Ryou stared at the television, but he had stopped watching a while ago. He wasn't depressed, not at all - simply very bored. Television got boring quickly, even when there was something on worth watching, but at least it filled the dead, hollow house with some sound.
It didn't really help that this was a particularly bad house to be alone in. His father had brought home all kinds of curious souvenirs from his countless excursions, the feathered masks of African shaman and macabre folk-art from Mexico. His father traveled a lot, probably for the other reason this was a lonely house - there were as many memories of his mother to be found in the rooms and hallways as there were foreign statuettes and carvings.
There were no photographs, though. Afterall, she wasn't dead - she was just gone.
That probably didn't bother Ryou as much as it did his father. He was only a toddler when she left and took a sibling he never met with her back to Britain, a sibling which, last he heard, had gotten picked up by the law for shoplifting.
He wondered if his mother remembered it was his birthday. A slight sadness settled into his chest - he wondered if his father remembered. That was the second year in a row his father hadn't been home, and he didn't always manage to send a gift from whatever exotic locale he was staying at.
Ryou had gotten himself a gift last year - she was currently sleeping on the futon, long, fluffy white tail curled around her. Angora had been only a kitten when Ryou found her wandering around outside the high school, looking ragged, starved and pitiful.
So the only one attending his birthday party was a sleeping, half-grown stray cat. That was alright - he wasn't much for parties anyway. Not that he had been to enough to be able to judge...
A knock at the door disrupted his depressing thoughts, and a puzzled look crossed his face. Who on Earth would that be? He turned off the television, stood up and went to the door, opening it - he was greeted with a clipboard being stuffed into his face.
"Package for Ryou Bakura!" The mail carrier announced, and Ryou nodded slightly, signing his name and taking the thin box, mumbling a thanks under his breath. Closing the door behind him, he studied the package, testing its weight. It was in an overnight mail box and plastered with stamps, though the sending date indicated that it had been about a day late.
He wandered into the kitchen. There was far too much tape on it for him to hope to open it without some bladed assistance, as much as he detested knives. Ryou set the package down on the counter and slid a thin steak knife beneath one of the flaps, and he had it nearly opened without incidence when the knife slipped and cut a thin red mark near the base of his thumb. The boy let out a soft hiss of pain, clutching his hand and grimacing at the small drops of blood that welled up along the small cut. He hated blood, which is why he hated knives - he had an uncanny knack for slicing himself more than anything else.
But he would treat the cut later. He was too curious to see what his father had gotten him. He pulled back a wad of tissue paper, and found a folded piece of paper, and upon opening it, a few cards fell out - Duel Monsters cards, only they had Arabic scrawled on them instead of familiar English or Japanese characters.
Dear Ryou,
I hope this doesn't arrive too late. I found this... ring, I guess you could call it, in a local bazaar near the dig site. The shopkeeper gave me these cards, too - I figured you probably didn't have any Arabic cards in your collection! I wish I could give you more information about this, but the shopkeeper seemed too eager to sell it to give me any sort of back story. It's probably just a reproduction that needs to be cleaned up, but I've never seen anything quite like it before. Maybe you'll find some use for it.
Best birthday wishes,
Dad.
Ryou set the letter down and continued rifling around the box, before his hand hit something cool and metallic - he wrapped his fingers around it, and pulled out the oddest trinket he had ever seen.
The design reminded him of some sort of odd, metallic dream-catcher. The loop at the top indicated that it was suppose to be hung up on something - maybe it served a similar function. The eye wrought into the metal in the very center of the thing was oddly mesmerizing, and it almost seemed to gleam despite how badly in need of a polishing it was. Usually, he didn't have much interest in all of the strange treasures his father took from far away lands - but there was something different about this ring. He could have sworn it seemed to grow warmer in his grasp...
He felt something cool trickle down his hand, and realized that the cut was bleeding. Scowling, he lifted his hand to examine the small wound, and the motion caused a few drops of blood to trickle onto the ring. Normally, he wouldn't have paid any attention - except for the fact that, for a brief moment, the ring glowed.
Ryou was so surprised that he dropped the ring onto the counter with a clatter, causing the pendulums that hung from its rim to jangle and clink against the wood. He stared at the ring, unblinking - but the glow was gone, and he was already starting to doubt whether he had actually seen it at all. Hesitantly, he reached out and tapped the ring with his finger - nothing but cold, dead metal.
A strange sense of dread started to mount in the back of his mind, and he quickly turned to the sink to wash off his hand and the cut. He disposed of the box and the tissue paper, putting the cards and letter into his pants pocket. Soon, it was only the ring laying on the counter, the dead eye carved in the center staring up at the ceiling, a few of the pendulums dangling over the edge.
Ryou didn't want to touch it, but he quickly shook off the irrational fear. His dad had brought far more disturbing things home, there was no reason an oversized piece of jewelry should make him jumpy. It was probably just late - and he had school tomorrow.
After only a moment of hesitation, he reached out to grab the ring and headed upstairs.
Had it really been that long, or even longer? He didn't know, and didn't really care. Time meant nothing to an immortal spirit in an immortal realm.
Either way, it was the first light he had seen in a long time. It was only a trickle, only a tiny sliver of white in an ocean of shadows, and it had been extinguished as quickly as it had appeared. For that brief moment in time, though, he had nearly been blinded by its presence.
He knew what it meant. Afterall, he had had forever to explore this realm of dreams and nightmares, transverse the paths forged by other souls. He had even met a few, and over time he had learned about this strange place and how to harness its powers and the creatures that lived within it. Mastering it kept his interest for the first few thousand years, but by now it was dull and oppressive - just a vast ethereal catacomb, a tomb for his soul.
But any tomb there was a way into, there was a way out of. He knew that more than anyone.
And if anyone could find it, it would be him.