If the metaphor about familiarity ringing bells had any literal merit, then Seto would have stood before a cathedral. But it was not a cathedral he faced, no; it was an orphanage.
The Spirit gazed at him mildly as he took in the sight. Seto was conscious of a thousand odours, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares long, long forgotten! And one or two stray cats that used to think the lazily-tended garden was its own litter box.
"You lip is trembling," observed the Spirit. "And what is that upon your cheek?"
"I have something in my eye," Seto mumbled, hurrying to cover up the spontaneous display of emotion.
"Yes," agreed the Spirit. "Tears. You recall the way?"
"Recall? I could walk this place blindfolded." Seto made his way up the path, recognising every sight around him; every cheerful child, every stern adult; every post and pillar and brick; and the window he came to, on the other side of which was a miserably decorated room, and two children seated at either end of a table, a nearly-won chess match between them.
And how could he not recognise them! Seto's eyes beheld a sight that warmed him in ways he hadn't been warmed in what felt like forever. No, scratch that – that was only the sun peeking through the threadbare pergola that ran around the side of the building. No matter; it was a beautiful sight nonetheless; for the children were none other than Seto himself and his little – littler then – brother.
Seto had a sudden urge to burst into the room and speak to the boys, but as if reading his mind, the spirit intervened.
"These are but shadows, Kaiba. They have no consciousness of us."
So all he could do was watch.
"Checkmate!" said past Seto. "Sorry, Mokie. Looks like I win again."
The smaller brother was only momentarily dejected. "Wow, Seto! You're, like, the best chess-player in the whole world!"
"Nah, that isn't true," answered the younger older brother.
"Oh, really? Name one person who's better than you!"
"You, if you just concentrate! Let's set up and play again."
While Seto stared pointedly at the scene, the Spirit stared pointedly at him.
"At the time, you thought your life unsurvivably arduous, did you not? And now here you are years later, longing for the days when it was just you and he; when being an orphan was the most of your worries, not the least. Then something happened that for all intents and purposes should have made your life easier. Instead, it put it on the path to becoming what it is today."
"I was adopted," Seto confirmed; and no sooner than he did, did he hear a voice behind him. A deep, angry voice that sent chills up his spine.
"…And I don't want any of these brats touching me." It was him. It was Gozaburo Kaiba.
"But not at Christmas," Seto corrected, his eyebrows furrowing.
"Oh, for the love of Ra, will you just let the narrative do its job?" the Spirit demanded with a roll of his eyes; and so Seto did. He watched the fateful match unfold; he saw his younger self lay down the challenge, and observed as Gozaburo ate it up like the fool he was. As he watched his former self make move after move, he noticed something new about the event that he'd never known about before; he watched his Mokuba, who then he'd had no time to notice, stand silently at his big brother's side; nervous but never wavering. He always did have an absurd amount of faith in him.
And that faith was rewarded as Seto's childhood image announced: "Checkmate! You lose! Now you have to adopt us, just like you promised!"
"You remember, of course, what happened next?" the Spirit affirmed; and as he did, the orphanage faded away, and in its stead was a much grander setting; the home of what was to remain of Seto's childhood.
There was no chessboard; no decorations, not even meagre ones. There was but a large room, and the shadow of Seto's younger self, pacing restlessly.
And then there was another little boy; roughly the same age as Seto, who came darting in and put his arms around him, addressing him as "Dear, dear brother!"
"I have come with news, dear brother!" said Noah, clapping his hands excitedly. Seto was about to remark that he in truth never had the pleasure of meeting his adoptive brother until Season 3, but a glare from the spirit put him in his place.
"News, Noah?" returned young Seto.
"Yes!" said the child, brimful of glee. "A celebration! Father is kinder today than he used to be! He spoke so gently to me, I was not afraid to ask again if we might have a tree; and he said yes! So long as we three pick it ourselves, and decorate it ourselves, we could have a real Christmas!"
"Really?" Seto asked of his brother.
"Yes!" He returned, and rushed over as Mokuba came into the room, hugging him delightedly and relaying the news.
"I wish," Seto muttered, putting his hands in his pockets and looking about him; anywhere but at the happy scene laid out. "But it's too late now?"
"What is the matter?" asked the Spirit.
"Nothing," answered Seto. "Nothing. It's only…my brother wanted to decorate my office for the holiday, and I told him no. I should like to have given him the chance, that's all."
The ghost smiled thoughtfully and waved his hand; and as he did so, said: "Let us see another Christmas!"
The room and the children faded from view, and around them now Seto saw the thoroughfares of a city; where people scurried about their business, and though it was nighttime, the streets were brightly lit. It was apparent by the tinsel and lights in all the windows that it was Christmas time here, too.
The spirit bought Seto to a stop before a certain warehouse door; and asked Seto if he knew it.
"Know it! I was apprenticed here!"
They walked in below the large sign over the door – Industrial Illusions, it said. And in the large space inside was brightly-coloured ornaments strewn here and there, so the place was as beautifully adorned as one would expect from the man himself.
And there he was – without a doubt, Seto would know that white hair and red suit anywhere. No, not that white hair and red suit…
"Why, it's old Pegasus!"
"You there!" called Pegasus. "Kaiba-boy!" And for a moment, Seto thought that perhaps the Spirit had been wrong that the shadows of his past had no knowledge of them. But then, walking unknowingly right through his future self, came yet another vision of Seto from long ago.
"There will be no more work tonight!" declared Pegasus. "It's Christmas! Let's have up with the shutters and out with the gorgonzola cheese and the world's finest wine!"
At the time, Industrial Illusions was well-known for its magnificent Christmas parties. Extravagant was the word so commonly put to them; and Seto remembered them all. A wonderful way to end another stressful, work-filled year. The memories of these parties were some of the happiest those in the room that had begun to fill up would ever retain.
Seto watched the festivities. There was dancing and music and games, of course; and not a single wallflower, as even the most introverted of honoured guests was seduced into the hoopla.
"What a waste," remarked the spirit mournfully.
"What, now?"
"The lengths to which Pegasus went to please his employees and associates," the Spirit clarified. "He spent a couple hundred thousand of your Earthly yen, and for what? A sorry waste that would've been better put back to business, wouldn't you say?
If the Spirit had said it about anybody else, Seto may have concurred. But these parties, he'd defend to his dying breath. "He had the power to render us happy or unhappy. To make our work light or burdensome. He chose the former. And the happiness he gave us in these times, is as great as any fortune he spent doing so!"
He felt the Spirit's glance, and stopped.
"What is it?"
"Nothing in particular."
"Nothing…or something?"
"No," said Seto. "No, it's just…I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk just now. That's all!"
Seto's stared down his former self as the Spirit then said; "Come. My time grows short."
The scene around him began anew as the pendant glowed once more, in another place and time. Only now he sat with a beautiful young woman. She had bright eyes and soft blonde hair, and did Seto ever remember her well.
"Josephine," said the shadow of his former self gently. "Do not be unhappy."
"'What else can I be," she answered; "In a stupid outfit like this. You're seriously telling me all the good roles are taken?"
"Just get on with it," commanded the Spirit.
"Fine, fine." And from then on, Josephine spoke in a higher-pitched voice. "What else can I be like this?"
"Whatever do you mean?"
"You used to be such a gentle soul," she reminisced. "But business has corrupted you."
"I'm only trying to build a life for us," Seto pleaded, but Josephine just shook her head.
"You aren't building a life I want. Where I don't see you for days on end while you work; where, when I do see you, you are so cold and indifferent. I thought we would grow old together, but it seems we only grew apart."
There was nothing Seto could say that would appease the woman. At length, she stood and walked away from the conversation: the last they would ever have.
"Spirit," said Seto, "No more! Take me home, I do not wish to see more."
But against his pleading, the Spirit insisted that there was one shadow left to see. The pyramid pendant again lit up; and they were in yet another place, another time, yet another room. And there sat dear Josephine, in her chair by the fireplace.
The door opened, and in stepped Josephine's new spouse, another beautiful blonde with long hair which sat in a neat ponytail. "I saw an old friend of yours."
"Who was it, Mai, darling?" Josephine asked. (Or perhaps she said "My Darling". Are genderswaps funny anymore?)
"Guess."
"How can I?" Josephine laughed. "Don't tell me. Was it – Mister Kaiba?"
"Mister Kaiba indeed! His father is on the point of death; and yet there he sat, quite alone in the world, I do believe! It seems money is not enough to keep one company after all!"
"Spirit," Seto implored once more in a broken voice. "Take me away. I cannot bear this. How can you make me?"
"This isn't of my doing, Kaiba," explained the Spirit. "These are the shadows of your past. These are the events your choices shaped."
He didn't want to see that hellish pendant glow again. He didn't want to see another place or time. He slipped off his robe, using it to attempt to smother the light from the triangular structure. In the struggle – if it could even be called that – the Spirit made no attempt to fight back. And so once the light had been extinguished from the room he disappeared. Seto fell, landing – lo and behold! – in his very own bed.
Exhausted and overcome, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him. All would be better in the morning. At least, that was what he told himself.