This chapter marks a first in this story's history. Instead of the usual 3 scenes, this one has 4. The primary reason for this was because there was no feasible way for me to meld the last two scenes into one.

But I figured I could break with tradition for this. This chapter marks the end of the first multi-chapter arc in the story. Well, that's how I view it, anyway.

Seto's birthday has always been a surprisingly deep concept for me. Simply because I've never quite managed to pin down what he would do. This time, though, everything unfolded pretty much autonomously.

I had very little to do with what happens here.

I hope you enjoy this send-off. I'd say things end on a very appropriate note.

Oh, and by the way. I recently joined Tumblr, following the example of a few people I've come to respect a great deal over the past couple of months. So if you'd like to see some of my theories, talk to me, or just . . . you know, do whatever. You can find me there.

Just look for iced-blood. You know me by now. "In Cold Blood" is my new home on social media. Because . . . well, why not?

Now, then. We still have a party going on.

1.

Pegasus Jareth Crawford has prided himself, over the past scattering of months, at his ability to connect the forbidden truths delivered by his prized golden eye to his understanding of human nature. This is to say that he knows quite well, better than most people, how the innumerable songs and dances of social interaction will play out. He can predict. He can analyze. He can formulate.

Pegasus can say, in all honesty, that he hasn't been surprised by anything anyone has done, or said, in over a year.

Except, that is, when dealing with anything to do with this boy.

This boy.

It isn't an offer. It's merely a formality. Pegasus could no more sweep young Seto out of this orphanage right now than he could snuff out the sun. There is red tape to cut through, promises to make and keep, preparations to be made. He merely asks because it seems the expected thing. It wouldn't do to simply spring up on him one day and say: "Good news, Seto! You and your brother are moving in with me! I'm an altruist! I know what you need much better than you do!"

Even if, sometimes, on the darker fringes of the night when the ghosts are loudest, Pegasus believes that.

Be that as it may, Seto stares at Pegasus like he's just offered to buy him the Taj Mahal. Ice coats the boy's eyes, slowly but firmly, and his shock and awe—and the smile that wants to visit his face—disappear. He lowers his head and says, in an almost inaudible mumble:

"So that's what this birthday party is. A bribe."

And even though Pegasus has been slowly sifting through this child's mind for months, trying to construct just the right way to deal with him to maybe, just maybe, convince him that life as a Crawford is a good deal, there aren't words for the sudden stab of shocked betrayal that slams into his heart.

Seto looks up into Pegasus's face again, and only then realizes he's spoken out loud. Stark horror paints over his entire essence, and his lower lip quivers as he realizes what he's done. What he's said.

"I . . . I-I . . . oh, God, I . . ."

I just ruined everything. That's what he's thinking. He asked me to live with him, and I insulted him. He's angry with me. He has to be. He's furious and he's going to leave and never come back and I did it it's my fault I'm so sorry Mokie I ruined your chance at a real home because I'm an idiot I can't do anything right I can't even—

Seto doesn't realize that he's starting to cry.

Pegasus tries to think, tries to analyze, tries to predict, for roughly three seconds. Then he's pulling the boy into a bone-crushing hug because it's the only thing that makes sense. He's holding this strong, beautiful, broken boy because it's the only thing he can think to do.

I'm sorry," Pegasus whispers, so quietly that even he can barely hear the words. Seto is shaking, but his thoughts have ground to a screeching halt. "I'm so, so sorry, little one." Silence. Absolute, stifling silence. "Who hurt you so badly that you think this way?"

Seto doesn't respond, even in his own mind. He's still trembling. He leans against Pegasus, clutches at his sleeve. Tears finally spring from the boy's eyes in silence, as his breath hitches and comes out in a quiet, keening whimper.

Pegasus Jareth Crawford strokes back Seto's hair, cradles him like his own, and tries to think past the inferno of biblical rage that's rising behind both of his eyes.

2.

". . . I'm s-s-sorry. I . . . I don't—this is so . . . embarrassing, I . . ."

Pegasus sighs long-sufferingly, reaches out, and flicks Seto's forehead. The boy flinches back, blinks several times, and stares. His mouth opens, but he has clearly forgotten whatever other words he intended to tack onto his latest soliloquy.

The thick, heavy jacket Pegasus is wearing is a dark enough color that any evidence of Seto's weakness is fast disappearing. Pegasus puts a hand on Seto's shoulder and squeezes. "Listen to me, Seto. I want you to listen to me, very closely. Can you do that?"

Seto knuckles his still-wet eyes with one hand. Sniffs. Wipes at his face.

He nods.

Pegasus watches in silence as the boy composes himself—entirely too quickly, with far too much practice—and feels a piece of his heart break. He closes the eye that can be closed, silences the one that can't, and draws in a breath like he thinks it's the last one he'll ever have.

When he speaks again, it's the first time that his voice has been completely, unabashedly honest in more than a year. It very nearly breaks from lack of practice.

"Never apologize for what you need." He squeeze's Seto's shoulder again. "Never." Seto starts to speak again, can't, and simply sits there. He can't maintain eye contact for long. He fidgets, unable to hide his obvious discomfort even though he clearly believes it to be the height of rudeness not to.

Something resembling a real smile crosses Pegasus's lips.

". . . When your brother cries, are you embarrassed?" he asks. "When little Mokuba is running around, trying to find someone to play with, and all the other children are looking down their noses at him . . . do you feel the slightest bit of understanding for them? Do you think Mokuba should just shut up and stop being a nuisance?"

"No."

The answer is firm, angry, offended.

"And why is that?"

"Because . . . because . . . ! He needs friends! He needs to learn how to socialize! He's too young to have everyone teaching him that the world's full of idiots and jerks who won't ever love him!"

The smile comes full force. Pegasus leans his forehead against Seto's. "So are you, my boy." As he stands up, Pegasus ruffles Seto's hair. "Don't you ever feel embarrassed for crying. Do you hear me? You have fifty more reasons to cry than anyone else here." He winks. "Trust me. I checked."

Seto's emotions fluctuate into something resembling the confusion that would be appropriate after a statement like that. He scrambles to catch up to Pegasus as he realizes that the man is heading inside.

"W-What? What does that mean?"

"I've seen your heart, Seto Yagami," Pegasus says loftily. "And I know what you've been thinking ever since you woke up this morning. You've been thinking . . . this is too good to be true. When is the other shoe going to drop?" Seto doesn't respond, which in itself is a response. "Well . . . it has. Hasn't it? And it was just as awful and horrific as you ever could have anticipated. Wasn't it?"

He stops walking and looks back at the boy, who's slowed down his pace almost to a crawl. Seto nods.

Pegasus smirks. "And just . . . look at this." He spreads out his arms. "The world hasn't ended."

There is a beat of silence again.

The stunned smile that crosses little Seto's face makes everything worth it.

3.

By the time Seto heads into the TV room, his newest prize is already set up and waiting for him. A small crowd of children are sitting around it, like acolytes to some new religion, waiting. Someone—Ellie, probably—has apparently enforced a rule: no one is to touch Seto's game console until Seto touches Seto's game console. She has the look of a prison guard, the way she's keeping her stern gaze on the younger kids. Like she's just waiting for one of them to step out of line.

The only thing missing from the image is a baton for her to slap against her open palm.

Too excited at the prospect of finally seeing the latest in entertainment technology, most of the children don't notice the look on Seto's face, nor the way he's carrying himself in general. Even Ellie is too busy ushering him over to a seat of honor where he'll have the best view of the action; she doesn't notice the wet streaks still on his cheeks. Mokuba, completely oblivious, clambers up into his Nii'tama's lap and points at the television like anybody might have forgotten where it was.

One person, however, does notice that Seto has been crying. And she notices immediately.

But as the game is turned on—"It's-a me, Mario!"—Pegasus strides over to Valery Hitcher long before she can think to approach him.

There is no more room for facades. No more time for games. Pegasus looms over the woman like a thunderstorm; the full fury of a forgotten mother has taken possession of every synapse in his brain.

Barely even a whisper, through clenched teeth: "What happened to that child?!"

Valery blinks, momentarily flummoxed, before she looks over at Seto like she's never seen him before. She says, ". . . I could ask you the same question, Mister Crawford."

Pegasus grinds those teeth. She's being flippant?

"Come with me," he snarls, without even entertaining the possibility that she won't obey. He strides out into the adjoining hallway and resists a sudden urge to send his fist through the nearest wall. He whirls on Valery, watches her shut the door behind her, blocking out the game and the children both.

"I have never met a more broken human being in my life, and he's barely old enough to count as a statistic! Everyone in this godforsaken place, yourself included, acts like it's perfectly normal for that boy to take on responsibilities society would think me too young to handle! I know! My own staff has called me insane! He's half my age and he's been doing this, shouldering this, for so long that it's habit!"

Pegasus can feel something break behind his Millennium Eye, but he doesn't know what it is. He doesn't care. He's furious. Rapturously angry. Much longer and he won't remember how to speak. He'll be down to tossing back his head and roaring fit to rupture Heaven, and this woman is just staring at him.

"Well?!"

Of all things, Valery smiles. She smiles.

The shock is such that Pegasus rocks back on his heels like she's just hit him with a lead pipe. He sees stars for a moment. His breath catches in his throat, and he only lets it out when some distant part of him—some hidden sanity that's been waiting for a foothold—forces him to realize he's holding it.

"I'm sorry," Valery says slowly. "This must seem so inappropriate. It's just . . . you don't know how long I've been waiting for someone to have a reaction like that. For someone to finally ask why."

Ice-cold wonder washes down his back. Pegasus shivers.

But now that the dragon is awake, it isn't about to go to sleep. When next he speaks, he's hissing.

". . . What . . . was done to him . . . ?"

He watches her calculate her answer, sift through memories that he's already seen, replayed over and over in his own head from a much more reliable source. Seeing all this again does nothing for him; it doesn't calm him, it doesn't reassure him. He used to think that having these sorts of answers would help him. How, after all, could they not?

In this case, the answers do him no good whatsoever.

But he has to act like they do. He has to pretend that he doesn't know exactly what she's going to tell him. Even in the depths of this maelstrom, he knows full well that he should be ignorant.

That's supposed to be the source of his rage. After all.

Valery speaks, after what feels like seven years. "His godparents." That's what she says. For a while, it's all that she says. She knows that Pegasus has already heard about the boy's parents, so she's discarded that to focus on what he must not know.

"What of them?" Pegasus prompts, because that's the next step. "What could they possibly have done to him in such a short span of time as they had?"

Valery blinks, slowly, at him. "Nothing. They did . . . nothing. They didn't feed him, they didn't wake him up in the morning, they didn't check his homework, they didn't sign him up for softball, they didn't pick him up after school, they didn't . . . do anything." She gestures, more sharply than she realizes. "He was left, literally, to his own devices. And it's only because he's so much sharper than he has a right to be that he managed half as well as he did. That Mokuba, the poor little thing, even survived it."

". . . And what of you?" Pegasus asks suddenly. "What did you do? Clearly you have plenty of opinions. Statements. Ideas. Did you have any actions?" The irony of this question is not lost on him, and that's perhaps the reason it comes out as venomous as it does.

Valery doesn't lower her gaze. She doesn't give an inch. "I did what I could. It wasn't much."

The woman's sheer audacity is impressive.

Pegasus runs a hand through his hair. "Absolute travesty," he mutters. "They would trust these people enough to name them 'godparents.'"

"The death of a loved one can bring out the worst in people, Mister Crawford," Valery says. She gestures to the door she closed. "It can also bring out the best in them." She steps forward, takes hold of one of Pegasus's hands in both of hers. "You don't know them well. Not yet. I can tell. But I can also tell how much you love them already. Trust in that, Mister Crawford. That's the only answer I can give to you."

Pegasus blinks. Stares.

For the second time in so many hours, he is absolutely stunned.

". . . Forgive my saying, ma'am, but we've just met. How could you possibly tell if I love these boys or not?"

Valery chuckles. "Mister Crawford, you still look like you're chewing on glass. If that isn't love, then what is?"

4.

He doesn't leave until long after dark.

Pegasus stands in the doorway, as Seto ensures that his brother is tucked in and resting peacefully. The two other boys with whom he shares this room are already long removed from the waking world, and that's good. It's only fitting. Pegasus knows how little Seto cares for his bunkmates.

He knows all too well.

"So . . . did you enjoy your birthday, Seto?" he asks.

The boy doesn't smile, but his face is pleasant enough. "I did. I got thirteen Power Stars. Thank you. Again. For . . . everything."

The second time that Seto Yagami has thanked Pegasus for everything.

"It's late," Pegasus murmurs. "I should let you sleep. But if you wouldn't mind stepping out with me for a moment? The moonlight should suffice. I'd like to show you something."

Seto steals a look at his sleeping sibling, then turns and heads for the door.

They walk. Seto listens.

Pegasus talks.

"I designed every monster, every spell, every trap . . . well. For the first set, anyway." Seto doesn't have to ask what his mentor is talking about, so he doesn't. "I painted every piece of artwork. Every one. I still have those canvasses." He chuckles. "I remember . . . one, in particular. It was a blur. The composition was finished in two hours. From sketch to completion. I had never lost track of myself so thoroughly, and I've been doing this for most of my life. Something, I don't know what, was guiding my hand."

Seto still doesn't respond. But he's paying rapt attention.

"I'm not sure if that's the reason, but . . . the cards that bore that image. I couldn't bear the idea that the power behind that experience should be diluted. It's selfish, I know, but I knew before the game ever went into production that this one would be rare. Perhaps the rarest of all. And I also knew that the people who would hold that image in their hands, the people who would wield that power . . . would be special."

Pegasus stops walking, cradled as he is in soft, translucent light. Seto stops beside him, looks up at him. He looks so vulnerable, but so resolute. So . . . tragic.

Pegasus kneels down, so that he's eye level with this tiny, Byronic hero. He smiles. "You, Seto Yagami . . . are special. Not because of your intellect, or your aptitude for learning. Not because you are strong. Capable. But . . . simply because . . . you're here. Right now. In this moment. You're here. You have done me an indescribable honor. You have shown me what I've been looking for . . . even though I had no idea that I was looking for it."

Seto tilts his head. He's clearly confused.

Pegasus slips something out of a pocket. "I would have you carry something. I would have you be a guardian. A warden." He presses the card into Seto's hand.

Seto looks down, slowly.

His gaze sweeps over crystalline scales, wings wide enough to cover the stars. The long, sweeping, serpentine neck. The eyes like sapphires. Those eyes are power. Those eyes are strength.

Those eyes are glory.

Little Seto Yagami, too thin and too cynical, looks at his Blue-Eyes White Dragon with all the quiet devotion of a lifelong priest, faced with the object of his worship. His mouth opens, his throat works, and all he can manage are two words.

". . . She's beautiful."

Pegasus's face pinches into something close to incredulity. "She?" he repeats.

Seto looks up, finally smiling again. He nods, and Pegasus has no choice but to believe him.