Chapter 1

"A Shelter in the Storm"

What a night to get lost, Bakura thought with a heavy sigh. He had been driving in what felt like giant circles for hours on end. The whole time it had been raining hard. Very, very hard. So hard, in fact, that "hard" would be considered the understatement of the century. It was downright pouring like there was no tomorrow. Bakura felt as though he was driving underneath a giant waterfall. The sky had been gray the whole morning, and had turned a nasty stormy black around four in the afternoon. He had been hoping to make it home before dark, but, well…it looked like fate had something else in store for him.

Growling about idiots who didn't deem it necessary to put up street signs in the countryside, he decided to make one last turn before stopping and staying put until the sun made its reappearance. He seriously did not want to think what would happen if it stormed all week-

The car suddenly slowed, jerked, sputtered, and stopped.

-or what would happened if he ran out of gas.

Swearing in a couple different languages, a skill he found most satisfying when he came upon hateful situations like getting stranded in a car in a storm, he pounded a fist on the dashboard. Well, wasn't this just lovely? So here he was, in the middle of nowhere, without food or water in a car without gas. Or a map, for that matter. Wonderful. Just wonderful. He felt like banging his head against the window until he passed out but decided against it, reasoning that the only result would be a massive headache. Or a broken window. Possibly both. Damn, but he hated his life. Why did everything have to go wrong for him! What had he done to deserve THIS!

In frustration, he slammed his foot on the gas paddle.

To his immense surprise the car lurched forward. He grabbed the steering wheel just in time to keep the car from leaving the slightly cracked road. Seems the thing still had a bit more in it…

What the hell is that? the white haired teen thought. For a moment there, he could've sworn he'd seen a speck to light. But that couldn't be possible…could it? Who would want a house miles from the nearest store? Most probably he just imagined it…

That theory was rudely pushed aside as soon as it popped up, for the light reappeared among the rain. It sparkled in the distance, small but strong. Bakura's heart leapt. If there was someone there…

That was when his car decided it'd had enough. Sputtered in the manner of an outraged hen, it jerked to a stop, then grew silent as the engine died out.

Bakura snarled furiously, curding his notorious luck. He looked up at the light shining through the blackness of the storm. So close…but yet…

In a flash, he decided to make a break for it. If he stayed here, he'd freeze to death. As if some divine power out there was agreeing with him, it started to hail outside. At this rate, it'd be snowing soon. Then he'd really be in trouble. If that light could be seen through the storm, then it must be close. He could make it. He had to. It was his only hope.

Taking a deep breathe, Bakura flung the car door open. A frigid wall of wind blasted him, carrying with it huge rain drops and stinging hail. Gritting his teeth, he sprang out of the car and ran for all he was worth. He kept his eyes on the tiny speck of light, refusing to let it leave his sight. As he ran, it grew brighter and bigger. He didn't know it, but he soon passed a sign on the side of the road. The hail drops got larger, and Bakura forced his legs to speed up, straining his protesting muscles. He ran and ran…

…and finally crashed into a door with a huge slam that was barely heard above the noise of the raging storm. Looking up, he realized that the light had been a porch light that was positioned next to the door he now leaned against.

As if that wasn't enough excitement, the door was suddenly yanked open from inside. Bakura now found himself sprawled on the ground just inside the door, staring at an uncarpeted wooden floor.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! You're not hurt are you? I didn't know you were…that is, I mean, well, ummm…"

Bakura looked up to see a boy standing over him. The kid looked about thirteen. He had messy blond hair which, in the front, fell just short of his gray eyes. He was thin, obviously not getting all the nutrition a growing boy needed, but nevertheless had a slight built. Even in this weather, he was wearing only a pair of too-short jeans and a thin tee-shirt. The young teen was staring down at the newcomer on the floor with a slight blush of embarrassment.

His expressing quickly changed to one of curiosity as he squatted down next to the older male. "Hey, is your hair white? Aren't you a bit young? I mean, you've gotta be just a bit older than me-" You've no idea Bakura thought dryly, starting to recover from his shock. "-so, you must've dyed it, right? That's one cool color. I didn't know they made hair dye in that color. Why would anyone want their hair white? But still, it is pretty cool. Does it normally look like this? I think it'd look better dry, huh? Not that it's bad the way it is now, or anything-"

"Hey kid, don't you ever shut up?" Bakura asked, having quickly grown tired of hearing the younger boy ramble on and on about his hair. He wasn't in the best moods as it was.

A sheepish blush returned to the boy's face. "I'm sorry! I didn't think-"

"That doesn't surprise me. You never think before you act," a voice interrupted from the end of the hall. Looking past the teen in front of him, Bakura saw a young man around twenty-five years of age standing just outside the doorway to another room.

"Sorry, Koji," the kid muttered, abashed, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

Koji, sighed, and shook his head. "Idiot, close the door," he growled, but his soft expression bellied his words. He moved forward until he ended up right in front of Bakura. Bending down, he offered the teen a hand, saying, "It must be uncomfortable down there, huh?"

Bakura blinked, for it had suddenly occurred to him how stupid he must look lying there, and that perhaps now would be a good time to get up, before these people got the idea that he was a cripple or something. "Uh…yeah," he mumbled, taking the offered hand before realizing what he was doing. Had his mind been in top condition, he'd have refused help of any kind. As it was, his brain was exhausted from the series of quick events that had taken him by complete surprise. Not to mention the fact that he was drenched and freezing.

Koji pulled Bakura to his feet. Standing up, Bakura only reached the taller boy's shoulder. He forced his knees to stop shaking, and shook his head to clear his mind. In doing so, he sprayed droplets of water all around him.

Koji grinned. "Well, since you…er…dropped by-" "Not funny," Bakura grumbled, scowling. Koji only grinned wider. "-I suppose we'd have to take you in for the night, huh? Can't send you back out there like this. You look like you'd just dived into the ocean."

Bakura decided not to say any thing in reply to that comment. After all, it was an accurate description, unflattering though it may have been.

"I'm Koji by the way. Koji Asira."

"And my name's Ikari Hino!" the energetic blond boy chirped. "What's your name?"

"You'll have to forgive him. He's completely tactless, as you can see," Koji sighed in a long-suffering voice, though his eyes were affectionate, and it was clear he and Ikari were close.

Bakura offered a small, tired smile. "Kids are all like that. I'm Bakura Sagara."

"C'mon, 'Kura, you'll be warmer by the fire," Ikari grabbed the teen's hand and literally dragged him down the hall and into the room Koji had stepped out of earlier.

The first thing Bakura noticed was the warmth in the room. It came from a blazing fire in an ancient fireplace. The next thing that caught his attention was the fact that the relatively small room held quite a few children. There were kids who looked as young as ten, and teens that looked about Koji's age. They were crowded around the fire, getting as close as possible without getting singed. Blankets were scattered, each covering at least two people. One somehow managed to cover up to five. Doing a quick count, Bakura thought there must be close to twenty people in that room.

"What is this place?" he heard himself ask.

"You didn't see the sign outside? Well, I suppose not. This is an orphanage for boys. It's what they call a 'last resort' orphanage. The kids here have been passed from one place to another. If nobody adopts them, eventually, they end up here. This is the end of the line. Those who come here stay here until they become adults legally. Generally, if you make it here, it must mean that nobody out there wants you. People rarely come here to adopt, and new kids rarely come in. Which is a good thing, I suppose, though it does get kind of dull. We don't get enough as it is. If anybody new comes, we'll starve." Ikari said all this very quickly, in a matter-of-fact tone, like he didn't really care.

"Like we don't already starve," somebody in the room said. "Who's that?"

"Looks like something the cat dragged in." This comment came from a kid who looked about fifteen. He was staring at Bakura's hair. "Why in the world do you have white hair?"

"Yeah, that's what I asked, too. Doesn't it look cool?"

"It'd look better dry," was the only thing the other teen said in replied.

"Actually, I think it's not bad this way," someone else in the room commented, chipping in.

"Will you all stop it about my hair? It's natural, alright? And personally, I like it dry. In fact, I hate it wet. I hate being wet in general. And cold. It does not feel good to be cold. I also like my hair spiked. Do you know why? It's naturally that way, that's why! Now, if you've all stopped gawking at my hair, all I ask is that someone please provide me with a private place to dry off." This was more of a rant than anything else, as Bakura said all this so fast it was a miracle he did not trip over his own words. He had never been the patient type, and especially not when his mood was anything less than perfect.

Ikari looked completely unfazed by this outburst. "Sure thing, 'Kura, come on. I'll get you a towel or something." He once again took hold of Bakura's hand and dragged him off out of the room and down the hall, saying, "Is your hair really naturally like that? That's really awesome. Wish I had cool hair like that. And I think you're right, it would look better spiked. Really spiked, with lotsa gel. Here we are. This is the bathroom. There's a towel in there, and that's actually all we got. Go on! I'll be back in the living room, ok? I'll get a cup of water for you." With that, he shoved Bakura into a small room, flicked the lights on, and shut the door. Bakura heard his footsteps fade.

"I think I know why he was never adopted. That kid talks way too much." Bakura muttered to himself, stripping off the wet clothes that clung to his body. Looking around, he found the towel Ikari had mentioned. It was a sorry excuse for a towel. There were holes all over it, and one was as big as his fist. But it was all he had. With a weary sigh, Bakura took the towel and started to dry himself off.

Only after he was done did he realize that he had no dry clothes to put back on. He doubted the orphanage had anything to offer him. With yet another sigh, he pulled his soaked jeans and tee-shirt back on. His jacket and sweater would stay off. He'd get hypothermia if he wore them now.

Picking up his wet clothes, he opened the door, turned off the lights, and returned to what he assumed had to be the "living room" Ikari had mentioned. When he walked in, he was immediately greeted by a certain blond-haired bundle of energy, who dragged him in and dumped him in an empty spot near the fire. He found himself sitting between Koji and a wall. A couch was behind him, and he gratefully leaned back. A cup of water was pressed into his hands, courtesy of Ikari.

"So, care to tell us exactly what you were doing out in the storm at this time of the night?" Koji said, breaking the silence, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Bakura sighed. "Got lost," he muttered, hating to admit his mistake. "And then the stupid car broke down."

"You have a car?" a young boy around Ikari's age asked, looking at him with wide eyes. "That's so awesome! Who bought it for you? Was it really, really expensive?"

Bakura blinked. "I brought it for me. Of course it was expensive. I worked forever to get enough money for that heap of metal."

"But what about your parents? I thought they were supposed to buy stuff like that for you," the kid said, looking puzzled. Bakura raised an eyebrow. Funny…he didn't seem at all sensitive to the subject of parents. In fact, none of them did. Perhaps they've become immune.

"I wouldn't know. I barely remember my parents," he replied shortly.

"Well, you fit in perfectly. What happened to yours?" A brown haired boy asked, apparently interested, like they had all swapped stories about their parents' untimely demises. Then again, maybe they had.

"Murder." Bakura shrugged nonchalantly.

"That's one of the better stories," a young, high-pitched voice piped up from the other end of the room.

"Hey, your hair does look better dry," Ikari suddenly piped up. "And you're right, it looks great spiked. Is it really natural like that?"

Bakura guessed his hair was starting to take on some form again. "Yes, it's natural. Is there something with you and hair?"

Ikari grinned. "I've never seen hair like that." As if Bakura couldn't have deduced that fact on his own.

"Speaking of which, I think our own champion in that aspect may have a new rival," a nearby boy with reddish hair laughed, nodding towards a dark corner of the room.

Bakura frowned, glancing towards the indicated spot. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, and he let out a slight, involuntary gasp when he saw exactly what the teen had been referring to.

In that dark corner, far away from the fire and everyone else, was a little boy who looked younger than everyone in the room. In size, the child was small enough to be taken for a four-year old. Looking closer, Bakura thought him to be around six. The boy was pitifully thin, and looked very weak and frail. He was sitting with his arms wrapped around knees that were drawn up to his chest. Curled in on himself. What caught Bakura's attention was the boy's hair. It was no doubt very unique, but hauntingly familiar.

The child's hair was mainly dark ebony, tipped with crimson, while golden bangs framed his delicately sculpted face. It was going haphazardly every which way, and for Bakura, there was really no mistaking that hair color.

At that moment, the child raised his eyes to gaze into the fire. And when his eyes hit the bright flames, Bakura saw that they were crimson.