Wow, re-reading over this chapter makes me embarassed. X.X So hokey. But my goal is to finish this story for you guys first before I start messing too much with it, so excuse me.

Pika, ya'all

Chapter 2: The Memories Left Behind

Seto Kaiba, CEO of Kaiba Corporation, billionaire entrepreneur and software genius extraordinaire, was having one of those days.

"What do you mean you don't know why the satellite system has crashed? I pay you to know all that goes in and out of the mainframe system and you're telling me that you don't know?"

The voice on the other side of his cell-phone came out reedy and pathetic against his ear. Mokuba huddled on the sofa in his office, fingers taping wildly on his own laptop as he tried to reboot the network and internet himself. Outside, rain came down in torrents and a great flash of lightening forked across the city. Thunder followed it like a giant moving barrels in the clouds. Whatever excuse the man gave him over the phone turned out to be insufficient and Seto growled into the mouthpiece.

"That better be true, because if you can't find the meaning to this in less than ten minutes you can say good-bye to your desk and say hello to unemployment."

His older brother clicked the slender phone off so hard, Mokuba briefly feared that he'd snap it in two. Muttering angrily to himself Seto threw himself into his chair. His fingers raked through his thick hair.

"Idiots. I'm surrounded by idiots!"

"Seto, it could just be a power outage."

"A power outage that only takes out networks and internet? I think not. This smells of sabotage and when I get my hands on them—" he left it at that, his anger beginning to reach the level of incoherency.

His younger brother tugged at his middle finger uncertainly. What if it was sabotage? Again? The thought made him wonder if his brother's rage was infectious as he felt heat rise up to his face. Why couldn't they just leave his brother alone? It was he who had worked hard to get Kaiba Corp as far as it was today, and if they were so butthurt about being losers it was only because they were stupider and lazier and they didn't deserve anything greater than his brother's shoelaces. He found himself repeating under his breath, "Idiots. They really are all idiots."

Although, five minutes later, the internet suddenly reappeared and Mokuba could hear the quite revving of the mainframe computers a floor below them. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Seto instantly snatched up the phone to call the manger.

"Well?"

He listened quietly, his rage held only in check by a thin barrier. Mokuba could practically feel the bubbling just beneath the surface of his brother's calm—or at least calm-ish- face. Seto glowered at the wall.

"What do you mean you still don't know what happened? Did they just start up on their own?"

Mokuba frowned as well. Maybe it was just a freak power outage after all. Maybe a solar wave?

By the time Seto ended the call, four people had been fired, three had been promoted, and his mood had just gone from worse to hellish. He bared his teeth as he jumped to his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from breaking the nearest thing to him.

"Mokuba, let's go. Empty-headed morons."

This made Mokuba beam. Rarely did his brother get pushed to the edge of fleeing Kaiba Corp, but when it did happen it usually meant ice cream—or hot chocolate, considering the rainy weather outside- and a day back home. He snapped his laptop shut and bounded off the sofa.

"Do you still think it was someone outside messing with the system?"

"Of course. What else could it be?"

The young boy didn't know.

#$%^%*(*&^#$%^&*(&^%# $%^*&&^%$3567897654# $%^&*^%$#

Pale, small, and white, she shivered madly on Yugi's couch, wearing a baggy set of Yugi's pajamas and huddled within a cocoon of quilts. Bandages covered her arms and legs, especially around her torn and twisted right ankle and her head, where a deep cut had been pouring blood earlier. Yugi's grandfather had attempted to convince her to go to the hospital, but when she had a soundless panic attack at the sight of the building they had no choice but to take her back home. There, his grandfather had used every ounce of his medical knowledge gained from his days as an outback archeologist to disinfect and care for her ankle, which he found to have, blessedly, no broken bones.

Yugi sat at her feet now, concerned over the way her blue lips had yet to regain their color. Yami sat with him, eyeing her as well. After Tea had helped her out of her soggy wet dress and into some of Yugi's clothes, her and the boys had left for home for the night at the older man's insistence.

"I can't have you three catching a cold now, eh? You're soaked!" he had said. "Go home and get some good sleep. You can get your camping gear tomorrow."

So now here he was alone (at least, alone besides Yami), with the girl who had yet to make a sound. She watched him as well, blue eyes weary with fear. What was she so afraid of? She looked to be around his age. Could Tea's suspicions be true and something horrible had happened to her in the forest? Yugi didn't want to think about it.

Then her eyes flickered to the spirit of the puzzel for the fourth time that night. Yugi perked.

"What are you looking at?"

But still, she said nothing. Was it possible that she could see the spirit sitting next to him?

"Here we are. This should warm you right up."

Yugi's grandfather appeared by the couch, holding cups of tea on a tray. He handed one to the girl on the couch, who, as always, hesitated, wary of all. In the end, she accepted the cup, sniffing it carefully before taking a careful sip. Yugi accepted his own cup gladly.

"So…um…can you speak?"

Her eyes blinked at him in response, her bluish lips parted slightly. Yami's expression darkened ever so slightly.

"How are we going to find her family if she can't speak?" he said.

"Can you write?" asked Yugi.

Again, she just blinked, except this time she frowned, which on her carefully carved lips turned into a cute sort of pout. Yugi felt a strange warmth in his chest unconnected to the tea he was sipping. Her white hair had been brushed out by Tea, but it still filled out around her head in a wavy, curly mass that reached the middle of her back, and Yugi felt the sudden urge to touch it. He clenched his hands.

A faint hiss came from the kitchen and his grandfather jumped.

"That must be the soup! Excuse me."

And he jostled his way back to the kitchen. Yugi was once more alone with her and her great, deep blue eyes. He fought down the need to squirm.

"Um…" what should he say? Did she even understand what he was saying?

"Yugi, allow me?" asked Yami, finally turning his sharp gaze to him. Yugi nodded and the millennium puzzle shivered and glowed about his chest. When the glow died down, Yami looked out from his eyes, his mind melded into one with Yugi's.

"What should we call you by? Do you know how to write? You can just nod or shake your head. Please, we want to help you."

The girl had flinched horribly when the millennium puzzle had activated, but now she stared at Yami with an intensity Yugi had yet to see. She frowned even more deeply, nearly dissipating her pout.

"Please." said Yami once more, meeting the intensity of her gaze.

Then, to both their surprise, her lips parted and her face softened.

"I.." she croaked. "I don't know."

Both Yami and Yugi leapt in excitement.

"So you can speak!"

"Y-yes?" she looked nearly as surprised as they did.

"Then can you tell us your name? At least your name."

Her voice was soft and as hesitant as all her actions. Yugi had to lean in to hear. "Like I said, I don't know. I don't know…"

A gleam of panic came to her face before she shook herself of it and met Yugi's eye once more.

"W-where am I?"

"Domino City. Do you know where that is?"

The panic in her face fought to return. She clenched her cup and didn't respond as Yugi's grandfather returned with a bowl of soup for both of them. He smiled down warmly at her and her panic seemed to ease slightly.

"I heard a little voice from the kitchen. Was that you?" he asked kindly.

She nodded. His grandfather beamed.

"That's good! Could you possibly tell us where we might take you home, little miss?"

Yugi shook his head. "She can't remember her name. I think there's more to this than we think. It seems like she just now remembered that she could talk."

To this, his grandfather's thick eyebrows lowered dangerously.

"You aren't kidding me?"

Yugi shook his head solemnly. The girl on the couch began to tremble.

"I-I-I'm sorry." She squeaked. "I know I'm suppose to know, you probably need to get rid of me, I'm so sorry—" Hot soup was splashing on her hands. Yugi leaned forward, putting a hand on hers in attempts to calm her before she scalded herself.

"It's fine. We don't mind at all."

"And if you're willing to help out with the shop, you can stay as long as you need to." said his grandfather, his voice warm. Yugi had the sneaky suspicion that his grandfather had become just as taken as he was by her vulnerability.

"Shop? So all those shelves downstairs—you live over a shop?"

Both of them nodded. "And you know our names by now, right?"

She paused, eyebrows narrowed. "Yugi Moto, right? Except..." she turned to his grandfather. "I don't know your name. Everyone just refers to you as grandpa."

"Which is all good and well, seeing as that is what I am. My name is Soloman, but if it's easier for you, just call me grandpa as everyone else does."

She smiled softly, her lips warming to a soft, pink glow from the soup and tea. "Thank you. I…I will do my best."

Yugi thought his heart might burst.

That night, as he laid curled up in his bed, he listened to the thunder rolling outside.

"This storm is very strange," he said out loud. "I mean, the forecast said it was suppose to be clear skies for the rest of the week. They would've noticed a storm this big coming, wouldn't they?"

Yami phased into being besides him, leaning his head back on his arms.

"Indeed. I can't help shake the feeling that it has something to do with that girl."

The girl in question was curled up on a nest of blankets on the couch in the living room. Yugi felt that squirming sensation in his stomach again and turned onto his side, away from Yami.

"Maybe."

"Yugi?"

But Yugi's thoughts were drawn elsewhere, remembering when the girl had shifted her leg at some point and he spied a strange, greenish ring, as though there had once been some cheap jewelry around her uninjured ankle.

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The great hall of the Thebes Palace looked as it did in legends. Streams upon streams of colorful cloth draped down from the ceiling, showing off the riches and splendor of Egypt. Golden plates full of exotic foods lined the low tables. Scattered through the crowds weaved exotic dancers, silk running through the air about them like water and wrapping about each of their sweet, round breasts. Ageless faces of the gods watched the party goers mingle beneath them from their high vaulted ceiling, and on a marble and gold throne sat the Pharaoh himself watching with them.

He grinned and nodded his approval, fingering the golden pyramid hanging from his neck. Its leather string was hidden beneath the intricate, thick beaded necklace reaching out to his shoulders. An eye of Horus gleamed in the firelight.

"Very, very well done, Set. Where did you get so much cloth? And those strange knots they make along the pillars, where did you get that idea from?"

The man who he was speaking to, a tall, grey eyed Egyptian, inclined his head to the Pharaoh gratefully. Tucked into the crock of his arm sparkled a golden rod with an identical eye of Horus to his pyramid.

"The Greeks, oh great one. They depict their gods living in what appeared to me as swathes of cloth, and it fascinated me."

"Huh," the Pharaoh looked back to the gathering before him. "The Greeks are certainly interesting people. I hope you did not go to such lengths as importing cloth from the Greeks themselves to achieve your aspirations."

The tall Egyptian chuckled. "Of course not, your grace. You know of my frugality."

"I was being sarcastic. On sale then?"

"Surely not! They were on clearance, bottom of the basket."

A laugh bubbled to his lips. Set, one of his closest advisors and friend, smiled in satisfaction. No sooner had the king's chuckles died down when a stout, stocky man herded the crowds aside, calling out in his booming voice:

"Make way! Make way for the Magicians of Hanou!"

"Magicians of…what?"

"Hanou, your grace," said Set, "they were a last minute addition, since the, um, firebellies lost their lead dancer to his own foolishness."

Atem frowned. He knew that tone. "Don't tell me—"

"Yes."

The frown turned into a deep, disapproving scowl. "Idiots. Shadow games are not to be taken so lightly. It was probably over something inane like sheep or lentils."

"Clearly, sire." As the clear space in the middle of the great hall grew, Set gestured to the steps coming down from the Pharaoh's throne. "May I…?"

"Oh! Yes, of course. You more than deserve it for all your hard work."

Set couldn't have looked more pleased. He nestled himself besides the flat stone of his monarchs throne, smoky grey eyes sharp upon the opening doors.

They came in a whirl of purple smoke. When the smoke cleared, three men stood in the middle of the hall drawing gasps from the audience. Each wore long braids down to their hips, and their hair and skin were the color of dark earth. The Pharaoh whistled.

"Nubian? You brought magicians from that wasteland in the south? Set, you old hound."

The advisor merely bobbed his head. "Only the best for your highness's birthday."

The middle and foremost of the magicians stepped forward, sweeping his rich robes around him as he spoke. The robes themselves fascinated Atem as they were dyed in patches of every color imaginable and the affect was quite mesmerizing.

"People of the Great Land of Egypt! We come before you today to bring great and mysterious powers before your eyes. You will be befuddled, amazed, and perhaps even…frightened. But never fear! It is only for your entertainment! Please, relax, my friends! And enjoy."

A keening horn sung out from the corner, sending chills up the Pharaoh's spine. All three magicians stepped about in a circle, coats swishing in swirls of dizzying color. One brought out a sword, while the other a length of silk. They pranced towards one another, watched over by the third who began wailing out a strange, almost humorous chant. The Pharaoh smiled down at his friend.

"Let's not hope you get us cursed by your choice in entertainment."

Set snorted. "Please, I know magic when I see it." Then, quickly realizing the impropriety of his tone, tacked on a "your greatness," to the end.

Atem didn't answer, brought back to the magicians as the silk the one man was holding burst into flame, making his dark skin shine like bronze in its light. He swung it about his body, but the licking flames appeared harmless. As one, the two magicians swung their weapons around, one the great scimitar and the other the decaying snake of burning silk, and brought them clashing together. There came a great clang and suddenly the silk was hard as iron. The fire died and a long wooden pole lined with glimmering glass was revealed. The third magician brought more silk from his sleeves as the other two danced with each other, clashing glass staff upon gleaming, silver scimitar. Each hit scattered glass about the floor, but even as Atem watched the glass melted and vanished into the stone. He nodded, leaning back into his throne.

"Nice. I wonder how they managed that."

"What, your highness?"

"Ice. That man's staff is made of ice. Forget about how he pulled an ice staff from a flaming scarf, how did he get ice in the first place?"

Set frowned at the Pharaoh, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

"My Pharaoh, these men are doing mere illusionary play, you can't depend on your eyes."

Atem ignored him, his attention once more to the magicians.

As the two men came for an almighty clash and the keening desert horn lifted up to a climatic wail, an immense flash, like lightning, suddenly filled the room, momentarily blinding the watchers. The young king brought an arm to his face.

What in the name of…

Just as soon as it had come the flash vanished. In the middle of the floor with her pale legs sprawled about her and surrounded by chips of ice, a maiden sat, wearing a strange, blue girdled kilt and a bright yellow top. Straps of a rucksack (the likes of he had never seen), wrapped over her shoulders and under her arms. From Atem's distance her most noticeable feature was her peculiar, wavy white hair framing her tiny torso and pale face. He moved to clap with the rest of the nobles.

Set, however, jumped to his feet. The Pharaoh froze.

The magicians looked alarmed at the presence of the girl. She looked around hesitantly as they rapidly babbled to each other in their own language. Slowly, her eyes moved up and met the Pharaoh's gaze, wide and devoid of shame.

Atem ground his teeth. How dare she disrespect him with such forwardness?

"Set, what is the meaning of this?"

Set had to scramble for words to explain, as though he too were just as confused as the magicians of Hanou. "Magic, your highness. I sensed it, a greater surge than I ever have before. That girl isn't of the magicians' work."

"Ay…I think I felt it too."

"Allow me?"

Atem nodded, his eyes never once leaving the strange, pale figure on the floor. Was she a ka from the afterlife? A messenger? Or perhaps something even a spy?

The magicians scattered to the side as Set approached the girl sitting on the polished floor. He towered over her, and the crowd of nobles held their breath.

"What is the meaning of this? Who are you?"

She simply blinked at him, uncomprehending. Once more she looked past him at the Pharaoh. Set growled and even went as far as to grab her white head and turn it to him.

"Do not dare to grace the High One with your unworthy stare. Answer my questions."

Atem saw her lips move, but at his distance he couldn't hear a thing.

"What?" asked Set.

She spoke again, this time louder, but the words never carried over to him. A strange sensation tingled at the back of his spine, and he felt odd. There was something about this girl, something… Set turned to Atem.

"She appears not to speak our tongue, your grace. Shall I force her mind?" Set raised the golden rod till it's all-seeing eye was level with her eyes. The girl gave a small squeak.

"No." Atem stood. Rows of Egyptian heads bowed as he stepped from the dais and onto the floor of the Great Hall. He could feel the anticipation tingling in the air as he approached. Not even a breath broke the silence, and he could hear his sandals slapping against the stone floors. The closer he got the more he noticed her slight figure and pale skin. One would think her Greecian, though he had never seen the likes of her white-blond hair. Against his counselor's wishes she looked up at him when he came to her. They were light blue and large like doe-eyes. Atem paused, taken aback. What strange eyes!

Up close he could also see how violently she shook. She had to be terrified. Just recognizing this made him soften and he touched the large pyramid around his neck that few knew the true nature of. Through this particular pendent there flowed a magic for unity that his father had mused was the true source of Egypt's greatness. It was of a unique branch of mind magic. Hopefully, he could understand whatever tongue she spoke by listening to her mind through it. He reached for it in his mind's eye and clenched it in his hand. He tried not to think how much better fit Set was for this task, being the most accomplished magician in his court.

"Speak." he said.

She gaped at him for a moment, her mouth fumbling for words.

"I-I-I don't know w-what's going on. Where am I? What was he saying? Please, I don't understand." Her lips trembled so hard her words came out like falling rocks. "Please, I was just going through a tour of the Egyptian ruins and got bored and-and there was this weird…and then this flash—"

"Ruins?" he asked.

The girl leapt on his word. "So you do speak English! Oh, that's wonderful. Please, tell me, how do I get out of here and back to my group? They're going to be really worried about me—not that your…whatever you're doing here isn't awesome or anything, but I get the feeling I came at a really bad time, so if you don't mind—"

"Chatterer, isn't she?" muttered Set, and Atem knew he hadn't caught a word of what she had said. It was a remarkable feat for even the Pharaoh to understand her, for he had only ever used the medallion under the direction of his father, and even then only on Nubian slaves. But though Atem could comprehend her speech in his mind, deciphering what language she spoke was another story. He cleared his throat and she stopped abruptly, doe-like eyes wide once more.

"Where are you from?" he said slowly, clinging harder to the medallion as his mind strained.

"South Dakota?"

The Pharaoh blinked. "Excuse me?"

Set cleared his throat and jerked his chin to the staring crowds about them. Atem nodded and gestured some guards over.

"Take her to the palace prisons and tie her down, but don't hurt her. Make it reasonably comfortable. I will come later for questioning."

The guards nodded and reached down. The girl flinched horribly at their touch and, for a moment, he feared her legs would give way beneath her and his men would be forced to carry her the rest of the way. But they withstood. She babbled indistinctly until the guards forced her away, dragging her heels down the hall and through the doors. The Pharaoh looked to Set for affirmation of his thoughts before turning back to his throne.

"By all means, continue."

And the magicians sheepishly inched back to their places with one holding the broken, melted remains of a staff.

"Ah, so it was ice." said Set.

"Like I said…"

And the two returned to their previous places on the throne with the young Pharaoh's attention distracted for the rest of the evening's festivities.