Sorry this is a little late in posting: I was feeling really sick morning, but I wanted to get this up for everyone so enjoy! I hope your all excited!

Also I've been getting a lot of wonderful comments from everyone but please don't forget to review: I like knowing what it is I'm doing right, especially since this is my first time doing Knightshipping.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Historical figures mentioned are all fictional versions of themselves and in no way related to actual human beings. All mentioned places pertain and are based on their real world locations. Yugioh and all its characters belong to Takehashi (and Konami since the Doma arc is Anime Only)

Dedications: As always to Val for being such a wonderful beta and such a loving friend! To Tay, my beloved Hikari, and another good friend, who loves Knight as much as I do. Also to BlackCatLuv for getting me hooked on Knightshpping in the first place all those years go.

As always review, comment, criticize, ask questions and go nuts with your theories and ideas! i love reading them!

Chapter IV Flight

The galleon docked with a rough jerk; the bow collided with the Nile's bank and embedded in the wet sand. The stop was so forceful, even the most experienced sea hands lost their balance. But there was no time for rest.

With the authority of a hard master, Timaeus ordered the entire fleet armored and ready to march. The entire brigade was on the sands awaiting orders in a matter of minutes, and anyone caught staggering felt the bite of his furious tongue. Among themselves, mistakes could be made—even funny ones—but Timaeus commanded perfection and demanded nothing less than the strictest discipline. No one dared follow once he descended the plank, or even humor the possibility of arriving late and sneaking in among the barracks. It was ridiculous to arrive looking anything less than pristine, and idiotic to hide a snicker or even a hint of humor. When it came to his men, Timaeus expected only soldiers. No one escaped the hunter of his gaze, and Timaeus missed nothing.

He descended with heavy, graceful steps. His helm was absent, revealing the flames of his hair and the sharpness of his face defined in full glory. The curve of his lips slit into a smile, but it was an uneasy smile—blaring confidence and pride that, at any moment, could shift to barbed annoyance or the gritted roar of a dragon's fury. His eyebrows furrowed in command and his single emerald eye blazed with a fire his blind one only illuminated. It promised words of glory but warned of strict protocol and the punishment of ignorance.

"Soldiers," his voice boomed. He was no longer their comrade—no longer the fierce Dragon Knight who inspired legends and rumors. No, he was their Trierarch. He was their General and they were only soldiers.

"We march on the temple of the Sun God," he announced in a flat tone that silenced all cheering. "Remember your mission." He stopped and spun. The fire in his emerald eye blazed with command, while his blind side stressed obedience. "We are sent here not as invaders, not as conquerors, not as slavers, but rescuers. We are here to find and capture the priests of the temple only. Draw your weapon only if they draw theirs, attack only if they attack you first, but you are to disarm, not fight. You are to restrain and capture, not kill, and you are not to lay sword or hand on any servant, any temple attendant, nor any innocent. We are to capture the priests and their servants with no bloodshed. We are not to harm any brought under our service. We are Locrian Soldiers. We are dragons of Atlantis and our King has allied himself with the new Pharaoh, and we honor that contract by obeying his will. Our King has ordered us to capture the High Priests and escort them and their allies back to Djanet—alive and untouched—and now, I am giving you that same command. Obey it as you would obey me, honor it as you honor your King, and never forget the vow you've taken, the oaths you've made, and never," The words turned harsh and cold, prickling like icy spears—the coldness all the more deadly in the desert. "Never forget that the worst crime of all is dishonor. Dishonor yourself and you dishonor your king and your country, and it is a sin I will not forgive." He paused, allowing the warning to sink.

Some shrank away—their fear enforcing their obedience. Others bore the accusation and met it with respect and understanding. Some grumbled their displeasure; the long months at sea had pumped their blood with adrenaline and a lust only blood could quench, but none could fight Timaeus and leave without scars for their arrogance—scars many of them still wore. Timaeus kept his mask, but internally allowed himself to smile. Good, he thought. As long as they obey.

"Go!" he barked, low and harsh. "March!" With a wave of his hand, they were off—punctual under their general's scrutinizing gaze.

"You're insistent on leading the men yourself, then, General?" Dartz asked from the ship.

Timaeus didn't turn around. "They are my men, Your Majesty. They are loyal to Locri and Atlantis, but they will obey only my orders."

"Your sense of honor never ceases to amaze me," Dartz congratulated with pride. He stepped off the ship to Timaeus' surprise. Had he changed his mind about the plan? Timaeus had been reluctant to leave his ship's command in anyone but his own—even his King's—but he refused to send his troops into battle led by anyone but himself.

Instead, Dartz stopped next to him, his gaze focused forward; watching, calculating, but his words were a secret whisper. "It's why I have a special mission for you," the King explained, not once looking at him.

The General understood at once, and continued watching his men. "And what mission is that?" he whispered.

"There's another reason Psusennes requested our aid, and it has nothing to do with his fear of the High Priests. When his sister left the temple, they were forced to leave someone behind. A boy—just barely a man, from what I understand. They call him Yugi."

"Yugi?" Timaeus gaped at the unusual name. It certainly wasn't Coptic or sounded like any other language he recognized. Was it a childhood name of sorts? A Wet name perhaps? "That is an unusual name for Kemet."

"Indeed," Dartz agreed, but did not turn. "His mother was a Singer of Amun. He's trained as a Priest of Mut-Sekhmet at Amun's sister temple, but the boy is not a priest himself. Yet when Mutnedjmet tried to take him with her to Djanet, they denied the request against both their wills. Now why do you think that is?"

Timaeus forced away his surprise when the keys clicked into place. "You think the High Priest and Priestess are using him as a hostage."

"Precisely." Dartz gave the smallest of nods. "He is their father's youngest child and the only child by his second wife, a beloved woman by the family. Even his Great Royal Wife held a place in her heart for her. It is not difficult to see why the High Priest would see use of him. Even if they cannot stop Psusennes from becoming Pharaoh, they can…" he paused to find the right word, "Negotiate their role in the desert's affairs a little more vocally."

"Using their own blood as a bargaining chip." No amount of reserve or training could conceal the venom boiling on Timaeus' face. "Disgraceful," he hissed low with disgust and dangerous with rage.

"Indeed." Dartz's face was set in a hard frown. "Only you know of him, Timaeus. I need you to find Yugi and bring him to the ship as soon as it docks on the shore. It is crucial we separate the boy from the priests as soon as possible. From what Psusennes and his lady described, he despises them and has already guessed their motives, but the priests have never been known to surrender easily. Again, Timaeus, only you know of him and you must find him and bring him to the ship. Explanations can be done later. Securing his safety is our priority." Dartz shook as he spoke, his words fractured with urgency.

Timaeus let all his reassurance and honor fill his voice like a soothing touch. "I understand." He nodded and smiled when he sensed his King relaxing. "How will I identify Yugi?"

"His real name is Ujalah," Dartz began with a touch more relaxation. "He is of age, but appears young, and you will know him best." Dartz gave a chuckle. "From how Psusennes describes him, he has hair like yours, but the colors are black, the bangs gold, and he has lotus blue eyes."

"Lotus blue?" Timaeus' brow arched.

"Violet, I believe, is the closest color. He is the only one who has them."

"Very well." Timaeus nodded and stepped down the plank. He tried to keep his focus on the task ahead, but curiosity conquered fresh images in his mind. A boy with hair shaped similar to his, and violet eyes? What would he look like? Surely not the intimidating warrior like himself? A Singer's child, so of course, lovely—and a royal child as well, so naturally, he must share some of Psusennes and his wife's traits. He closed his eyes, his imagination arranging and rearranging pieces and bits of faces like an incomplete puzzle that formed a face, but none seemed accurate.

"Oh, and Timaeus…" The almost-juvenile humor in Dartz's tone, like a child with a secret, stopped him. His thoughts discarded, Timaeus looked over his shoulder, waiting.

"Lady Mutnedjmet also tells me the boy has a fierce personality—in fact, they say he is Mut-Sekhmet reborn, as his mother was. And he will fight you when you meet him. I trust that won't be a problem?"

Timaeus' brow rose high, a look of puzzled curiosity crossed on his face. He knew little of the Kemetic myths, but all knew of Sekhmet—the fearless and terrifying lioness goddess who unified with the divine mother, and became consort of the Sun and embodied her husband's wrath. She was also a ferocious protector and slayer of demons, but as gentle and loving as a mother with her cubs. Timaeus pondered the new information; a lovely boy of royal blood with a loving heart, but who was also a spitfire?

"Not at all, my king," he finally said, and marched across the sands to join his men. An intrigued smile slit his face. "Not at all."

X

He ran until his feet burned. Through the labyrinth of the Hypostyle Hall, past the domineering walls of pylons and colossus statues of past kings and the scrutinizing eyes of Gods... Servants fled from his path, lesser hem-netjer called his name, but Yugi ignored their concern and curious questions.

His heart beat desperately against the bars of his ribs, until its wings were bloody like a savage beast in a cage. His arms pumped at his sides, propelling his body forward. His feet burned like every step was on shards of broken pottery. His body ached, his lungs burned and words escaped his throat in heavy breathless wheezing. A face full of strong light almost blinded him when he entered the forecourt and found himself dwarfed by the watchful gaze of lion-bodied sphinxes donning the heads of rams and past kings.

He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not when he had finally taken flight. Not now that he'd passed the monstrous walls that had become his prison. Once, the domineering structures had been grand accomplishments depicting the triumphs of his ancestors. Now, the massive walls of sandstone reminded him of impenetrable bars—a permanent domineering reminder that he was a captive. That his fate was no longer his own.

With the heat and wind of the desert on his face and Ra's light on his back, he ran through the forecourt until the gapped wall faded and became a distant mirage. The long imprisonment he'd felt since Mut's departure became a faded memory he could almost pretend wasn't real.

His legs finally gave out, and his heart burst. He collapsed outside the final pylon and braced himself in a shadow of stone and allowed himself to just lie there. Lungs dry and throat parched—his breathing raspy and heavy, he couldn't even pause without choking on air. The scorching sand burned and scrapped his palms and legs, and yet he felt invigorated. The wall behind him stood solitary and disappointed—its power lost.

Free. Yugi's heart fluttered slightly, like a baby bird testing flight for the first time. Was he free? Could he be free? How long would it last? Surely the Divine Servants would send the hem-netjer to fetch him soon and begin the cycle all over again?

Unless, he ran.

It was ridiculous to think and idiotic to consider. On the wrong side of the Nile and isolated by the desert, the House of Life of Amun was a literal and symbolic paradise. A single oasis among an endless stretch of barren wasteland—scorching sun stronger than all Kemet, tiny blades of sand coarse enough to tear flesh from bones in a sandstorm. Like Amun-Ra's divinity rising from the primeval sea of chaos. Even if he survived, the massive saltwater sea barricaded the land from invaders. Hiking up the Nile would be just as pointless; it'd be weeks before he reached the Delta—if the hot sun, river crocodiles, and desert cats didn't kill him before dehydration and hunger did. The only possible hope was Waset.

The royal capital stood mockingly on the other side of the river, but the annual flood had filled the canals, creating a clear path from the temple to the capital. The hem-netjer would never find him there. He could lose them among the streets and get an apprenticeship or a job as a healer—even perform on the streets as a dancer. His mother had taught him plenty. He could survive, perhaps even stow away on a ship headed north and bribe the captain to drop him off at Djanet. Waset meant freedom, hope, choices: everything he'd ever wanted—at the cost of swimming across the crocodile-infested waters of the Nile, if the impossibly-strong current didn't sweep him out to sea. And with the recent ankh flood, its shadows were more profound, creating the perfect hunting ground for river monsters.

It was impossible to accomplish—foolish to even consider and suicidal to risk. Yet, as he pushed himself to his knees and stood on wobbly legs that found their strength, the risks seemed tempting.

Even now, the scorching sand and fierce sun, the dry sheltering wind—its own mixture of desert heat and chilled Nile air—ripped away the countless layers of expectation and obedience heaped upon his iron will-like heavy chains.

"Free?" he questioned, testing the word on his tongue. It felt foreign and strange—an aspect that didn't really exist. "Free." He said it again, and this time his heart fluttered. "Free," he said the word again like he could claim it. "Free!"

A determined dream on the verge of becoming an actuality.

Waset stood proud and welcoming on the far shore. The precinct's once-intimidating walls and its vicious shouts were nothing more than the fading of a forgotten nightmare.

He could do it, he realized: run away and leave. Mut-Sekhmet's precinct was only a short run away. He could wait until the sacred barks sailed up the canal bringing the Singers of Amun for their next assignment. He could sneak onto the boat, or dye his hair and hide among them. No one would suspect him. Or he might not even have to wait that long. Food and offerings were brought every day; it'd be easy to hide his hair, veil his face, and slip in with the servants. The hem-netjer would be so busy looking for him among the massive complex, it would take them days to search everywhere—let alone all the nooks and crannies he'd memorized from games of hide-and-seek as a child. His tutors had wasted hours looking for him, and he'd only been a child then. Outwitting them now would be child's play. Possibilities swam in his brain. Schemes with no hope of failure calculated and sorted—replaced by another if the current one had even a single fault.

He could do it, and it would be easy. He could do it.

Knees buckled weekly, legs quaking like wet papyrus, his heart hammered with a terrible feeling—and suddenly, he was overcome by a nameless dread.

He could have done it. He could have escaped his captures long ago and started a new life. Yet here he was, alone on the sphinx canal shore just outside Kemet's most sacred House of Life. And as difficult as the Divine Servants had made the last few months with their strict rules, controlling schedules, and outrageous demands… it was still his home.

His father had lived and ruled there—had made great accomplishments and commanded vast legions. It was where he'd lived with his wife and children and raised Yugi's siblings, blessing them in the divinity of the Gods and delighting their dreams with stories of the histories inscribed there. It was where his father had met his mother. Where she'd trained as a hem-netjer of Sekhmet, healed the sick, and delighted the Gods with her golden voice and skilled lyre strings. Where Yugi had been a toddler and his mother delighted him for hours by dancing and singing songs, and letting him shake menat beads and bang sistrums. He'd laughed for hours at the fascinating sounds. Where he and his siblings had spent the hottest afternoons splashing and swimming in the sacred spring, and where he and his mother would watch the lotuses rise from the waters. And his father would seat him in his lap like his own personal throne, and for those delightful moments, he'd felt like a Per-A'Ah, too. His father, while playing with his tresses, would always say the Gods had even grown him a crown. And Pas joked that they could even be Per-A'Ahs together.

But there were sad times, too. When his father had left, and his mother's patients didn't survive. Two had been Menkheperre's predecessors—his older brothers. Yugi wondered if Henuttawy had ever truly forgiven Isetemkheb for being unable to save them. There had been spats and fights among them as well. He remembered once when Menkheperre had refused to speak to him because he preferred the senat game Pas had given him rather than the scribe tools he had. Back when Yugi was a child and wanted to play all day instead of study. Or when he'd swiped a pomegranate from the offering table as a mischievous and hungry six-summer babe and Maatkare had scolded him to tears—only for Mut to strike her proud sister for being so harsh with one so young and ignorant. Yugi never stole from the table again, but only because Mut explained they were gifts for the Gods and they'd be upset if Yugi took them, just as he'd be if she had taken his toys. Maatkare had never forgiven her sister for that, but it wasn't because of the slap; they'd been family. There was love among the walls, and even when he'd left to accompany his mother or join his father and brother, he'd always been excited to come home.

Home. This place had been home. When had it become a prison? When had those loving memories etched into stone and water become impenetrable bars and tedious chains? When had it ceased being a paradise to escape to and become a cold empty fortress to escape from?

He knew. Even if he chose not to admit it, he knew even as his legs crumbled and he sank to his knees in the shadow of a colossus statue. His arm and shoulder braced against a huge stone slab supporting its base. The rough sandstone felt warm and smooth beneath his cheek. The Nile's warm current blew through his bangs and he could almost imagine familiar figures massaging his scalp. He turned to the statue, knowing the face even with the skull too high and directly in Amun-Ra's brightness to see clearly. He stood tall and powerful; his jaw strong, his eyes sharp, his nose curt, and full lips carved into a neutral line. Firm arms chiseled in to perfect, smooth muscles folded across his chest—a flail in one strong hand, and an Osiris staff in the other. Broad stone shoulders outlined a powerfully-built chest tapering to masculine hips. His legs were long and powerful. He was naked save for a nemes crown of sovereignty adorning his brow and a permanently-styled shenti. Not a man, not a Per-A'Ah, but a God immortalized in stone, Pinedjem I looked every inch the indomitable Divine Servant of Amun and the commanding ruler of the desert he'd been in life. But the eyes were cold, the smile bland, and the hands solitary—it was a mere shadow of the man behind the God. The brave, loyal, loving man Yugi had known and loved.

"Papa," he choked and crumbled. His upper half draped weakly at his father's feet. His cheeks pinched and hot tears pricked his eyes before overflowing and rolling down his cheeks in hot streams. "Mama." His body wracked with heavy sobs and he did nothing to hold them back. He hugged the slab. Weak fingers clenched the engraving of her name and two others beneath Pinedjem's cartouche. His weak arms were the only things keeping him up. When they could no longer hold him, he let his body slide to the ground. He lied against the slab, crying loudly and brokenly, and with no regard for who saw him.

He hadn't cried when she died. Not when she'd been smiling so strongly despite her pain and stroking his cheek with her fragile fingers. They'd called it irony; that the incarnation of Mut-Sekhmet, herself, could not chase away her own demon of pestilence. Except… it wasn't a demon or disease that afflicted her. No, it was her heart that killed her. And it was its unwillingness to repair when Pinedjem died. He'd cried then, alone and broken, when they'd transported her body to the burial chamber of the Per-A'Ah. And he did so now.

Except now he didn't have Mut's loving embrace to dry his tears or Pas' reassuring smile and comforting arms, or even his mother's final warning that he'd always be safe and loved with his siblings. Menkheperre and Maatkare would never be the Menk and Maat he adored as a child. Pas and Mut would never return from Djanet, the exiled capital of the marsh. The family they once were would never cease its perpetual split.

No, Amun's House of Life was no longer home, and it never would be again. But would Waset be any better?

He rolled over and pressed his bare back against the warm, rough slab. His feet sprawled beneath him. He stared at the white city fading like ripples in the wave of heat—so close, he could walk to it. Inviting, mocking like a mirage just before it disappeared, and fate had a good laugh. Between them, the Nile rose and fell, and waves roughened with the annual flood. Even the canal tossed and rolled sea foam upon the sands as dangerous as the ocean. It was a formidable force during the driest of Kemet's summers, but just after the flood… he'd never survive the swim.

But if he could just board a ship… find a way to travel north to the Delta, to Djanet—to Pas and Mut...

Was it worth the risk?

He closed his eyes and stood up, walking to the edge of the forecourt. His options weighed against the other like the heart against Ma'at's feather on the scales of Anubis. Possibilities and scenarios categorized against the faults and flaws. Then his mind erased them both, and his heart and mind had their answer. Yugi opened his eyes and exhaled—and with the movement, he expelled all his doubts and fears. His decision made, he turned to take those final steps and into a new freedom, a freedom that could only come from making a decision he chose.

A shadow appeared out the corner of his eye when he turned. At first, it was so faint, Yugi thought it no more than a trick of the heat, but his curiosity was unsatisfied with the brushed-off answer. He narrowed his eyes and held a hand to block the sun.

It rolled across the desert—a narrow, horizontal shape like a low-riding hill wiggling in a heat wave but it was too straight, and appeared… bigger?

Yugi squinted harder, trying to read shapes through the heat, but all he could make out was a single, large line. But now he could see that it was the color of the Nile and light bounced off it, reflective and temporarily blinding. Suddenly, another shape rolled into view—floating across the Nile like a low cloud, but the shape was triangular like a massive white, one-dimensional pyramid. It caught Yugi's attention, and immediately, he recognized that they were sails.

His heart leapt into his chest. Was it a supply ship? But why was it coming from the north rather than across from Waset? Had Pas and Mut returned for him after all? Hope fluttered in his chest, but present experience warned him against rash joy. Apprehension reminded him to be cautious, and his sharp eyes quickly saw why.

Its sails were too large and triangular—its neck large and bulky—and the rising foredeck was too thick to be the long, slender galleys of the royal barks. This wasn't a royal ship. Or even a Kemetic ship.

Sharp eyes caught the seal on the flag and Yugi's heart dropped to his stomach like a stone in a well. Breath froze in his throat. Shock and terror rooted his feet to the ground like his body was made of stone.

He recognized that crest. The world knew that crest: the ferocious single-eyed dragon the color of the sea, with a sword in its mouth against an Atlantis blue background. Only the Dragon Knights of Atlantis—the King's most strategic and ruthlessly loyal Generals carried a dragon as their symbol—but only one bore a green dragon with a single-scarred eye: Timaeus of Locri, the fiercest and most powerful Dragon Knight in Atlantis.

Now Yugi recognized the purpose of the ships. Now he understood what the land shape was and why it was growing bigger… no, not bigger, closer, and who exactly was leading it. Bile rose in Yugi's throat. His heart ceased to beat, seized by horror and fear, and his entire body shook with shocked despair. Timaeus of Locri, the worst of Atlantis' generals, was leading his army right to the capital of Kemet's House of Life.

Atlantis was invading Egypt.

Yup, I ended it there ^^

Tim's back! I gotta say i LOVE writing Timaeus, he's just so much fun and its so much fun balancing his personality, especially now that he's after Yugi and out little one has perked his curiously ;)

Speaking of which I'm very curious to see everyone's opinions on Yugi's decision making ;)

Don't think there was any knew vocab this chapter but If you have any questions please feel free to ask ^^

X x X

Grammar Knight's Note/s:

Ma'at – Egyptian goddess of truth and justice; her primary role in Egyptian mythology dealt with the weighing of souls (also called the weighing of the heart) that took place in the underworld, Duat. Her feather was the measure that determined whether the souls (considered to reside in the heart) of the departed would reach the paradise of afterlife successfully.

Anubis - Protector of the dead and embalming; also the Egyptian god of funerals and death

Bark – also "barque" or "barc"; a type of sailing vessel with three or more masts having the fore- and mainmasts rigged square and only the mizzen (the aftermost mast) rigged fore-and-aft; a general name given to small ships.

X x X

Next Time: Atlantis has invaded Egypt and Yugi makes a split-second decision that will change his life. Meanwhile, Timaeus' invasion goes off without a hitch, but he can't help but notice that someone is missing.