Panic spreads fast throughout the industrious bazaar. I gather that something of great magnitude is happening at present. But what?

I stand near the harvest stall and browse their fruit selection. The fresh red apples look delicious, appealing to my hunger. From beneath the hood of my worn cloak I notice the merchant – a man with deep set eyes – watch me in impatience. I assume because of the importance of today.

"To what reason is everyone so rushed?"

The merchant grunts. "Surely you jest? Have you no idea that the Pharoah has passed."

"Can't say," I admit passively.

Picking up an apple, I inspect it.

Just right. It will do.

"Is a new Pharoah to be named? Perhaps the young Prince?"

He hums. "I assume. Prince Atem is the only heir. In fact, he and his delegation are moving Pharoah Aknamkanon to his tomb this day, crossing through the bazaar, so that he may begin his journey to the afterlife."

"How moving," I lie.

This is beneficial information.

The merchant clears his throat to grab my attention. "Have you something to barter for that apple?"

"Oh, I haven't anything of importance," I admit.

He gives me a heated look. "Then be gone. Time is––

The sound of a horn echoes through the bazaar and people rush about, clearing the footpath in preparation for the prince and his delegation. I use the time to shove an apple or two into my saddle bag, bolting from the stall as the merchant is busy, running about like a chicken with its head cut off.

I grab hold of a loose brick at the corner of the building facing the marketplace, and climb up the side to the top as I've done many times before. As the chariots come into view, I watch from the rooftop, eating my apple. It takes six well decorated chariots to move the Pharaoh and his treasure to the tomb. I scoff in annoyance.

Imagine if I were to steal one. The treasure alone is worth more than my life.

I lean my cheek against my hand and stare in elation as the gold knick-knacks and proceeds flicker like flames in the sunlight. The memory of that night comes back to me. Eight years is a long time to harbor a grudge; I have no regrets.

Tossing the core of the apple over the edge, I shoot a heated look at the Pharaoh's sarcophagus.

"Eat burning poison."

I turn to leave, but the prince catches my attention. This is honestly the first time I have ever seen him. I hum and pucker a brow. He's charming; his features are a bit odd – I've never seen hair so vibrant – but his smile as he greets the crowd is genuine, despite losing his father.

Poor fool. He has no idea the sins of his father.

I retreat back into the arid desert on my horse, returning to the camp. Settled in a remote and rocky area, in an old tomb is the site. It's home, though it's not much. The bandits guarding the entrance rarely go inside the tomb in fear of invoking the wrath of the Gods, and camp outside on the mountain ridge. Not my brother though. The Gods do not frighten him anymore.

Once my horse is hidden in the shade of the mountain, tied up and watered, I retreat into the tomb – ignoring the lewd comments from the bandits outside. Torches light the inside and I follow the narrow path into the main chamber were Bakura is waiting. He watches me as I dig through my bag, tossing him the extra apple.

He catches it and grins. "Busy, were you?"

"Securing us lunch, of course. But I did as you asked," I say with a sigh as I take off my cloak.

Bakura puckers a brow. "And?"

Lying on a makeshift bed, I relax before I answer.

"He passed; I saw the sarcophagus."

He laughs. "That's more than we expected."

"What now? There's no reason to storm the palace; no reason to assassinate him since he's dead."

I turn onto my side and look at him.

"I admit, the old bastard passing set us back, but I have another plan; one I need your help with."

I pucker a brow. "Need my help? What ever do you have in mind?"

"Leave the specifics to me," he says with a grin.

He never tells me his plans right away. I trust him, but I fear the darkness in his heart. Who knows the boundaries he will break to put closure to horrors the Pharaoh put us through?

I nod and lie on my back. "I'm exhausted."

"Take a nap," he orders. "I'll be here."

I'll chase the nightmares away; he means to say.

I ignore the urge to thank him, closing my eyes. The nightmares are constant; I hear the screams of the dead crying out for vengeance, and sometimes I hear her – whoever she is – begging for me to save someone.

Bakura keeps them from bothering me too long, rousing me once I show signs of being haunted. I am so thankful to have him.

"Bakura?"

He hums to let me know he's listening.

"I saw him today; the Prince. He looks to be about our age. Did you know that?"

For a moment there is silence.

"Does it matter?"

I hum. "No, it doesn't"

He's to blame. The sins of his fathers are now his own.

A/n: Thank you guest for the lovely review. I appreciate it.