Arrival:

Tournament is a new word to him. It comes with a wealth of history he doesn't understand, but he understands the principles. A match, a battle, a game. Opponents. Victory. Tournament is a new word he likes.

And one he excels at.

It is a frequent thing, now—leaving the ancient staircases and hallways behind for a world of fresh air and fresh experience, standing in the boy's place and scattering shadows in the wake of his victories. Some opponents radiate hatred, others fear, and they all fall just the same.

One tries to take his strength, steals the cards that he used to win after his first awareness, tosses them to the ocean waves. But his strength is not in cards just as it is not in limbs. It is in a source unexplainable—the gold pyramid at his neck, the well in his soul, the breath in his lungs. As long as he stands, he is strong.

And with each new opponent, he stands. Words cannot lash him, poison cannot sear him, waves cannot consume him. He cannot lose.


Maybe I should have taken a different approach to the Duelist Kingdom tournament. Maybe I should have tried to sort out the new hazy experiences, the feeling of losing control of myself but witnessing it happen. Maybe I should have left the puzzle behind when I went after Grandpa.

But I was scared. Of course I was scared; Pegasus had taken my grandfather's soul through a television screen. He'd thrashed me in a duel in Japan while never moving from his island in America. He'd read my own hand of cards to me as if the backs were transparent. As if I was transparent. And before disappearing, he'd stared me down with that hollow eye, the same one that adorned the front of the puzzle Grandpa had gifted to me all those years ago.

So I took the puzzle. And I took the consequences. And I went after Pegasus on his terms, on his ground, but I brought my weapon. It was really the only hope I had.

And maybe I should have told someone. I hadn't expected to have friends with me, but once Joey and Anzu and Tristan were there, maybe I should have turned to them, confided about those breathless moments when I faced a battle and my senses blurred, when I sometimes saw the opponent through two sets of eyes and sometimes only saw ancient staircases folding in on me.

But I couldn't. So I didn't. I didn't tell them how much Pegasus scared me, and I didn't tell them how much I scared myself. Instead, I let them slap me on the back for victories that were mine but also not mine. I let their curious questions about how I seemed different when I dueled slide by beneath another reminder that I was here for Grandpa, that Pegasus had Grandpa, that I had to find Grandpa.

Sometimes as we traveled across the island, I could swear I felt a gaze from the puzzle. I would remember Pegasus, and goose-bumps would raise the hair on my arms, and I would cover the puzzle's eye with a hand. But somehow, I knew the gaze I sensed didn't belong to Pegasus; I just didn't know if that knowledge should be comforting or terrifying.

Maybe I should have taken a different approach to Duelist Kingdom, but all I knew was that when the haze came for a duel, I won. And against Pegasus, I needed to win.