As he worked his way down to the field of scars that was the back, the stress of what he was doing built a knot of tension between his own shoulder blades. The blood was thick, growing sticky as it dried along the deep valley of scars inflicted. Yet as much as he disliked the feeling of blood, of the way his fingers were tripping into those valleys of pain. It went against him to let the person suffer needlessly. While Set wasn't a healer by any means, if actions brought comfort or relief to the victim he would endure.

He really didn't want to wash the back of a dead guy.

Set decided that the reason why the sick congregated at the Temples was because being a healer was the worst. Sure healing the sick or wounded was admirable, a talent that not all had. But after this day he knew he could never take on the mantle of a healer. The type of precision, patience, dedication, and attention to detail was easy, things he knew he could handle. But he lacked the training to be a healer, to face the emotional side of being a healer, of facing defeat at Death's hands. Or families dealing with the loss, where as beating someone into submission he had some skill at.

Welts were one thing, he had seen the effects of a whip on animals and the occasional criminal. The sudden red swelling of the injury that served as a map to show where the lash came down, was often bright, pronounced. It was only once that Set had ever seen a whip that caused enough injury as to draw blood out of a person. His mother had led him away from 'that' very quickly, but that had been only two summers past and he still recalled it. The pain of a whip would be sharp, lasting for a short while, and the sting would make it difficult to press the assaulted skin against anything until the injury passed. Sure a whip was no sword or spear and could do nothing but really motivate animals... Normally.

But this was haunting.

From the moment he had entered that room and saw the blood he knew there had been enough injury as to cause it. For it was irrational to smear animal blood just to scare someone, and instilling such blatant terror on the Prince seemed out of the question. Bearing witness to the Pharaoh 'himself' looking upon such depraved cruelty to a child with indifference. Sure, sneaking out with the Prince into the city without proper guard was wrong. Punishment was justified for such actions, but...

This was a level of punishment he could understand if it was a one time thing...

But it wasn't.

As Set sat there, wringing out the wash cloth again and again, the water was tainted with blood, his fingers were wrinkled from the work. His mind went into automatic as he worked blocking the shock of the injuries as he saw them. He slipped away from the bed to fetch fresh water and extra wraps. Since he was going to have to work his way completely down to the guys thighs.

By the time he was done washing away the blood and cleaning the open wounds, the princes' servants' back was dry enough to allow Set to do the bandages. Which was a chore unto itself, leaving him pondering if it was wiser simply to let him stay this way, with only a blanket to cover him up. It was a question more befitting to give a proper healer, which realistically he could just 'ask' a simple question... right?

He sat on the side of the bed and for the first time since he took on such an arduous task, he finally was able to roll his shoulders and back. Wincing at the pain in that little triangle between his shoulder blades and the base of his neck. It felt like a brand had been placed there, burning and tingling something absolutely awful.

Once he finally got the tense feeling out of his neck he stood up and for the first time that day took notice of the time. Rather he finally looked out of the window and saw that darkness had descended upon the land again. Struck by the fact that he had spent the rest of the day into just taking care of Maha's back. More over the fact that the servants managed to enter the room, tend to the candles and light them without Set's awareness. Proving how skilled they were at moving about without distracting others, or proving how focused Set was on his task.

Yet upon realizing the fires were lit, it meant he had yet to actually eat...

Damn it, Maha stop getting whipped!

Set walked out of Maha's bed chambers and made his way down the hallway towards the royal kitchen in search of a meal and maybe a Priest if he was lucky. Two birds, one stone after all. Thus he walked along amid the torch lit hallways of the palace, in awe all over again. Here he was, living in the palace of the 'Pharaoh', wearing clothes nicer than what he ever wore before. The food was rich and fresh, the water clear, and given the duty of keeping the Prince out of mischief, at least until Maha recovered.

Before him was a group of servants that were arguing hotly among each other.

"-is taller than whats on the records! How can we even judge the drugs!"

"Its on the records! I don't know where the discrepancy came from!"

"-dropping, we're going to need more!"

Their white linen attire seemingly glowed in the torchlight and bits of bead work had a warm sheen as well. They looked to be carrying jars in their hands and the whispers sounded of gossip. The guards moved aside quickly not distracting the servants from their set goal. He couldn't recognize any of them, so he refrained from calling out to them. The jars in their arms were being held like a mother holding her child and it made Set figure it was probably something very important.

Thus he turned his mind back to his own business, which was figuring out what his new role would truly be in the palace. There was some sense that maybe he was supposed to serve as a type of back up for Maha. Despite being an only child, helping Maha look after the Prince sounded rather enjoyable. True that thought was born from the Prince being in such a state that it was possible he 'was' a brat and just too in shock to show it. But Set while always wanted a baby sibling, having the 'Prince' fill that role was positively amazing!

There were guards stationed along intervals of the walls, with various hallways that branched off and the quiet murmur of voices from conversations. Along said walls were rows of text explaining history of both Gods and man. If not for his hunger he would have stopped and tried to read some of them, but food first. The floor was decked with a thick red carpet that almost looked black in this light, while ahead there was dead end. It split into two different directions and when he reached it, he found High Priest Shimon standing in the right branch and against the left side of said hallway.

He seemed taken by something along the wall, his gaze thoughtful and almost sad if Set was to be of any judge.

"I realize this is big change in your life, what with your upbringing and finding yourself here in the Palace. And... I realize that what you saw regarding Mahaado was harsh. I could never imagine such treatment towards young Shada personally. But we have to respect the teaching methods of our fellow priests. The duty of a High Priest is the be a unified force that protects the Pharaoh after all." Shimon began, while his eyes continued going over the rows of text before him.

Unsure of what else to do, Set turned his own gaze towards the wall and pretended to read it. "Sir, is that Maha's name?"

The question earned him a large good natured laugh from the short High Priest as he shrugged faintly. "Yes well, the Prince is very young and Mahaados' name is very long for one as young as he. Originally he could only get the 'Ma' part out, and called him 'Mama', but he's grown into more of the boy's name."

Set internally had to smile in amusement at the thought, the High Priest was right after all, the name did seem rather long for such a small child to say. True the little prince was clearly fond of Mahaado, given his reaction that his precious magician in training was hurt.

"I realize the prince thinks of you as a friend you have seemed to earn his trust quite quickly. But that is because he doesn't understand that he is the Prince of our country. We priests, indeed this whole palace all the way up to the Pharaoh himself; expects you to protect the prince with your life." Shimon explained patiently as Set felt his stomach drop at the level of expectation. It was one thing for him to casually think about these things on his own. Another to have a High Priest state it as fact.

It wouldn't be impossible to expect the prince to be a handful when he was left to his own devices. But part of having a baby sibling was to keep an eye on the nimble baby. "The prince is active and bright, but I am confident that I can look after him." Set answered proudly while glancing down at the High Priest, trying to figure out what was wrong in the moment. Something felt 'off'.

"You spoke of your family life before and that you have no siblings of your own. So I find it rather hard to believe that you honestly know what you're in for with the Prince." Shimon chuckled a bit as he stood there, "he's pretty clever when he wants to be."

"I like a challenge, besides all I have to do is drag Mahaado outside and give him a good shake. The prince will come running, when I found him outside the city he was minding the instruction to stay cloaked. But he was staunchly determined to stay by his Maha's side and was trying to return to his servant."

Shimon burst out laughing at that, his body shaking from the force of his laughter, "right you are there. Attempting anything against Mahaado tends to offend the Prince. Of course to the Prince, his 'Maha' is his first and very own subject. So he tries his hardest to take very good care of the boy," Shimon agreed as he tried to settle down from that. "Of course my daughter is the Great Queen, so I already know what our little Prince is capable of that age. Just from raising her," Shimon added with warmth and pride in his voice.

The guards on duty walked down the hallway behind the pair, conversing on topics that Set couldn't follow. But right at the moment his focus was settled more onto High Priest Shimon and this wall he was still staring at. "I hope you understand your duty to the Prince. You're going to be serving the prince forever. His duty to the world means that his protection needs to be above and beyond all other pursuits."

"High Priest sir, who do I report to? I understand that Mahaado has a teacher, however; I have no one to go to directly," Set asked, figuring it was a decent question. When he had been presented before the other High Priests no one had brought up the issue. They had judged him using their sacred Items and then allowed him to go about on his own.

"Set, you need to accept your duty to the Prince," Shimon replied calmly, "we can't help you."

Such an answer left Set feeling alone and vulnerable as his gaze went from looking at High Priest Shimon's head up to the exposed bloody neck of the man. The bright royal court robes were stained in blood and it slowly began to dawn on him that people couldn't survive with their heads off their shoulders.

Confused Set turned to look down at Shimon, wondering why he didn't notice that trail of blood on the corner of the man's mouth. "But... if there's an emergency who do I turn to?"

So why were they having a normal conversation if that was the case?

"Set, I realize you've been in pain for a very long time. But your duty is to my Grandson, our Prince."

The conversation didn't go in this direction. When it took place Shimon had answered that Set could confide in him if Set had questions or problems.

"What's going on? Why is your head in your hands? Why didn't I even notice how wrong all this is?" Set asked instead, turning his gaze back to the wall, unwilling to face all the blood and confusion at his right.

"Because you need to wake up Set. Our Prince needs you," Shimon answered, his hands held his mangled head, the flesh burned and melted off in areas. The beard was burned off completely and charred bone could be found under areas of Shimon's face. Shimon was a thing of nightmares, and as Set stood there trying to keep his expression controlled and neutral. The child began to see his reflection in the wall before them. Something that shouldn't have happened since it was stone before him...

The wall of stone painted in the tales of their Gods and Pharaoh bled into the shade of blue found in the sky reflected water. Around him the world slowly turned bright as though Khonsu had grown as bright and mighty as Ra himself. Before him was a faint reflection of himself older, dressed in white with hands and cuffs stained in blood that reached up and stained as much as they could of the sleeves. Spots of blood were flung across his chest like the careless paint of some artist. He almost thought about straightening his clothes until he realized that his hands would stain his suit further. Appearances had to be kept, that was important and if he wasn't going to go to just relieve himself he was just going to have to be disheveled.

For the life of him, he couldn't recall how he got from the helicopter to this place. There was this gut churning thought that he had 'literally' walked the whole way on his own power and out of his mind. Lost to his unbidden memories he had walked the halls of Egypt and somehow got here. Yet even the shock and disgust of his own lack of his carefully cultivated self control was lost as he looked through the window before him.

The room on the other side of the wall was painfully white. From ceiling to floor everything was stark white with dull gray toned silver. The monitors showed up real well though, their black faces with the bright lights and their numbers overhead. Lording over all was a huge saucer lamp with a brightly polished interior that made the sterile light all the more intense. There was a number of people in the room, they were presented with open bright blue surgical gowns that they slipped their arms through. While the gowns were tied up from behind more nurses held open off white latex gloves that the surgeons thrust their hands into.

There was an intense energy that could be felt inside the room, even on the other side of the wall. One man stood at the head of the bed and kept fidgeting between observing the machines and the patient on the table. Near by there was a clear plastic bag that contained a deep dark liquid that was funneled down by a thin plastic tube to the body on the table. Attempting to replenish the depleted amount of blood in the body on the table. While the heart rate on the monitor hung painfully low and frantic.

Everyone moved with a suppressed urgency as they scrambled into place, around the only vivid color in this sickeningly white room. Only to have a nurse move in to block his view, and once her wretched self moved the vividly colored hair was tucked into another of those caps. Making it a room with only three colors.

He could see them working feverishly to remove the black leather vest that had been worn earlier. That they were removing the only armor Yugi had worn bothered Kaiba, but he stayed at the window. They didn't pull it off, but probably couldn't without moving his already delicate torso. A plastic shield covered the nose and mouth, probably pumping air in to help as much as machines could. Trying to hold the life inside the body while the surgeons frantically worked to fix the damage that those bullets had inflicted.

Something felt like it died inside as he watched the pristine gloves turn red, the scalpel dripping drops of blood. A torture device was brought over the table and the logical side of Seto's head whispered a reminder that the heart was protected by the rib cage. Meaning the odds were pretty high that they were breaking his ribs to get a better chance at the heart.

A quick jerk of motion and Seto felt his own chest suddenly constrict in pain.

"Our Prince needs you..." the voice of the High Priest played in the back of his mind, gruff, warm, morose.

'I can't help... I can't remember how to make that work... didn't his first death prove I am only good on the battlefield?' Seto thought as he stood there, his knees locked in place keeping him standing when he wanted to fall. 'I can't remember...'

It was almost comforting to watch the surgeons work, to know that they were skilled and trained to mend wounds. For once he could have his hands not involved in a task, and allow him to rely on someone else. When 'was' the last time he had to rely on another person? He could barely remember his parents anymore, before his fathers' accident. Before his mother died giving birth... before...