3.

Sunshine in her hair

Moonlight in her lashes

Stardust under her thin white blouse

I'll attach that yellow flower on your hair

Teach you how to dance and fly

Spin with me, Marie—

to the realms of eternity

and the hands of time shall extend their marvelous limbs

Spin with me.

"MY LORD, WHY DO ALL THE IMPERIAL GUARDS HAVE TO LOOK SO STERN?" KISARA ASKED, A bright smile was on her face. Priest Seth looked away and smiled secretly—he wanted to look as reserved as the man he always was, but the friendliness between them that had went on for a month had made it harder for him to hide his smile for a longer period of time.

"They all have to look like that."

"What's wrong with a bit of smile, or probably, a laughter?" she asked back, she was merely adressing the young priest as well, because he has always been so aloof, despite his kind nature. She was curious about the fine man's real side, in spite of his obvious masculinity and exceptional intelligence. She loved envisioning him as a black pearl inside a tough shell made of layers of metal—the black pearl, of course, was the core, the true essence of his traits and soul, and the shell was merely his tough exterior. Her clear blue eyes had made it harder for Priest Seth to keep his composure, and it was her silver strands that could easily lock the fine priest's attention on her joyful face.

"I believe they're signs of weakness," Priest Seth tried to keep his tone flat, as if he was uninterested.

"Then all comedians are weak, my lord, they probably need help," Kisara played with her tone, trying to lure the fine young priest's attention, although it was obvious that he was already fascinated, "and—the newborn babies are, too! Because they all laugh when their mothers tickle their soft flesh!"

"I thought we're talking about guards, Kisara," he couldn't refuse to smile anymore. It was the first time she'd seen his well-groomed rows of white teeth, and heard the aloof priest called her name. She paused and smiled. Priest Seth looked away in embarrassment, and was about to leave when Kisara called him—"My lord?"—he turned around—"that sounds good—my name spoken by you.

"And we are talking about smile and laughter in common, my lord, not the guards!" she glanced into Priest Seth's blue eyes. Kisara loved the noble shade of blue in them—like a pair of aged aquamarines, that had been preserved for a long, long time.

"You speak of it as if it's the only thing left in the world, which is hilarious."

"No, no—why is it? People look better when they smile!" Kisara was also unable to control her raging desire anymore, so she leaned toward he fine priest—for no intention, really—it was only a natural call from her body—her brain under the effect of the unseen aphrodisiac—but it was, at the same time, inevitable, "even better when they laugh!

"I love the sounds of laughter. It's like standing under a bright sun before a shining beach," she spaced out a bit, her eyes were distant, as if she was glancing into her own fantasy world.

"You are very unpredictable," Priest Seth made a half-smile. He was charmed—badly charmed—just like Kisara herself, who was already totally attracted with him.

"Unpredictable is an adjective for my hair and my eyes, my lord—but I am someone concrete that you can see—clearly see—and I have feelings—strong feelings—that you can…feel," she lowered her tone, almost too femininely when she said 'feel'. She leaned against the wall and examined the fine figure of Priest one more time—his aquamarine eyes, his light brown hair, his café au lait skin, the grandiose cape that looked very good in him—while doing that she narrowed her eyes a little as if the beauty of the man had almost blinded her, then smiled her best.

Priest Seth pressed on his laps with both palms and rose up from the wooden chair. He couldn't hide the apparent shimmer in his eyes, "It's time for me to go."

Kisara sat still on her bed, and smiled. It crossed the Priest's mind once that he'd pretend as if he'd already left, then came back later when the lady was already asleep to notice the spirit of the white dragon more closely but he shook the thought off his head soon. Instead, he continued tracing the dimly-lit corridor, climbed the spiral staircase, then straight toward the tightly-sealed iron gates—

"Something peculiar down there, my son?" That was Priest Aknadin, to Priest Seth's surprise. His eyes showed unlikely quirks and in his face was another strange-looking grin. Something in his eyes had changed a bit, although he was unable to exactly note whatever it was.

Priest Seth ignored his father and passed him by, but just like what had happened between him and Priest Shada, the bearded priest mumbled a clear sentence in that gap between seconds as he passed his son by—"A spirit…almost as strong as Bakura's dark spirit."—Priest Seth stopped walking and jerked his head in the direction of his father, but it was already too late—the old man's smile suddenly looked all distant, and in the darkness his wrinkled face started turning into a face possessed by the dead—almost soulless, zombielike—for a moment in his paralyzed state, Priest Seth thought that he'd seen an undead striding under the moonlight in his black leather cape.

PRIEST SHADA CLENCHED HIS HANDS AND LOOKED DOWN, CONCENTRATING SOMBERLY TO answer Priest Seth's question. The morning sun was warm and fine, its honey-colored lights outlined the grandiosity of the palace very well, but their conversation was like a local night—a bubble of darkeness in the midst of the familiar warmth of a breezy day.

"It's certainly a spirit, Seth, and it's mixed with her mind. They are two inseparable substances, if you know what I mean," Priest Shada paused. His eyes skyward, as if the sky was transparent and he could glance at the stars right away.

"It's unusual, Shada—unsually strong—I don't understand how someone as gentle as her can be a possessor of such spirit."

"She can be the incarnation of the spirit herself, Seth."

Priest Seth looked away, his heartbeats ran faster and faster, as if he'd already sensed a catastrophic danger coming her way, "Just… don't let my father know. I don't feel really well about him—in fact, I never do."

Then he left.

THE CHAMBER WAS DARK, ONLY A SMALL CANDLE LIT IN THE CORNER OF THE ROOM, AND A BIT of silverish radiation from the moonlight outlined the interior of the room. The bed was placed right in the middle, its thin silk curtain down, close to it was a small table made of fine, carved ivory rimmed by gold, accentuated by sapphire fragments—the servants had placed several small cylinders of cinnamon-scented candles on the fine linen covering in the color of rainbow.

Priest Aknadin wasn't fine—one of his limp blue-veined hand hung by the side of the bed, and his lips almost white, as if he was sick. There was something almost abnormal about the way he slept. His white robe sprawled on the linen bedsheet, like a dead butterfly's immaculate wings. His eyes looked distant, as if he'd already seen the gates of Underworld opened up and the creatures that were previously locked behind it came out to trade his soul for nothingness.

His private servants came out of the room with paled faces. It was easier to believe that they'd just seen wraiths than an unhealthy man. Priest Seth didn't say anything, he didn't even look at them as he paid his sick father a visit.

The air in the room was unusually cold, and there was something in it signaling a pressuring presence of dark spirit almost too clearly, as if a ritual—a pact—involving a legion of demon had just been done here. As he got closer and closer to his father's limp body the air got colder, and the alarming dark aura got stronger, there was even something in the air smelling like… blood—thick, corrupted human blood—whose smell was familiar to an undead's scent he'd purified a year ago from the Holy Tomb.

"Father?" Priest Seth stepped closer, although it couldn't be said that he was really care about his father's illness. He was already so close he could hear the slow, hoarse breaths—which sounded like the sound of breaths made by someone suffering from a respiratory organ disease—he could already tell that the old man had caught an unusual 'disease'.

Priest Seth summon the servants and told them to light the chandelier, only to hear the old man's hoarse screaming voice—"NO!"—and the servants withdrew, greatly shocked.

"What is the matter, father? I will be able to see you clearly that way," then he walked toward the uncovered open window, but when he was about to free the curtain from its gold-trimmed holder, Priest Aknadin—seemingly half-conscious—screamed, almost at the top of his lungs, "Let me taste the air, son!"

Priest Seth nodded unwillingly and pulled his hand, and placed them behind his waist. The dense atmosphere remained strangely menacing, but the longer he remained in the chamber the more he was able to cope with it.

It was until the moment he saw the old Priest rose up from his bed, with half of his face covered in blood. The Millennium Eye wasn't there, and as Priest Seth looked closer, there were spots and small rivers of dried blood on the linen bedsheet, and his father's right fingers.

"Father! Who did this to you?" Priest Seth approaced his father in great horror, opened the curtain on the old man's right arm side and took his limb body in his arms.

Priest Aknadin—out of his son's expectation—laughed maniacally, as if the pain hadn't affected him at all, not even the slightest tip of his finger.

"My son—my beloved, beautiful son—you are so wise you can take over the entire kingdom from the Pharaoh's incapable hands…" he murmured, still with that hoarse voice. Priest Seth frowned—he was confused he didn't even want to know the reason behind the blasphemous talk. His father always looked calm, especially in front of the Pharaoh, and had gained the young ruler's respect as both a fine scholar and a respectable spiritual figure—seeing the old man sent to the dungeon for his half-trance improper words was the last thing Priest Seth wanted to see—

"No, don't you ever say such thing again, father. You know such thing should not be in our minds."

"I am not yet finished, my son…" Priest Aknadin's voice was weak, almost fading as a flow of insignificant echo behind the walls of silence, "you can overthrow the Pharaoh's gods—if you possess the white dragon…," he paused, and repeated, in a much slower speed, "the… white…dragon…my…son."

Silence broke between the two. Priest Aknadin passed out. Priest Seth—in his own restlessness—put the limp body back on the blood-tainted bed, rushed toward his own chamber, put on a black leather cape and as he ran into Priest Shada on the way to the dungeon, he grabbed the wise priest's collar and pushed him forcefully against the wall.

"Did you tell my father about the spirit? Did you?" Priest Seth's eyes were filled with anger, but Priest Shada remained calm. Having sensed no notable fear, the young priest tightened his grip.

Priest Shada let quite a long silence fell between the two, until Priest Seth had calmed himself down a bit, although the grip on his collar was still tight—although slightly weakened,"I didn't tell him, Seth. It was already popular among the guards, and it had reached even Pharaoh Atem.

"You cannot hide a peculiarity—in this case, a very strong spirit—for a long time."

Priest Seth loosened the grip, let go of the collar, then apologized for his insolence. Priest Shada smiled and shook his head—"It does not matter, Seth. I clearly understand"—he leaned closer toward the young priest and whispered something that had, once again, reminded Priest Seth of his past fears—"these recent days, I've seen the spirit of the white dragon reacted toward something perilous. It is apparent that the spirit is currently in its most restless state."

Without a word, Priest Seth rushed toward the dungeon. He knew—he obviously knew it—that a grave danger was already on its way.

Only time would tell him when.

KISARA WAS ASLEEP, AND PRIEST SETH—WITH THE USUAL KEYS IN HIS HAND—QUICKLY UNLOCKED the bars and woke her up.

"My lord! What is the matter?" her voice was weak. It was late in the night and she'd just awoken from sleep.

"Kisara—" Priest Seth paused, staring deep into her confused blue eyes. In the back of his mind, he knew that he should eventually tell the lady about the power she possessed, and how potentially dangerous it would possibly harm her, "there's a spirit—a powerful spirit—inside you—" he paused again, unsure whether he should continue or stop completely. He finally decided to continue, "you have to be careful, Kisara. You have to be careful of the man with his right eye replaced by a metal eye… have you seen him?" Priest Seth leaned closer, and Kisara nodded.

"The priest wasn't so friendly. He has frenzied eyes and he didn't leave for a long time—I was unable to sleep properly that night when he visited." She affirmed, still with her sleepy eyes.

Priest Seth realized that a piece of him had just died. In his heart, an immeasurable fear had almost consumed his entire sanity.

"Kisara, when it gets grave…come to me."

She wanted to take his hand and kiss his forehead, only to ease his restlessness. Although she'd also realized that a grave danger was already on its way, he didn't want the young Priest to look that severe. Not that she desired a calm night with the Priest, it was because she adored him—she finally realized that—and she wanted him to be calm,with his soul far from havoc.

"What is the matter, my lord?"

Just then, a horrid earthquake shook the dungeon in the way that was worse than the night when Kisara's white dragon spirit emanated its holy force for the first time behind the rusted bars.

Priest Seth took her hand and pulled her up from her bed. Her silver hair was still unruly, her eyes sleepy, and her white, almost too thin, robe was wrinkled, but she obeyed the young Priest and grabbed his hand.

She knew she was safe.

T B C

Author's Note:

Chapter 4 will be posted soon.

Thank you for all of your supports, they mean a lot!