GALEWAY
A Yu-Gi-Oh Fanfiction
Summary:
This story follows the past life of Seto Kaiba, as Priest Seth—one of the seven major priests of the Pharaoh Atem. Priest Seth—ambitious, young, and frighteningly handsome—found himself touched and angered by a group of people bullying a powerless woman named Kisara, who got accused as a thief for stealing only a small glass of water.
Although the law forced the Priest to imprison the poor lady, his guilt drove him to visit Kisara regularly. During those visits he finally sensed that was something strong that had not yet awoken inside the lady, and he wanted to find out. Started out as a mission, flowed smoothly toward a friendship, later a strong bond developed between the Priest and Kisara…
Warning:
Some details had been heavily altered.
Disclaimer:
Yu Gi Oh, as well as all of the characters in it, all courtesy of Kazuki Takahashi.
1.
A man
Whose face bore the arrogance of the sun
In his hands were the might of the gods
In his veins
uncertainty
In his heart
determination
In his eyes
a piece of secrecy
THE SUN SHONE BRIGHTLY IN THE CLEAR BLUE SKY. THERE WERE ONLY THIN, WHITE, ALMOST transparent layers of cloud could be seen near the magnificent palace where the Pharaoh dwelled.
Its rays were golden—like honey, like a layer of fine golden silk—and there was something in its warmth enhanced the beauty of the palace and its brownish bricks, as well as the guards' golden chest plates, their fine silver spears, and sapphire-embroidered hand daggers attached to their muscular waists. Treasures of ancient age, grandiosity of the blooming era where wisdom reigned; people lived in harmony, and happy chatters were everywhere, even in the darkest alleyways near the ouskirts of the city—a picture of a perfect era in the hand of a wise ruler. He was loved; he loved them, too—and paid tons of attention on their needs. He took his people as his sons and daughers, they honored him as the right hand of Ra.
Inside the palace there was a large, highly-organized courtyard where more guards settled firmly and calmly. There was a fine road made of white bricks slicing the courtyard into two from the middle, leading to the palace's main chamber where huge chandeliers made of gold, silver, brimmed with peridots, sapphires, and garnets—the Pharaoh's favorite stone—hung graciously on the ceiling. During days, the precious stones had painted the hall in rainbowlike tones, as a result of translating the golden rays of light that filtered through the wide arched windows—at nights when the guard lit fire atop the silver plate, the fire instantly found its own strength as the stones translated its heat and warmth into heartwarming shades of emerald green and burnt orange. The round, engraved plate as the hall's main decoration remained the same—constantly in its grandiosity like the coat of the Pharaoh—it was guarded by lots of guards, too, and none of them dared to step on it, because it was the Pharaoh's face immortalized on the beautiful plate. When the Pharaoh was young, an old sculptor told his father that his son was going to be fine leader, and that he would carve a history of his own, shinning in endless golden ages. After the short foretelling, the sculptor asked the previous Pharaoh for a giant plate made of twenty carats gold, and the rest was history—the sculptor carved the young prince's face on it.
The inner chamber was even more grandiose than the main hall. It was a round hall with high ceiling, with eight channels—seven led toward the Pharaoh's Priests' private chambers, the middlemost was a path toward the Pharaoh's throne. It was decorated mostly by gold, crimson-red garnets, and fine colorful silks—mostly rimmed with golden threads—and peacock feathers—'representing the grandiosity and kindness of Your Grace,' they said. The inner chamber was the final stance for the imperial guards, and pass the chamber—in the palace's grand sanctum, there was only those seven, utterly honorable Priests with their special abilities which were able to overwhelm the abilities of ten thousand imperial guards altogether, according to the legend.
Pharaoh Atem had presented each of them with special items—a metal eye that could foresee the future, a crosslike banner with an arched crown that could also function as a key to the Underworld, and in the hand of the most beautiful man of the seven—his skin was the color of wet earth under the golden rays of sun, his clear green eyes exuded pressuring mysteries; a sunken ship deep in the abyss, as well as unknown ambitions, his robe was the deep shade of fine indigo silk, black leather, rimmed with gold plates decorated with emerald stones almost in the same shade of his eyes—a metal rod with an metal eye on its tip that was able to summon the spirit of a Black Dragon.
He was the youngest of the seven, as well as the most rebellious one. Pharaoh Atem was very proud of him, and wasn't at all curious at him although some people had warned him about the young Priest's possible ambition to take over his throne.
"This bright young man is the kingdom's fine seed," that was his answer, "I know he is very reliable. After all, there's always a sadness in his eyes—he will never take over the throne with that kind of sadness. You can only rule this kingdom with love—and it is the only piece missing in his soul."
"YOUR GRACE!" THE YOUNG PRIEST CLENCHED HIS FIST AND LOOKED STRAIGHT INTO THE Pharaoh's eyes while the other six looked seemingly indifferent, although there were undeniable disagreement in their hearts.
Pharaoh Atem—sitting cross-legged on his gold-and-garnet majestic throne—leaned forward and smiled. He used his right lower arm to support the weight of his head. His eyes reflected curiousity instead of anger—admiration instead of distaste—he was always curious of the young rebel. "What do you have in your mind, Priest Seth?" he shocked the rest of his Priests by his answer, and his determined smile had shocked them even more, "you are a fine scholar and a bright young man, I am open to your propositions."
Priest Seth stepped forward, grabbed the rod in his right hand tightly as if he was about to crush it into dust, bowed a bit although it was apparent that he didn't mean it, finally jutted his head up so that his eyes could meet the Pharaoh's, and answered—"This thief, Bakura, should be sentenced to death. He endangers the whole civilization, as well as national treasures originated from our ancestors with that spirit of his!"—with the same determination in his clear eyes.
The smile of the Pharaoh was calming, but his eyes reflected nothing else but disagreement. It was not because he didn't want to be bold, it was because eventhough Bakura was more of a savaged warrior, a disdainful thief—the Pharaoh still adored him as one of his people; that meant he totally opposed Priest Seth's idea of death sentence. Pharaoh Atem despised darkness and sadness—grief and grim—blood and gore. Unlike his late father, he was not—at all—into death punishments or tortures. During his era of reign, there was only two people got sentenced to death, and it was because they'd killed their own sons as false offerings to an imaginary demon—they wanted to be rich, and their sons were sacrificed as sufferings with their throats ripped open, and the punishment itself was merely caused by the pressures from his loved people, instead of his own desire.
Priest Seth knew that his brilliance had failed him—another time—and he was totally displeased by that. His jaw tightened and his eyes burned in anger. The time Pharaoh Atem sealed the conference with a final decision—to give Bakura one last chance to redeem, because he hadn't killed any of his people so far—the young prince turned his face in distaste and left the room with such sinister grace that reflected an eclipsed moon hanging above the silent Sahara at night.
The gutter of his long, noble cape followed his departure. It flowed in the dimmed Grand Sanctum like the wings of a dark angel, leaving lingering traces as he left—slicing through the damp warm air of Egypt at night with his eyes skyward.
PRIEST SETH WAS IN A FOUL MOOD. HIS HEAD WAS SLIGHTLY DIZZY THE TIME HE WOKE UP, AND his eyes were pinkish, with purplish circle under them due to lack of sleep.
He took off his noble indigo coat and put on a humbler one made of fine white silk—with gold embroideries on its gutter, and small piece of ruby stones around the neck—called upon two men of the imperial cavalry guard to accompany him for morning walk to the public market downtown.
The two guards looked at each other in confusion when the young priest asked them to do so. It was, after all, very unusual for the naturally secluded and utterly introverted scholar to take a walk during the day. They wanted to believe that some sort of destiny had led him to do so—but his clear green eyes had signaled otherwise: he only desired a refreshing walk.
"My eyes got tired because of reading and writing too much—I want a break," Priest Seth didn't even smile, although he probably wanted to: the tip of his lips showed a very vivid, almost invisible curve.
"Fine, Young Lord, we are at your service," the guard fetched a fine black stallion for the priest and got on their horses. A moment later they were already outside the palace, all prepared for an unsual morning walk.
To BE CONTINUED Chapter 2 will be published A WEEK later…