The mentions of green tie in with one of the three versions of the Egyptian afterlife, in which souls dwell within Osiris' lush, green paradise. Admittedly, Atemu and Akhenamkhanen's discussion is that of idealism, but that is the point. Ahkenamkhanen's rule was less than ideal, considering the atrocity that had been committed during that period of time. Atemu's rule ended far too early for him to actually preside, therefore his idealism wouldn't even see the light of day (metaphorically speaking).
"Please Pharaoh, no more!" Yami paid no attention to Anzu's desperate words, his next card poised in his hand. Across the train car before him, on his knees, was Haga. The mint-haired boy's head lolled, his eyes rolled back. Orichalcos green shined on his pale, sickly face, the Seal's power the only thing keeping him from being blown off the train by the fierce winds. Drool dribbled down his chin from his parted mouth. Yami took no pity on him. After the psychological torture this little bastard had so sadistically inflicted upon him, he was from finished. Much like the bugs he so adored, he was beneath the very dirt, and to be quite honest, his opponent had no qualms with putting him there.
Yami's hand was seized sharply, causing him to jerk back. Infuriation contorted his face as he swung his head around to glare at his would-be attacker. "Let go!" He snapped, yanking his hand backward.
Anzu held her ground. "You've already won the duel. There's no need to attack him again." Facing away from her, he breathed hard as the realization of what he had been doing dawned on him. It was if all that had transpired in the past had never occurred. Once again, he was the judge, jury, and executioner, doling out retribution that, although deserved, was too vicious. What dirty little things he'd done…
The faces of the thugs, contorted and warped in pain in the blood red and dirty orange of the fire he had set, splashed before his mind's eye. Their crime? Threatening Tomoya Hanasaki. Young Hanasaki was safe; they wouldn't harm him ever again. Still, Yami had been the one to set the blaze. He'd heard their shrieks of agony, he'd smelled their flesh burning…Such a rancid odor, and such a cruel way to die. In retrospect, he wondered just what he had been thinking. If the situation had occurred differently that night, Yugi would either have been jailed, or worse…The screaming, the pain…Yami had laughed at it then. Justice served. Now, however, he would have shaken his head in disgust, yet it had mattered little in comparison to what he had done in the duel with Rafael. At least, at the very least, Yugi hadn't been lost in the fire. As for the duel…Well…
He tugged Anzu close to him, but without dropping the hand that held the card. She could have fallen during her sprint over to him from the back of the car. The least he could do was keep her safe while they stood. The soft smile of the Black Magician Girl shone at him from the face of the card in his hand. Her blonde hair encircled a precocious young face with calming blue eyes, and her staff was hugged tightly to her. Yami frowned as he lowered his hand. That fragile but powerful being had given him such a lost, confused look when he had sacrificed her, and later a pitying one when Rafael had called her from the graveyard.
Timaeus had retracted his favor. And Yugi…The loneliness without him was overwhelming. For as much as he called into the depths of his mind after him, the boy never answered him. He wasn't there. That little soul room filled with toys had been deconstructed and replaced by cold brick, as if it had never existed. No matter how many times Yami had clawed at the brick and grout, leaving white streaks from destroyed fingernails on the face of the brick, and driving mortar into his nail bed, the door had never reappeared. This was what true failure felt like. Someone had reached into his core, and tore out a piece of him. Yami knew that someone to be none other than himself, and for as many times as he begged time to rewind, and allow him to take the penalty, it hadn't responded. The past version of himself, the vigilante, would have slaughtered him for this, and Yami wouldn't have blamed him.
The female magician continued to smile back at him, her gaze as inviting as a pair of arms outstretched to embrace him. If he summoned her, he probably would be facing the adverse expression. In that regret, he found at least some sense of reprieve. Yugi was lost as of right now, and Timaeus was unapproachable. But her? She would still fight by his side, and that, although minute, meant something. Whether she had forgiven him or not, Yami wasn't sure of, and he doubted he would wish to know until he had rescued Yugi. Black Magician Girl vanished as he carefully placed her card back in his deck, and silently promised to not fail her again.
XXXXXX
Light…It was so soft, so comforting, so warm…Atemu clenched and unclenched his fist in wonder before his face, staring at the open palm before him. Each line stood out on the tanned flesh in a curious pattern. He couldn't help but feel a little foolish as he lowered his hand. This was far from the first time he had examined himself after crossing the threshold into the afterlife. At least he was justified in doing so. This peace…This wholesomeness…It was almost too good to be true to him.
Who could blame him, given all that had transpired in the past? Every time the battle had been won, another was declared, with the casualties stacking higher and higher. True, many of the victims had been rescued, but that wasn't always the case, especially during the Shadow RPG. Atemu sometimes feared it all to be some cruel dream. He would awaken in his soul room once more, with empty notations of what had once been decorating the walls.
He missed Yugi and his other modern friends dearly, that couldn't be disputed. Honda, steadfast and protective, had been the guardian of the group, much like Mahado was to him. Strong and well-built, he had provided a sense of safety, his sense of humor balancing it. Jonouchi was the supportive friend. Battle-hardy and stubborn, he had carried the spirit among them. Sadly enough, if anyone was forced to face the most failure, it was him. He'd gone from an amateur duelist to an experienced fighter, but not without taking a few lumps. Yet, no matter how the odds had been stacked against him, he had not given in. Atemu frowned for a moment, his hand going to his cheek as he recounted the punch Jonouchi had given him. It had been humiliating, but it had woken him up. Moping over the loss of Yugi's soul would have done nothing to bring him back. Anzu's caring nature created the group backbone. She stood with each boy through the lowest parts of their lives, and as a result, had seen rather ugly things. True, her friendship speeches tended to get old, but she meant well, and she did practice what she preached.
Yugi...The absence of his voice in his mind during the Ceremonial Battle had been painful, to say the least. For as much as Atemu had braced himself before the mental split, the blow had been tremendous. What allowed him to withstand it had been the unlocking of his previous memories. Atemu knew that there were others waiting on him. The duel wouldn't have counted if he had allowed himself to collapse. He was a ruler, and he had to carry himself accordingly. True, Yugi had been separated from him after the ill-fated duel with Rafael, but the difference lay in the fact that this was permanent.
Yugi had truly proved himself to be the heart of the group, and in more ways than one. He mirrored the emotions of each of his friends closely. Whenever someone was happy, Yugi smiled with him or her. When that person was sad, he cried. Atemu had worried over the mental strain this put on the student, but in the end, he had come to realize that it had been part of Muto's nature. Of course, that aspect of Yugi had been easy to see, and not always by the correct people. Atemu, for as many times as he had more than willingly played papa wolf to Yugi when that weakness had been exploited, found he could very well empathize. As a pharaoh, he had to cloak his feelings more than he had after being released from the Puzzle. That, in itself, was saying quite much. Looking back, Atemu realized that from Duelist Kingdom onward, he had acted the closest to an actual teenager as he could. He'd made mistakes, and had to learn from them. He'd fallen on multiple occasions when the pain had become too much. Most importantly, Atemu had been allowed to feel (and display) confusion and frustration without suffering harsh judgment. True, being placed on the high pedestal of King of Games (and sharing it with Yugi, no less) vaulted his status to that of a role model, but it was releasable. He summoned gods, but he wasn't expected to act like one.
The other reason for Yugi's designation in the group had been declared nonexistent by many an opponent, but it had merely been hidden by his small stature and soft voice: courage. Where to begin? It was hard to imagine that the same young man who had been constantly tormented by his school mates without a single attempt to fight back was the same who so openly defied cruel and sadistic would-be rulers of the world. Even if that defiance meant certain death, he wouldn't accept the abuse of his loved ones. Atemu considered himself lucky. Yugi had by no means been deadweight; the two had become guardians to each other, one dark, the other light.
"I'm really gonna miss you." If only he had known to just what magnitude his feelings had been returned. After watching over him for two long, but wonderful years, it had been heartbreaking to leave. All the same, however, Atemu knew it would be all right. Yugi could take care of himself now.
"Atemu!" A slightly irritated voice called to him. He glanced up to see his childhood friend, Mana, standing before him with her hands on her hips. Her eyes were narrow. A frown was on her face. "Are you even listening to me?" She inquired. Actually, no, he hadn't been. He couldn't help but feel sheepish.
"Mana," came a warning voice from Mahado, who was standing a short distance away, with one arm up, his hand holding onto the branch of a tree, "that is not a way to speak to him!"
Atemu gave a small chuckle before rising from the stone bench upon which he had been sitting. "It's quite all right. My apologies, Mana."
She left out sigh, her expression softening, and her hands sliding off of her hips to hang by her sides. "No harm done. It's just been so long, and I've really missed you." The three were relaxing in the palace garden, the Sun warming the ground beneath their feet. Vast walls rose on each side, and decorative columns lined the pathways. Vegetation thrived in the area, its livelihood supported by the built-in reservoirs, their blue hue contrasting the prevalent light browns of the palace walls. Mana was by no means waxing dramatic. Atemu's entrance to the afterlife had been marked by a meeting with his court. Needless to say, he had quite a bit of catching up to do with each of them.
XXXXXX
It was a delight to see each of them safe and sound before him, as opposed to their horrific fates in the world of the living. Truly seeing Mahado again for the first time was beyond belief. He had been with his dear friend all along in his deck, but seeing him standing at attention, with that warmth at their reunion emulating from his eyes…Atemu couldn't find words for it. The tablet in which Mahado's ka was sealed flashed before him once more, turning that warmth away, if only a little.
Karim's robust form heavily contrasted his slow, painful death that had forced every ounce of energy out of him. That was gone now, replaced by who he truly was once more. Shada's skin was clean of all traces of immolation. All of the court members had bowed in unison upon the return of the pharaoh, but it truly struck him when Shada did so. His loyalty to his king had cost him his very life. Priestess Aishisu, standing close by Mahado, bowed while addressing him, her body revealing no sign of collision from the long fall to the ground below. Siamun, for as fragile as the old man seemed, had displayed tremendous inner power when the time had called for it. Atemu still had to catch himself before calling him "Grandpa." The man had helped to raise him, after all, and the resemblance to his modern incarnation was quite striking. The pharaoh completely understood Yugi's fear when his grandfather's soul had been taken by Pegasus. He was just happy to see Siamun back on his feet.
Akhenaden, however, was a different story. Atemu sensed no further animosity radiating from his uncle, but that still didn't stop him from momentarily tensing up at the sight of him. After all that had transpired because of the older man, Atemu was more than willing to distance himself from him, and for a good amount of time, which unfortunately was out of the question. He couldn't bring himself to hate his uncle, try as he may, but the tension kept Atemu's mouth shut around him. The Sennen Eye had never seemed to find a place of anything other than adversity when it came to himself and Yugi.
When it came to Priest Seto, on the other hand, Atem felt a strong sense of camaraderie, as well as a tinge of humor, toward his cousin. Each had suffered considerably, watching their friends, allies, and in Seto's case, a lover, fall. Seto's stern nod to him was promptly returned. They were equals, always were, always will be. The humor came from the question of whether or not to challenge him some time. Perhaps one day Yugi and Kaiba could find themselves on the same terms? …Well, that day would be long in coming.
Atemu's father and Mana had taken their leave after welcoming him back, but not without each inviting him to talk to them afterward. Akhenamkhanen, however, had made his invitation far less urgent, telling his son to come speak with him whenever he was ready. The young pharaoh wasn't sure what to make of it, but all things considering, he was willing to wait. For as much as he had dearly missed him, his words were somewhat puzzling.
Choosing to think nothing of it, Atemu focused his attention on the meeting. The topic in question after the completion of the reunion had been his introduction to this new world. It normally would have been a bit of a mindbender, but the restored memory of the religious beliefs of his time helped to smooth out the details. Egypt as he had known it had been restored to its former splendor in both the material and immaterial sense. Every architectural detail, person, and animal still existed, although with one variation: the land's flora had become quite bountiful. He still presided over it, but the need for decision-making no longer existed. A relief? Sort of. It was as if the Nile had somehow risen over its banks, but without the consequence of flooding. Farmland had doubled in length and width, with other plant life (mostly trees and bushes) more prevalently dotting the surrounding land.
He remembered his relieved smile as he had overlooked the sight from the balcony. If Atemu had desired any further proof that this was indeed the afterlife, there it lay. A small part of him couldn't help but wonder, however, if this was all some sort of sick joke. He had been unfortunate enough to lose his life just barely after assuming the throne. Now that he could actually rule, he wasn't needed. No, that wasn't the right way to think of it. So he had lost the chance to rule as king, who really cared? If anything, he had been spared a tremendous burden of making decisions that held thousands of lives in consideration.
Atemu held back a bitter laugh. Even that was optimism speaking. If past events had been altered, and he had gone down that path instead, would it make such a benevolent difference? It would certainly have been challenging, yes, but would it have outweighed the toll of thousands of years of isolation? To be quite honest, he didn't know. Should he have made a wrong decision in that hypothetical timeline, the guilt would have been crushing. True, he had cost a few lives in modern times, and made foolhardy choices, but the numbers didn't lie. The losses had been substantially lower. And what of Yugi of his friends? Would he have passed up the opportunity to meet them? At least Atemu knew the answer to that question: a solid NO!
XXXXXX
Atemu smiled at Mana, holding out his hand. "I missed you very much, too." She gave a sad smile back before taking it. "Now, what is it that you were telling me?" He inquired before letting go.
Mana shook her head, taking a step back from him. Her staff materialized just below her outstretched right palm, and she caught it in midair before lifting her arm up to twirl the staff. It horizontally met the surface of her shoulder. "I was saying that I've come a long way in my magic since you last saw me," with a wink, she added, "Do you wish to see a demonstration?"
Atemu glanced over at Mahado, who nodded, relaxing his pose even more by letting go of the branch. "She speaks the truth."
A small cry of outrage came from his apprentice, which caused the young pharaoh to turn back to her. "Do you not trust me?"
"Mana, you just brought my attention back to the conversation. I would think that I'm not the best source of information right now," Atemu defended himself, folding his arms.
She shrugged. "Fair enough, I suppose."
Turning back toward the tree, from which Mahado had stepped clear, she aimed her staff at it, her eyes narrow, and her body rigid in concentration. Atemu followed her pointing staff with his gaze, and gasped at the sight before him. The tree, once static, was trembling. The leaves rustled, the thin trunk thrumming. The green seemed to lose density, contracting inward on itself, the branches crackling. Just as quickly as the contraction had occurred, however, the tree gave a great shudder, and the branches splayed out flat, trailing down to the ground. The trunk remained strong, while the branches resembled an octopus' tentacles. Atemu's surprise, as well as a sense of being impressed at his friend's progress, sent a jolt of invigoration through him. Curiosity as to what else she could do quickly spurned into existence. Mana had been so willing to learn, and her efforts were coming to greater and greater fruition.
That pleasant sense of surprise, however, was quickly cut short by an impact on his back. The gasp he gave this time was a startled one. He stumbled forward, attempting to find his balance as whatever-it-was latched firmly onto his upper and lower torso with thin limbs. Mahado's eyes narrowed, his hand splayed out toward his friend as Atemu's would-be assailant gave herself away with a playful giggle.
Atemu's alarm died away to be replaced by a soft chuckle. "Well, Mana, you have grown no less skilled in getting the drop on me." Still giggling, she slackened her grip on him. Atemu kept his slightly hunched-over pose as she slid off.
"It's a tad different from a jar, but this provides more variety," she replied as he straightened up, picking up her staff from the ground.
Mahado shook his head with a slight smile as he came toward the two, suggesting, "Perhaps next time, we don't try to knock the Pharaoh over?"
She sighed. "Yes."
Atemu couldn't help but be reminded of many rather embarrassing occasions when such scoldings had been directed at the two of them as children. Mahado hadn't been too thrilled to find them attempting to scale the palace columns (Mana had sworn that it had been Atemu's idea), or to see them swimming in the garden reservoirs (Atemu had claimed it to be Mana's scheme). He actually couldn't help but blush at the memories.
Mahado was the first to notice his reaction. "Is something wrong, my king?"
"Nothing worth any matter of concern," he replied simply, "This place just brings so many memories."
"It does, doesn't it?" Mana agreed, turning and indicating the entirety of it with her arm before dropping it to lay her hand over her staff, "This place used to seem so much bigger."
"That's because you were smaller," Mahado answered, "besides the fact that you have seen this place the most often."
She turned back to Atemu. "Do you think we could take a ride sometime? At least this one would be for a happy occasion."
"Sure," he replied without really thinking about it. It was not out of disinterest that he did not mull it over, rather it was eagerness. As a member of a royal family, he had spent nearly his entire life in the palace. He hadn't been a prisoner, as it was for his own protection, but all the same, it was quite close to imprisonment. Now he could explore, with his childhood friend at his side.
"Don't forget, Mana, you still have lessons," Mahado chided.
Before she could reply, he continued in a gentler voice, "When you have time, however, I should hope that you would each not mind if I came along," with a bow, he added, "as I was once, and always will be, your guardian, Atemu."
The pharaoh's eyes widened at the intimate address. More often than not, Mahado addressed him by his rank, rather than his name, despite the fact that they had known each other for years. Understanding appeared in his mind a moment later, and a smile formed on his face. With a nod, he replied, "Certainly."
Turning partway so as to address both master and apprentice, Atemu continued, "I thank both of you for the companionship you each provided in the duels Yugi and I had fought," taking a breath to hold back the cry that had begun to build in his throat, he finished, "You were each with me the entire time, and I hadn't known." This time, they bowed in unison. Atemu believed himself to be undeserving of it. He felt nothing but guilt as the memories of sacrificing them in the duel with Rafael played through his psyche.
Mana was the first to look up, and the first, then, to notice the sad look on his face. "What's wrong?" She asked concernedly, rising.
"My treatment of you both was not always honorable, and I must ask your forgiveness. You devoted yourselves to me, and I took advantage."
Mana shook her head as Mahado got up. "Atemu, I know what you're thinking, and it's untrue. Your mind was not clear in that duel."
"There was no telling what your opponent would have done, should you have lost," Mahado chimed in, stepping forward, "You reacted in the only way you could, and you repented for your mistakes in the end. Holding animosity toward you now would be unjust."
Atemu let out a shuddering sigh. "Thank you."
The male magician grew stern once more. "When I was first chosen to become your guardian, I vowed to protect you, for as long as you lived, to the best of my ability. Do not forget that Mana and I had fallen several times in battle. We had known this, but we had still continued to serve you because you were worth it."
The pharaoh's gratitude for his friend was combined with that same sense of solidarity that he had felt with his cousin. For being the first casualty of the court, Mahado had been punished with being alone in death, if only for a while. Similarly, Atemu had been sealed inside the Puzzle, but under a different circumstance. No words were needed, but the shared look said enough. He had stood at the ready in many a fight for his king, and although the battles were over, he was willing to fight again.
"It wasn't just to guard you, though," Mana continued softly, folding her hands behind her back, her staff disappearing, "I said I missed you very much, but that wasn't enough." Atemu couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Her eyes weren't focused on him, and her voice was too quiet, her mouth turned down in a frown. It was very unlike her. Mahado was far from out of earshot, but the only reaction he made was to close his eyes.
Curiosity turned over to concern, and he was about to inquire when she continued, "When you summoned me for the first time in that strange age, I immediately knew that something had…changed you," switching her gaze to Atemu, rather than the wall behind him, she continued in a lighter voice, "You still were the same person we knew; brave, strong in more ways than one, and determined to do the right thing."
"But," her voice lowered again, becoming brittle, "you were also completely different. You didn't recognize either of us, and you were hurting," indicating herself with a hand over her heart, she added, "I could feel it."
Atemu took her hands in his as a tear began to trail down her face. "Mana…"
Her voice shook. "I'm sorry."
"Mana," he began again, kneeling down to the ground so that she could better see him, "it's nothing to be ashamed of." Releasing her hand, he trailed his own hand up to where her very short sleeve ended. Grasping her arm at that location, and feeling the soft material on his palm, he continued, "Displaying concern for someone is not weakness."
"He's right," Mahado supplied, although without touching her.
She shook her head. "It's just embarrassing. This isn't the first time I've cried in front of each of you."
Atemu let go in order to allow her to wipe at her eye before replying, "That's how you deal with terrible things, and it's fine. What you cried over were not inconsequential matters, and even then, you refused to run from battle. That's what matters." Sniffing once, she nodded, a sad smile forming on her face. Standing back up, Atemu felt a sob gathering in his throat. Quickly swallowing it down, he found himself to be a little envious of Mana. She was allowed to act a certain way because she did not have to lead a kingdom, or guard someone. All the same, however, he couldn't see her acting differently. That wasn't a blight on her character; he just did not wish for her to have to emotionally detach herself.
"You have changed, my Pharaoh," Mahado observed, his fist clenching, "although I wish it had been under different circumstances," releasing it, he continued in a gentler voice, " I suppose I have Yugi and his—your—friends to thank. To wish to offer comfort to you, and to have my power extend no further than a card…" He shook his head in disgust at himself.
"That's right," Mana agreed, clasping her hands together, "We really owe a lot to them. Those two boys, Jonouchi and Honda, I think, and Anzu? They didn't only help you, but they also accepted you for who you were," with a chuckle, she added, "Not to mention Yugi, of course."
Atemu grinned. "A bit of a far cry from my current position, wasn't it?" The three of them laughed at his jibe. "I will say, however, for as much as I will miss them, I'm glad to have reunited with you," the young pharaoh began sincerely, "otherwise, we would not have had this moment."
"That's the reason why you weren't paying attention, wasn't it?" Mana inquired, holding out a hand.
"What do you mean?" Atemu asked in response, somewhat startled by her question.
"You were staring at your hand as if it was going to fall off," she explained, flexing her fingers before laying them flat, "I did the same thing not very long after arriving here. I thought that I would wake up any moment in the living world again, but the longer I was here, the more I realized that my time was over." She choked on her last few words. Before Atemu could try to comfort his friend again, she took his hand in hers, and continued, "That's why I'm worried for you. You'd been alone for so long, with no memories of any of us to go on. This is probably a very hard adjustment for you, but I want you to know that we're here," she squeezed his hand, "and we're not going anywhere."
Warmth coursed through him, and it was not from the sun above. The gesture was an unknowing throwback to Yugi grasping his hand, but that didn't take away Atemu's appreciation. Unlike before, when the hands had been positioned slightly upward as fists, symbols related to war, their hands were horizontal, indicating a much more peaceful time. They didn't have to fight anymore, and they still remained at each other's side. That little girl that had once laid on the ground with him, chattering away about how great a magician she would become in the future, had matured into a competent and internally-stalwart young woman.
In a way, the group of the four school-goers he had come to call his friends existed within the three of them. Mahado, much akin to Jonouchi, did not accept defeat as an option, and was determined to give no less than his best to help others. Like Honda, as well, he was fiercely protective of his friends, and would rather he take the blow than them. Mana's empathy emulated that of Anzu perfectly. The aspiring dancer had always been the first to rush to the aid of her friends, much like the magician-in-training. For as much as it surprised him due to their differences, Atemu found himself to be the "Yugi" of the trio. Mahado and Mana considered him to be intrinsically valuable, much like how Yugi's friends had thought of him. The other similarity he held with him was the fact that he would rather die than lose those for whom he cared.
"You gave everything you had to protect your kingdom," Mahado declared as Mana let go, "Now, please, allow us to take care of you, my king." For as absurd as that had sounded, it gave Atemu a sense of relief. Nothing would hurt him anymore.
XXXXXX
"I desire an audience with my father, King Akenamkhanen," Atemu declared sternly. The two crossed spears barring his path were lowered, and their bearers, two guards that were flanking the heavy stone doors, bowed to him. Taking a breath, he braced himself before taking hold of one of the door handles, and pulled it open.
He remembered this room well. It was his father's, or rather, his, study. The doors were always closed, and under no circumstance was he allowed inside in his young age. That had changed after his coronation. It was what made this meeting all the more surreal. Atemu had a feeling that if this meeting had not been planned, his father would not have been there, and those guards would not have barred his entry.
The previous pharaoh stood with his back to his visitor, staring out the window facing toward the city. His body was framed against the sunlight. He slowly turned at the opening of the door, and his son's footsteps. For once out of a handful of times, Atemu felt unsure as to how to act.
The decorum of his society, however, provided the answer. Stepping his left leg forward, he addressed him with a half-bow. "King Akhenamkhanen."
His father acknowledged the bow, and beckoned him forward. "Come, my son."
Atemu's pace was slow, and reasonably so. If he had still been a boy, he would have dashed forward, and the impulse to do so was still quite strong. All the same, however, his pride and mindfulness didn't allow him. His father didn't seem to mind, and instead took the time to look at him, his expression neutral. Atemu wasn't sure what was passing through the man's mind, but he chose not to worry himself over it. Stopping before him, the younger of the two observed, "It has been a long time."
Clapping his hand on his son's shoulder, Akenamkhanen replied, "You have grown into a great and noble man," tightening his grip a little with smile, he added, "I have never been more proud of you than I am today."
Atemu felt the heat rising on his cheeks from the praise. How silly and childish! To think that he still yearned for his father's praise after all this time…The sob attempted to build again, and he found it harder to force down. "Thank you," he managed to say without shakiness, "I'm honored to have done my part."
With a sigh, Akenamkhanen released his shoulder, turning back to the window. "Do you remember the day I showed you the entirety of the kingdom, when you were young?"
"Yes," he replied.
"I promised it to you, and it was taken from you only shortly after you were crowned," turning back, he added in much less formal voice, "But you proved your strength of character when that time had come."
"Unfortunately," he gestured out the window, "that loss was a result of my own mistake during my reign, and I apologize to you for that." The regret was easy to hear.
Atemu wanted to relieve his father's burden by saying that it was in fact Akhenaden's fault, but he knew it would be talking out of turn. Yes, Ahkenamkanen was not physically at the site of Kul Elna during the massacre, but the blame still rested with him for the simple fact that it had occurred during the time of his rule. When a man was pharaoh, he couldn't point fingers. For as much as he wished to soothe his poor father, it couldn't be done, and that hurt him terribly. Instead, Atemu replied firmly, placing his hand on the sill, "Father, I hold no anger toward you. Who is to say I would not have been as satisfactory a ruler, should the kingdom have flourished? Seto, in his rule after me, brought the kingdom into a, dare I take my liberty to say, golden age of peace and justice." His fist clenched. "Although I admit that I do wish things were different, perhaps it was for the best."
Ahkenamkhanen drew in a breath. "Willingly, you would turn over your existence for that of another?"
Atemu nodded. "I would, not only for my kingdom," turning his eyes up to meet those of his father's, he clarified, "but for those who care for me for as much as I do for them."
"In short, for a friend, or a family member," Ahkenamkhanen finished. His eyes seemed to shine with happiness for a moment, but a shadow soon passed over them.
Before Atemu could comment, his father placed his hands on each of his shoulders. "Seeing you here before me, however, shows that our sacrifices were not in vain. The shadows did not claim you."
The embrace that followed was warm, and soothing. Atemu released his sorrow by gripping tightly onto the previous pharaoh's back. The equal amount of pressure was applied to his own back. "How I've missed you, my child," Ahkenamkhanen whispered lovingly.
That was it. Two tears flowed down Atemu's face, and he found himself unable to say a word when he opened his mouth. When he had to draw out of the hug, however, the tears said more than enough. Atemu turned his head away in embarrassment, and Ahkenamkhanen comforted, "It's nothing to be ashamed of. For as much as we are considered to be gods, we are still, for better or for worse, human." While his son wiped his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, he said, almost to himself, "That is the hardest lesson we must each learn."
Atemu spun so fast on his heel that Ahkenamkhanen backed up a step in surprise. "That's it!" Raising his shaking hands, the younger pharaoh stared at them. Yes, yes! It made so much sense! How could he have not understood it sooner, when it had been right before his face? A moment later, he remembered himself, and straightened up, clearing his throat. "Sorry."
"Is it something you wish to share?" His father asked with a somewhat amused expression.
Atemu nodded. "After my memory was wiped, and I was sealed inside the Sennen Puzzle, it was solved by a young school boy named Yugi," raising his hand for emphasis, he explained, "Yugi was, and still is, one of the strongest people I have had the pleasure of knowing, but he was not of the same standing as me. No one was forced to obey him."
"As a result, he was tormented by others like him," he finished, turning away slightly in thought, "and I had to share that status, no matter how commanding a presence I held on the field of battle."
"That, then, was your lesson in humility, wasn't it?" Ahkenamkhanen offered.
Atemu chuckled. "More often than not, when I took over for Yugi during a duel, he was wearing his school uniform, and therefore, so was I. Should I have lived after defeating Zorc, I would have had the potential to truly think I was a god. How could I have missed this?"
"It would seem that you were too invested in the boy's well-being to worry," observed his father.
Nodding, he turned back around again. "I mean no offense when I say this, but in a way, I did somewhat understand what it was like to have a child. I mentored Yugi, and helped to support him in hard times," holding up a finger, he added, "Not to say did not have my own faults. Not only did Yugi help me to understand them; he also assisted in correcting them," with a sad sigh, Atemu dropped his finger to add, his head slightly lowered, "There were times when I had come so terribly close to losing him, and the fear I felt for him...It was indescribable." Lifting his head back up, he finished, "Though I am happy to be with all of you now, I will say that having to leave him behind was one of the most horrible ordeals I have ever had to endure. Truth be told, I would rather have faced Zorc again."
Much to Atemu's surprise, Ahkenamkhanen smiled broadly. "Then you have missed nothing." The puzzled look on Atemu's face prompted his explanation. "A kingdom is much like raising a child. You, as the parent, whether desiring or not of the position, are behooved to do the best you can in making the current decisions for, in this case, its, future. Mistakes in raising a child lead to anguish for both parent and child, for as the child fails, the parent is responsible," with a pause, he added, "Likewise, when a king makes an unjust or unlawful decision, the kingdom suffers, and he is to blame for its decay."
Stepping toward Atemu, his hand outstretched, the older pharaoh declared, "When it is time for that king, or parent, to depart, it is often inopportune. He wonders if his decisions were truly in the right, and worries that his errors will destroy what he holds dear. Admittedly, they are sad professions, but," laying his hand over the top center of Atemu's tunic, he whispered, "the glory in them lies within the knowledge that that king, or that father, led, or in the other case, created, something, or someone, truly extraordinary. If that is not in the eyes of others, then it is in his eyes alone."
Atemu closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. For as much as he wished to either cry or embrace his father, he decided against it. This peace, this state of meditation, was far more important. Perhaps it wasn't all a joke, as he had first thought. After once thinking of himself as nothing more than a fragment born of the shadows, he was surrounded by loved ones, and in possession of a powerful sense of inner purpose. How unfortunate, however, that it had all been at the expense of his emotional capacity, as well as sanity, to earn the prize. Atemu chided himself with a dreadfully overlooked truth: even a king could not have everything.