Book One: Across the Years

Egypt: Roughly 3,000 Years Later

A silver-haired man had come into the palace.

Nuru kept to the shadows, watching the young man's slow progression through the sandy ruins of what had once been her home. He was certainly not the first foreigner to come to the palace, but what she found very odd about this particular man was that he was alone. She was used to them coming in large groups, digging around in the sand, stealing away the broken pottery – what on earth did they want with the broken pottery? – and staring at the reliefs on the walls for hours on end, as though they didn't know what to make of Egyptian hieroglyphs. They were all very strange to her, and very frightening as well; she had seen them, more than once, dig up the tombs of the common peoples and drag out the mummified bones and offerings. They were grave robbers, her gut told her. The term stirred something in her vast memory, but that 'something' fluttered away from her consciousness before she could grasp it.

This man, Nuru reminded herself absently, was strange, even among the foreigners. Not only was he alone, but he was ignoring the reliefs and the pottery that the others usually occupied themselves with. Instead, he was slowly making his way into the depths of the palace, his silver hair catching in the light of his own torch. He was getting closer to the Doors.

Nuru trailed after him, though she kept a safe distance. She was very protective of the Doors, though she did not remember what was behind them anymore. She never felt inclined to open them, even after all this time. But she always felt drawn to the Doors and the chamber they protected. She felt nervous and touchy whenever the foreigners got too close to them – but she knew her worries were only superficial. None of the foreigners who had come to her home were ever able to see those doors.

Nuru wet her lips and crawled slowly along the corridor behind the man. He was slow. What was he looking for, she wondered?

He stopped suddenly. Nuru froze. She lowered her body closer to the ground, knees pressing gently into the sand. Her hair brushed the floor as she ducked her head, watching silently as the man looked around him. She was unfamiliar with human body language, but she had hunted game before, and the man's posture showed similar hesitation to a prey who knew it was being pursued. He showed signs of fear.

After a long moment, the man turned and continued his path. The closer they got to the Doors, the more anxious Nuru felt. But surely, she thought to herself as he turned a corner, surely he, like every other that had come to the palace, would be unable to see –

The man came face to face with the Doors. He froze, and released a loud shout. Nuru's eyes widened – there was no mistaking it. That man was staring straight at the doorway which had remained hidden from modern eyes for all this time. The man spoke frantically in an unknown language, sounding scared and awed all at once. Nuru straightened, rising to her feet uncertainly. This had never happened before. What did it mean?

The silver-haired man, still speaking feverishly, ran up to the doors as though he meant to pull them open. In a sudden panic, Nuru's body acted on its own; she threw herself in front of the doors with a shout, shoving the man's hands away before she jerked away, unused to human conflict. She pressed her back into the door and looked up, waiting for the next move – only to freeze on making eye contact with the first living person she'd revealed herself to in so, so long.

He looked as surprised – as scared – as she did. He appeared to have only one eye, the other side of his face curtained by that strange, almost luminescent silver hair. He'd reared back slightly upon seeing her, but now studied her with a sort of fearful confusion.

Nuru couldn't get over her shock. He could see the Doors – how? The man murmured something, but Nuru didn't pay attention to the strange language she couldn't understand. She held her ground, standing in front of the Doors with her chin up and ready to take any pain he dealt her.

But he didn't move. He spoke again, a little louder this time. Nuru could only stare back at him, uncomprehending. Only one eye, she thought to herself. But there – was that a flash of gold?

She felt him freeze as she reached forward, gingerly, and touched the silver curtain of hair hiding half of the man's face. She felt a pull to him, much like she felt a pull to the doors at her back.

The man jerked away, looking, if possible, even more startled than before. But something compelled her to grab his chin to keep him in place, even as she shuddered at the human contact. Her sandy hands reached up and pushed the hair from his face.

Her hands jumped away from his face as if burned. The stone entranceway at her back seemed to hum with suppressed power, and something clicked into place in Nuru's scattered mind. Her hands released him, her feet moved her to the side, and her body folded into a long-forgotten bow next to the entrance to the Chamber of the Shadow Monsters.

When Nuru looked up from her daze, the man was gone, and the Chamber doors open. She could hear his voice deep inside and she backed away, suddenly scared. She recognised that Eye. She recognised these doors, and she remembered the creatures held inside, and she knew their king, their master, and – and –

The girl stumbled away from the palace that was suddenly too constricting, and managed to find her way outside even though her view was curiously blurred. Eventually the made it outside, where she crouched against some ruins and shut her eyes tightly, only then aware of how they were leaking tears. She pressed her palms to her face and prayed that when she opened them again, the strange man would be gone, the Eye would be gone, and the Chamber of the Ancient Monsters would be sealed once again.

Nuru groaned softly, and willed herself to forget.

Domino City: Present Day

Bakura knew he was not well.

He had never been well, not since his soul had bonded with the Millennium Ring and he had awoken in Ryou's hands. It had become even worse upon seeing that Pharaoh again, blissfully dead but still here, Ra be damned, still a spiritual entity on this plane of the living. And what's worse, he had no memory of his past life! The very audacity, Bakura often brooded to himself. It's insulting. Insulting.

Bakura was not well. At times, he would be reading the newspaper for nothing better to do, not quite ready to give control back to his hikari, and see something odd in the article – like a birthday greeting for some five year-old. And strange thoughts would pop into his head – 'Abasi, he was about to turn five, just before the village–' And then he would stop himself abruptly, and allow a confused Ryou to have control.

There were other times, when Bakura was walking down the street with no destination in mind, boredly eyeing the shops he passes. And suddenly, he'd stop – always in front of the same shop, of beautiful linens and fabrics, always with at least two female mannequins elegantly dressed in the window. Almost without thinking, Bakura would eye the clothing critically. Recently there had been a dark red, woven fabric on display. Just as abruptly, as he'd stopped, he'd think 'she would like that one,' before realizing what he was doing and finding the nearest washroom where he can splash his face with cold water and wait for the shivering to stop, curses dropping feverishly from his lips.

Then there are times he'd lay in bed to sleep, staring up at the ceiling, and begin speaking Egyptian to no one. He'll begin to hold a conversation with no one.

"What's wrong, Yami?" Ryou will often ask, after Bakura had finally noticed what he's been doing and shaken it off, like a bad dream. "This – isn't normal, for you to talk to nobody the way you are."

Bakura often told him not to meddle. He's fine. You don't stay imprisoned for three thousand years in a Sennen Item without some lasting effects.

(But it's not really no one. It's a dead woman.)

These were the instances that assured Bakura something was wrong with him, something had, perhaps, always been wrong with him. At least since his death.

As with all things, Bakura faced his problems with violent, resentful anger. He hated thesestupid memories, useless memories. They made him angry, and vengeful, and he hated everything, he hated being stuck here, in this damned world when there were people, there was a person waiting for him in the afterlife, a young, small, sad, sad girl –

But he hated Atemu the most. Atemu, who remembered nothing of Memphis, or Shadow Egypt, or her.

The very audacity, Bakura would snarl, blind with fury. It's insulting. Insulting.

The tremor in Bakura's hands infuriated him. The obliviousness of the Pharaoh maddened him.

These were times he envied Atemu the most – he was free of her tears for all eternity.

Egypt: 20 Years Ago

Two thousand five hundred and seventy-four. Two thousand five hundred and seventy-five. Two thousand five hundred and seventy six…

Seated in one of the few rooms of the palace that hadn't been blown up by foreigners or ripped apart by foreigners or vandalized by foreigners or worn down from old age, Nuru smoothed her fingers over the hieroglyphics one by one, counting each symbol on the widest wall's surface. Of course, she already knew there were three thousand nine hundred and eighty two characters on this particular wall, but who knew? She could have miscounted, the past two hundred and eighty-three times she'd done this already, at various intervals in the past. If she read them slowly enough it could take her five hours to count them all, and, well, it wasn't as though she was running short on time or anything.

Nuru broke off in her counting and stood up suddenly, feeling restless. The harsh desert sun beat down on her skin as Nuru padded carefully through the barren halls of the palace. There were very few places where walls hadn't been knocks down or eroded, leaving wide, gaping holes and no ceilings. Sometimes, all that remained was the floor, and a few marble pillars.

There was one room still intact, though.

"Hm. Hm. Hm. Oh!" Nuru noticed movement in the corner of her eye and jumped at the distraction, whirling about and stumbling towards a small, sand-coloured cricket scuttling across an overturned statue. Quickly, as though the opportunity might slip through her fingers if she didn't get there long enough, Nuru rushed to the weathered rock and crouched down over the insect. "Hello. Hello. I've seen you before."

The cricket chirped. Nuru reared back for a moment, visibly surprised, before she crouched down even closer to the small animal. She whistled the same noise to the best of her ability, fascinated. The cricket hopped once, twice, and the girl crawled slowly after it. Again, it chirped.

Nuru whistled again in response. She licked her lips and smiled. "You're familiar to me. Hmm. I've seen you before. What's your name?" Nuru frowned, and went still as she pondered. She knew the name of this creature. It seemed odd that she couldn't remember. Ages ago, she had known its' name. Right? Maybe. She couldn't recall.

Nuru frowned deeper, and set her chin against her folded arms. She stared down at the tiny creature with glazed brown eyes, and when it hopped away, she stared at the place it had been, seemingly not noticing its departure. In fact, to an outsider's eyes it would appear that she had been somehow petrified; she stayed that way for a long twenty minutes, hardly breathing.

Abruptly, Nuru smiled, as though she hadn't been sitting in the same position for nearly a half an hour. Even though the insect was gone, she stared at the place it had been triumphantly. "Cricket. You're a cricket. Cricket. Cricket." Standing, Nuru mumbled the word under her breath as though to remember as she walked to the far corner of the empty room and picked up a charred stick from the fire she'd made last night. Then she made a rough drawing of the bug on the dusty floor. "Cri-ket," she said, smiling as she wrote the creature's name beneath its likeness. Then, absently, Nuru wrote more characters onto the floor. When she was done, she blinked at the writing, as though just noticing it there.

"Nu-ru," she read. "Nuru…" the girl pondered a moment. The smile flashed across her face a second time. "I'm Nuru," she said, as though just remembering.

Humming lightly, Nuru stood and dusted herself off before turning and dancing lightly to another room, to do something else. Something.

Egypt: 12 Years Ago

There were clothes sitting just in the temple, at the topmost step, next to a bushel of grapes and a large chunk of cheese.

Nuru squat down some ten feet away from the neat arrangement of provisions. After a long moment, she wet her lips and clucked softly, once. Of course she was hungry. Only when she slept for days and days and days did the gnawing – but apparently harmless – hunger ease.

It was odd, these strange offerings that would show up night after night. It had been going on for a while, but for how long exactly Nuru couldn't be sure – her perception of time had long dissipated. But, who left the food here? She hadn't seen anyone in person for quite a while, not since the pale ones came with their strange languages and obvious lack of respect for what had been her home and prison all these years. She had hid from them, and yet now, after so long, someone knew she was here. And for some reason they thought she had no means of sustenance for herself.

Nuru crept closer to the provisions, one step at a time. She plucked a grape from the stem and rolled it between her dark fingers, gently puncturing the skin with a fingernail. The juice ran over her dusty skin and slid over the aged gold forever clasped along her forearms. The "young" woman set the grape between her teeth, and bit down slowly; gently, feeling the juices fill her mouth and pool over her tongue. Why did this person leave food for her? And…where did he or she come from?

Chewing slowly and swallowing, Nuru cautioned a glance at the clothing neatly folded next to the grapes. She lifted the linen gently, smoothing her hands across it. It was soft, pale – and, to her surprise, much like the Egyptian garb she was familiar with.

There was a soft 'thump' from behind her followed by a small cry. Nuru's eyes widened as she stood, forgetting the cloth still clutched in her fists as she turned. More foreigners? Quickly, she must run back to the palace –

The girl froze in place, staring at the scene before her eyes. A little boy sat haphazardly on the ground, tears welled in his large violet eyes. Though his hair was a striking gold he was not a foreigner, as she had previously assumed, but an Egyptian just like her. It looked as though he had tripped on the very last step and scraped his knee on the unforgiving stone. The tiny creature sniffled loudly, rubbing at his eyes. He must have felt her gaze because he looked up suddenly, still teary, but quieted with fear.

Slowly, Nuru crept down the stairs, lowering her body near the ground so as to seem less intimidating. A furrow formed in her brow as she neared the boy; it had been such a long time since she had seen a child. The closer she came, however, the wider the boy's scared eyes grew. She was only one step away from him when he succumbed to scared tears again, and at the long-forgotten sound, a switch was flipped in Nuru's head.

Dropping the linens, she scooped him up with one arm and rested him against her shoulder, standing in the process. The boy was small enough to fit along the crook of her arm.

"Now now now. You're alright. I'll fix you, don't worry." She climbed the stairs again and sat him on the topmost step, surveying the injured knee thoughtfully. "Hmm. Hmm." After a moment she retrieved the new linens and ripped a small strip from them, wrapping it firmly about the boy's knee. He had all but stopped crying now, and was watching her move about with innocent curiousity. When she noticed, she reached across him and pulled a stem of grapes from the bushel, before offering them to him. After a moment of hesitance, he took them.

As he munched away slowly, she took the time to brush the sand off him whilst humming tunelessly. She smeared the tears from his eyes and finally, leaned down to plant a kiss on the bandaged knee. "All better," she chimed gently, and pat his head once. He nibbled gently on a grape, still watching her with those big eyes. His small hands barely fit about one of the small fruits.

Nuru turned at the sound of a horse swiftly approaching, sinking lower to the floor in uncertainty. The boy, however, caught sight of the approaching figure and a grin blossomed over his face as the rider came to a stop at the temple steps.

"Malik!" the man shouted fiercely.

"Papa!" the boy giggled, and began his meticulous descent. Keeping her eyes on the horseman, Nuru quickly slipped a bit further into the temple, ducking fearfully behind the remains of a pillar. She held still and shut her eyes tightly, listening to the quiet murmurs of the man to his son. There was a long, tense pause, and then a sharp whistle –

The horse carried its passengers away from the temple, from Memphis, and from her. For a long time afterwards, Nuru stood stock still behind the pillar, eyes closed and body tensed. For the first time in a while, she felt…old.