AN: So I was tempted to do a what if canon characters meet Rewind!Atem, because YGO has always had people going through other dimensions and worlds. So why not?


He stares at the little boy, his companion's explanation bouncing off his ears.

"He's not listening," the little boy says, eyes looking up at him with a mixture of curiosity, shock, and knowing. A familiar shade of red violet that he didn't think he'd see for a long time (or ever). "He's doing the thing where he pretends he's listening, all serious and grim-faced, and then he'll probably," the boy twirls his finger near his temple, a mockery of how memory extractions were done a long time ago, "get back to it later."

Well, he wasn't wrong. But not many people know that, not many who were alive that is. Only his student was familiar enough with his body language to know when he was actually serious or not.

"Master," said student says, elbowing him. "This isn't the time to wander off, you should listen to Lady Charity's story," she scolds, though he knows she's as unnerved by the boy's appearance too.

The boy mumbles something, glancing at his student and then back to him. Then he looks down and fiddles with the frayed sweater he was wearing, mumbling again.

He suspects that the boy didn't want anyone to hear, perhaps his long stay in this world has made him use that language as a default when he wanted secrecy. Thinking nobody was fluent with it. But he knew, had once spoke it by heart, and something in him cracked as that familiar voice spoke in a familiar language.

"They look like Mana and Mahad… I want to go home, I miss them."

The way his student twitched, she must have heard too.

"Really now, Dark," Charity says in an unamused tone, the feathers on her wings poofing up in annoyance. "The human child has been traversing the realm for weeks looking for a way home, the least you can do is try and listen. You're one of the most knowledgeable and experienced spellcasters in the world, I'd hoped you'd have an insight on his problem. The human world connected to our realm isn't his."

"Different, more… metallic," the boy supplies. "Smokier," he wrinkles his nose. His student giggles at that and he has to smile too, because yes, pollution in the human world is one of the things that is so different from the one he used to know.

He frowns and ponders how the (familiar) boy came here. Time travel? He doesn't remember his prince going through another world, he would have blabbed about his adventure when he had a chance, so this is probably an alternate timeline. One where his prince found a way to go through a spirit realm by accident, because of course he would. It was a universal constant that the royal family did not do things in average standards.

(really, it explained a lot about Seth)

"I know that look too and I feel like pointing out," the boy puffs out, looking adorably indignant. "That as a man who wears all violet armor and a cute swirly pointy hat and who was—just a minute ago—jumping through hoops of light that ported you in random places in the air, you have no right to criticize my… my unintentional chaos magnet."

He's really not used to having more than one person figuring out what he was thinking. "That is one way to describe it," he says.

The boy pouts.

"What would you describe master's?" His student asks, tone amused. Despite her carefree aura, he could see the way she was looking at the boy with a kind of desperation he only saw when she first entered this realm and found him. When she jokingly asked to be his student again, gripping his arm so tightly (as if afraid he would disappear again).

She was drinking in every detail of the boy. From the soft tips of his red-to-black spikes, to the blond fringes framing his small face, to his small golden crown, to the dark skin decorated with a few cartoonish Dark Magician bandaids (and they both wonder if that was intentional), to the muddied sneakers that have seen better days. He looked more like a little boy who ran away than a prince from a distant land (and time).

"Intentional chaos magnet." Was the immediate answer.

She laughs, bright and airy. The boy gives a tentative smile, shoulders relaxing and the fidgeting on his fingers easing a little. He looks up at the woman who had brought him here, considers her disheveled hair, haggard face, and dirty wings, and purses his lips. "Maybe you should go home, Ms. Charity? I can tell them myself."

"I'm not comfortable leaving you alone," Charity says, giving him a reproachful look. "You shouldn't have been wandering by yourself all this time."

"Will they hurt me?" He asks, like it's something he didn't consider but checks anyways, because it could be a possibility. He looks at them again, looking at their staffs and armor with hidden caution.

It stings.

"No," he denies firmly. Charity widens her eyes at the vehemence in his voice, his student gives him a knowing look, and the boy…

The boy nods. "Okay then," he says. "You should go home and rest, I'll be fine here."

"Something could-"

"They'll protect me," he insists. "And you can't do much if you're tired."

Ah, it was that tone. The one that could make the most stubborn of men do whatever he asked. The no-nonsense, charismatic, and forceful tone of his king. It was less firm but more melodic, another difference with this prince, yet the intent was similar all the same. To make people listen, to make them do what they ask-slash-order. And not even the protective angel that was Graceful Charity was immune to it.

"Alright," she sighs, relenting. She turns to him and gives him a hard stare, very reminiscent to her cousin's. It doesn't help that her wings aren't in their usual pristine white condition. "He's been through enough, so if he's gone tomorrow – then the only acceptable reason is that he safely returned home. Nothing less than that, do we have an understanding, Mr. Ultimate Wizard?"

Why did that sound like a challenge? "We do, Charity."

The boy snickers.

Charity nods, satisfied. She looks at the boy, her expression softening. "Do be careful now, alright? You always attract trouble without trying."

"You get used to it," the boy says flippantly. "And it's not like I wanted the taxi driver to be an illegal smuggler of magical pot," he tilts his head. "Literally. Prison is nicer here, at least. The goblin policeman gave me candy."

None of those statements comfort him.

Charity pats his head and walks towards the door, she gives one last Screw-This-Up-And-You-Will-Die-So-Badly-Not-Even-Monster-Reborn-Would-Help-You glare at him and leaves.

All who were left were two befuddled magicians and one nervous little boy.

"… So!" His student starts, clapping her hands cheerfully. "I'm hungry! Who wants food? I've got some leftover falafel sitting in the fridge that is begging to be eaten."

"What's falafel?" The boy asks timidly, fiddling with his sweater again. It is another difference this boy has with his prince, and he's not sure if it makes dealing with this situation easier or harder. He wonders if it's his upbringing that makes him this shy, or if travelling in this world alone has made him constantly wary around strangers.

He hopes it's the former. This world has as much bad as it has good, and many of the bad come in the form of traps from seemingly trustful individuals. He didn't want the boy to have experienced so much betrayal that a part of his nature changed.

"They're little balls of bean and pea goodness," his student says. "You'll love it for sure!"

The boy perks up at that, and he trots towards his student eagerly for the prospect of food. He follows suit, walking beside the boy as his student chatters endlessly about how they got the falafel. Overly exaggerated and inaccurate, but it makes the boy relax again.

If only the same could be said for himself.