"Marik!"

"MARIK!"

Slowly the screams penetrated through to Marik's stunned spirit. With heart pounding, he finally turned to see Ishizu and Rishid both hurrying over to him. Their eyes were wide with concern and worry, but also confusion. They hadn't seen what Marik had. They didn't know the treacherous truth he had discovered.

"You could be killed just standing there," Rishid frowned, coming up to the boy. "The Red Zealot could attack from any angle at any time!"

Marik shook his head. "No, Rishid," he replied quietly. He didn't know how he would explain this, but now was the time he must say something. "The Red Zealot doesn't want to kill me. At least not yet." And as he spoke he slowly realized a truth. Yami Marik should have been destroyed after Battle City, but he hadn't been because a part of him—a part of his darkness—existed within every person. No longer could he take up residence in Marik's body because Marik had fought him hard and had overcome him. But from the evil energies that existed everywhere in the world, Yami Marik had crafted a separate body for himself. And as long as there was evil in the world, he could never truly be vanquished. Yami Bakura had once called himself the darkness, but Marik felt that was not quite true. Yami Marik, in his mind, was the only true and complete darkness. At least Yami Bakura had good points here and there. But Yami Marik had none.

Rishid looked at Marik suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And what makes you feel this way?" The boy was such an odd enigma. Still Rishid often had a hard time understanding what was going through his mind. "Why would the Red Zealot wish to leave you alive any more than anyone else here?"

Marik swallowed hard. "He wants me to feel helpless while he causes destruction," he replied darkly. "He likes to torment me. You see, we . . . know each other." He clenched his fists tightly, almost drawing blood.

Ishizu caught her breath. Marik knew the Red Zealot! But how could he? She narrowed her eyes, suddenly thinking of a new possibility. What if . . . what if the Red Zealot was someone else from this other dimension Marik insisted they all had come from? What if he had either followed them here or had sent them here in the first place? If the latter were so, then he most likely knew all the tricks of this strange world, and also, how to escape. If they didn't learn as well, they might never get out.

Rishid narrowed his eyes. "What makes you suddenly believe now that you know the Red Zealot? Is he the 'old enemy' you said we might meet?"

"Yes," Marik responded quietly. "I saw him." Rage burned within him at the memory of their brief encounter. "He is no different now than he was before. Maybe worse. He was born of confusion and anger and hatred; hence, that is all that he is. Truly, he is the darkness."

Rishid, who would have said only a few days before that it was preposterous and wouldn't have believed, or tried to believe, such a cryptic tale, now simply frowned and turned away slightly. They would talk about it later. There was no time now. And he couldn't help but remember his feelings from only a few short moments before—that there truly was something dark and familiar lurking about this land. It must be true. The being Marik spoke of must be here. And he must be the Red Zealot, just as Marik had said.

Even if Rishid had decided to dwell on the matter, he wouldn't have been able to. "Come on!" Adelpha screamed as she ran past, sword in hand. "He's killing again. We have to stop him now!" Her pale green eyes glimmered with the outrage and anger at the situation. People were dying unnecessarily, all because of the Red Zealot's craving for destruction! She wouldn't stand for it.

Marik narrowed his eyes. Slowly his hand strayed to the Rod in his belt. He would have to use it. There was no choice. He couldn't fear it any longer. Perhaps he could wield its magic powers against the evil one who had once borne it. It might work. Who knew? He had to try something, anything.

A scream echoed around him as a body toppled off a nearby roof and crashed, bleeding, at his feet. Marik gazed in alarm as the form gasped, the hands clutching at the wound deep in the heaving chest. His Yami had done this. The horrible being he had created accidentally was at large again, torturing . . . mutilating . . . killing. . . . How could Marik possibly allow it to continue? He felt responsible for it in so many ways. . . . So responsible . . . so guilty and to blame. . . . He had to find some way to stop it!

Slowly Marik's alarm began to turn to rage. A red fire started to burn in his eyes as he raised his gaze to meet his cruel Yami's, the being who was laughing maniacally on the roof's edge. This creature was evil . . . so evil. . . . Marik could see it in everything about the other entity as he stood boldly, his cape blowing out behind him. It seemed almost to leak from his very soul. When he bled, he only bled murder and vileness. No goodness existed within him. Marik wanted to destroy him. He felt the longing start to take hold of his heart and twist it until he felt as if he would go mad if he didn't follow through. If he could just take the dagger concealed in the Rod . . . just take it and attack. . . .

There. He had the Yami in his sights. He seemed almost to be posing, waiting for Marik to do something about the calamities he had been causing. That was what he was doing, but Marik couldn't see it yet. All he could see was the inhuman beast before him . . . the weapon he himself was holding . . . and the way to possibly rid the world of this terror, this madman. He wanted to lunge, to plunge the weapon deep into the tanned flesh as payment for every wicked thing that Yami Marik had done—for trying to murder Rishid and for trying to scare Ishizu out of her mind. For harming so many of the people who were now Marik's friends. And for the massacres he had been reveling in. Marik wanted to kill him for it all. He struggled, starting to raise the hand that held the dagger. If he could aim just right . . . if he could . . .

"Marik, NO!"

Ishizu's and Rishid's voices rang out, piercing every part of Marik's very soul. The jolt went through him so strongly that the Rod fell from his grasp. And then he gasped in horror and alarm, being brought out of the mad reverie he had been entertaining. Once he had tried to enact revenge upon the Pharaoh for a crime he had been certain the former ruler had committed against the Ishtar family. The feelings he'd had had driven him almost utterly mad, pushing away all those whom he loved. He couldn't stoop to such a level again. He couldn't kill, not out of hate. For then . . . he would be no better than his Yami, who hated everything and everyone. Marik had created him with hate. He couldn't let it continue.

Yami Marik sneered down at him, crossing his arms over the chest. His flesh and clothes were smeared with blood, none of it his own. "You want to stab me," he taunted in his deep, throaty voice. "You know you do. I saw it in your eyes a moment ago. We're actually so very similar, you and I. The madness burns within you, though you try to keep a lid over it and simmer it down to pretend it doesn't exist. But I know better." The veins were bulging out on his face as he spoke. The pupilless eyes, lavender lilac as Marik's own and yet so unlike his, shrunk to tiny pinpricks as his cruel lips parted in a grin.

Marik dropped to one knee, breathing heavily. Slowly he reached for the Rod, closing his fingers around it. He could hear the Yami very clearly. But he couldn't give in. He wouldn't. If the Yami was to be destroyed, Marik could not do it with hatred in his heart. If he did, Marik himself might just be destroyed as well—emotionally. He closed his eyes tightly, pleading silently for the strength he needed. He hated to admit that the Yami did know him well. But, he thought then, he doesn't know me well enough. I've grown mentally since the last time we met. And I will prove it to him!

He wondered what his siblings thought of the whole matter. But he couldn't bring himself to look up into their eyes. Surely they would have seen the resemblance between him and the Yami. Perhaps Rishid would fall to not trusting him again and Ishizu would decide not to, either. Ages before, at the beginning of all this madness, Marik had been accused of being the Red Zealot. What if Rishid now believed that both he and the Yami were responsible? Marik couldn't stand to think such things about his loyal brother, but he sadly knew that since Rishid had amnesia so terribly, anything was possible.

"What if your siblings weren't here?" Yami Marik's mocking voice came again, cutting into Marik's thoughts like a knife. "You'd give in then. If Ishizu and Rishid hadn't called to you, you would have allowed the madness to grow. You would have shown your true potential and attacked me!" Blood dripped from the weapon he held in his fist, splashing down on the Rod's blade as Marik continued to half-kneel on the grass with it. "You're weak, boy, but I am strong! I have found strength by controlling life and death." He laughed, the sound paining all those who heard it. "I'm a sort of god here, you see."

Marik looked down at the redness, abhorrence growing in his heart. The spilled blood of another person . . . probably an innocent. . . . It was on his blade, staining it, silently crying out testimony of what hatred can do. He clutched the gold metal tighter, the tips of his fingers meeting the palm of his hand. "No," he said quietly.

Yami Marik glared down at him. "What did you say?" he yelled, another vein emerging on the back of his hand as he held the knife fast with a grasp that rivaled Marik's grip on the Rod.

Marik rose, a soft wind blowing through his bangs as he again faced the cruel being. "You're not a god," he said, his voice low and foreboding. "You're a devil. And may the real God have mercy on me for my part in bringing you to life!"

Yami Marik blinked at him. Then he threw back his head, laughing to the skies. His shoulders shook with mirth and he barely seemed to notice as his grip on the knife loosened. But he snapped back to attention before it could fall, giving Marik an infamous maniacal grin as he pointed the weapon in emphasis. "Foolish boy. If your confusion and anger hadn't created me, someone else's would have. Don't you understand? Oh wait . . . you do. I see it in your eyes. You understand that I am the darkness. I am every wicked spirit, every malicious act, and every vile thought personified." He flung his cape out and in that moment he was gone, only another drop of blood falling from the roof to prove he ever had been there at all.

Marik let out the breath he was holding, allowing his hands to drop to his sides. He was no longer aware of who was watching him or what they thought of him. But he felt a certain peace with himself. Perhaps it was because he had resisted the temptation that had thrown itself at him. Or perhaps he wasn't blaming himself for Yami Marik's creation any longer. He didn't know. But he did know he didn't feel peace about his Yami's antics. The madman had to be stopped, somehow.

That was when he felt two gentle hands laid on his shoulders. Ishizu and Rishid were here still. They were offering comfort. After everything Yami Marik had said . . . was it really that they didn't blame Marik, even though they both had amnesia? Marik kept his gaze focused on the ground, unable to bear facing them. Rishid had treated him badly only a few days ago, upon remembering parts of Battle City. How could Rishid not be angry now? Marik narrowed his eyes, willing the angry tears to stay in. "I suppose . . . you're both furious at me," he said quietly. "It's true, what he said. . . . I created him, even though I hadn't meant to."

Rishid's grip tightened. "Marik, look at us," he pleaded. It was hard for him to explain. He could barely comprehend any of the words those two had exchanged. But he felt no anger, no disgust. Not toward Marik. Not this time. Somehow . . . something told him that Marik told the truth. Marik wouldn't have wanted to invent such a monstrosity. Rishid could not believe it was Marik's fault. Logic screamed it couldn't be possible at all for anyone to create such a demon, but Rishid knew there had to be some out of the ordinary explanation. If he could only remember. . . . He wanted to so badly.

"We do not blame you, Marik," Ishizu added softly in her musical voice. Nothing in the world could make her speak harshly to him, not after the bravery she had seen within him as he had willed against the feelings of hatred. "We love you. Please turn around." She didn't understand either, but she didn't have to.

Slowly Marik did turn around. He stared up into his siblings' eyes. They held only love for him. Nothing more, nothing less. There were no accusatory gleams, no glints of disdain or revulsion. Not even from Rishid. Marik could only utter one word. "Why?"

Rishid shook his head. "I don't know," he said truthfully. "I only know the feelings I have." He reached up to touch the scars on the left side of his face. "Marik . . . I believe your words are true. I carved this for you. I wanted to share your pain because . . . because I love you so dearly. You have suffered. Only now do I begin to realize this." He couldn't explain where these words were even coming from. He hadn't known he was about to say them. But as they fell from his lips, he knew he did believe them.

Marik gazed at him in awe. Rishid wasn't angry? In fact, instead of anger Rishid had remembered something about their bond? It seemed too good, too wonderful to be true. But it was. Rishid held out his arms, drawing Marik close in a protective hug. Stunned at first, Marik remained frozen in the embrace, not wanting to move for fear that it would be a dream. But then a light came into his eyes and he threw his arms around Rishid, hugging him tightly. This was reality.

Ishizu, standing to the side, smiled softly at the two brothers. Truly she felt that Rishid would no longer doubt Marik again. These new feelings he was experiencing were too strong. Yes, he would look after the boy and love him, as he had before. And so would she.

A shadow fell across the woman and she looked up, startled to see Paul's stricken countenance. His eyes were wide with worry as he clutched tightly at a wound in his chest. "Where's Adelpha?" he burst out, obviously in pain but too brave to admit it.

His panicked tone also brought Marik and Rishid to attention. Here was another brother, searching desperately for a loved sibling. And this sibling had been harmed by Marik's own Yami. The boy felt a certain anger welling up within him again, but he struggled to push it down. If what Yami Marik said was true, that if Marik hadn't created him, someone else would have, then perhaps Marik didn't have to blame himself so much. But he knew he still did anyway. It was impossible for him to not.

"I do not know," Ishizu said quietly, "but I am certain she is alright." She couldn't believe that one such as Adelpha could be taken down so easily. And yet that madman Marik had been talking to . . . he seemed so evil. . . . So unlike anything Ishizu had ever known. It was almost as if the Devil himself had been standing there. And, Ishizu thought grimly, it would have been possible for such a character to harm even Adelpha. But she prayed it was not so.

"I have to find her!" Paul cried frantically. Blood seeped between his fingers and down the front of his shirt, staining it the color of death. As he took a step forward, he staggered and almost fell. Rishid caught him.

"You're not well enough to be looking!" he scolded sternly. Had his feelings about the young messenger boy changed? Did he no longer see him as merely an inept, nervous child? He was wounded—and gravely so, it appeared—but he wasn't sniveling and cowering in a corner, dizzy at the sight of blood. All he wanted was to make certain his sister was safe. Something in those actions was definitely similar to Marik. They both loved their siblings, no matter what other personality differences they might have. Perhaps . . . perhaps Paul wasn't the way Rishid had thought after all.

"It doesn't matter!" Paul retorted. "I will anyway! Adelpha was always there for me. I can't abandon her now!" And with those words he fainted, slumping over against Rishid. Though his spirit was willing to go to Hades and back for his sister, his body was much too weakened to stand it.

Rishid frowned, holding the boy up as he started to fall. "He's possibly injured fatally," he growled. "He needs medical attention." The man looked up, glancing around at the carnage they were standing in the middle of. Bodies were strewn everywhere, the redness of their blood spreading over the grass, the buildings, and the dirt walkways. It was a horrible, gory sight. "And so must many others." He didn't add aloud what he and his siblings were all thinking—that it wasn't likely too many others were alive.

"And someone should find that woman," Marik added grimly.

As it turned out, that was unnecessary. At the next footfall the trio looked up. Adelpha was standing there, sword in hand and blood adorning her flesh and clothes. Her hair was wildly flying in all directions and her eyes were cold. She always tried to distance herself during these sorts of things. If she didn't, she knew her emotions would run rampant. But at the sight of her brother laying still on the ground with Rishid leaning over him, she couldn't hold back her cry of alarm.

"Paul!" Adelpha screamed, running forward and falling to her knees. Gently she pushed Rishid aside and bent over the young boy. "He needs help now!" She had been trained as a healer after their mother had died and was the most knowledgeable of the rebel band to tend to the wounded when things like this happened. Now she vowed that Paul would not die as their mother had.

Adelpha looked up at Ishizu urgently. "Down in the tunnel I have a bag with medical equipment. It's on the table in the room we were in. Bring it to me now." As she leaned over her brother, a sparkling pendant emerged from under her shirt. Ishizu gasped, momentarily stunned. But then she turned and hurried to retrieve the bag. She would ask about the jewel later. This wasn't the time.

The hours dragged on as each rebel and each Ishtar worked to tend to the wounded and dying. Though they had been right there to intercept Yami Marik, he had still caused immense destruction. The entire village had been devastated.

Marik looked up from bandaging a woman's arm as Denva passed by, his dark eyes cold and flashing. The man ignored Marik completely, storming past with a bloodied sword in his hand. Marik glared after him suspiciously. What was he up to? Marik didn't trust him at all. This was the first time he had even seen Denva since the attack. What had he been doing all the time before that? The stained sword made the boy nervous. He wouldn't put anything past that angry man. Perhaps he had been out on a massacre of his own.

Rishid sighed, slowly standing from where he had been kneeling beside a young woman who had just died. She had wanted him to stay with her until the end, saying that he reminded her of her dead brother. And as she had slipped out of mortality, she had behaved as if that brother had come to her. Perhaps he had. Rishid wouldn't have been surprised if such was the case.

Thoughts spilled over in Rishid's mind. He couldn't help remembering the evil being whom Marik had encountered. The Red Zealot. Finally, after what seemed endless amounts of carnage and slaughter, Rishid had found the one who had been terrorizing the land of Juno. He had been the cause of that woman's death, as he had killed so many others. Something told Rishid that he and his siblings had, indeed, fought against the madman for many years prior to this. He was their most deadly enemy.

Now Rishid wanted to find his siblings and make sure they were alright. He glanced about, his eyes interlocking with Marik's. The boy was standing up, going to head over to his brother. He seemed alright, just weary—which was understandable. In addition to everything that had happened, Marik still wasn't fully healed from the injuries he had had upon first collapsing on the throne room floor. Of course Marik wouldn't admit that he wasn't feeling up to par, but Rishid was certain he wasn't.

Frantic footsteps flew over the long grass as a small form ran wildly about, searching for one dear to him. Someone had to help him find his mother! Where was she? The last he had seen of her was when she had made him go into their cellar to protect him from the Red Zealot. Now the chaos was over, but his mother was nowhere to be found. And no one seemed willing to help him look. The last person he had beseeched was a heavy, bearded man who had only glared and cursed at him. He had gotten away from that giant in a hurry. But who could he turn to now?

His eyes darted about, fixing on each person up ahead. They all looked preoccupied with their own concerns. He concentrated harder. Maybe . . . maybe he could try that dark-skinned boy, he hoped. He looked kind, and younger than most of the others around.

Without a second thought the child was running to Marik and tugging on the edge of his shirt. The teenager turned slowly, finding himself looking at the frightened, adorable boy who couldn't have been older than four. His bottom lip wobbled as he gazed up at Marik with deep blue eyes. "Please, Mister," he begged, "have you seen my mother?"

Marik blinked, his heart melting. He wanted to find Ishizu, but at least he knew she was safe. This poor child didn't know where his parent was. Marik knelt down, laying his hands on the child's shoulders. "I don't know," he said softly, "but if I can help you find her, I will. What's your name?" He struggled to control his emotions. Thanks to his Yami, many children such as this one might now be orphans with nowhere to go. But Marik couldn't allow himself to display anger around such a troubled soul, even if the rage wouldn't be directed at him.

The child sniffled. "Kade," he replied.

Marik ruffled Kade's hair. "Let's go, then," he told him. Rishid surely would have seen this, he decided, and would come over to help. His brother was kind.

Kade grinned widely, flinging himself into Marik's arms. This boy would be gentle with him, unlike the scary man he had asked before. Maybe now he would find his mother!

Marik was right about Rishid having seen things. The man smiled slightly as he observed the scene. Marik was a compassionate soul. If he had ever been the way Rishid had seen in his dark memories of Battle City, he was that way no more. Rishid knew this for a certainty now. He wouldn't deny what he felt. He stepped forward to follow the two as they went on their search.

Kade's eyes widened at the sight of Rishid. Here was another giant to his four-year-old eyes. Was this one going to be mean too? He tensed, gripping Marik's shirt. But then he saw that Marik didn't seem concerned in the least. He was talking quietly to the man, who nodded thoughtfully and gave Kade a comforting look when their eyes met. And so the child settled down, content to have Rishid come with them.

Their search took them all over the village more than once, but Kade's mother seemed nowhere to be found. They checked in every dwelling, every cellar, and every other place where the wounded had been taken, and though they found several who knew the boy, no one had seen his mother or knew what had happened to her. Marik's heart sank, afraid that the woman was dead or dying somewhere.

Kade was afraid of that as well. He turned to look at Marik in horror, tears running down his face. "Why can't we find her!" he wailed. "She should be here!" He sobbed, staring at the ground. "I want my mommy!"

A flash of memory went through Rishid's mind. He remembered his own mother. He had loved her so much. She had been very beautiful, both in looks and in personality. Never had he known of another woman who was so kind and gentle . . . until Ishizu had grown up. She was like their mother in many ways, including looking almost exactly like her.

Rishid frowned. Where had that come from? Was he starting to remember more?

He crossed his arms. What had happened to their mother? Was she somewhere else? Was she still alive? No . . . she had died. . . . She had died giving birth . . . to Marik. Even as the thoughts were coming into Rishid's mind, he knew they were true. He swallowed hard, looking over at his younger brother. Marik was occupied, kneeling to comfort Kade.

Gently Marik brushed Kade's tears away, looking compassionately at the curly-haired child. Kade felt lost, as Marik had when he had first arrived in this land. He didn't know that he could tell Kade that they would find his mother—alive—so he held him silently. Kade threw his arms around the teen as he wept, finding comfort in the caring embrace. Marik could relate to the immense pain. He himself had experienced so much of it. And Kade was so trusting and innocent, as Marik once had been. But he had seen too much of reality to remain innocent now. Marik didn't want the same thing to happen to Kade.

At last Kade spoke again. "Why can't we find her?" he whispered shakily. "Is it 'cause she's gone to Heaven?" He hiccuped, blinking up at Marik with terrified eyes.

Marik felt his heart twist. "I don't know," he replied honestly, hugging the child close. But they would find the child's mother later on—in a most unexpected way.

Adelpha pulled her knees up to her chest as she sat by the campfire where Paul was still laying. He was too injured to be moved. The best his sister could do was treat his wounds as best as she could and keep him warm until either he got well enough to move . . . or he died. She narrowed her eyes. She wouldn't think about that. But Ishizu was sitting by her. She'd talk to Ishizu in the hopes it would take her mind off worrying over Paul.

"You saw it, didn't you."

Ishizu came to immediate attention. She had been with Adelpha for ages, but the other woman hadn't spoken before now. But Ishizu knew how to be patient. And she knew when it was best to remain quiet. Adelpha would speak when she felt like it, Ishizu had understood. And now without actually mentioning what she was talking about, Ishizu knew instantly that Adelpha meant the pendant. "Yes," the Egyptian said softly.

Adelpha reached into her shirt, removing the gem and showing it to Ishizu. It was identical to the one Ishizu herself had been wearing. "They're like twins, aren't they?" she said with a bit of an amused smirk.

Ishizu touched her own pendant. It was glowing faintly, seeming attracted to the other one, which in turn was also glowing. "What is their secret?" she asked. Her eyebrows narrowed in thought. "Are they both Geates' talisman?"

Adelpha smiled a bit. "Kind of," she admitted. "There's actually three of these all together. When combined, they form the true Geates' Talisman. When Geates was killed, the talisman separated into the three pendants so it would be harder for people to lock into the power. I've been wondering for a long time how to get the one hidden in the palace treasury. Looks like you solved that problem for me." She gave a nod toward the pendant Ishizu was wearing.

Ishizu looked at her. "What is it that you desire with Geates' Talisman?" she asked quietly.

Adelpha sighed, staring off into the distance. "I always thought that if I could utilize the power of the legendary Geates' Talisman, I could defeat Fafnir for good," she said in a melancholy tone. "And I knew I had to find all the pieces before he did." She fingered the talisman around her neck. "I found mine deep in the forests, where most of the villagers are afraid to go. I was never afraid of them." She sighed, a bit of a smile coming over her features. "My mother taught me of their beauty."

Ishizu smiled slightly as well. Adelpha definitely seemed the type who wouldn't fear ridiculous rumors and tall tales. And yet Ishizu knew there were things that the rebel leader feared—most of all, that she would lose Paul. And that Fafnir and the Red Zealot would win. Ishizu feared that as well.

"Anyway," Adelpha spoke again, "I know the enemy already has one piece. Now we have two." She looked up into Ishizu's eyes urgently. "The talisman can't activate without the third piece. That's good in one way, but bad in another. We have to make certain Fafnir and his minions don't get our pieces. At the same time we have to find the third piece and somehow take it."

Both women glanced down at their pendants as the objects struggled to reach each other, sending out various sparks and swirling lights. At last, seeming to sense it was futile, the gems quieted down, both burning a steady deep blue.

"Beautiful, yet deadly." Adelpha smirked in a self-depreciating way. "That's what's often been said of me."

Ishizu chuckled softly but then sobered. "How do you know that our enemies have the third pendant?" she wanted to know.

Instantly Adelpha's eyes narrowed. In the flickering light of the fire, she appeared, indeed, quite deadly. "Paul told me," she said at last. "He said someone in the palace had it, but that it was disguised as a regular royal amulet. On one of his rounds, when he passed by the room of this person, he saw the fake covering removed and the true pendant revealed. The man was showing it off to some visitor, obviously also in on the racket. Paul barely escaped without them seeing him."

Ishizu frowned as an image sprang to her mind. Could it have been Colchis? Now that she thought of it, it did seem that he wore an amulet. But then on the other hand . . . wouldn't he have known of the pendant in the palace treasury? Why wouldn't he have tried to take it, if he indeed was the one with the third piece? Surely he would have known about that part of the legend. Or what if . . . what if Colchis had wanted Ishizu to get it for him? Could that have been another of the reasons he had kept her around? It was impossible to know.

A gasping breath immediately brought them both to attention. "Paul!" Adelpha cried, falling to her knees next to him. She pulled the quilt back slightly, hoping against hope that she would be able to fix whatever was causing him to not be able to breathe. But she wouldn't be able to fix this.

Paul shuddered, his glassy eyes slowly opening. "Adelpha," he smiled weakly. "I . . . I found you after all. . . . You're safe. . . ." He settled into the grass, relief washing over him. For him, now everything was better. And though he felt the life slipping away from his tortured body, he could die in peace. His sister was safe.

"Yeah," Adelpha managed to smile back, ruffling the boy's hair. "I'm . . . safe. . . ." She swallowed hard. "Don't worry, Paul. I'm not going to let you die!" She gripped the clammy hand tightly, her own shaking. This was just like how it had been before their mother had passed away! And somehow she knew that Paul was going to join her. Though she didn't want to accept it, she felt the truth.

"I . . . I'm not worried. . . ." Paul looked at her with the adoration only a younger sibling can bestow on a beloved elder one. Ishizu's heart caught in her throat. She had seen Marik look at her that way before. . . .

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Adelpha whispered.

Paul shook his head. "No . . . I'm alright," he responded, his grip loosening. "But Mother's here. . . . She says . . . 'hello.'" Slowly he went completely limp. Ishizu knew he was dead.

Adelpha knew it too. The color drained from her face as her body trembled. Then she fell forward, bending over the form, and whispered low in words Ishizu couldn't understand. The warrior brushed her brother's bangs back, smiling vaguely as a lone tear slipped down her cheek. Paul would be at peace now. But Adelpha didn't know that she would be.

Ishizu's heart went out to her. But as the Egyptian woman went forward to offer comfort, a horrible, undeniable feeling came over her and she froze in her steps. She would experience what Adelpha was experiencing—very soon. One of her brothers would die.