Author's Note. The italics indicate a flashback in Yami's memory. This chapter takes place after he has been sealed away in the Puzzle, and the Puzzle begins

its attempt to break him. To make sure there is as little confusion as possible, the memories that the Pharoah is experiencing-namely, being whipped by his father,

and tormented by Shimon are manipulated memories that the Puzzle manufactured. I am not really sure what sort of relationship Yami had with his father, but

from the cartoons, and the manga, it seemed to be a very loving, close relationship. I promise, in future chapters, that Yami will definitely be more than my poor

whipping boy, though. To further clarify...Yami is ten years old in the flashback. I tried to keep him in character as possible, and wrote this on the assumption that

he was probably mature for his age, but still very much a child. Anyway...please enjoy!

In The Dark Garden-

It is said that only the darkest flower

Bursts forth in fragrant bloom-

Sometime in evil at brightest hour

Disguised as a tender blossom

With its poisonous perfume-

Deep are the roots of treachery

When growing in the flesh-

Fueled by a careless cruelty-

And by power taken, blessed-

It was said that the last flower

Grew solitary and brave

Only to wilt

Bursting forth beside a grave-

And yielding only to fruitless guilt-

Hielo Warrenbeck 2007

--

The Dark Garden--

It was unknown at what point the Puzzle ceased being content with being little more than the slumbering king's sleeping chamber. It was not sentient, in the sense

that it had a moral drive, or it responded to its enviroment in a way that a living creature might. The Puzzle was created with the purpose of keeping Yami's soul safely housed, until the time came for him to be at peace. Nobody-not even Isis-could have forseen the consequences of infusing so much power within the frail shimmer of

gold. It was assumed-perhaps out of ignorance, or carelessness, that the Puzzle would simply be obedient to the king's wish, and that the king's wish would be

untainted by the more human, perhaps, base instincts that have plagued all free will since its invention. Suffering has a strange effect on people. On some, they bear it

nobly, as a crown, silent in their anguish, allowing it to make them wiser, better, more empathic towards others. Suffering can also break people down to helpless

victims, who do nothing more than cringe, and cower and wait in expectation for the next blow. In a few of the more volital individuals, it stirs up rage-sometimes cruel and calculating, sometimes justified, but always dangerous.

The Puzzle had gathered from Yami's vivid dreams that skittered across his mind, that the young king was well-aquainted with pain, in many forms. Minor aches, like the

torment he endured most of his life for his odd hair, and decidedly short stature that set him apart, without his consent. The heavy responsibility of being the son of a king,

always having to display rigid, unyielding, courtly courtesy to all, the chains of obligation that left him lonely and uncertain. Revered as a god, and lauded for all but having none to confide his fears to. The Puzzle soon deduced that Yami had been lonely, despite being surrounded. Perhaps that is why his friendship with Isis still burned so prettily in his memory. There were deeper scars, as well. Yami was riddled with guilt, still of his mother's untimely death, that resulted in his life. His father had been careful to shield his young son from such a painful burden, but the Pharoah had never remarried out of his grief, and with the young prince as an heir, there was no real need.

Yami displayed the same unflinching loyalty to his loved ones that his father did. There were still, unhealed cuts, that bled as the Puzzle picked them apart, to see the

Pharoah wince, or cry, depending on how deep the hurt. Seth's betrayal had left a gaping wound, that the Puzzle could sense would never heal. Its suspicion was loudly confirmed by the Pharoah's reaction when it probed the area with a minor effort. Yami had emitted not a tear, or a cry, but a snarl of rage. That was a curious reaction.

The Puzzle hastily absorbed the awareness of the memory from Yami, and watched, carefully as Yami's erratic pants slowed to deeper breaths, and he rolled back over, returning to his deep sleep. The Puzzle noticed with curiosity that Yami's mouth was still drawn in its scowl even after the memory was gone.

This was an interesting development. The Puzzle hesitated, then firmly nudged the sleeping king. Yami raised a hand, swatted the irritation away, but did not wake.

Apparently, the slumbering spell of Isis was still doing its protective work after all these years, still burning bright and strong, even if Yami was not aware of it.

The Puzzle shifted from gold to muted bronze, as it wafted a soft blanket of light over Yami's lax body. Yami whimpered sharply, more out of irritation than pain, but

then his deep snoring resumed, and he soon curled up.

Yami was completely blindsided by the Puzzle's attack. Indeed, he did not even know that the Puzzle could attack!

It was a fairly benign memory in itself, of one of Yami's moments of misbehavior as a young boy, bored with his lessons, and longing for a bit of adventure. Shimon-one of the Priests- was attempting to teach the young prince some more of the complicated matters of Egypt's long history. Shimon was an elderly gentleman, with a fondness for the young prince and a saintly patience not to reprimand him too much for his rather balant figeting. Glancing at the sun that was already high in the sky, Shimon gently redirected Yami's wondering eyes back to his lessons. With an annoyed huff of air, Yami rolled his eyes, and whined. Shimon indulged in a chuckle, and bribed Yami

into paying more attention with the promise of cutting the lesson short if Yami would only stay focused a bit longer. Yami gave him a bright smile, and an eager nod.Thus inspired, the lesson finished with a nice conclusion, the prince had mastered the basics, and Shimon had felt he had done well. With an affectionate ruffle of Yami's hair, he dismissed the prince. Yami apologized humbly for his earlier rudeness, and Shimon only responded with another ruffle of his hair, and a tap to his narrow chin. All was forgiven. That was the original,pure memory, that left Yami with a deep respect for Shimon in his forgiveness, and tolerance.

The mutilated version that the Puzzle supplanted in his mind was quite a different story.

Yami knew that the moment after the words exited his mouth, he had made a collosial error in judgement. He hadn't meant any harm or disrespect, at all! It was just that

the lesson was so boring, and he was weary of Master Shimon's droning on and on. It was hard to pay attention when all he wanted was to go outside and play. So, when

he asked what he thought was a good question as to why "he needed to learn all this stuff, since he was the prince and had other people to remind him-" Yami was

shocked to see Master Shimon's normally cheerful face suddenly scowl, and the squant old man glare at him much like a disturbed bulldog. Yami winced when he saw

Master Shimon fold his arms and rise to glower at the Prince, the scowl deepening, his violet eyes taking on deeper shades in his offended anger. Yami hastily stammered

out an apology, with a bow to his Master, hoping to assage that uncharacteristic scowl. Master Shimon's only response to Yami was a vicious, and unexpected backhand to the small prince's cheek, and stern consteration. Yami noted the smirk of satisfaction that lighted Shimon's lips as Yami drew a quivering hand to his burning cheek, his eyes and mouth wide with shock at the slap. It almost seemed as if...Shimon was gratified in seeing his suprise and hurt! Yami was further shocked to hear Master Shimon bark out an order for the prince to "sit, be silent, and study your lessons, or I shall strike the other cheek, you imputant runt!"

That scathing remark about Yami's size-which had always been an extreme sore spot for him- had hurt even more than the slap. Yami muttered out, "Yes, Master Shimon,

I am sorry, sir," he bowed, meekly slid back into his seat, and kept his eyes and head lowered fixed firmly on the book, though the words swam with his tears, and he felt something inside of him crumble and give way.

Memories swirled, wanned, and frayed, as frail as moonlight on the waves of the Nile, as the Puzzle mutilated another memory...

Yami had been abruptly summoned by a worried looking page to his father's chambers. Yami did not see any reason for undue alarm, as his father often

asked for him to visit, to play games, or just to see how his young son's day went. They were almost always warm, loving chats, that Yami cherished.

When Yami arrived to his father's summons, he was taken aback to see the screaming young girl being dragged and manhandled by the two palace guards as they

dropped her face down onto the stones, in a mocking bow to the Pharoah. She lay there, shaking, and mussed in a pile of dirtied skirts and soiled garments. Yami blushed and hastily turned away. It just seemed wrong to gawk at a young girl who had been treated like that.

He flinched when he heard the palace guard announce the arrival of the Pharoah. All members of the royal court began their customary bows, and lauds, as Yami

stood, transfixed, and too horrified to move.Timidly, he tapped a guard on the shoulder, and the guard instantly swept into a grand bow

"My prince?" Came the rough inquiry, as he continued his abasement, neither moving or rising until Yami gave permission.

"I am sorry to interfer, sir, but who is that girl, and why is she being dragged here?"

The guard raised his dark eyes, and answered with a snarl. "She is riff-raff and a criminal. The Pharoah ordered her brought here for your lesson, my prince."

Yami could only look up at him, wide-eyed, his childish innocence making the guard chuckle in amusement and chuck the young prince under the chin.

"Fear not, my prince. You will understand soon enough." Yami did not answer. He couldn't.

It was confirmed when the Pharoah strode through the doors, flanked by his guards, his dark eyes glittering with disgust as they fell on his young son.

Yami stiffened, instinctively, though he quickly shifted and presented his father with a cold, regal bow. "My father, and king..."

He fumbled for the proper greeting, then hastily spat it out when he saw his father's disapproving frown. "May Ra bless you with long years and wisdom."

His father acknowledged his son with a grunt, then flung a dismissing hand over to the girl and the guards. Yami gulped to see that it was only their

hands gripping her arms to leave bruises that kept her upright. He also noticed, for the first time, that she was no older than he.

"Ahh, so I see you have met the prisoner, my son? She was caught trying to steal bread from one of the guards"

The Pharoah allowed himself a tolerant smile, as Yami openly gawked in confusion. Why would his father trouble himself to punish her for such a minor offense?

He felt his father's hands on his own, as Yami was lifted, then gently set down on his feet, his father's hand heavy on his small shoulder, as he felt the strange

sensation of cold, unflinching leather being placed in his hand. His father smirked, as he lowered himself to be reseated on the throne.

Yami's eyes trailed downward, to see the cruel, dark leather flog in his hands. Surely his father did not expect him to whip her?
His fears were confirmed as his father gave him a casual nod, sitting back with ease, and looking for all the world like he was bored and waiting to be entertained.

Yami looked to his father,with pleading eyes, the whip going slack in his shaking fingers, as it snaked away and fell to the floor in a silent coil.

"I'm sorry, father! I am so sorry!" He stammered out in hysterical torment. "I...I c-can't do this! Please don't make me whip her, father, I can't do it!"

The Pharoah stared down at his son, grimly, the left corner of his mouth curling in disapproval as his dark eyes narrowed.

"Are you refusing to enforce the basic law of Egypt, my son? Are you refusing to obey me?"

Yami could only squirm in embarassment under his father's unwavering glower. He cringed further when he heard his father's growl, demanding an answer.

Yami could only shrug, helplessly, too panicked and sickened to answer. The Pharoah lurched off his throne in a swirl of robes, as he

snatched Yami by his small wrist, and almost hoisted him in the air. He twirled him to meet his eyes, and Yami yelped in pain as he saw his father's eyes almost

storming over with disgust.

"Stop being a cringing dog and conduct yourself as a prince! Either you will flog her yourself, or take her place." Yami felt the whip being shoved into his hands, as he was uncerimoniously dropped and shoved forth. He stumbled forward, his heart clenching in his chest, his whole body trembling. The whip was coiled about his wrist like a serpent, and all were waiting. Yami stared down at his hands-small, pale hands, so pale against the dark leather, knotted into tiny fists against the fear.

His eyes went to the girl, who was still laying in a filthy, violated heap, the tattered clothing worn thin enough to expose her flesh.

He saw her head turn, her face rise somewhere out of that pile of rags and twisted limbs, as

she made the quivering attempt to scuttle away, only to meet the guard's pointed boot as he kicked in her stomache. Yami heard the loud crack, the grunt of pain,

and the sick sound of her ragged breathing as she collapsed again, and did not move, but only curled into herself, like a dying animal. He heard the strange sound of

roaring in his ears, the scene before him blurred with tears through eyes that he squinted shut, to hide his crying and to stop the horrible images from scarring him even more. Her eyes were empty, and staring- dark eyes, the color of the Nile's water, eyes that were inocent, and wide and scarred as his own, that shimmered through

the strings of her hair, and gaped at him beseechingly before their halting trail burned brighter as they fell on the whip.

He stood, helpless, his feet feeling as if they were encased in brick, and immovable, while his heart squirmed, tightened, and convulsed in his chest, like a fist. His

head was pounding, and aching from the strain and the sobs, and burning from the scathing, bitter glower that his father was undoubtably burning into the back of his

bowed, quivering skull. And all of his thoughts had taken on the panicked wings and teeth of dragons, clawing about his brain, snarling for dominance, as he could only

stand there and silently feel the tears in their wet, humiliating trails down his cheeks.

With quaking hands, and nausea churning in his gut, he turned towards the girl,his face agonized with guilt, as he threw the whip back over one shoulder, closed his eyes, and let it blindly fly where it would.

It was more brutal than even his imagination could venture. A second later, he felt the reverberation shudder through the leather as it struck her across her bowed back,

tearing the remnants of her garment, shredding flesh and cloth with indifference as if there were a hungry beast ripping her back apart. He heard her shrill cry of pain, clawing through the air, tearing into his mind, felt the sickening crack and the blood that dribbled down the handle as the cord soared back towards him. He raised a hand, peering at it as if it were not his, eyes and mouth mute with numbed indifference as he saw her scarlet wound's gore on his fingers as if he were the one that was bleeding.

Somewhere, he heard his father's satisfied grunt, and then, that cruel amusement, as he ordered, "Very good, my son. Now, do it again."

Yami could only shudder, and answer with a sobbing shake of his head. He was ten years old, unschooled in how to hurt others, and too traumatized by what he had seen and inflicted to even move. Inflicting pain for amusement was a concept that his innocence had never even considered before.

"You refuse me?" The Pharoah's voice was soft, and menacing, as he cocked his head to the side, and considered his son with irritation. Yami did not answer, but could only stand there, rooted to the floor, and feeling as if his entire body was imprisoned by flesh turned to ice.

"Very well, my son. You shall bear her punishment for your disobedience, and cowardness." That promise ended Yami's stupor, as he gasped to plead for mercy.

His father's lip curled in disgust, as he dismissed his son's sobbing with a wave. "The longer you cry and whimper, and act like a beaten slave, the longer my whip

shall fall upon your flesh."

The flogging might have been honorable, if the wailing cries were heaved out from a grunting, penetant criminal, worthy of the punishment.

But to hear the high-pitched, blinding shrieks of a child whose contorted body convulsed under the binding grips of two guards that had to stoop to restrain him, because he was so small was sickening to anybody with a heart.

Yami didn't even have time to cry out before he found his wrists seized, his arms unwillingly splayed out, until he thought they would rip them from their sockets. He peered, fearfully over his shoulder and saw his father already rising and wiping the gore from the whip with deliberate purpose, as he slicked oil onto the whip, to prevent the blood from damaging its cord. A well-oiled whip was essential for this task. Indeed, Yami found himself almost dangling in the air, held firmly by the vicious hands that gripped him, and held him helpless.

His father gave the regal and indifferent order to remove his tunic. Yami yelped in shock when he felt the garment being ripped away from his body, and cringed at the sudden wave of chill that laced up his spine, the small, unmarred back shuddering at both the humiliation, and the waiting for the whip. His tunic was tossed away, and Yami wanted so desperately to curl up in himself, hide and heal. He turned his head, to look at his father, to plead for mercy...to make it stop...

It was not to be. He felt, rather than heard the whip being flung back and then brought down in a cruel, snapping arch. There was an eerie rush of wind, silence, and then pain. Searing, anguish that felt as if his flesh were melting from his bones in fiery strips, mixing in with the heat of his own blood, and the burn from the leather. Pain that grew teeth and knives, hungry pain that consumed all other awareness besides his physical agony, as his knees gave way, and yielded, as his eyes instinctively shut against the onslaught,as the guards grunted in annoyance and hoisted him to his feet in preparation for the next blow. Another blow, another arch of fire merrily feasting on his blood,an inferno on his back, lightening quickening in his veins, as he rocked and shuddered from each crack, but only found himself spiraling into a dark swoon where the pain could not reach him as much. His nerves twitched in protest, his voice harsh from the screams, his last efforts to stay upright ended as he could only manage the occasional grunt or whine to even indicate that he still breathed. After the stormlash of the whip, the air being filled with his screams, and the feeling of his own blood warm, and crusting over the knarled scars, the Pharoah stopped. Through the red haze, Yami could see him casually wiping the whip free of his son's blood, then coiling as he passed it into the hands of a waiting servant.

Yami heard footsteps coming for him, as the guards dragged him to his feet, and held him up. Yami could not even stand. He felt a hand grace his cheek, sweep along the tear-marred cheekbone, thumb away a bit of the blood, and tilt his chin upward. Yami forced his eyes open, to stare at the perversely gentle smile of his father, as he stared at the clouded, dull violet eyes, half-closed in pain. "You withstood your punishment as a man, my son."

With those words, the Pharoah eyed the shredded, bloody back, and ran a finger down the tattered expanse. Yami was too far numb to even shudder in reply as his father wiped the blood away with a waiting cloth, and gave orders for his son to be taken to the palace healers and treated immediately.

The Puzzle chuckled when it saw Yami's face contort, first in a grimace, and then a snarl of pain mixed with rage.

Yami shoved his sweating, quaking palms to his drenched temples, as he bolted awake.

Isis bolted awake, one hand flew to her heaving chest, the other one braced in defense against the burning of her Necklace. She could not help but blanch at the dark, hungry, ripples of rage that were radiating from the neckace's center. She quickly scanned the room, and saw nothing amiss. There was no disturbance that she could decipher beyond the near shrieking of the Necklace as it desperately sought its mistress's attention. Still shaking from the horrible nightmare, Isis flung away the covers, slipped on a warm, velvet robe against the chill, and slid her feet into her heavy, fur-lined slippers.

She hissed when she felt the Necklace glowing white, until it burned her flesh, radiating a fierce warning to some threat she could not see. Her necklace had not done such an action since the rise of the Shadow Realm nearly 50 years ago. Isis tensed instinctively when she felt the necklace draw forth a massive swell of energy, then abruptly fling up a protective shield, without Isis's command. She raised a groping hand to the cold metal at her neck, and was even more alarmed to see the middle loop of its intricant center burn bright, and then shoot a long, whining swirl of glittering fire towards the corner of the room, blasting apart some of the bricks in the wall. Isis watched in awe, as the bricks, instead of shattering, and fragmenting into dangerous projectiles, hovered harmlessly in the air, and then meekly deposited themselves onto the ground.

To her horror, the hole blasted in the wall had unearthed the Puzzle's hiding place. Through the dim light of the torches, she could see the same smug of glittering gold, the

points sharp and bared like fangs, silent menace radiating out from the hole in the wall. Her necklace, again, independent of her will, shimmered ominously, then emitted a bright shower of sparks, illuminating the Puzzle as if to give Isis a clearer view.

The Puzzle flared a darker gold in warning, as Isis hesitantly raised an index finger to touch its surface. She braced herself, expecting a recoil of pain, To her shock, the Puzzle felt cold next to her flesh...almost dead. She was startled, though to feel the icy liquid glide away from her fingertip. Fearfully, she raised her hand to the torchlight, to see what had made the Puzzle wet. With a cry, she saw the dark, scarlet dribble down her finger, to her wrist. It was blood.

Alarm filled her, her heart darkened, and quaked with the unflinching, familiar terror as she fought to keep from sliding on the floor to her knees with a wailing cry.

With tortured clarity, she knew, beyond any merciful pretense, that the horrible nightmare was not stemming from the Puzzle, but Yami himself.