Guess I lied when I said the boring introduction stuff was over oof

"When I walk a dark road, I am a man who walks alone."

-Fear of the Dark, Iron Maiden

Chapter 2

Yami picked at his food disinterestedly, his eyes focused blankly on his fork stabbing the meat in front of him. He felt nauseous looking at it; he hated lamb and his Aunt Nara knew that about him. He hated her for making it for him. He had hated everything about this stupid day. He'd been excited about turning sixteen his whole life. Sixteen was the age were you become "of age." He wasn't really sure what that was supposed to mean, but it had always excited him. He had always thought today would be the best day of his left, but instead it had been the worst.

Well, waking up it had been good enough. Mokuba had shaken him awake, proudly presenting to him a wooden figurine of a deer as a gift. He had accepted the present with a smile, setting it on the windowsill in between their beds. He had only just stood up when he aunt burst into the room with the outfit she wanted him to wear for this "special day." She fussed over him as he dressed, brushing him off and chatting about whatever came into her mind with that hyperenergetic voice of hers.

Then she'd gone to prepare for dinner, and he'd ben left alone with his uncle. Yami hated his uncle. His attitude provoked him to anger twice, and the second time he had hit Yami across the face in the middle of a busy road. Plenty of people turned to look as he fell ass first onto the dirt, the basket of bread he carried upturning its contents all over the road. He'd then been yelled at, coin been slapped into his hand, and he'd been instructed to buy more and return directly home. And when he'd gotten home, and his aunt had seen the dust on his previously perfect black clothing, she'd reprimanded him somehow with playful disappointment before seating him at the table and throwing a plate of food in front of him.

But the food was lamb.

"Yami."

"Hm?" Yami paused in his movements and looked to his uncle. The stern looked which seemed to be always imprinted onto the man's face was twisted into a scowl now, glaring at his nephew.

"Eat your damn food. Your aunt spent all day making that for you." His tone of voice clearly left no room for argument, but Yami wasn't in the mood to be complacent.

"I don't like lamb," he said, setting his fork onto the table.

"Well that's what we have, so eat your goddamn dinner."

"No." He was fucking sixteen years old. If he didn't want to eat his disgusting dinner, then no one was going to make him.

His uncle also set down his fork, although much more forcefully. "Now what, you think you're entitled to ignore me because you're sixteen years old now? Until you no longer live in this house, you listen to-"

Yami stood quickly with practiced elegance, making sure his chair didn't skid on the floor. When he was a child throwing a tantrum, he had never thought to be so subtle and the chair he sat in would careen to the ground with the loud crash that he always felt so satisfied by. Then his uncle would do the same thing, rising quickly with a hand poised to smack Yami across the face. It had taken a while, but Yami had eventually learned some kind of subtlety and didn't like to do that anymore. He much preferred the annoyed, derisive look he got from his uncle when he kept his anger contained and announced in a polite voice that he was retiring to his room for the night.

"I have finished my food. Please excuse me," he said, and walked away, ignoring his uncle's curse.

Aunt Nara caught him on his way to the stairs. "You done eating?"

"Yes, I was just heading up to bed," Yami answered dismissively.

"Oh, well, don't fall asleep too soon, we're expecting company."

"Company? It's nearly sunset." Who would be coming over this late?

"Yes, company, so make sure you look presentable. It's a very important guest."

Yami nodded to appease her, although he knew he wasn't going to do anything to change his appearance once he got upstairs.

The breeze from the open window welcomed him with pungent forest scent as he opened the door to his room. It smelled like rain, and heavy grey clouds were starting to fill the sky. They weren't hiding the sunset completely though, yet. Yami walked to the window, resting his arms against the windowsill and gazing at the sky. The setting sun was surprisingly beautiful, if a bit garish in its crimson glow. It was the kind of sight that made him think that the poets were correct to describe sunset like the death of the sun, comparing the last of its light to the final flair of a warrior before he falls in battle, creatures gorging on the blood flowing from his wounds.

The sound of the door opening and closing distracted him from his visceral imaginings. He recognized the soft patter of Mokuba's footsteps go to his bed and he threw himself down on it.

"Why is everybody sad today, Yami?" he asked in his small voice.

"Hm?" Yami glanced over at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." The child sighed, looking down at his hands. "Mother seems sad. She's trying to hide it again, but I can see that she is. And Father seems angrier than usual, which means he's upset. Also..." He paused again, and Yami waited patiently for him to continue. He paused in his speech constantly when he spoke; Yami was used to it, although he could never figure out why he did it.

"Also, Rebecca was really upset today. She was crying behind a tree when I found her. I thought it was because she was sad and I asked her what was wrong, but she said she wasn't sad, she was scared. So I asked her why she was scared and she said that the Old War veterans sense something tonight. They said the bloody sunset signifies blood. I... I'm scared too, Yami."

Yami turned his gaze out the window again, and then back to Mokuba. He had to admit, he could practically smell the tension in the air, potent as blood but without that bittersweet tang. Veterans of the Old War, trained specifically to recognize signs and omens like these, were hardly ever wrong. They relied on their instinctive intuition above all else, and that was the reason they had managed to live to their elder years. They would probably be locking themselves up in their houses tonight, even more tightly than any normal night, holding their grandchildren close to them and holding a crossbow to the door until daybreak. Yami remembered when he was young, and on nights when this intuitive tension rang high, his aunt would hold Mokuba and him to her chest while his uncle pointed his weapon at the only entrance. And he remembered hearing the next day that families across the village had been murdered, even in one case a house being burnt to ash with a mother and her twin daughters inside.

But a night like that hadn't happened in at least a decade. And the longer Yami remained in silence, the more frightened his little cousin would become.

"I- I'm sure it'll all be alright, Mokuba. It's probably nothing. Just like that time last month, do you remember when-"

And then it hit them both at the same time, that too-strong, nauseating, fetid stench of blood mixing into the rain-scent wafting into their room with the next wind. They both stood petrified for a moment, fear ripping through their nerves, until Mokuba jumped upright exclaiming "Shut the windows!"

Yami nodded and his body took action immediately, reaching out to slam the shutters closed and latch the lock together. He leaned against them, his throat burning from the smell, and looked back at Mokuba. His little cousin stared back at him with fear-filled eyes, but for once Yami's fraternal instict to comfort him did not overcome his own fear, and as Mokuba spoke he could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart.

Loud, sharp rapping at the front door sounded throughout the house and caused them both to jump, facing the door. They heard Nara's cheerful voice from downstairs: "Be right there!" and after exchanging a quick glance ran out of the room in sync. But before they were even halfway down the stairs, she was at the door.

"Mother, wait!" While Yami stopped halfway down, Mokuba continued running until he was at his mother's side, gripping her arm and unsuccessfully trying to pull her away from the door.

"Mokuba, stop that," she growled, ripping her arm from his grasp.

"No, you can't! The- the sunset, and the smell! You need to stay inside." He had a hold of her arm again, and his voice was strained, close to tears.

"Mokuba, go back to Yami."

He shook his head. "No."

"Yes. Go." She again shook her arm out of his grip. She made a shooing motion with her hand, and Mokuba hesitantly stepped back and scurried his way to where Yami still stood on the stairs, hiding behind him and gripping his hand in fear. Both of them watched apprehensively as Nara opened the door.

And both of them were surprised at her suddenly peppy exclamation of greeting.

"Nephew!"

Nephew? Mokuba and Yami both shared a look.

Yami caught a glimpse of brown hair and a pale face as his aunt embraced the person at the door.

"It's so nice to see you again, Aunt Nara," said an unfamiliar husky voice.

"Come inside, Seto, before it gets dark." She stepped aside and held the door open for the visitor, and habitually closed it as soon as he was inside. Suddenly the thick, coppery scent increased tenfold. Yami had to hold his breath to stifle a gag.

"I apologize for my appearance," said the visitor. "And for..." He brought one gloved hand to his nose with a disgusted look. "that," he finished. "I ran into some trouble on the way."

"Oh, trouble? Are you alright?" Aunt Nara asked sympathetically.

The visitor nodded as he pulled his gloves off his hands. "I'm fine. However, if you have any food, it'd be most welcome." His smile was a little off-putting, and Yami's grip tightened on Mokuba's hand unconsciously, reflexively.

Suddenly the stranger's eyes turned to him, and he gasped as he was met with the most intense gaze he'd ever seen in his life. Blue fiery eyes which first widened considerably upon seeing him, but then narrowed just as far, into two slivers of ice.

Aunt Nara was saying something about the lamb she had just cooked, but stopped midsentence when she noticed that Seto was now focused on something different. On Yami.

"Mokuba, Yami, come here." Her commanding voice startled both Yami and the visitor out of the gaze, and they turned to face her.

"Now," she insisted after a moment's pause. Mokuba was the first to move, dragging Yami along by the hand.

Now standing directly before the stranger, Yami felt even more vulnerable, caught by this man's intense gaze the way a rabbit is caught by a hunting trap.

"Mokuba, Yami, this is Seto, my nephew. Seto, this is Mokuba, my son, and Yami."

"Yes." He only gave a small, friendly nod to Mokuba before looking back at Yami. Aunt Nara asked if she could take his gloves from him and without looking at her he handed them to her. She started to say something else in that enthusiastic, welcoming voice, but he cut her off by abruptly walking forward- stalking, almost- to stand directly in front of Yami. Yami felt as if he should move backwards, away from him, but was too intimidated to move. Not even when Seto took his chin with his hand and turned his head from one side to the other, as if examining him, did he move.

"So it's you." His voice came out a little more than a husky breath, and Yami shuddered, his eyes flashing to his aunt in a plea for help.

But then Seto's touch was gone, and he stepped back. Yami breathed a small sigh a relief, which quickly retracted into a gasp of surprise when the man dropped to one knee at his feet.

"I am honoured to finally meet you, my Prince," he declared with his head bowed.

Yami started down at him, speechless. "You... what?"

The man looked up at him as if surprised, and rose. He turned his head back to Nara.

"You didn't tell him," he stated.

She shook her head.

"You were supposed to tell him." His tone was irritated.

"I was waiting until you got here!" she protested.

"Well I almost died on the way here!" he shouted back.

"You said you were fine!"

"I am fine!" He threw a hand up for silence from her, exasperatedly holding a hand to his forehead. "Sit down." He pointed Yami to the table he'd eaten dinner at earlier.

Yami stayed put.

"Go on, sit." He went over to the table and slid a chair out for Yami.

Yami nervously took a deep breath and sat in the chair, his hands folded in his lap tightly and his muscles tense. With a flair that seemed unnecessary yet appealing at the same time, he brought out his own chair and made himself comfortable in it. He sighed, obviously wondering how to proceed with the topic.

He took a sharp intake of breath and then said "You're the eldest son of King Mutou, of Qell'hiver."

Ah, fuck.

Why hadn't Aunt Nara told him earlier? This was going to be difficult, Seto could already tell. He watched the kid stammering for a few good seconds before he finally managed to blurt out the same question from before.

"What?"

"Today is your sixteenth birthday. The King sent me to-" This wasn't going to work. He turned around. "Aunt Nara. It'll be better if you tell him."

She took a step back, holding her hands up defensively. "I'm not the one the King sent to retrieve his son."

"No, but you're the one who was chosen to raise him, so he'll trust you more than me."

The sound of the front door opening alarmed them all, but it was only Nara's husband, whose name was generic enough that Seto couldn't remember, coming in. He shut and latched the door behind him as the last of sunlight disappeared behind the trees, and the only light in the house that remained were candlefires flickering.

There was silence as Seto and the man held each other's gaze. Seto had only met him once, back when his father was alive and he was young, but he recalled that his uncle had always had a particular dislike of him, for whatever reason. It probably had to do with the time Seto and his brother had stolen one of his posessions as a joke, and to avoid getting caught wound up throwing it in a well. They were caught anyways, and punished for the destruction of the object, as apparently it was quite valuable, as well as the thieving of it in the first place. The memory usually brought a reminiscent smirk to his face despite the reminder of his brother, but in the presence of this man it did not.

"Lord Kaiba," the man eventually said. "Such a pleasure to have you here."

Fuck, what's his name?

After a moment's hesitation, Seto replied. "Uncle. It's nice of you to have me."

"Yes, but what are you doing here?"

Seto looked again to Nara. "You didn't tell him either?"

His aunt was in the process of taking her husband's cloak from him. "I was under the impression that it was a secret, Nephew."

Uncle sighed. "What is he talking about now, Nara?"

Aunt Nara looked to him. "Seto?"

"No, you tell them." Seto leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

Nara sighed. "It's about Yami, Varun."

Varun. Oh. "His name is Atem," Seto interjected.

"What?"

"His name is-" He turned around, faced the kid. "Your name is Atem."

The kid only shook his head, again looking to Nara helplessly. Seto sighed and faced his aunt and uncle again.

"Yami's name is Yami," his uncle said. "He's our nephew."

Nephew? Seto stood, facing Nara. "Your nephew? I told you to raise him as your son."

"Well, what was I supposed to do if I showed up back home with a baby I wasn't carrying two weeks ago when I left? People would obviously talk about it if I didn't provide an explanation, Seto, so I said it was my late brother's son whose mother was unable to care for it by herself. And nobody talked about it, which means no attention was called to us."

"What the hell are either of you talking about?" Varun shouted suddenly, causing Seto to flinch at his annoying voice.

"It's none of your business," Seto told him.

"What do you mean it's none of my business?" He shoved a finger into Seto's face. "He's my nephew!"

Seto grabbed the hand in his face. His uncle immediately tried to retract it, but Seto held it, and inspected the steel ring on one finger.

"That boy has a mark on his face. You wouldn't happen to know why that is, would you?"

The man jerked his hand from Seto's grip. "I don't know. He gets in too many fights. I keep telling him to stay away from those other boys."

Seto snorted doubtfully. That kid looked like he'd never been in a fight in his life. "Well, that will have to change," he replied.

The brusque, interruptive skidding of wood against wood startled them all, and they turned to the kid. He was on his feet now, palms braced on the table and chair standing several inches behind him.

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," he ordered, eyes downcast at the wood his hands lay on.

Seto dipped his head in accordance. "Of course, My Prince." Oh, he could hear his father's voice reprimanding him still, sixteen years after his death.

Such instinctive deference to royalty, Seto. Have you no thoughts for yourself?

"No!" The kid looked up at Seto, startling him out of his thoughts as he pushed himself off the table. "I'm not a goddamn prince."

Nara interjected. "Yami-"

"Atem," Seto corrected.

"Don't interrupt her."

"Shut up, old man."

Attention returned to Yami as he groaned frustratedly and stormed away, up the stairs. The three of them watched him go, and flinched as a door slammed.

"Dammit," Nara whispered. She went to follow, but Seto caught her arm. In respondance to it, Varun gripped his shoulder threateningly, which Seto threw off defiantly.

"I will go to him," he announced. "Aunt Nara, you can tell Mokuba and your husband why Atem has to leave tomorrow, but for the next few days at least it needs to be kept secret from everyone else."

His aunt nodded once. Seto turned his back to them and followed the kid's footsteps up the stairs. At the top he was met with the child Mokuba, looking wide-eyed.

"He's in there," the child sniffled, pointing the door to the left of them. "He didn't lock the door."

"Thank you," Seto said, and walked the few paces to the door. He turned the knob slowly, wondering if he would be met with the silent kind of rage or the kind where flowerpots were thrown and shattered against the wall violently. He decided to risk his luck and open the door without caution.

The room was completely dark when he closed the door behind himself. He was accustomed to darkness, though, even if he still felt uneasy in it. He sensed his prince's presence immediately, much stronger than he had downstairs, where his senses were impeded by the candlelight and the presences of three other people. In the darkness now, where he was accustomed to being, it was almost like a scent, the smell of sweet roses and moonlight. It stirred in him the innate instinct to come closer, to embrace it. He began walking forward to appease that notion, but was stopped by the prince's tired, irriated voice.

"Go the hell away."

Seto scoffed amusedly and paused. "I am sorry, My Prince, but I cannot leave."

"What do you mean? You're in my room. Go away."

Seto looked around. This room had the staple of more than one person on it; it was more than one person's home.

"Your room... and Mokuba's," he said. "And Mokuba invited me in here when I said I needed to speak with you. So unless he tells me to leave, I have no reason to."

The Prince groaned and seemingly shoved his face into the surface of the bed in which he lay. Seto took the opportunity to sit himself on the edge of the bed, careful not to be too close.

"Do you know who I am, My Prince?" he asked after a moment.

"Uncle called you Lord Kaiba," the Prince said. "So you're a lord."

"Yes, but he's not your uncle. These people are not your family."

Seto sensed his fist tightening immediately and tensed, but it quickly became apparent it wasn't for the purpose of violence and he relaxed.

"They are my family," he said quietly.

"Not by blood. Your blood is royal. Theirs is not."

"Is yours?"

Seto snorted in amusement at his curiosity. "You could say so. Gozaburo Kaiba himself was my father after all." A bit of bitterness worked its way into his voice with that statement, but he ignored it. The remnants of resentment he still held towards his father would do him no good now to dwell on.

"Oh." The Prince sat up straight, crossing his legs and leaning against the wall. He looked straight at Seto. Those bloodred eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, far more noticeable than they had been before. Seto bit back a gasp of surprise at the sight.

Perhaps his Prince, too, was a creature of darkness.

"I am not only a lord." Seto quickly recovered. "I am the sixth of the King's ten Royal Hunters. And I have been the one entrusted to your safety since your birth."

The Prince's eyes widened considerably at his words. Seto assumed he was going to ask something about the circumstances of his birth or why he wasn't raised in the King's Palace instead of this village barely in the kingdom, thought to be nothing but a commoner when he was the heir of the throne.

But instead he asked- "You're a hunter?"

Seto nodded. "Yes."

"Oh."

He pointed to the clasp of Seto's cloak he still wore. "Your clasp has the King's crest on it. So unless you killed someone for that, you're not lying about being a Hunter. Also my uncle said you were a lord. But how the hell am I supposed to believe you're here to take me to the King because I'm the next 'heir to the throne?' Why wasn't I raised in the capital of the kingdom, then, where heirs are supposed to be raised instead of here?"

"It was too dangerous for you there. Creatures of the night stalk the shadows there, far more than they do here."

"But the Hunters are there. Wouldn't they be able to protect me?"

Seto shook his head. "All ten Hunters are rarely in the same place at once. Lady Kujaku hasn't been to the palace in almost twenty years, I have barely had time to stay there from all the missions I've been running, and Lord Demai has been out of contact in the Northern Kingdoms for so many years he's technically considered a defector now."

"Oh. But that doesn't answer the question of-"

"Oh, wait I forgot I had this." Seto reached into the black leather bad he carried and pulled out a roll of parchment, neatly rolled and sealed with the King's crest. He handed it to the Prince, watched his brow furrow slightly as he glanced at the seal before ripping it open.

"It's a decree from the King," Seto explained, "saying that I am to come here and bring the Prince of Qell'hiver back to the capital." It wasn't actually a decree from the King. Seto had written it the night before he'd set off on his mission in case he found himself in need of more proof than just his words, which he seemed to now.

There was a moment of silence as the Prince read the scroll, during which Seto wondered how he was able to see the words in the complete darkness they sat in.

There was an audible intake of breath and then the Prince spoke. "I believe you, Lord Kaiba. Your proof is sound."

You don't sound very convinced, Seto thought but held himself back from saying.

"I guess tomorrow's the day you take me away?" he asked, his voice thin. Seto suddenly felt something akin to sympathy for the kid, and he dipped his head in affirmation. The kid nodded, and rolled the letter back up. "I suppose I should rest, then."

Seto again dipped his head and stood. "Then I shall see you again in the morning, My Prince."

The Prince flinched at Seto's words. He wasn't sure why. He gave him a small bow and left the room.