Author's Note: For your information, I'm not playing a game of "let's-see-how-long-people-will-put-up-with-me-not-updating". I honestly wanted to update for the longest time now, but I've been super freaking busy. Sorry.

Last chapter was confusing, wasn't it? Or was it too long ago that you can't remember? (I only wish that was a joke…)

All right, that's about enough of my whining.

I hope you like this chapter. BECAUSE IT'S PLOTHOLE FILLIN' TIME. *grabs shovel*

Chapter 32

"Did it always look like that?" Yugi asked about her village as it came into view just below the horizon.

"Yes. It always looks the same," Seto muttered, bitter at having to return to his home village yet again. "When I visited earlier in search of Yami, that had been the first time I had seen it in more than ten years. And it looked identical."

"Don't be negative, Priest Seto," Ryou chastised lightly. The spy gazed out with a melancholy smile at the buildings climbing higher in the sky. "My own village no longer stands. You should be happy you can visit it at all."

Seto sighed. "I wouldn't mind as much if I had someone or something to visit."

"Isn't your home still there?" Atem inquired, jumping into the exchange.

"More or less." Seto explained, "No one lives there anymore and the entire structure has gone to ruins, but yes, it's still there in the physical sense."

"You don't visit it from time to time for sentimental reasons?" Ryou inquired.

"Never."

"Then where do you go when you want to reflect or recall upon your past?" Yugi added onto Ryou's question.

Seto turned back and smiled at her briefly. "The palace. Hard as I try, I cannot think of another place where I feel more comfortable."

Yugi was surprised by his answer to say the least, but it did make sense. And, somehow, she felt the same way, despite the small amount of time she had been allotted so far to familiarize herself with it.

"Your house is still structurally sound, right, Yugi?" Ryou transitioned.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Brother, my parents, and I lived together on our manor until recently after all. In fact, we could stay the night there… if you wish."

Atem chuckled. "Are you trying to be discreet about wanting to stay here more than a day, Yugi?"

Yugi's eyes fluttered downward subtly. "Well-well, I thought you'd all be more comfortable staying in my home than a stranger's…"

"Who said we were staying more than the afternoon?" Seto asked heatedly. "I, for one, think we should get what we came for and leave just as quickly."

"Where's the fun in that?" Ryou poked Seto playfully. "We should, at the very least, stay an entire day."

"No, thank you," Seto huffed. "If you three want to stay longer, I won't stop you. But I refuse to stay here longer than is completely necessary."

"Unfortunately for you, Priest Seto, I'm not giving you the option to leave without us," Atem told him. Seto stared straight ahead, not giving the Prince the satisfaction of seeing his expression of horror when he had announced this. "It'll be good for you to face your past instead of run away from it for once."

Seto growled. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Fine then." Atem smirked impishly. "How about you head to the Motou manor by yourself for a while? You do remember where it is, right?"

Seto narrowed his eyes at the ground. "Don't insult my intelligence, Prince Atem. Of course I do."

"Go then."

Seto didn't reply, silently directing his horse to take a sharp right off of the desert trail. While he disappeared out of sight, the three remaining continued riding forward until they reached the edge of the village.

Atem didn't realize until moments later that they had all stopped in front of the village's entrance. He couldn't remember if he had been the one to stop or if it had been Yugi or perhaps even Ryou. However, Ryou was the one following them, so that couldn't be right… It didn't matter anyway, as someone had to take a step forward lest they be kept standing there until nightfall.

"Yugi, are you going to…" Atem had hoped Yugi would pick up the rest of his sentence, but it didn't seem like that was going to happen any time soon.

Instead, she started one of her own:

"Lord Ryou, I have something to ask you."

Intrigued, Ryou inquired, "Yes?"

"Do you know of a resident of this village named Jounouchi?"

Ryou thought, all the while tapping his cheek with his pale index finger. "No, I don't believe I do, at least that I recall of. I don't doubt we have records on him, but they were probably pushed aside because he has had a lack of importance until now. Why do you ask?"

"I need to thank him," Yugi confessed. "If it was not for his help, I would have never been able to make it to the palace in the first place. I need to make sure he is repaid for his kindness."

"I think we can accomplish that much while we're here," Atem told Yugi confidently. "After all, he is just one man in this small village."

"I wouldn't label Yugi's village small…" Ryou said softly, going completely ignored by the Prince.

"Then it's settled; we'll find this person." Atem looked to his female counterpart. "What does this 'Jounouchi' person look like?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," Yugi deadpanned. "It's not like I've ever seen him."

Atem realized his fault and frantically stumbled, "Oh, yes, of course you don't know what he looks like. You were blind at the time…" He laughed nervously. "I cannot believe I forgot… Please don't—Yugi, I—"

A hand fell on Atem's shoulder. "I suggest you stop rambling before you make things worse for yourself," Ryou advised into his ear.

The Prince sighed. "Yes, I know."

"I'm only teasing you, Atem," Yugi reassured with a mischievous nod. "I should be able to recognize his voice anyway."

"Good thinking, Lady Yugi," Ryou deemed. "Does his voice have any unique qualities that can be recognized? Perhaps then Prince Atem and I could help you."

"Well… It sounds… not very deep and somewhat scratchy… and has a very strange dialect."

"What kind of dialect?"

Yugi shook her head. "I don't know. If you heard it, you would know what I mean, but other than that, I can't really explain it."

"I know you are trying, Yugi, but that's not very helpful," Atem said dejectedly.

Yugi sighed. "You're right. But it is all I have to offer."

Atem thought a moment on this and then turned to Ryou, revelation clear in his expression. "Ryou, you're a spy, right?"

Ryou's eyebrows rose in consequence to this question. "I have been for a number of years, yes."

"Could you go around the village and investigate then? With all your years of experience, you must have an impressive capability for tracking people down."

An amused noise came from Ryou's throat. "I would love to, Prince Atem, but by order of the Pharaoh, for your protection, I am not allowed to leave yours or Lady Yugi's side unless Priest Seto was here."

Atem glared the way Seto had departed. "In that case, I suppose we'll just have to go through the village and search together."

Yugi and Ryou nodded. Leaving the horses by the entrance, they walked into the heart of the community, the outdoor marketplace.

"It's so… lively," Yugi observed, looking around in awe.

Atem had to agree. Children were running around freely, brightly-colored banners were hung on the doors of all the homes, and the cheerfulness of the people was impossible to ignore. "I think they're celebrating something…"

"It seems to be so," Ryou deduced.

"I don't believe it's a holiday today," Atem mumbled. "At least I don't believe it's one that the palace acknowledges. It could, however, be a special day exclusively for this village."

"I don't remember any particularly interesting holidays from the years I lived here," Yugi contributed to the conversation.

"I might as well ask someone before we drown in our inquiries," Ryou decided. He picked someone out of a semi-large crowd and asked, "Pardon, but what is the reason for this festival?"

The lady he had questioned, animalistic eyes glistening, answered, "This is the festival of the White Dragon, celebrating how it saved us many years ago from a fire desert bandits had started."

"'The White Dragon'?" Atem and Yugi echoed simultaneously. The Motou turned to her fiancé and whispered, "You think they're referring to Seto's Blue Eyes White Dragon?"

"Possibly," the Prince replied. "He has some explaining to do when we meet him back at your family's manor…"

"I agree." Ryou returned back to the couple's side. "For now though, we should focus on finding Yugi's friend, Jounouchi."

Yugi and Atem, curious as they were about this so-called "White Dragon" savior, understood they would get nothing done if they divided their energy into two entirely different tasks. Shadowed by Ryou, the future rulers of Egypt made their way through the crowd, ears acute to every voice.

-transition-

Muttering to himself the whole way, Seto finally made it to the Motou manor. The priest stomped up to the front doors and slammed them open with a force that rattled the entire structure.

"'Face your past…' 'Intend of run away from it for once…' I've never been so insulted! 'You do remember where it is, right?' Does he really think I am that dense? Or was he just trying to irrita—?"

Silence. Perfect silence.

Yami stood in the entryway, staring directly at his old childhood friend. His right foot was facing the door while the other was sideways, making Seto believe he was just about to leave.

"Hello, Priest Seto."

"Yami."

Seto wished to say more, but his bitterness to the situation the Motou had put them all through made him rethink doing so, and the words were left on the surface of his tongue, suffocated and motionless.

Yami didn't wait for Seto to recite a proper greeting. He cast the brunette a remorseful look and began to walk past him to the exit.

Just as he passed Seto, Yami asked hoarsely, "Seto, please answer one thing for me before I go."

Not prepared for this, Seto said nothing, no words severe enough to fully explain the contempt he felt for Yugi's brother at that moment.

Yami apparently took Seto's speechlessness as a good sign, because after an extended pause, he questioned, "Is Yugi with you?"

"Don't torture yourself like this."

"Tell me, Seto. Tell me."

Subsequent to his appeal, Seto caved and replied, "Yes, she is."

"And she's safe? And happy?"

"As you may or may not recall, you said one thing."

"If you don't answer me, I will wait here until she arrives and ask her myself."

"You will cause more harm than help if you do decide to do that."

"Seto…"

"She is fine, Yami. She's a little worse for wear currently, but sufficient rest should mend that."

No signs of this comforting Yami surfaced other than a muttered: "That is… good."

"Good?"

"Yes. Good." Yami narrowed his eyes at the priest. "Does my response not satisfy you?"

Seto straightened his posture as a sinking feeling rested in his stomach. "Not at all. I was only surprised your reaction was that simple."

"'That simple'?" Yami chuckled. "I suppose it was. But it doesn't matter what I say at this point, does it? You and I both know there is nothing I am capable of expressing that will make you, or Yugi for that matter, fully forgive me."

Seto reached up to his face and pressed his fingers against his temple, attempting to translate convoluted thoughts into words before he breathed life into them. Agonizingly slowly, he expressed, "It is… not what you say at this point, Yami. We all know you've been able to talk your way through… several situations over the years. What would be impressive at this point would be… would be if you could show some actions—positive ones if possible."

Yami didn't try to act like he immediately understood what Seto said at first. He let his expression fall blank until he had pieced together every fiber of his childhood friend's words and the emotions that had slithered into them. "That is… good advice."

Seto resisted the desire to roll his eyes at the "simple" reaction he had received yet again. "You were leaving, right?"

The Motou shook his head, but it wasn't meant to be a "no". A smirk was slipped into it, and Seto heard the unsaid "straight to the point just like always, eh, Seto?" even if Yami had no intention of actually saying it. "You're right," Yami mumbled. "I won't bother you further." He ambled over to the front door and threw them open wide, mid-afternoon light bursting in from behind his figure. "And, just so you're aware—" he added swiftly as he closed the door and left Seto in the dark, "—you're an incredibly respectable man, Seto. The alleged 'White Dragon' rescuing your village from destruction is not the first of your kind… actions."

That was the equivalent to a slap in the face in Seto's book. Not only did Yami leave with the last word, but he also had to remind him that, despite his complete indifference to his home village, he could not stand the sight of seeing it obliterated. But, honestly, what had he expected? This was Yami Motou; naturally, he had to disappear with the most melodramatic of methods.

With their encounter already far back in his memories, Seto wagered whether it was more wise to wait in the Motou's manor house or not. Frankly, he thought it was. His day was already tough enough as it was without having to explain to a certain Crown Prince why his Blue Eyes White Dragon was apparently going around and doing good deeds all over Egypt.

Staying here it is, Seto thought, folding his arms with a self-satisfied grin. All things considered, waiting here is what Prince Atem ordered me to do anyway, is it not? He added sarcastically, I wouldn't want to go against his highness's wishes, now would I?

-transition-

"Bakura's dying wish was to have me take over the great organization he spent his entire life establishing," Marik said without a dip or rise in his tone. "I trust you will all honor what our late leader has dictated for the future of his men." He coughed, but it sounded more like a watery choke. "Although his life didn't start in the most optimal of ways, he put his short amount of years to good use. His main objective was never completed, but retribution for Kul Elna will come in due time." The assemblage before Marik bowed their heads at the mention of Kul Elna; they were all familiar with the story, as it had become an inspirational driving force behind all of the group's dealings. "Bakura left this world confident that all the incredibly strenuous work he had put into achieving his goal would one day be accomplished, and we will do all that we can to see that it is so—that the people responsible for the horrible tragedy of Kul Elna will be forced to face justice."

Muffled praises of their deceased king were whispered among the group, but the majority of the members couldn't utter a single word. Bakura? Dead? The two words shouldn't have even been used in the same sentence unless, of course, the sentence happened to be: "Bakura left the village for dead."

Marik cleared his throat, receiving the faction's attention once more. "You're all dismissed until further notice," he informed them. "If you have any questions, I ask you to take them up with Mai while I handle some important business."

The Thief King's men shuffled out of the tomb's largest chamber, low in spirits. Mai, left to answer the group's many queries, looked most forlorn, her wet face shining in the underground lowly glow.

Marik sighed and went the opposite direction of the rest. He trudged through the tomb's halls with a broken expression, his feet feeling almost too heavy to move. When he grew tired of thinking in the deathly quiet by himself, he turned into one of the most secluded and uninhabited sections of the Thief King's hideout.

As he walked through the doorway, a curtain of white hair fell in front of the blonde's eyes, accompanied by a mischievous smirk.

"Boo."

Marik fell backwards onto the floor, a yelp-scream hybrid emerging from his mouth.

"Sheesh, you're jumpy."

"Bakura, please, not now." Marik dusted himself off and walked over to the middle of the room where a lone table and chair set had been placed. "And shouldn't you be resting? Kisara will be upset if she knows you have even stood up, let alone that you have climbed up the doorframe."

"Fun-ruiner," Bakura labeled him, swinging his legs back and forth atop the door. "But I'm so bored, Marik. You have no idea what it is like to be this bored."

"You should just be grateful you're alive," Marik muttered, tapping the table in front of him with his fingertips.

Bakura argued, "I don't need to be when I have a sorcerer as competent as Kisara." The Thief King jumped off of his doorframe perch, which immediately resulted in him releasing a stifled cry of pain.

"What did I say, Bakura?" Marik hissed, his eyes not leaving the table. "You have to stop being so unbelievably obstinate in your ways and take people's advice."

Bakura growled but reluctantly crawled back to his makeshift bed on the floor. "Fun-ruiner," he said again.

"Stubborn jackass," Marik countered.

Bakura rolled his eyes. He sat down and wrapped a thin blanket around his shoulders, mumbling, "It's damn freezing in here."

Marik finally looked up and said, "Sorry. This is the only room we could keep you in that we are sure the other members aren't aware of. Unfortunately, it's deeper in the tomb, and therefore, colder."

Bakura yawned, having no intention of thanking Marik for his thoughtful apology. "Faking my own death is rather exhausting," he stated, lying down. "What about you, newly-established thief king? Warn out from taking over my job?"

Marik shook his head, staying quiet.

Bakura studied the blonde for a moment. He was much more stoic than usual for sure. Bakura knew that Marik was a daydreamer ever since he'd commandeered the kid, but thinking silently for this long was unusual, even for him.

"Are you all right?"

Marik's head lifted in a surprised manner, put off by the question. "Oh, er, yes. I just have a lot to think about."

Bakura leaned forward. "Like?"

Marik thought a moment. "Like… Like how I am going to keep the others from straying from their habits and getting disorderly, and whether or not Mai is trustworthy enough to tell her you are alive, and how you almost died…"

"What was that?" Bakura asked, yawning into his hand. (Marik had whispered the last part.)

"Hmm? Oh, nothing."

Bakura sat up and glared at Marik. "Tell me," he ordered the other, leaning back on his hands and gazing up at Marik like the blonde had announced it was story time.

Marik sighed at the Thief King's clearly impatient expression. "Well—" Marik folded his hands together, admiring how his fingers had laced neatly in place. "—when you passed out in the desert, I got you here as fast as I could. But by the time I had gotten you to Kisara, she told me you had probably already lost too much blood and almost certainly wouldn't make it…"

Bakura remained silent and motionless. This had been the first he had heard of this… It wasn't like he could have looked down at the situation from whatever suspended space he had been trapped in while he was unconscious. Though, logic told him he had, indeed, not died; therefore, he waited for Marik to finish the tale.

"She told me to say goodbye…" Marik felt his throat constrict. "When I came into this room to do so, I saw… Kisara had done all that she could, but…"

"Marik, you don't have to—"

"I panicked, Bakura."

Bakura felt something underlying in Marik's fundamentally simple statement. "What do you mean by that?"

"The bleeding wouldn't stop… I watched as the most vital source of life seeped out of you… It was horrifying. And it made me angry. The spirit…"

"It took over again?"

"No. I wouldn't let it. And then… Then I can't remember anything. All I know is that I woke up sometime later and that you were still alive."

Bakura pondered this for a minute. "Kisara, care you clear this confusion up?" he asked aloud, and almost instantly, the white-haired woman walked into the room.

"What—I—She—How long was Kisara standing there?" Marik stuttered in astonishment.

"She walked in around the time you began your little account," Bakura explained. "I simply chose to ignore her."

Kisara smiled. "Your observation skills do not waver, even in your weakened condition," she praised the Thief King in a soft tone.

"Don't flatter me, Kisara; you did something to him, didn't you?" Bakura accused.

"Him who?" When no clarification met his question, he pointed to himself. "Me?"

"Yes, actually." Kisara recounted, "Having that evil spirit on the edge of your consciousness gave me the perfect opportunity to get rid of it and also ensure Bakura would be kept from dying."

"So you traded a sacrificed demon for my life?" Bakura lied down and closed his eyes. "What a reckless maneuver."

"Wait, is that even possible?" Marik's eyes grew wide as he felt his head with his hands for any proof that the exchange ever happened. "It's really gone? Just like that?"

"That's right. You begged me to use you in any way that I could if saved Bakura."

"You could have killed him," Bakura muttered, sounding bitter.

"I warned him of the dangers," Kisara promised. "But he assured me that he rather give up his own life that watch you die."

"How is it that I don't remember any of this?" Marik questioned, trying to convince himself that Kisara was making the entire thing up.

"Yes, that seems awfully convenient…" Bakura fixed his stare of Kisara suspiciously.

"Everything I said is true," Kisara attempted to convince them. "And anyways, right now, you should forget any of this ever happened, regain your health, and move on."

"There is no 'forgive and forget' in the real world, Kisara," Bakura hissed. "I thought you would have realized this by now. People need a purpose in order to experience life. They either have one at the beginning of their lives or must find one later, and if neither are met, they were never living in the first place. Those purposes can be very different though, with wide variations." The Thief King sighed. "My purpose is to take vengeance on several people—most of which were part of the genocide of Kul Elna, but others had absolutely nothing to do with it."

Marik nodded and added, "And I believe my purpose is to keep Bakura out of trouble." He grumbled, "For whatever reason, I have an overwhelming desire to pick Bakura up every time he falls. Every damn time…"

"I believe that's called karma. Or fate. Or destiny. Or any number of ridiculous explanations of people trying to make sense of senseless happenings in a senseless world."

"That seems quite negative, Bakura."

"I'm only saying what is true."

Kisara took the lull in conversation to lean down beside Bakura and inspect his wounds.

"They're going to scar," she stated matter-of-factly.

"No matter. Most of it will be unnoticeable. Except for the one on my face naturally, but I've gotten used to that one. In fact, I think I'm actually growing fond of it."

Marik sunk lower in his seat. "I said I was sorry…"

"I wasn't blaming you, Marik," Bakura waved away the other's apology. "It was that spirit's fault, not yours. Looking back on it, I really shouldn't have experimented on it quite so much anyway."

"Yes. Though, I suppose we don't have to worry about it anymore, right, Kisara?"

The sorcerer, caught off guard, laughed uneasily. "But of course. There's nothing to worry about." With that, she turned and exited the room, nervously running her hands through her hair. Kisara's mannerism did not go unseen by Bakura, but he ignored that just as he had ignored her earlier eavesdropping, deciding that it was unimportant.

At least… For the time being.

Author's Note: This chapter gave me such a hard time. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad it's over…

Happy belated birthday to Yugi! (It was June fourth.)

I'm still writing spoilers, exclusive one-shots, and really random thoughts of mine on my anime-on-replay Facebook page! Come hang out with us if you'd like. (Get it? If you'd LIKE? LIKE. LIIIIKKKKEEEEE. *brick'd*)

Review if you feel review-y today! Or if you just like ranting. That's good too. All is appreciated.