tribe Isis and her brother belonged to? Was he even human? The bitterness of what happened in Egypt had stayed with Pegasus, it's just below the surface; and to him, the visits he made to the Pharaoh's tomb were just a second part to the earlier visit he'd made, to the underground chamber where Shaadi gave him the Eye.

"I'm going into a meeting." Pegasus was manufacturing justifications as hard as he could now, trying to get away from Isis' call, without feeling too guilty. But he was so used to feeling guilty now; there was so much, wasn't there, for him to feel guilty for?

"Remember the Gods?" Her voice stopped his, all the excuses, all the insistences that he had to go. "I showed them to you, remember?" she said. "And I hid the Cards, after you realized you couldn't handle them. I never did anything but to help you," she said, "and I never complained when you took what I showed you and used it to make a fortune for yourself. You owe me this, Pegasus."

"I don't owe you anything," he says, but his voice had no conviction left in it. "Your brother has to stand or fall on his own abilities." It was a capitulation, he knew it and she knew it, for all he still did his best to make it on his own terms. "You can send him," he said. "I'll let him stay if he can make himself useful, otherwise he goes home."