"A good writer requires vision!" Standing at the front of a stupefied Senior English class, Mrs. Macario's uplifted arms and rapturous expression gave the impression that she was about to fly, an impression that was aided by her flowing sleeves.

In the back of the class, Kaiba rolled his eyes. In his…um…humble opinion, Mrs. Macario was one of the most ridiculous people he had ever had the misfortune of meeting. He glanced up at the clock. Twenty more minutes.

"Every one of us has the ability to become America's next great writer," Mrs. Macario said dramatically, laying her hands palms down on Yugi Mutou's desk and staring deeply into the boy's violet eyes. "Every one of you." As her gaze roamed over the students, Kaiba noticed she was skipping some. Like him. Eighteen more minutes.

"Each of us must work to develop that talent," Mrs. Macario said. She straightened, and her voice immediately became less ethereal. "Which is why I'm assigning a creative writing piece for homework tonight."

There was a chorus of groans. Although he made no sound, Kaiba's heart sank. To say that his creative genius did not apply to writing would have been an understatement. He was completely incapable of writing fiction. How could you write about something that wasn't real? But as long as Mrs. Macario didn't ask for that…

"You are to write a short piece of fiction," Mrs. Macario continued. Kaiba sighed inwardly. If he were the sort to believe in God, he might have wondered what he had done to warrant such hatred. "Include sensory images, metaphors, and similes, just like we've been studying." She frowned. "I do not want "He jumped over the fence. He tripped and fell." A hint of her etherealness returned. "Instead, say perhaps, "He leapt, illuminated briefly against the sky, and for a moment, he resembled a stag fleeing from the hunters, majestic and fierce. As he landed, a stone turned beneath his foot and…" She looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, you get the idea."

"But most importantly of all," she breathed, so softly that the students had to strain to hear her, "I require vision." The last word was spoken like it was her newborn child cradled in her arms.

"Vision?" Joey Wheeler muttered to Tristan. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means, Mr. Wheeler," Mrs. Macario said, straightening up and looking directly into his face, her voice steely. "That if you hand in to me another paper like the last one, I will have the…pleasure of having you in my class for yet another year." Joey fell silent, looking slightly nervous.

Seto smirked. The mutt's discomfort made his own irritation a little more bearable. He shifted in his seat and looked up at the clock again. Fifteen more minutes. What is wrong with this clock? Surreptitiously, he glanced at his own expensive watch. Still fifteen more minutes. He sighed.

"Vision," Mrs. Macario was saying, "is what separates the wheat from the chafe. It is what separates the artists from the amateurs. It is what separates Mozart from U2."

There was a general murmur of protest, and someone whispered, "Blasphemy." Mrs. Macario glared at them until they fell silent. She glanced up at the clock. "For the last few minutes, I want you to brainstorm your stories. You may discuss your ideas with other people, but please don't let the noise level get too high." With that, she returned to her desk in a swirl of skirts.

Almost immediately, Joey appeared next to Seto's desk. "Hey ya, Kaiba," he said nonchalantly. "Looking forward to another writing assignment?" A few weeks previously, Joey had outscored Kaiba on a similar assignment. In Kaiba's defense, he had been rather embroiled in an incident concerning coffee deprivation and computer hackers at the time and hadn't been at his best. It had probably been sheer fluke, but it had been one of the proudest moments of Joey's life, and he had been trying to rub Kaiba's nose in it ever since.

Kaiba looked up. "Go beg someone else for a doggie treat. I'm busy."

Fortunately, Yugi intervened before things got ugly. "Well, I for one am glad it's a creative writing piece. I like writing fiction."

Kaiba transferred his look of disdain from Joey to Yugi. "Fiction is all well and good for people who spend most of their time in their little fantasy lands, but for those of us who are still grounded in the real world..."

"You're just scared Joey's going to show you up again," Tristan said.

Kaiba glared at him. Where the hell did he come from? "What is this, a Geek Convention?" he asked. "Don't you freaks have someone else to annoy?"

"Not at the moment," Joey grinned. "It's your lucky day, Kaiba."

"Joy," Kaiba muttered under his breath.

The bell rang. With a sigh of relief, Kaiba gathered up his books, placed a few papers reverently in his silver briefcase, and headed for the door.

"Hey, Kaiba!"

Kaiba turned, a long-suffering look on his face. "What is it now, mutt?" he asked rudely. "You need to go outside for a potty break?"

Joey colored. "I look forward to showing ya up again, you stuck up, spoiled jerk," he said angrily. "I'm going to wipe the floor with ya."

Kaiba smirked. "Keep dreaming, Wheeler." And with that, he turned on his heel and left the classroom.

Kaiba stared at the computer screen as though longing for it to give up its secrets. He had been sitting motionless in the same position for an hour now, and the paper was still blank. Finally, after much hesitation, he began to type.

Seto Kaiba

He stopped. Beyond his name, there wasn't much else to say. A fiction piece? Did Mrs. Macario enjoy causing him pain? He sighed with irritation and put his head in his hands.

And that was when the visions hit. He grunted with pain and clasped his head tighter, as though to block out the images that were assaulting his mind. Hot Egyptian sun, a burst of magic, a dragon's roar, a stone tablet, the feeling of the girl's body in his arms… He squeezed his temples with both hands.

Finally, the images stopped. Panting with pain and frustration, Kaiba slowly sat upright. He was back in his office, in his own home. Outside the door, he could hear the servants tidying up, while loud rock music emanated from Mokuba's room down the hall.

I'm going to kill Yugi for dragging me into this, he thought savagely, not even stopping to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what this was. But he had not had these visions before he met Yugi; that was for certain.

With a sigh, he turned back to the computer and ran his fingers lightly over the keyboard. His name taunted him from an otherwise empty page. He blinked back a wave of weariness. After he finished this wretched assignment, he could go to sleep.

Then an idea struck him. He froze, fingers still poised over the keys. Why not?

"You want vision, Mrs. Macario?" he asked out loud, beginning to type. "I'll give you vision."

There was a sense of impending doom when the class convened the next day. The students sat huddled in their seats, crouched down like small furry mammals trying to escape the eagle. But they all knew there was no escape.

"Alright, class!" Mrs. Macario said enthusiastically, clapping her hands together. "All great authors need to share their work with other writers and receive constructive criticism." She beamed at them. "Who wants to go first?"

The students didn't reply. Even Yugi, who always wrote the best stories in the class, hunkered down and kept his eyes fixed on the floor, trying to hide in plain sight.

"Someone will have to go," Mrs. Macario warned them. No one said a word.

"I'll go first." Everyone gasped in surprise. Heads turned to the back of the classroom so fast that their owners suffered whiplash. The muttering started to spread as Seto Kaiba rose to his feet.

Even Mrs. Macario seemed stunned. "Mr. Kaiba…" she said uncertainly. "Of course..."

He ignored her stammering and came to stand in front of the class, his paper clutched in his hand. Now that he was actually at the front of the room, his bones felt as though they turned to ice. What the hell was I thinking? Was he actually going to read?

She wants her story told, he thought insanely, and instantly felt like an idiot. She?

"Mr. Kaiba…" Mrs. Macario prompted. "Begin when you're ready."

Kaiba took a deep breath, held the paper up to reading level, and began to speak the words that were somehow not his own.

The Vision

By Seto Kaiba

He holds the girl in his arms. She is light, almost weightless. Her white hair spills across his shoulder as he cradles her close. Time seems frozen, a moment that is never going to fade. Not if he can hold her tight enough.

The hot Egyptian sun beats down upon his head and shoulders like a furnace, but he cannot move. He can't bear the thought of disrupting the moment. If he moves, reality will sink in, and she will be gone. His heart clenches at the thought.

A darkness falls. He still holds her, but the world around them has changed. Now he stands upon a battlefield. The screams of dying men are ringing in his ears and blood soaks into the hem of his robes. They are red now, red like his heart, shattered into pieces and clutched in blood-stained hands. Perhaps he is going mad.

A man crosses the battlefield towards him, wading through the bodies of the dead. He knows this man, but at the same time, cannot remember his name. The man says nothing, only gazes at him with crimson eyes. Somehow, he knows he must return to the fight, must let her go. He can't. The man with the crimson eyes slowly disappears.

He is standing on the roof of a great temple, looking out over the desert. It's little more than a ruin. Rocks lie strewn across his path, shattered by some monstrous spell. The man that did this is dead and gone, but the stench of his magic remains. He hugs her tightly to his chest.

"Seto…"

He hears his name, and some part of him acknowledges it. Moving wearily, like an old man, he carries her across the temple roof. A huge stone tablet rises up before him, casting its shadow across his face. There is an image upon it. A white dragon.

He sinks down to his knees, and finally lets the tears fall. He holds her in his arms. On any other day, he would have killed for the opportunity to hold her close, to bury his face in her hair. But not today.

Today, Kisara is dead.

When Kaiba finished reading, there was absolute silence. Then, slowly, Mrs. Macario began to clap. The stunned students joined in, and the room rang with applause. Joey was looking at Kaiba as though he'd just sprouted a pair of antlers.

"Amazing," Mrs. Macario breathed. "Amazing. I could feel the grief in the narrator's words. Holding the body of his dead love…beautiful. How did Kisara die?"

"She died defending him," Kaiba said without thinking. "She was trying to protect him from his own father." What the hell?

"Amazing!" Mrs. Macario said again. "Though you should be a little clearer about that in your final draft. Perhaps you can include the death scene as a flashback at the beginning."

Kaiba nodded mutely. Mrs. Macario turned to the class. "Although I usually disapprove of my students using their own names for their main characters, I think that it lent a particular power to Mr. Kaiba's presentation." A few people nodded avidly. In the front row, Yugi was staring at Kaiba with an expression approaching wonder.

Mrs. Macario smiled at Kaiba. "And who was the man with the crimson eyes?"

"Pharaoh." I'm beginning to sound like Yugi and the Geek Squad. "He's forced to choose between his loyalty to his king and his loyalty to his love."

"And he chooses love." If anything, Mrs. Macario looked even more entranced. "Thank you, Mr. Kaiba, for that stunning work of fiction. You may take your seat now."

Kaiba nodded jerkily and walked towards the back of the room. As he passed Yugi's seat, the King of Games looked up at him. The boy's violet eyes turned to crimson even as Kaiba watched.

"If only she knew," the Pharaoh whispered.

Kaiba, unable to look into those crimson eyes, turned away.

He could still feel the weight of her in his arms.