Before the resurrection of Zorac, Seto had not known true Darkness.
Even the depths of a tomb seemed warm and welcoming compared to the crushing shadows which now drenched the kingdom of Egypt. It had been seared into his mind's eye — the moment when Zorac reached up and smothered the sun with an eclipse made from his own hand. Empowered by the darkness, he went on to smite all three of the Holy Ka, as easily as snuffing out the flame of a candle.
However, it was not just the absence of the sun which swelled Zorac's strength — but the absence of hope. From his vantage atop the highest pylon of the royal palace, Seto could see despair infecting priest and peasant alike, as potent as the venom of an asp, pervading the city of Thebes where it lay cowering before Zorac's impending wrath.
Though Seto had heard legends of the God's might, there were no words on earth which seemed capable of capturing Zorac's vile essence. In his corporeal form, he rose even taller than the Great Pyramid itself, his hulking body painted in scales as dark as the void between stars. Two great wings sprouted from his back, and from his sinuous core stretched out a dragon's head, which spit and spewed fire mercilessly upon the land.
Between white-hot flares of destruction, the only other glimmers to be seen were the God's hungry eyes, shining like rubies against the black sky, and flashes of magic as scores of Egypt's finest spellcasters threw themselves at the towering beast, only to be cut down like wheat against the blade of a sickle. Shortly after the defeat of the Holy Gods, the Conclave's dwindling numbers had been reinforced by a battalion of priests from the north — led by the former queen's father and mentor. Bravely, they had covered their Pharaoh's retreat, who had been nearly drained of his ba after the utter destruction of his three most powerful spirit warriors.
Seto had never been so happy to see the priests of Lower Egypt, whom he had once regarded almost as traitors. But even their selfless courage was proving to be little more than a nuisance to the Lord of Darkness, who reveled mirthfully in slaying their ka, one after another. Seto wanted to weep for them, but his spirit had been whittled to a whisper in his own struggle against Zorac. His heart ached to remember the White Dragon's last stand against the Darkness — Kisara's last stand.
Like so many, she had given her life to preserve what little hope remained in the face of such peril, joining the ever-growing count of casualties: Karim, slain while fleeing Kul Elna; Isis, fallen as she delivered the Millennium Items to safe hands once more; Shimon and Shada, struck down defending their king against Zorac's first advance.
And Aknadin. The man Seto had known as mentor for well over a year — and as father for only a fleeting moment. But it seemed a millennium now since Aknadin had revealed the truth of Seto's lineage — of his royal blood. Cousin to a king, he was — and son of a true traitor. For it was Aknadin's betrayal which had brought about the rebirth of Zorac — and which had almost tempted Seto to turn to darkness as well.
These thoughts stirred a tempest of guilt in his soul as he looked down the length of the parapet, where his king sat hunched on a crate, using his teeth to pull a bandage taut around a deep gash in his arm. Mana stood at his back, blotting another open wound with the edge of her skirt, the white linen drenched and dripping red. It was at that moment Seto began to feel the pains of his own wounds — the dull ache of a broken rib, the throb of deep bruises forming on his knees, the raw chill in his knuckles, skinned nearly to the bone. But whatever pain Seto felt was nothing compared to the desperation which painted itself so clearly on the Pharaoh's face, hollowing his eyes as he was forced to watch the utter ruin of his kingdom.
Suddenly, those eyes turned to Seto, who found himself drowning in their fathomless depths. He watched as thin lips moved, and though he could not hear the words over the distant clash of battle, he knew his king had summoned him by name.
On trembling legs, Seto moved to stand before the Pharaoh. Yet more blood was seething out from somewhere on his scalp, running over his gold crown and weeping down the side of his face. For a long time, he said nothing — simply stared up at Seto with eyes as deep as the underworld. Behind him, Mana wept in silence, her shoulders trembling like palm leaves in the wind.
"Do you have the Items?" the Pharaoh asked at last.
Seto blinked, then looked down at his hands, which were clenched in trembling fists around two objects — his own Millennium Rod, and a satchel laden with the rest of the Items. Slowly, he bent to lay the satchel at his king's feet.
Again, the Pharaoh did not move — simply regarded the satchel with a fleeting glance before returning his gaze to the horizon. Seto watched as a white flare of magic flecked off the king's glassy eyes.
"When we stood before Ra … he asked me to give up my birthright." The Pharaoh's voice was soft — so soft Seto barely heard it again. "I didn't understand what he meant then… But now I do." When he looked back, there was a shine of tears in his eyes. "I see now I was not meant to rule this kingdom. But I may still be able to save it."
Seto's first instinct was to protest such a dire statement. Why would the king renounce his title while at that very moment, legions of his subjects were sacrificing themselves in his name? But Seto realized quickly this instinct was rooted in selfishness — that he was still letting guilt of his near-betrayal veil his judgment. With so much hanging in the balance, it was no longer important to hold onto pride or pedigree.
The king ran his tongue along the corner of his mouth to clear away a trail of blood running past. He glanced down at the bag lain by his feet. "Use the Key," he said. "Enter my mind." His voice was stronger now — a clear command. But then, tears cut trails through the soot and cruor on his face, and in a whisper, he begged, "Take her away from me."
Seto nearly laughed. Perhaps his king was truly going mad. It was one thing for a man to forsake his title in the face of such adversity, but another thing entirely to willfully offer up beloved memories as lambs to slaughter. Even Seto, who had his own complicated history with the former queen, would never be so callous as to wish her out of existence.
But then he realized: this was not just a king's commandment to his subject — but also the last will of a condemned man.
"I have seen what awaits me on the other side of this life," the Pharaoh went on. For a moment, Seto glimpsed it too — a glow of warmth and joy behind this heavy curtain of darkness. "The temptation to seek it is too great. I must not let my selfish desires sway me from my path … lest her sacrifice be in vain."
Seto fought hard to keep pity from infecting his heart. He had to remind himself — the king was not asking for pity. He was not asking for the world to mourn his plight. Quite the opposite — he was asking the world to turn its back on him.
With a quivering exhale, Seto lowered his head and stared down at the contents of the satchel, glittering like stars even in the oppressive darkness. Slowly, he bent and sifted through the remnants of his father's betrayal, laying his Rod within and taking up the ankh-shaped Key instead. He then stepped forward, tightening his fingers around the curved handle of the Key and raising it to waist-height. Suddenly, Mana surged forward and grasped the Pharaoh's shoulder, choking on a loud sob. The king blinked free another shower of tears, but he never once looked away from Seto, even as he crossed his arm over his chest and took hold of Mana's hand.
Bracing himself, Seto stretched out his trembling arm, only to stop as the Pharaoh's free hand flew up to wrap around his wrist. "Seto," he said, voice thinner than wind through reeds. "Let my name be the only key to unlock this truth."
Seto was quick to nod his understanding. Slowly, the king pulled Seto's hand the rest of the way, until the tip of the Key connected with his forehead. Only then did he allow his eyes to close and his grip to slacken, waiting as still as a statue until the moment Seto turned the Key and invaded his mind.
Breathless, Seto felt himself squeezing through dimensions, blinded in the glare of a thousand wheeling thoughts. When at last his feet touched solid earth, he collapsed to his knees and pulled in a steep, life-giving breath that echoed thinly through the depths of his king's heart. As Seto raised his eyes, he found them met with an unwelcoming maze of cold stone, stairs, and doors. Whatever haven this had once been was now no more than a prison of painful memories.
Quickly, Seto staggered to his feet and turned in a circle, wondering where he should begin his search for remnants of the queen. But he did not have to wonder long, for her presence was palpable — a warm thread of hope strung through the empty chill. It led Seto deeper into his king's consciousness — down a winding stairway, through a close tunnel, past the edge of an abyss — until he came upon a door marked with a wide, bloodshot eye. He raised a hand and pushed it open, revealing more thick darkness, broken only by the vague outline of a chair in the center of the room. Not a chair, he thought — but a throne.
Upon entering the chamber, another silhouette took shape, moving toward Seto at a gentle, swaying pace. As it did, the light from the door threw itself deep enough to reveal the queen's features against the darkness. It was at that moment Seto realized the throne was empty — and had been, all along. The queen had only been standing beside it. Watching. Waiting.
She continued forward, her face stony but eyes a flickering fire. She seemed unsurprised by his presence — nay, almost relieved. After a quiet moment, she glanced over her shoulder at the empty throne. "You're here to take me away," she said, looking back at him, "aren't you?"
Seto nodded once.
At this, she lowered her eyes and folded her hands over her middle. "It grows colder by the minute," she whispered. "I can feel his heart waning."
"There is hope yet," Seto heard himself say.
The queen looked up, and a smile carved itself onto her face. "Indeed," she said, gliding forward until she was within arm's reach of him.
Her noble radiance and his own burning shame beat harshly across his brow, causing him to drop his eyes. He watched the edge of her skirt brushing the ground, and he wondered how it was that the king's memory had held onto all these mystifying, beautiful, intimate details.
"Seto," she said, summoning his eyes back up to hers. There was love in them, unlike anything he had ever seen before. "Promise me he will not be alone. Promise you will go with him to the end."
He swallowed hard. "I swear it."
Another smile turned her lips heavenward. It was a quiet, compassionate gesture, meant to stand in for all the words that were too complex for this remnant of her spirit to utter. Finally, she raised her arm to offer her hand, palm-up and steady. Seto stared into it for a long, torturous moment before finally allowing himself to slip his hand into hers.
Instantly, the world around him crumbled, sending him plummeting through wide, blinding light again. But he held firm to the queen's hand, pulling on her like a thread until the tapestry of her existence had unraveled itself from her husband's memories.
When he surged into darkness once more, he blinked wildly and lowered his hand, finding it clenched instead around cold gold. Across from him, the Pharaoh's eyes fluttered open. He swayed lightly a moment, as if he'd just been awoken from a peaceful dream. His tears were gone, the whites of his eyes stained red and dry as fire.
Suddenly, he surged to his feet and drew Seto in for a firm embrace. Seto stood staggered for a moment, but the queen's words echoed in his heart, driving him to wrap his arms around his king — his cousin. Seto felt tears pricking at his own eyes, knowing he was embracing a man who could have been like a brother to him had fate not driven them apart.
It was Atem who drew away first. Like the memory of his wife, words failed him — emptied of everything but the purpose he had yet to fulfill. After squeezing Seto's shoulder, Atem stepped back and turned to where Mana stood. She threw her arms around his neck and stifled keening wails into him. He held her for only a brief moment before lifting his hand and summoning the familiar spirit of her former master, who had been given new life after merging with his ka, the Black Magician.
Atem peeled himself away from Mana, shepherding her instead into Mahad's waiting embrace. The master held to his apprentice, allowing Atem to steal away from both of them. He turned to face Seto again and gave a decisive nod.
Together, they made the long, slow trek down the pylon's stairs, out of the safe embrace of the palace, and through the abandoned streets of Thebes. Sand and heat and the bitter wind of magic whipped their faces as they walked, until they passed the southernmost gate of the city and entered Zorac's looming shadow. From here, the God's wicked laughter gripped the air like thunderclaps as he stomped and ripped and decimated the northern priests' ka.
It was not long before Zorac became aware of the new presence. After turning his ruby-red eyes on Atem and Seto, the God threw his head back and erupted with yet more bellowing laughter. Above him, a small, birdlike ka attempted to sweep in for an attack, but Zorac simply snatched the creature out of the air. Lazily, he reached his free hand up and gripped the other half of the ka, snapping it in two as easily as breaking bread.
With a satisfied chuckle, Zorac threw the smoking carcass toward where Seto and Atem stood. While Seto flinched back and covered his head, Atem stood his ground — watching with near indifference as the two halves of the spirit's corporeal form skidded along the sand, stopping within mere feet of him. Soon, the pieces turned to dust and whispered away on the wind.
Having seen the emergence of their king, the few remaining northern priests began a hasty retreat, disappearing down the steep slope of the southern road. Zorac gave another amused grunt as he watched them go, then turned his eyes back to the new, more pressing threat.
"Have you finally come to surrender?" Zorac asked, his voice as deep as a war drum.
Atem said nothing. The wind ripped at his tattered cloak, and in the thin light of the eclipse's corona, Seto saw the Pendant glint.
Zorac groaned impatiently. "Look around you, Pharaoh! Your forces are scattered — your city has fallen. Not even your Holy Gods could overcome my Darkness!"
Seto flicked his eyes across the high dunes to the east and west, where lay the fossilized remains of Ra, Osiris, and Horus.
"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Zorac challenged, raising his palms to the sky. "From the moment your kin made a pact with my Darkness, you were untethered from the leash of your oppressors — the foolish Order of Light. Without them, you were free to take your fate into your own hands." He pointed a clawed finger down toward Atem. "So you see, Pharaoh — every choice you have made has led you to this moment. You have no one to blame for this reality but yourself! The Darkness is your truth, and I am all that will remain upon your passing!"
Atem took three long strides forward and lowered his eyes to the ground. Seto could see Atem's shoulders rolling forward, but it was only to unburden himself of his Pendant, which he cradled in both hands like a newborn child.
"It is true," Atem admitted. "I am responsible for my own fate — and the fate of this nation. But you are wrong, Zorac." He lifted his head to meet the God's gaze. "Because that truth does not end with my death. I still have a choice — a choice to pass on my legacy. Even if my name should be erased from history, those who come after me will inherit my Light." Seto saw the flash of Atem's eyes turning in his direction. "They will wield it with strength and grace, and prove to the gods mankind is worthy of our sovereignty."
Zorac made a low, guttural sound. "Resistant to the end!" he cried, concealing his frustration with another laugh. "So be it. If you desire so badly to be a martyr for the Light, I will grant you this last wish." The God's dragon-head reared and parted its jaws, gathering a storm of fire within. The heat rippled the air, until Seto was forced to raise an arm to shield his face from the inferno. His soul thrashed with fervid defiance, knowing there was nothing to be done to save his flesh and blood from impending death.
But then — amidst the glare of hellfire came a new light. Holy and pure — radiating from Atem's hands, which he raised high over his head. Then, bearing the weight of the world, he came crashing to his knees and dashed the light against the surface of a discarded shield, lying half-buried in the sand before him. The Pendant shattered into a starshower, casting dozens of glittering pieces across the ground.
In that moment, an entire millennium could have fit inside a single grain of sand. In the sky above, the eclipse surged into motion — finally revealing a sliver of Ra's light to be cast upon the Lord of Darkness. Zorac roared in pain and anger as more beams of light pierced its black hide from within, erupting outward as if he'd been run through with a thousand spears. By the time the sun emerged fully, the God became no more than a stony monolith, eroding into dust to be whipped away with the desert winds.
Seto was so consumed with Zorac's destruction, he almost failed to notice another spirit rising up into the light along with the God. Ahead, the king's earthly body was turning white and hazy, enough that Seto could very nearly see through it. With the last of his will, he turned his head over his shoulder and smiled at Seto.
When the breeze carried his essence away, he left nothing behind. Desperate, Seto stumbled forward, collapsing to his hands and knees and sifting through the sands until his fingers closed around a cold fragment of gold. He lifted it up and gazed at the molded eye carved on its surface, and somehow, he knew. He knew that the Pharaoh lived on — not in this life, nor even in the next … but in the hearts of his people.
No longer a king, but a wandering spirit, waiting for the moment when history would remember his name.
AN: Thank y'all so much for coming with me on this wild ride. It feel so, so good to finally call this one "complete." I hope that if you made it this far, I was able to bring you little bit of joy, a little bit of sadness, a little bit of feeling with my words. God knows I felt all of those things when I was writing this, and I'm feeling them all at once now that it's over. And I hope, too, that you'll consider keeping Satiah alive in your heart, now that her book has been closed!
Regardless, thank you again. Really, truly, thank you!
Till next time! Much love,
Tarangifer
