Author's Note: Here is yet another textbook inspired one-shot. Thank you Psychology
Disclaimer: I do not own Ryou Bakura, or any of his other forms. All right belong to the creator, Kazuki Takahashi, according to the Wikipedia page ;)

Lucid dreaming is real.

They say it's when the dreamer knows that he's dreaming. He can influence the dream; choose to participate or choose to manipulate it into something else.

I was having a lucid dream.

Except it wasn't really. It was only a half lucid dream. I was aware of dreaming, sure, but I wasn't controlling it; couldn't control it. It was a lucid nightmare and it was horrifying.

The setting was a small village: cute, quaint, with lots of people milling about. Children were playing in the dirt roads and merchants were shouting out their wares, convincing a woman here to buy a necklace, and a boy there, a bread cake. There was a feeling around that reminded me of my mother's home – comforting. The villagers were happy here.

Something in the back of my mind registered this as Egypt. Ancient Egypt.

I couldn't have told you how I knew; I just did. The people had tans, all different shades. That gave me an idea of how old they were – the darker the skin, the older they were. The young kids had natural tans from birth, but hadn't been under the light long enough to develop skin darker than the colour of a brown egg. The hot afternoon sun was beating down on my neck and reflected off pools of water here and there. Sparse trees, lacking leaves and some branches, were planted around what I assumed was the border of the place. Centuries of wind had softened any edges on the houses and the roofs were made of soft leaves, where many were sitting or lying, drinking in the sun. It wasn't pretty and it wouldn't win an award for architecture, but it was homey and reassuring.

But the sand was unbearable.

That's what shocked me first.

I could feel the sand. I could feel it in my shoes, rubbing my toes raw. It was in my hair, making my head itch and I had to actually reach up and scratch my scalp for relief. Then it was under my nails. I've been to the beach before. I know what sand feels like and this was it. Were you supposed to be able to feel things in dreams?

Two boys ran by me, almost knocking me over – could you be pushed around by a dream? One had shiny black hair that looked like a black waterfall. The other was the opposite. He had a shock of white hair that spiked at irregular intervals. It just barely reached his shoulders, brushing the fabric of his shirt softly. Of those I'd seen already, he was the only one of his kind. He turned around quickly and I saw his eyes – a lavender colour, bright from hours of exercise. When he opened his mouth, I thought he was going to apologise for bumping me. Instead, he lifted a hand and called to another child behind me – a girl. She was a small creature. I might have called her 'dainty,' but the rough cloth of her short dress was covered in splotches of mud.

"Teana, hurry up!"

"Wait up, guys! It's so hard to run in this thing."

"Take it off then."

"Ew, no!"

She ran past me, her brown hair following behind like a kite. All three of them rushed off together, past the stretch of homes, down to the river shining at the bottom of the small slope.

Then it was gone.

The bright sun, the brown sand, and the smiling people all faded to black. When it came back, I was in a completely different scene. Even before I saw it, I could tell there was fire. I could smell it, and feel the heat. The smoke was choking me as the black turned to ashen grey, and then the air flickered with red and orange fingers of flame. The roofs of the happy homes were all on fire and it was coming out of the windows. I heard an ominous crack ahead of me. I watched as the branches of one of the larger trees, alive with the blaze, break, one by one, and fall to the ground. Some unfortunate folks who happened to be around it were caught beneath the tree's arms and their screams pierced my ears and I winced. Somewhere behind me came the clangor of steel, screams, and crying women. I coughed into my hands and they came away as black as the air around me.

When I looked up again, a flash of white darted by me, shouting, "Teana! Tiakken! Where are you?"

Someone appeared from the shadows behind the boy. I shouted for him to watch out, but before I could make a sound, he turned around, his lavender eyes wide with fear. The man was holding a sword as long as his arm and he was taking rapid steps toward the kid.

The boy wasn't running, to my horror. He seemed rooted to the spot. Natural instinct took over me and I moved for the first time. I sprinted towards him and scooped him up as I went by. I didn't look behind to see if the soldier had been shocked by my appearance and rescue. I just ran. I ran like a hellhound was on my tail. I felt like there was. I must have run twelve miles. If I had been in real life, I might have run twelve miles.

Only when I stopped behind a building and settled the boy on the ground did it occur to me that none of this was real. Of course, I knew it was a dream before, but this was the first time I'd interacted. It probably had been for nothing. I might have saved him in my dream, but in reality, he'd probably died.

I looked down. The boy was poking his head around the wall, taking in all the death and destruction. We watched as a soldier dragged a woman along the ground quickly, not pausing for a second, even when she screamed when she hit a rock. The boy's head bounced from them to the large fire that had been built further along the road. There was a great cauldron hanging over the flame. His hands were clenched in tight balls. He didn't seem to realize I was standing next to him and didn't thank me for saving him. Despite my prediction of his death, I knew that this boy had survived. He had to have survived. He was hidden and he was watching soldiers as they unceremoniously dumped men, women, babies, and children into the pot. He was going to be the only survivor of this massacre. He had to survive this. He had to remember this. He had to remind people of this and he had to exact his revenge for this.

I blinked, startled out of my dark thoughts. I blinked again and realized that I was awake. The burning village had disappeared and the acrid smell of burning flesh didn't fill my nose anymore. I took a deep breath and enjoyed the fresh air of my room. I was safe in my own bed. I hadn't been in any real trouble, I knew, but it had felt real.

My eyes slid across the pillow to the clock on my bedside table. '2:53' the dull blue light blinked at me. I rolled over on my back and my heavy eyelids closed again. With another breath, a blanket covered my consciousness and I was asleep again.

The spirit closed the door of his host's soul room. He locked it and pocketed the key. For a moment, he stood by the door, leaning his head against the cool wood. He had unintentionally let his guard down for a split second and his thoughts had spilled into his host's mind. It was unlike him to do that.

The spirit had full control of the body, but he didn't do much with it. He opened those chocolate brown eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling. With one finger, he absently made circles on the bed sheet.

He was aware that his host would think nothing of the dream. He would blame it on something like eating too much before going to bed, or staying up too late too often. He was so naïve.

But, for once, he was happy that the human would ignore it. This time, the spirit hadn't wanted to show him anything. That had been purely accidental. He bared his teeth in irritation. There was clearly something wrong with him, because he never did anything accidentally.

The former thief withdrew from the body again, deciding to forgo his nightly walk. He returned to his soul room quietly.

As he passed his host's room, he unlocked the door and peeked inside.

The young man was curled up like a cat, a blanket wrapped around him snugly. He looked peaceful. The spirit envied him; he couldn't remember a night in 3,000 years when he had experienced a blissful sleep.

"Sleep well, host," he said, almost gently. Ryou stirred, but didn't wake up.

The spirit closed the door softly and went to his own dark corner. The handle of the door felt as cold as ice on his fingers. He stepped through the threshold and shoved the door shut, enveloping himself in darkness once again.

A/N: Aaaand, STOP! I love my psychology class and I'm kind of happy with this. The ending was different than I had originally planned, but I think I like this one better.

Thank you to the wonderful RedShadowThief who acted as my beta for this, as well as informed me that I hadn't gone over the edge yet. Much love!