That's right, it's Rishid POV! Wow. This one took me a while. At one point I wrote only ninety words after forty minutes of writing.

I don't own YGO. If I owned YGO, there would be a separate show all about the Ishtars, I promise you.

Ritual

The Gravekeepers' Ritual.

A design of hieroglyphs is carved into the back of the heir of the Ishtar clan on his tenth birthday. It is an intense pain that lasts for months after the event, pain that makes it almost impossible to move. In the past, my master told me, it has driven his forefathers insane.

Through this ceremony, the heir inherits the memories of a nameless Pharaoh in order to pass them on to the next generation. But beyond that purpose, it serves as a conformation: a pledge of loyalty and servitude to their god, the Pharaoh, and a way for the heir to demonstrate how much pain he is willing to go through to protect his duty.

But the heir is not always willing. This is not surprising—to a ten-year-old boy, such pain must seem unbearable, must seem like enough to kill him. Fear is quite understandable.

In such a case, though, what is the Ritual's purpose for that heir? For his father to pledge loyalty for his son, making the child a reluctant priest of a lifelong cult? To break the heir's will, so that he sees only the Pharaoh who can command such pain? To frighten the child into submission?

Or is it simply pointless, then?

Master Malik was one of the unwilling, one of the frightened. Terrified, he asked me to receive the Ritual for him. I would have gladly done so, but his father forbade it and threatened to kill me for forgetting my place and speaking of the clan's secrets.

So, as Master Malik's servant, I tried to comfort him before the Ritual—the most I was allowed to do. But whenever my master let frightened tears fall, I felt sick with inadequacy, mourning that I could do nothing more.

The same inadequacy made my heart ache when the day of the Ritual came. Master Malik had already accepted the horrifying truth of what was to come, and I will never forget the numb resignation that showed on my master's face as he meekly followed his father to the Ceremony Room.

What terror he must have felt, lying on that cold stone, waiting for the first knife-stroke of many to bite into his skin.

I, too, was waiting, morbidly waiting to hear my master's screams of anguish. I knew they would come, and I knew they would pierce through my heart with the bitter pain of my failure to protect him, and with my own jealousy of Master Malik.

For I was indeed jealous of him.

I envied his bonds to his father and sister, and I envied his position in the Gravekeeper clan. The destiny he feared and loathed was the one that I craved; I would gladly bear any pain if it meant the simple acceptance he received from his clan. But that was impossible for me. Even if I studied and followed their laws for eternity, I could never become one of them. I would never be a blood heir to the Ishtar family.

Blood was important to them in so many ways. The inheritance of blood, the shedding of blood… And I did not have that blood, so I could never be one of them. A mortal may as well aspire to be a god. I was merely a mortal, an outsider, fit only to serve and protect and worship the clan.

Yet I could not even protect the young, holy priest for whom I cared so much. His screams were as unrestrained as an infant's as he was forcefully dedicated to the Gravekeepers' god, and I shook every time he cried out.

After that dedication Ritual, he would truly be the heir to the clan, and he would begin to face that new destiny alone. In truth, it was a great honor. But Master Malik had told me, many times, how much he hated to be alone.

How fervently I wished to join him, to share his pain and his destiny. There was no way for me to become part of the clan, and yet—and yet—

Perhaps there was a way for me to show my master that he was not as alone as he thought. Perhaps I could help him if I bore the same pain as he.

Perhaps I could prove my loyalty to the clan the same way they proved loyalty to their god.

It did not take me long to find a dagger. I held it over a torch to sterilize it as Master Malik continued to scream in the background.

There was nothing I could do to protect my master, but I would not let him suffer this pain alone.

The dagger was now white-hot. My hands surprisingly steady, I lifted it to my face and began my own ritual, a pledge of loyalty to my own gods—to the Gravekeeper clan.

This ritual would not be pointless.

Review pretty please! Note that his name is Rishid and not Odion... please review with the name Rishid... indulge the insane author...