Another short one. They're all short, I think. I broke them up and made them all tiny. I think I like it better this way anyway.

Also, many thanks to my wonderful reviewers. I honestly forgot I had this ready to edit. Good to go now, though!

The first thing he noticed when he began regaining the first prickles of consciousness was the strange feeling of emptiness. All around him, he could see nothing but black. There was no light, no color, no feeling, no sound. It was maddening. There was nothing. And, lost in this pit of eternal nothingness, he was trapped.

Who was he? He couldn't even remember a name. He couldn't remember a life before this emptiness that washed over him like brackish sea water. All he felt was the pressure bearing down on him from all sides, pounding on his skin and on his head. Oh well. At least it was something. Certainly better than death, or so he hoped.

Was he dead? No, he couldn't have been. His spirit had saved him. Kisara, the White Spirit, had saved him again, not that he'd ever known why. She wouldn't kill him. This he was sure of. Wait, had he just remembered something? He had. This information was important to him. He filed it away carefully. He was a patient being. He could bide his time until all of the memories returned. And returning, they were. Slowly but surely, these were drifting back to him. A name. He caught a name. His name.

And then the name of his village.

A dark rage grew inside of him as he recollected this memory. Oh yes, they would certainly pay for that. He stewed in silence, letting his rage flow within him. He was remembering fighting techniques now. He'd taught himself well enough, only receiving the occasional help. There weren't many who had been keen on helping him. He'd been such a lonely, angry child. He was still a lonely, angry child, in a way.

How old was he? He wasn't sure. This darkness made it impossible to know how time passed him by. He didn't even know how old he had been the last time he had seen color. He had never kept track of time, anyway. He was starting to regret it just a little. But even that little bit of information was an important insight to who he was.

Now he was nothing more than a ghost in the dark, a ghoul that haunted nothingness. But before he had been a King, a true King of Thieves. There was nothing he couldn't take, if he had wanted it. He stole anything he wanted or needed, be it gold, food, or lives. And he had stolen so many lives. How many had met their fall by his blades, or by the cursed black fire he carried inside? He had never counted that, either. He had been a very disregardful person.

But then he saw what he would henceforth deem 'the light', or 'hikari' in the slang of his native tongue. Kul Elna's inhabitants had always been different from the rest of the Fire Nation. Perhaps that was why they had burned as they did, like pigs for slaughter.

The light had been unique. There had been no form, no guise to it. It was just a shapeless mess of illumination that burned his eyes when he stared at it. And no matter what he did, it didn't go away. In fact, it only intensified. In moments, it had gotten so bright that the light eventually turned red, and it took him far longer than it should have to realize that his eyelids were simply closed, and the red was just the light bleeding through. He opened his eyes, rusty and rich like the color of drying blood, and found himself surrounded by ice.

"Shit," he whispered, looking at all that was frozen around him. He glanced down. He was wearing a blue and white ensemble that consisted of thick fabrics and warm furs. His skin was sickly pale. He stood on shaky legs, realizing that his body was nowhere near as muscular as it was supposed to be, nor as tall. He saw a mirror on the wall and stumbled over to it, not comfortable in the way that the legs moved. His entire gait was different!

He glanced at the glass portal and locked eyes with the strange creature in the mirror. He'd never seen a person quite like it. This couldn't be him, it certainly couldn't, and yet... he couldn't believe it. He blinked, waved his hand at the glass, shook his head like it was a lion's mane. The figure in the mirror copied his every movement exactly. The hair was far too long to be his, but it possessed the same lusterless color. The bleeding red fiends were certainly his eyes, but their shape was still revoltingly soft. Again he couldn't help but notice the unnatural pale color of his skin.

"Oh, hot damn," he murmured, touching each cheek along the jawline in an absent movement.

How was this possible? How had he been healed? And most importantly, why did he look like this? This didn't make any sense whatsoever. Something moved against his chest, and he lifted the shirt to reveal the flawless, baby-smooth skin of the small stomach. Not right. His stomach had once been hard as the rocks the earth benders liked to throw around. The millennium ring glinted hungrily on his hairless chest. Ah, yes, the ring. And the spirit. Together, they had saved him.

He put two and two together, and slowly the four was coming out. That damnable Kisara had locked his body and his soul inside of the Spirit Realm, tethering it to the millennium ring to give him a chance at one day recovering his body. It was the only possibility.

But he was still trapped in this spirit-damned ice pit! How had sealing his soul done him any good? Except... he glanced again in the mirror. The hair, the skin, the color could mean only one thing- that Kisara had come for this boy as well. He closed his eyes, wondering. He'd heard tales about things like this before, on the very rarest occasions. If all of the old myths were true, he should be able to read the other's memories like a book. Perhaps... perhaps he could find something important hidden inside of those memories.

He delved deep into the boy's mind, picking it open as best he could. It felt rough, as if it was crudely done, but he didn't care.

He flipped back perhaps an hour, when he saw himself running through vaguely familiar streets with a girl identical to himself holding tight to his hand. He wondered why they were running. Were they running from someone? The boy's body, though, was far too soft for it to have run often, and he obviously couldn't be a bender with such a weak body as his.

He almost snorted to himself. Just his luck to be in a non-bender's body. He wondered vaguely if he could still firebend nonetheless.

The girl melted the wall with just a touch from her hand. He almost snorted again. Of course the female would be stronger than the boy he'd be stuck with. Just looking at her, he could see the strength in her limbs from regular martial arts training and bending practice. They strolled out beyond the walls.

A mortal terror alighted itself inside of him for the barest of moments, seizing up in his chest as he watched. This place was familiar. He'd almost died here. The memory progressed, but he paid little mind to the words they said to each other. It was something about engagement. How silly. He did, however, take certain note of the mannerisms of the two. It could be important to notice it, he decided.

From what he had gathered, the boy's name was Ryou; the girl's name was Amane. They knelt down on the ice and together they melted it down. This took him slightly by surprise. Apparently the boy was a bender after all. His body was just soft, like a girl's rather than a man's. They fished the ring from its hiding spot, and he was actually somewhat glad to see no trace of his body. It proved that it had been stored in the Spirit Realm with his soul, safe and sound and not rotting in the ice.

Ah, but he'd just have to bring it back. He preferred his body to this one. This one was soft and graceless, not to mention so pale, it looked sick. The cheeks flushed disgustingly easily and betrayed the slightest emotions. He had thought up all of these reasons to try and bring his body back, and he didn't even think of the biggest reason until the very last moment.

He had to find his own body because this one was still occupied. Yes, he didn't notice until the boy began to stir that there was another soul held within this body. Strangest of all, the boy was able to talk to him. He made it seem utterly effortless.

"Where am I? And who are you?" the boy asked him timidly, and he could almost see his brow furrowing in confusion as this was said, not aloud, but inside of their head. The boy was confused, and the boy's body wanted to respond to that very confusion rather than obey its new straight-faced master.

"I've not the slightest idea where you are," he replied aloud, uneasily. "But I'm in charge now."

"In charge of what? I don't understand," the boy said.

"I need to use this vessel until I can regain my own or carry out my revenge."

He could feel the boy's frown. "I- I still don't understand."

"There is nothing to understand other than that you do as I say," he told the boy.

The boy was silent for a moment, scuffing the heel of his boot against an imagined floor. His eyes flickered up. "What do I call you?" he asked.

"Bakura." He didn't waste time with formalities. The boy would surely realize just how accurate a title 'King of Thieves' was in due time. Any other intervention was unnecessary, and likely more overkill than anything else. Plus, it would make him sound conceited, which he was, but this boy probably didn't need to know that just yet either.

"Bakura? That's an odd name. Where did you come from?" the host asked. "I mean, are you a spirit? Is that how you're speaking to me like this?"

Bakura frowned to himself, not expecting to be drilled with questions. He hadn't expected for any of this to happen, though. He sighed. "I'm assuming that my soul was sealed inside of the ring you so kindly placed on your neck, so now your body is mine. Now no more questions. You're bugging me."

The boy in his head bit his lip nervously, worrying at it in a way that could only mean he still had questions that wanted answers. Bakura, visualizing himself beside the boy in the nothingness, glared at him and sneered, trying to frighten the boy.

"Fine, what else do you want to know?" he spat, hoping to disarm the boy with the cruelest tone he could muster.

The boy looked only slightly ruffled by the venom with which the words were spat, and spoke his mind. "I want to know... what happened to you. You said you need to get your body back? What happened to it?" he asked softly. "Why do you want revenge? What for?"

This surprised Bakura. No one before had ever sounded remotely concerned about his life. He snarled. He wasn't going to tell this pipsqueak about his crappy little messed up life. "None of your fucking business," he growled.

The boy gasped. "Bakura, watch your language," he scolded severely, in spite of the obvious fear. It was as if he had said it more as a knee-jerk reaction than actually reprimanding Bakura.

Bakura cracked a grin, noting the shock in the boy's expression, the profuse way he apologized after realizing what he had done. Perhaps this body could be great fun. At least until Bakura got his old one back, of course.

"What is your name, little hikari?" he asked.

"Ryou," the boy said, bringing his thumb to his lips and chewing absently on the nail.

Bakura smiled at him, a fake one that oozed a sort of sickly sweet, artificial kindness. "You know, Ryou, I could use your assistance. Would you like to help me?" he said beguilingly.

Ryou thought about it for a moment. He rocked back and forth on his heels, looking very much like a small child. Bakura wanted to smack him upside the head. Just how old was this host body, anyway?

"W-well, I guess I could, if you needed me," Ryou finally muttered, eyes on the ground and anywhere other than Bakura. "I mean, I don't think it would hurt much. B-but, could you answer a kinda personal question?"

"Of course," Bakura said graciously.

The boy tipped his head to one side. "Were you saved by the White Spirit, too?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I can feel it," Ryou said. He pointed a finger at his chest. "I can feel it here, and here," he said, drawing the finger up to his forehead. "There's... a connection. I can feel it. Like I know you, even though we never met..."

"I was," Bakura said simply. "The White Spirit came to me in a time of great need and blessed me beyond my expectations. I wish only to... repay her in the kindest way possible," he lied.

Ryou nodded emphatically. "It's my pleasure to help, then. I want to repay her, too. She's the reason my sister and I are here," he said very seriously.

"I suspected as much," Bakura said. He extended his hand through the emptiness, reaching for the boy. "Will you do exactly as I say, then?"

"I don't see why not," Ryou said, and they shook on it.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you."

Reviews are always appreciated. Plus, my laptop is currently held together with duct tape and sheer will power and until Price Chopper tells me I've got the job, I'm too broke to buy a new one. I could use the mood boost.