He sits upright for a moment, breathing heavily. The transparent curtains flutter in the moonlight.
The dream- the nightmare- kills a little bit of him everytime he has it. Even if it is diverted at the end (as it sometimes is).
"Brother... father will ask something like this of us, one day."
He hadn't wanted to think of it. Hadn't wanted to think what it might mean.
"...I can't."
"You must."
He'd interrupted. The boy that was his mirror image had smiled sadly, and let it go. But he remembered half-orders while he was half-asleep, promises and apologies, sobs and forgiveness.
They had had no choice. Their father's council had demanded it, their father agreeing to an extent. They had been thrown into a closed arena and only one would come out.
"Brother..." with his sad eyes and sad smile, he had picked up one of the swords, "Brother..."
Atem, the mighty Crowned Pharaoh and King, hunches over his legs in his bed and weeps.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Remember, brother? I told you."
"...I won't do it."
"You must..." the tears were the worst part of the nightmare, "I'm not strong, not like you, brother..."
Some days, Atem thinks he did the boy a favor. Some days, Atem can't move from his bed, such is his grief.
His brother, his twin, the only one to laugh with him and to play with him without reserve-
"Brother. I won't leave you. I swear. So please..."
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
And really, Atem thinks sometimes. Was it worth it?
...no. No, it wasn't.
(Three thousand years in the darkness leaves him out of his mind, a mere, powerful, shadow creature with no purpose but to judge.
And then comes along the child with light in his smile, and though he has no memories to call his own, he does know his purpose is to protect this child.
As he knows this child's purpose was to bring light into what was left of his soul.)