It felt as if he was floating, passing through ethereal space into oblivion. Seto didn't dare open his eyes, unsure of what he'd see if he opened them. Atem had no description of the space he would be traveling through and no explanation as to what he would experience once he was there. The smaller man's lack of knowledge regarding Seto's journey home didn't settle well, but now that he was in it, he found it oddly comforting. There was a strange absence of feeling, as if all his senses had been muted to an immeasurable degree. All there was was the distinct, alien rumbling of his own blood, as if he had placed his palms over his ears in a desperate attempt to hear something, anything from his own realm.

It was the most calming, yet indescribably terrifying feeling he'd ever experienced. There was no need to think, nothing to analyze. Here, he could just be.

Was this really what it felt like to cross over, cross between, whatever it was Atem had called it? There hadn't been time to think about the process before, he had just… arrived; landing in Atem's memory world with a force and quickness only he could achieve. He hadn't considered the return trip, only the destination.

A sound came to meet him in the darkness. The familiar honking of car horns, rumbling of engines, and hum of a nearby ventilation system seemed to swell until it was all around him. It was as if the world was coming to meet him. With relief Seto opened his eyes, finding himself sitting at his desk in his office high atop Kaiba Corporation. His hands were poised over the keyboard in front of him, as if he had just been working. Confused, Seto pulled his hands away, watching as row after row of nonsense text skittered past on the computer screen.

What had happened? How did he get there? Had the void between worlds been a dream? If so, why couldn't he remember what he was just doing?

"Seto!"

He looked up to find Mokuba standing in front of the open entrance to his office. To his shock, the boy was younger, appearing to be the same age he had been when they lived at the orphanage. Behind him, the doorway was filled with blinding white light. Young Mokuba reached out to him, palm up, as if asking to hold his hand.

"Come on, Seto!" The boy smiled. "Let's go build sandcastles!"

Seto moved to get up, muted by the strange, yet ethereal sight of the smaller version of his brother. As he stood, his arms jerked downward, suddenly heavier than he could move. He looked to find his wrists shackled, a thick chain bolting his arms to the floor just below his desk.

"What's wrong, Seto?" Mokuba had grown older, now the same teen he'd left behind. "Why don't you ever play with me anymore? Why don't you ever talk to me anymore?"

Seto tugged and pulled at his chains, desperately trying to get away from his desk. He opened his mouth to speak, but found it sealed shut.

The boys eyes filled with tears. "Do you even still care about me?"

He watched, horrified, as Mokuba began to fade into the white light. He continued to struggle, feeling his flesh tear against the shackles and blood seep from his wrists, down his fingers. Mokuba faded away, turning his back on Seto as the office door slammed shut, taking with it the radiant light.

Seto was once again in darkness. There was a metallic snap as the chain finally gave way, it and the shackles dissolving to dust at his feet as he fell backwards. He was suddenly looking up at a dark sky dotted with stars, the full moon illuminating the world around him. Sitting up, he found himself in an endless sea of sand. The grains stung his wounds. He clutched them to his chest, hissing in pain.

"What the hell?" He groaned.

Someone stepped into his view. He looked up, following bare feet and legs to a find a woman dressed in rags looking down at him. Her white hair hung down past her waist, pooling around her as she moved to kneel before him.

"You are hurt." She said. "Please, let me help you."

Seto shook his head. "You're not real. None of this is real."

"Please," Her hands opened to him. "Let me help you."

"No!" He stated firmly. "You're not real! This is a trick, a dream!"

She looked at him sadly, pulling her hands away to clasp them in front of her chest. She appeared to draw away even though her body never moved, receding as the sand and speckled sky grew dark around them. She watched him from across the void, sadness withdrawing to leave a blank, unfeeling stare that chilled him from the inside. Her image began to waver, warp, bend, until cracks started to spider across her form as if it was glass. She shattered and Seto covered his ears against the sound that snapped through the silence like a whip. Shards of razor sharp glass glinted at him in the distance, holding still for just a moment before racing toward him. He ducked his head, covering his face against the shards, but they passed right through him.

There was a scream from high above him, deep and unnervingly familiar. It grew in volume until it suddenly stopped, punctuated by a hard, heavy crunch just feet from where he sat. Seto didn't dare look. He knew what he would see if he opened his eyes.

"Shame, isn't it." He knew that voice, that calm uninterested drawl.

Seto looked up... at himself. More so, a younger version of himself. At the younger Seto's feet was the corpse of Gozaburo Kaiba; his body mangled as if from a great fall, blood seeping from his crushed skull, and his eyes staring lifeless at Seto. The display made him feel ill.

"Out with the old, in with the new," the younger Seto said, grinning maliciously. "Right?"

"Shut up!" Seto pulled himself to his feet, fighting against the burning pain running up his arms. "I never said that!"

The younger Seto cocked his head, amused. With a chuckle, he pointed down at the body.

"Out with the old," The boy hissed. "In with the new."

Seto's eyes flickered down for an instant. His breath froze in his throat and he looked down again. Gozaburo's corpse was no longer there, replaced by a mirror image of himself, mangled and bleeding. He grit his teeth and looked back at the boy... only to stumble back. Mokuba stood there, wearing an expression of contempt he had never seen on the boy's face before.

"Mokuba..."

His little brother grinned. "I had a good teacher, didn't I, Seto?"

"No!" He called out, but the scene was already fading away.

Once again in the black, Seto fell to his knees. He stared down at his bloody hands and his mangled wrists. What was the point of this torture? Why was he being forced to go through this when all he wanted was to go home, back to his brother and his company?

"Stop screwing with me!" He screamed at what must have been the floor. "If you have a point to make, than make it!"

The sound of a voice made him look up. It was far away, too far to make out what it was saying. Two doors appeared from the darkness, standing against the black with no frame to hold them upright. The one on the right was made of solid wood, varnished to a shine, with a gold nameplate bolted to it. Etched into the plate was the name: "Kaiba." The door on the left was simpler, made of compressed wood, painted a powder blue color with crayon markings scribbled over its surface, and a printed construction paper sign taped to it. The name on the sign had been scribbled over with black marker, distorting and completely masking the name that lay underneath. Seto stood, staring at the two doors.

"You're making me choose?" He hissed through gritted teeth. "Fine!"

Seto immediately made his way to the right hand door. As he reached for the handle, his wrists stung suddenly, making him cry out in pain. The shackles had reappeared, sending fresh torrents of blood down his hands and fingers. Horrified, he backed away from the door, searching desperately for a latch, trying to remove the bindings. He found none.

"Damn!"

From behind the other door, the voice grew closer. It was faint, female, and it was calling for him.

"Seto!"

He stopped, looking up at the left hand door. The voice was familiar, but only slightly, as if he'd met its owner long ago and forgotten them.

"Seto!" She continued to call. "Seto, please, come home!"

He hesitated, looking back at the familiar door. He was comfortable with it, he wanted to go through it, but the longer he stared at it the more his wrists ached and burned. All the while the voice remained constant, urging him through the other door. Gritting his teeth once again, Seto turned from the right hand door to stand before the other one. There was an odd sense of déjà vu that nagged at the back of his mind as he gripped the cheap, loose handle and turned it. It opened instantly, swinging inward, taking with it Seto's bloody handprint on the handle as it disappeared into the void. A bright light grew from the blackness on the other side, filling what would have been the door's frame. With a deep breath, Seto stepped through, hearing the shackles click as they fell away.

He appeared in a tree house. It was small, not even four square feet in size, with a simple pulley system hanging off one side. In the basket hanging from the end of the rope were boxes of juice and bags of junk food. Scattered at his feet were shoeboxes full of Duel Monster's cards. Seto knelt to look into one and was surprised to find that he was a child again, no older than nine years old.

The voice called out again, much closer this time. "Seto!"

Seto got up and hurried down the ladder, leaving tiny, bloody handprints on the rails as he went. He had to know who owned that voice. He had to find out why it was so familiar.

"There you are!"

Landing on the ground, Seto turned from the ladder and found himself looking up at the image of his mother. He'd forgotten how beautiful she had been. Her hair was so long and so black, like an ocean of night cascading down her back. Her eyes, they were so shockingly blue and always so kind, so comforting. He stared at her, desperately wanting to write the image into his memory, never wanting to forget it again.

"Oh! Honey, what happened?" She rushed to kneel in front of him, reaching out to gently take his bloody wrists in her hands.

Seto tried to hold back a shiver at her touch, shaking his head as he fought back the tears that were suddenly threatening to fall from his eyes. "I'm okay. This is nothing."

She smiled, reaching up with one hand to cup his cheek. "Always so tough, aren't you? So much like you father."

His father... What did his father look like again? He couldn't remember.

Seto couldn't stop them. Tears ran down his cheeks as he sobbed, overcome by a sudden and overwhelming guilt that tore through him. His mother reached out and enveloped him in her arms, holding him in an embrace that was warm and far more comforting that he deserved.

"I'm sorry!" He gasped. "I'm sorry!"

He felt her smiled against his hair. "Sorry for what, sweetie?"

"I forgot! I forgot everything!" Seto cried into his mother's blouse. "I forgot you. I can't remember father. I was so focused on making things better for Mokuba I... that I..."
"Shhh," She rubbed his back. "It's okay. Seto, I am so proud of you."

She pushed him back enough to look into his red, watery eyes. "We are so proud of you."

"How can you be proud of me!?" Seto was yelling, voice broken and hoarse. "After what I've done? I killed our step father. I... oh, God... I abandoned Mokuba!"

His mother shook her head, cupping his face in both her hands. "No, you've done very well."

"How?!"

"Because, no matter what, you made sure that you two were never separated." Her voice was firm. "You did your best to provide for Mokuba what we no longer could. You two stayed family, even when everything else tried to pull you apart."

"But..."

"No buts," She interrupted. "You are my son. You grew in my belly. I watched you grow until my time came. I saw the lengths you were willing to go to, to keep your promise to your brother. For that, I will always, always be proud of you."

Seto's tears started anew. She embraced him again, pulling him close until he had almost settled in her lap.

When his sobs subsided again, he asked, "Are you really my mother?"

She chuckled and rubbed his back. "That's a silly thing to ask. Why don't you tell me?"

Seto watched the ripples of her hair dance. "I know what I want to believe, but that doesn't make it real."

"Perhaps not, but then you never were a very imaginative child." She laughed. "Always too busy studying and playing chess on your father's computer."

He smiled. "You do sound like my mother, at least."

She sighed. "Close your eyes, Seto. It's time for you to go home."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Now, now. Mokuba's waiting for you. It's best we not keep you from him any longer."

Seto nodded, closing his eyes as he breathed in the scent of his mother's perfume. "I won't forget you again, I promise."

She chuckled lightly. "I know, sweetie. You always keep your promises."

Seto's mother began to sing. It was a soft, familiar tune that lulled his mind into a comfortable sleep.

When he opened his eyes again he found himself laying on a hard, stone floor, looking up at the ceiling of a cavern. Little stones and grains of sand dug into his flesh, but he continued to lay there, feeling the ground beneath his hands and letting the pebbles play between his fingers, waiting for something around him to change. When nothing did, he breathed deep the musty air, coughing as sand and dust caught in his throat, forcing him to sit as he cleared his lungs.

He knew this chamber. This was his excavation, or at least what was left of his obsessive search for the Millennium Puzzle. The entrance had been opened to about the same size at it had once been, though now it was raised about a foot off its old platform. He lay on the opposite platform, among forgotten trowels and brushes. The sarcophagus lay nearby, as if undisturbed by all efforts to reveal it, the items imbedded in it glinting in the light shining in from the entrance. The puzzle had been replaced at some point. It sat in its notch as if it had never been moved, its golden eye staring unblinkingly at the ceiling of the cavern. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, straightening the strands as he moved to get up.

A scent reached his nose. He stopped to seek it, finding the smell of perfume clinging to his clothing. His mother's perfume hung onto him, as if she was still there. He sat back down, staring down at his tingling wrists. He could still feel the ghost of gentle fingers across his skin, soothing wounds that were no longer there.

That was her. That really had been her.

Seto saw the tears land before his eyes, soaking his pants and the wrists of his jacket before he'd even realized he was crying. He reached up and felt his face, feeling the hot tears trickle over his fingers and tasting them on his lips. Grief overcame him and, for the very first time, he didn't want to fight it. He sat in the Pharaoh's tomb grieving the loss of his parents for the first time, allowing himself the pain he should have felt years ago, the pain he pushed away and forced himself to forget. Memories flooded back to him, spurring on his tears. Memories of simpler times, of happier times; before orphanages and step fathers and multi-billion dollar companies.

Slowly, Seto came back to himself. He felt different, calmer, or at least more at peace. When his face was dry, he stood and looked down at the sarcophagus. What was he to say? Even he was to say something, would Atem even hear it?

Probably not.

With a sharp click of his heel Seto turn from the sarcophagus and made his way to the other end of the cavern. He peered through the entrance, where the outside light shined back at him like a beacon. He stepped into it, placing a hand against the solid stone wall as his boots sought purchase on the uneven ground.

But something made him look back, glancing into the cavern where his shadow projected onto the far wall. The presence was familiar, strong and undeniably powerful. It seemed to be reaching toward him from the far side of the chamber, as if it wanted him to know it was watching him leave.

A corner of his lips twisted upward ever so slightly. "What do you want me to say?"

He shook his head, feeling ridiculous for expecting an answer.

"Goodbye, I suppose... and thank you," He said as he turned back towards the light. "...My friend."