Bakura leaned against the tree, his wrinkled bony hands still massaging the millennium ring. He traced the scars on his face. They were still there, a painful reminder of who he once was, and who he almost became all over again.
Those years were hard, Bakura thought to himself, watching the moon trace shadows on the sand. They were harder than what he remembered from ancient Egypt. Dozens of times, he had come close to death. But only a few stood out in his mind now. One such time was the event that brought him here.
"I guess I was lucky that night…" he whispered to himself.
Or maybe Ryou was looking out for me… he continued the sentence only in his thoughts.