Authors note
I'm starting something new. Ive never done this before and hopefully this will pan out successfully. This story is purely written organically and I will apologies about this for any gracious people who do intend to read this through and through. I never stick to things long but I have a good feeling about this.
This title, which I will start of will probably hint you to where this story will end up. It is based around the story of Isis and her resurrection of her brother Osiris that first occurs in some versions of the religious story in the Nile. There will be some parallels to this story but not of major effect. You will soon see if you are familiar of the tale. Please forgive me if I get anything wrong, my facts on Egypt aren't hundred percent right all the time and Ill accept any errors that people will point out to me.
I'm using Set for Priest Seto, if that confuses anyone. I rather give him a more Egypt-y name than Seto, which is by the way (not to sound pompous or anything, pardon me) the version of Set. Also for the sole reason that in the story, Set is the one who throws Osiris into the Nile. It ties in neatly with Set's (o) first vengeance for Atemu and even Seto Kaiba's revenge and thirst for victory.
I've altered it a lot, infact I shall call this an alternate universe story. For instance, this story happens after Atemu seals himself into the puzzle, leaving Set to the throne. This isn't during the arc when Yugi had come in with his gang into his memories but before that, its after the origins of Atemu. When the memories were created...if that makes any sense.
Per'A means Pharaoh and Medjay are basically, you say in simple terms, the police of the city.
Also this isn't a romance story between Set and Atemu. But in the future there will be some other subtle pairings, keep an eye! Not very big, this is not a romance story, but there will be some mild hints, which i don't know, even thought i don't want it to be, might start becoming a sub plot but fingers crossed i do not stray away.
I'm also using the Japanese name for Atem , which is Atemu, because I think it just flows better, not that Atem is bad, I like that name to. Enough rambling, onwards!
The crowd roared. Sprigs of lotus flowers flew into the air, birds were released and their wings threw shadows of Horus onto the throng of villagers and city goers. A beating of uniformed drums emphasized the atmosphere; a humble drawl of hooves was heard as a group of trained Medjay formed a clear-cut line, straight as an obelisk, below a towering balcony. Side by side of the terrace stood the powerful figures of Isis and Horus themselves; stuck in stone and painted in bright colors. Two massive torches were fixed firmly with manmade concrete that was created from the bosom of the Nile and her sands and mud. It was hardened till it was smooth and pasted firmly into the curvature of the main entrance's balcony, securing the giant candle wells. The fires itself were dancing with enchantments; soft reds, sandy whites, the crown prince's very own signature purple and emerald of maple leaves that were shipped from distant countries from the north were creating a show for the crowd. The people praised the fire, its own calls and stamps of their sandaled feet worshipping its primal movement, it started to spit gold and bronze.
A mixed cry untied only for one man.
Not a man, a boy stepped out onto the balcony, his mauve cape bellowing in the warm wind and his hair swaying. Adorned with simple gold and the eye of Udjat, Atemu raised his hands from the makeshift podium. A thunder of noise answered his gesture and he smiled graciously.
Set woke up with a jolt. His bed shook with his suddenness and he raised his hand gingerly to his head but not touching the sweat laden surface , unconsciously mimicking the deceased King. Perspiration ran down his neck, a rush of memories hit him. A dragon. A magician. A name. It kept assaulting his mind.
'S-set?' A young woman came to his side, her hand hesitantly resting on his shoulder. No reply, she grew nervous, her husband was prone to mood swings. She winced at her own choice of words, she even felt guilty in her own head.
'Set?' she tried again and only to be answered by a shrug of his shoulder in irritation and the finality of his tone of voice.
'Anat' with that he got up and walked over to an adjoining terrace, ignoring any attempts of conversation his wife made. Every step he took, felt like intrusion of the tomb itself. He took a shuddering breath, so this is what his cousin would have done.
A simple task like strolling into his own balcony would have been an everyday luxury that the former king would have taken pleasure in. Set had remembered in his days of his childhood, leaning on his side on the boy King's outer wall, ready to escort him. Set, as a lad, scowled back then, the boy had a habit of dining on the terrace. Achingly slow, the prince would devour pomegranates in the morning, spitting any bitter seeds with Mana as they shared the juicy fruit. Sometimes Set would catch her twirling her staff, and a giggle followed by a surprised gasp would follow after. Set would turn his head, trying to catch what was happening but always his sight would arrive late to the scene and found them innocently eating like nothing happened.
Those mornings Set would come to the court dark red, his tunic splattered with ruby and dripping all over the floors. No one would knew why and no one would question or direct anything to Set, save for a few murmurs and whispered laughs by Mahaado as he spoke to Karim. Set's mood would spoil like milk left in the hot sun and he would spend the entire day apologizing to higher ranked officials, instructed to do so by his master.
Still rusty to his new appointed duties and retaining his boyish mischief, Atemu would arrive late after Set's more than conspicuous entrance , clap his hands and bow, apologetically to his father. He then would bestow the court a final grin and plant himself readily onto his miniature throne, looking all like a cub in training to befit the mantle.
Set put his hands down on the cool stone of that said balcony that mirrored his dream. Set shook his head, the fringes of his hair falling into his eyes.
The stone was cold, lost its former warmth from the setting of Ra. It was smooth, years of maintenance had taught it to be impeccable. It looked over at Nut's work, the sky was pitched black, illuminated by the bright stars. It wasn't silent, escaping howls were heard form the Necropolis and grunts of drunks and flittering pedestrians were heard from the streets.
Egypt was never quiet.
But somehow cries like in his dream had never been called again, the sheer monument that was Atemu to the people had forever left the dirty streets of Egypt. Not to say that he was not loved by his people, on rare cases, children would run, pressing their hands against his chariots as he rode by with his party. Tracing the golden artwork on the sides, their fingers finding battles of ancient gods, the splendor of ships that sailed unknown waters and crocodiles that opened their mouths, hiding stalks between their teeth, that were carved neatly into the hardened gold and wood of his chariot.
The hot pink ostrich feathers that were tied on to the wheels of the cart would flutter in the breeze, sometimes coming loose and he would see young girls, no more than five sitting by the fried fish stalls, twining the rare feathers into their hair when he returned. At those times, he almost felt like he was still with Atemu, sitting behind him, on his own horse, it would be as brown as the ground, attired with simple stirrups and reins, the headband of his horse would be a brilliant blue, shaped like a snake, the only thing that would distinguish him from his peers.
And then their would be the great pharaoh, up ahead, standing tall, his hands outstretched and holding on to the banister, smiling at the people who would part like the red sea. They would all stop and stare in wonderment, back then the Priest would mutter darkly, speaking of dogs and their masters, but now he wouldn't dare. Atemu would just stand, he would not say anything, the boy was small, and Set had always blamed Egypt's fall for that, but now looking back, he had now remembered seeing the astuteness in his eyes. The grainy, wine color of his pupils did not drunken him into stupor, it flowed around him, into his people and into the land beneath them. They grew from the dried grapes somewhere out in the deep country of Egypt, and were crushed and nurtured by Egypt's people and were then rolled by hand, by the hands that were born from Egypt, given by the mother, Isis. Their hands would be stained by her fruits and tired and blistered but they would still push the barrels of rolling liquid. Reaching every house in Egypt's land, making them feel alive and bright, drunken not by stupor but by celebration and life. This was the very wine of Egypt that Set had seen numerous times in his pharaoh's eyes, but never truly recognized God's drink till now.
Atemu was Egypt and Egypt had loved Atemu.
Even down to his toes that curled into the hot sand as if they were returning home from a tired war, to his hair that swayed to the wind, never played by it but playing the songs for it, to his shoulders that never burned from Ra's sun, to his lips that would smile like a father to his son when he looked down from his balcony, onto the sweet city. Egypt had adored him.
Now that he was gone , it left Set with the heavy burden that his city still did not relinquish their hold on their former Pharaoh. But he would try, Set's hands fell to the warm miniature tomb that lay around his neck, fingering the ropes, onto the smooth gold and finally two fingers rested on the eye of Udjaet. Its gaze ever piercing, even through his fingers. It glowed faintly, and Set swore he almost heard a hum whistling of its glossy surface.
'Per' A?' A timid voice whispered again. Set turned to acknowledge his silent partner that looked up from their bed.
'Anat, sleep' He turned, dismissing the women a little more aggressively than he would have liked, Set drowned out her defeated sigh and missed the soft tumbling of sheets that fell from the floor as she moved out of the room. He had long learned to forget his simple wife, she had now started to take walks out at night, away from him he suspected but he did not care.
Would he have let her do that? A thought erupted in his cranium, like an unwanted fly that did not go away every time you tried to swat at it. Set shook his head. Does it matter? Set became angry with himself, this had become a ritual for him and he hated himself for it. He had allowed it to fester and grow, this obsession was slowly driving him mad. He found that everyday he would question himself on what he did. Would Atemu do that? As Set picked up a glass of mead, raising it to his mouth. Would Atemu allowed him to be free? As Set declared a peasant to the gallows. Would Atemu fight? As Set left the battle grounds victoriously, smiles of soldiers all around him, but he was the only one weary and thoughtful.
Sekhmet , one of the priests, had once commented that this inner battle and fascination with the forgotten Per'A would live long , well into his bones and ingrained into his soul. It was as if he would be doing this even in his next life.
Set laid back into the bed, craving sleep even if his eyes would not tire and his mind still whizzed. He grunted, forcing his body to sleep.
Even in his inner subconscious the tinkle of the boy King's tiny, golden puzzle was still heard in his ears.