His nose was itching, disturbed by the smell of dried blood and iron under the desert dust. The horns of warfare were playing in the distance and his gaze, dazzled by the rays of the sun, had difficulty locating the men on the plain. Surrounded by sand, screams and death, he felt restless.

Closing his eyes, he tried to slow down the frantic beating of his heart, to calm his erratic breathing and regain some semblance of inner peace. But it was all in vain. Above the mountains and beyond the dunes, even through the mirages caused by sunstroke, the veil before him refused to reappear. He could no longer pretend and forget the reality. There, in the midst of this war, constantly facing danger, he was trying to survive the nightmare.

What had been his father's last words, already?

Never let your guard down, never turn your back on your enemies…?

He couldn't remember anymore. It was as if his memory had been wiped. Egypt and Nubia mowed down the lives of their sons like a farmer scythed wheat and in the name of what? Wealth and prosperity? Revenge and glory? Nothing made sense anymore… He was feeling sick. His mouth tasted unpleasantly like bile, his head was spinning, his hands were shaking, and his body was having spasms.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

In a deafening tumult, his chest was echoing stronger, louder, hurting like never before. He couldn't endure it anymore. Then, leaving the edge of the cliff, he reached the camp where his companion was, the latter still trying to adapt to his new responsibilities despite already two long months spent on the battlefield.

"Have you never found the army— "

"Upsetting?! "

"No, that's not what I was going to say. " he sighed, raising an eyebrow while approaching the other priest with a puzzled look. "What's wrong with you? "

"The reports are inconsistent. How am I supposed to manage this army if I don't have clear information about the opposing side?! "

"You're getting melodramatic. "

"Perhaps you would like to take my place, Seth?! "

"I'm not the one who has been appointed to it. So stop complaining and get to work. I am more than tired of this place. "

"You're not the only one, I am sure ..."

"I'm not in the mood to bicker with you, magician. " Seth hissed, waving a hand in the air before falling back into a seat in the back of the tent, hiding in the shadows.

"For a man who once had the idea of torturing criminals to death to reveal a Ka powerful enough to defeat the dreaded Diabound, I find you very sensitive all of a sudden. " Mahad argued, turning to the bearer of the millennium rod and narrowing his eyes, inquisitive.

"Everyone makes errors of judgement… " the latter only mumbled, unable to help but bite the inside of his cheek as he hated having to apologise.

"And you dare say that to me!? " the sacred guardian exclaimed as he returned to his papyri, a mocking smile on his lips.

"Give it a rest, Mahad! " the priest demanded, annoyed. "I don't really like watching the massacre of innocent people. "

"There is no war without bloodshed. "

"Please the Gods, may it be quickly shed then... "

##########

A blurry wave rippling in a haunting dance reminiscing of those of the harlots of the brothels of his childhood. The oppressive heat continued to hit him full force, exhausting his horse, which he found himself having to pull behind him as he advanced through a greige and amber landscape. The dry air was rushing into his throat, was insinuating itself into his lungs, preventing him from breathing until he decided to grab his goatskin flask to drink a long gulp of water that would allow him to hold a few more hours.

There was neither wadi with flourishing vegetation where he could eat, nor an oasis with reflective turquoise water where he could hydrate, not even a silver or gold mine in which he could cool off in the shade before setting off at nightfall, a bag full of precious ores on the shoulder. A deserted land was stretching as far as he could see, and he despaired of having had to leave the cool breeze usually roaming the banks of the Nile and to sink deeper into the reliefs of the Red Sea Hills. Getting as far away from the nearest town as possible, he was heading where he knew no one would look for him.

Sweat beaded from his forehead, sliding down his rapidly pulsating collarbone, running down his chest that he had ended up stripping on the route, before crashing into the folds of his loincloth. Yet he had known worse, but today, this crossing seemed to him the most insurmountable ordeal there is. This frail body, which was now his, did not help him in any way; tiring too quickly, he was provided with a fragile constitution and had demonstrated a total ignorance of survival means, knowing nothing about how to plunder or to pickpocket and having no knowledge of hand-to-hand combat like of weapons handling. And if that wasn't enough, he also had to be the spitting image of the most important figure in sacred Egypt.

If at least that bloody brat stopped baying inside my head!

Gritting his teeth, he tightened his grip on the reins of his horse, whose pace was beginning to slow down a little too much for his liking, and resumed his walk with a firm and regular pace. One. Another one. Another step. One again. He couldn't afford to stop or it was a death sentence.

However, the sun God seemed to have decided otherwise, and before his tired eyes, the sand began to move elegantly, taking ever more seductive shapes and fulfilling his innermost fantasies. Soon a poor-looking village took shape, its streets filling with people from all walks of life, from desperate thieves to unscrupulous murderers. The features of the children in rags as black as soot became more precise, the laughter of the elders knocked out by the cheap wine echoed louder in his ears, and he remembered the women, using their charms, cooking dinner or yelling at the men to bring back bigger loot the next time they went to steal traders' stalls in the capital...

His head spun. Gripping his forehead as he was wobbling dangerously forward, he tried to stabilise himself, but losing his balance, he crashed on the rocky ground forcefully as the sand continued to go back in time in front of his hypnotised pupils.

The so lively village then plunged into torpor and pitch-black night... Crimson red flames rose from the roofs and smoke invaded the alleys. All he could hear around him now were screams and harrowing calls for help. Hidden under dark hooded togas, soldiers appeared out of nowhere, and entering the houses by force, frogmarched the owners towards the main square.

Back to be no older than four or five, he was running wildly to get home, not caring if he was pushed around or trampled on his way. Confusion was reigning, the fire was spreading, and the lamentations increased in intensity. People were begging, imploring, crying while the white-stoned walls of houses were repainted in red. The voice of a woman calling out his name stopped him short in his way. Turning his head, he quickly saw her figure disappear behind the aisles as she was dragged on the ground by her hair.

Carried by her voice calling him over and over again, he began to follow the soldiers until he found himself in the main square. Hiding between two sections of walls, behind a barrel of wine with dizzying emanations, he watched as she kept to struggle with all her might, continuing to shout his name with tears in her eyes. His stomach knotted with disgust and wide-eyed eyes, he covered his mouth with both hands when, arriving near a sort of large cauldron in which an inky liquid was boiling, the soldiers raised her body frozen by fear before slitting her throat with a sharp movement of the sword. And as her limbs continued to convulse and the blood was pouring profusely into the mixture, his name died at the edges of her trembling lips.

A man all dressed in white suddenly appeared out of the shadows, book in hand, and with a brusque gesture motioned towards the cauldron. The soldiers thus lifted the woman's body without the slightest concern and threw her into the steaming pot as a roar, muffled by his teeth biting into his own flesh, was rising through the air.

Mother!

He suddenly regained consciousness with reality, letting nausea make him regurgitate the sand he had swallowed in his fall as well as his breakfast of that morning. Grabbing shakingly his goatskin flask, he sprayed himself on his face, and sat cross-legged on the ground, trying to calm his heart pounding in each of his limbs.

It had been many years since he had reacted in this way to the memories constantly returning to haunt his sleep since that fateful night. This body was not his, was knowing nothing of his traumas as of his sorrows. It didn't know what he must have gone through since he was a child. The long days of famine when hunger was often so great it made him fall ill, forcing him to stay in bed for weeks. When, for want of a better alternative, he had to choose between stealing the only food from a penniless family, or letting himself slowly die in excruciating pain… The world was unfair. The world was cruel. And he only had survived, so why did should he be judged for that?

And now what?

Bakura!

The thief rolled his eyes in hearing that voice yell like this for the millionth time since he occupied the body of its owner. Letting out an annoyed growl, he exclaimed surly:

"What?! "

Give me back my body immediately!

"And after what, you little idiot?! Do you think you'll survive as well as I could in this place? "

...

"That's what I thought…" Bakura sighed, running a hand through his hair and closing his eyes to think for a second.

Silence finally ruling in his mind, he smiled contentedly and began to scan the barren land. He did not like moving away so far into the Eastern Desert, the lack of wells, villages or even shelters was making him anxious, but he still preferred that to the possibility of running into a soldier of the royal guard who would recognise him.

Trapped within his own soul chamber, the boy was remaining strangely calm, waiting with folded arms for him to decide what to do. He had that impatient look on his face that toddlers sometimes have when someone was promising them something that would never come. Under other circumstances, he probably would have been happy to laugh shamelessly about it, but right now it seemed quite out of place. He who had once completely surrender to the demons of vengeance now was finding himself having compassion for the double of his sworn enemy...

Biting his bottom lip, he concentrated, trying to stand face to face with his host before asking directly as the latter took a step back when he suddenly caught sight of him in front of him.

"The Pharaoh cares a lot about you, eh? "

What can it do if this is the case? Heba heard himself retort in a voice he didn't recognise. Since when was he so vindictive?

"He won't hesitate to look for you all over the country if he has to." the king of thieves replied simply without taking offence. "It's not exactly a good thing for me. "

So go away, let me take back my place!

"I would like to, as a matter of fact! If you think it amuses me to be you… " hissed the young man with the silver hair, leaning against the doorframe in a posture intended to be nonchalant. "But what would happen to me afterward?" My body had been destroyed at the same time that I have offered my soul to Zorc. I am doomed to be nothing more than a wandering spirit. Without you, I am nothing at all. "

If you hadn't made the choices you made, none of us would be here today. the teenager exclaimed contemptuously. Something was definitely wrong with him.

"Oh… you aren't short of a comeback!" Bakura said, raising an eyebrow, impressed. "As far as it concerns you, know that I have no remorse. The only regret I could still have is that I failed to skin alive that jackal of Aknadin. More than anyone, he deserved that I tear his insides out with my bare hands! "

Every word that comes out of your mouth is a lie, but from you, I expect nothing less.

"You've got a sharp tongue for a bloody brat who couldn't say a word without stammering when I saw you for the first time!" argued the thief, more and more annoyed.

You're not fooling anyone, let alone me, Bakura. Now that we're one, I know all about you. the boy indicated, a smile on his lips. Somehow, the vengeful spirit's own audacity was rubbing off on him, and he suddenly felt more confident. If you think that making them pay for everything they took from you would have brought you peace, then you are more naive than you think.

"You, impudent bastard, what do you know about me?! Nothing! Absolutely nothing! "

Look at yourself… you didn't deserve to lose your loved ones, and I understand why you blame the Pharaoh, but a life driven by hatred and anger doesn't help anyone heal.

"And who told you that I want to heal?!" Maybe you think I could have forgotten and built a life like anyone!? "

When you took possession of my body, I felt it like you. Relief. As if you were glad to no longer be Bakura the king of thieves, Bakura of Kul Elna.

"You're wrong, kid. I can only be that... only Bakura of Kul Elna. And for that, I have to get my body back. "

How do you plan to do this?

"Ah…" huffed the young man, suddenly more conciliatory. "There is an old tomb in the heart of the lost town of Thinis. It is said to house the door leading to the Afterlife. "

W-What? Isn't that a little dangerous?

"Unless you want to share your soul until the end of your days, we don't really have a choice... "

Do you know what to do to get it back?

"More or less. Magic is not the most precise thing. "

Finally picking himself up, the thief stretched and set forth, resuming his route. It was a long way to Thinis, and he still had to make a detour to find provisions. He just hoped he wouldn't die of dehydration before reaching his destination.

Wait and see, Pharaoh...