Ah-hahahaha!... It's good to be back. I take forever to update, but man has this year been rough! These next few chapters took forever cuz getting everything in order, properly, with good timing and pacing, was actually a bit of a nightmare. But I figured it out! Praise be to Thoth.

(old response) To my Anon reviewers: I'm not sure if it was one or many general guest reviewers, but they kinda got the motor rolling by reviewing. Thank you, I hope you enjoy.

(old response) To the one called merely 'a fan': You wished me to update soon and I failed you. I hope this makes up for it.

(old response) To LeafeonLover (great name, Leafeon is one of my favorites): I'm glad that Bali comes through as a strong character, I worry a lot about Bali being too powerful. She's the character I sometimes look to for guidance, to be quite honest. I failed to update quickly, but here it is at last!

(old response) To Kismet: I finally updated AGAIN! AH! I hope this chapter can live up to your expectations!

FUN FACT!: Seshat, the goddess whose name literally translates to "She-who-writes," never had any specific cult center city or nome, or temple dedicated to her worship. HOWEVER! She was a goddess whose power was often sought when architectural projects began. Therefore, it could be said that all temples are Seshat's temples. Get it, gurl.

Enjoy.

It is time. It is the night of Bali's true hours of labor. According to goddess Isis, her son would be born when Re breaks upon the world at dawn. Just these long hours left and she will be free of the birthing chambers and able to get past the magic obscurities placed by the great goddesses around her. Heket has let her up to walk while the contractions are minor, but the seal on the rooms is perfect.

She knows the world is changing outside.

"Stay safe, Atem. I'll take care of Amen, but don't let anything happen, don't let anything happen!"

…

Atem sits in the grand royal library attempting to figure out the reasoning for the birth of the Millennium Items, as it happened when he was too small to remember. He knew that wars used to plague his father's peace-keeping rule, so what happened to finally push the former king into creating them? And how did Bali fit into all of this? Where did Bakura come from? Most of Atem's searching is turning up useless leads. He's unaware that his wife had the same issue during their struggle with the False Prophet Veut.

"Being such a great part of our history, you would think that every story would be written down," he grumbles, frustrated at the lack of information. He quiets, rustling his memory for anywhere that he could find out the information he's looking for. Could there be a reason for such a large gap in information? If so… his father had to be part of it. His father erased that portion of history from their library! But why? Footsteps shuffle up beside him, interrupting the solemn peace of the library.

"My Pharaoh, you have been holed up here for some time," Siamun asks suddenly, causing Atem to jump out of his chair with a yell of surprise. While he heard the footsteps, he didn't register that perhaps they might be near him.

"Si-Siamun! When did you get here?" he asks, his heart rate up from the stress. Siamun chuckles.

"You have been very focused in your research, and since you were gone so long I wondered if you were having trouble. Tell me what it is you seek," the old vizier answers, as Atem regains his composure. His questions about his father's involvement in the lack of history rise up in his throat first, but he's unable to speak them aloud. Siamun would know everything, he was present for the entirety of his father's reign, and was his closest advisor for half of it. But if it's a closely guarded secret, their reasons for keeping it must be terrible.

"You are perhaps one of the only people I can turn to now, Siamun. Tell me anything you know about the creation of the Millennium Items. Why were they made, and how? Bakura seems to know everything that we don't about them," Atem commands, disliking himself for it. He's tired of people dodging around answering truthfully, and he needs facts. If the truth is despicable, so be it. He omits the questions he has about Bali's involvement with the tumult facing his kingdom. Those… those are too complex to voice for now.

Siamun remains still, his expression confirming that the information he holds is indeed grievous. It was a thin hope that he would never have to tell these stories, but he's under royal command. With Bakura and his cutting truths as their adversary, coming to terms with his past decisions is now his duty. Atem quietly invites him to sit, fearing the poor man would faint with how pale and fragile he appears. Siamun wordlessly obliges. His stare goes beyond his pharaoh, beyond the present, and into the past. His mouth forms a tight line, his shoulders tense. Atem waits for him to begin.

"You were very young when it happened, as you no doubt know," the vizier starts, voice rough from the horror of his memories. "Your mother… She was… she was gone… and an invading army was encroaching upon this holy city. Your father stubbornly maintained his belief in diplomacy and peace. I always supported his manner of rule, but even I had to admit that our backs were to the wall. This army had no interest other than to plunder anything they could find. It was a few days before the army arrived that Akhenaden and I insisted that something be done, as your uncle had recently deciphered a spell from a scripture from a time long past in our kingdom. Pharaoh conceded to Akhenaden to save his people. This allowed him to use the spell that had been deciphered to create the Millennium Items. I am unsure what was required to enact it; Akhenaden refuses to speak of that incident to this day. When he returned, the Items were given to the priests of the greatest stature, while the Millennium Puzzle was worn by Pharaoh. With the new powers afforded us by the items, we were able to defeat the invading army in one sweeping victory. After that, the kingdom enjoyed a long peacetime, until the Eblan Conflict. That is as much as I know." He slides a hand over his face after dredging up the old memories. Atem's shoulders sag at the news that he doesn't know the process behind the making of the Millennium Items. He also dislikes hearing that Bali's appearance roughly coincides with the ending of their streak of peace, though he can't see how she's involved. Then, there's the lack of detail behind all of it. Nothing in his description told of anything particularly heinous. There's only one clue that Siamun was holding something back, and Atem caught it. His stutter when he mentioned his mother.

Noting that perhaps this is the string he has to pull to get every crucial piece of the puzzle, he treads lightly. He takes a deep breath and readies his heart for heartbreaking answers to questions he believed would never have them.

"I remember a dream, Siamun," he states, his heart stirring when he thinks back on the woman's voice. It had been around the time Bali had first entered his life. Her message, it was a warning, a prophecy delivered to him long before he knew anything.

"A dream, you say?"

"Siamun… My mother. You stumbled when you mentioned her. My dream concerned a woman brought to me by Osiris, with a message. I believe it was an omen of what haunts us now," Atem says, to which Siamun gapes in alarm. Pharaoh stares evenly at his grand vizier. "What happened?"

The old man, appearing older with the weight of grief, places his head in his hands. Whatever burdens him is the greatest of his plagues. Knowing this, and knowing it may not be pertinent to their current situation, Atem places a bracing hand on Siamun's shoulder. He must know.

"Please…"

The library is stony in its silence. The scrolls and steeles around them are their only witnesses; all others have been vacated and chased away. No servants, no priests, no interruptions. Atem will at last hear of the fate that befell his mother.

Siamun nervously twiddles his thumbs over the table. Atem can tell that the story he works to put words to is painful in nature. One meant never to be told, one meant to be kept secret from all but the discerning scales of Ma'at at the weighing of his heart. At the precipice of such a story, he should be swaying between hesitant and impatient to hear. Atem is neither.

He is only patient.

"I will start, where the story of your parents starts, Pharaoh. It was a tumultuous era…"

Bakura wanders into a scummy tavern-inn, the Millennium Ring settled around his neck and tucked under his coat. He's separated from the Ones-in-Black thanks to the working of the troublesome magician, but no matter. He pulls off one of the stolen funerary relics from his arm and slams it in front of the innkeeper.

"Get me food. Now." His demand is delightfully agreed upon, after the serving man observes the genuine luxury of the item given. He bustles off, leaving Bakura at a table to himself. He doesn't care that every eye is turned on him. Murmurs between the men in the room begin, many of them fixing their gazes on the ring at his chest.

They wait, watching as the stranger in their midst gorges himself on the feast brought to him, still without care about the attention he draws. Some rat-nosed twig ambles to the entrance to casually close the door. Soon after, Bakura is surrounded by the burliest men in the room. Most brandish brutish weapons, from blunt clubs to even blunter knives.

"You're no ordinary thief, if you have all of that," one points out, twiddling his knife in feigned disinterest. He then slams it down into the table, the rough surface of the wood filled with similar marks. Bakura continues chewing his bread, unimpressed. Another steps forward.

"You should share some of those trinkets with us, friend. How about it?" he asks, not-so-nicely. Bakura swallows, then dabs at the corners of his mouth daintily with the edge of his coat. He glances around at the men surrounding him. He sits back in his chair, relaxing after his meal, exhaling through his nose. His lips move. The men around him lean in to hear his quiet reply.

"Want to..." A grin spreads on his face. "Die?"

The men step back slightly in surprise, having sounded out to each other the malevolent words mouthed to them. Blood leaks from one man's face. A companion points this out, only to be blinded by the stinging, coppery darkness of his own blood. Before comprehension can catch up enough for them to scream, the ring at Bakura's chest glimmers. The men fall to pieces, limbs, blood, bones, and entrails splashing everywhere to coat the entire room. Bakura hadn't lifted a finger, untouched by the carnage as he sits at the epicenter.

The thief king stretches his arms upward in pure satisfaction.

"Ah, I'm full. Absorbing the power from the Millennium Ring took less time than I expected, h-heheh. Now it's time to make my way back to the capital city to finish things with Pharaoh and his weak group of priests."

He stands, ready to pick his way through his gruesome mess. A lurching feeling in his chest halts him. His mind blanks, consciousness splitting for flickers of moments. Bakura leans on a nearby table, clutching at his head when the wave of oppression eclipses him. He fears it, he fears whatever this is… He'd faced Pharaoh and his god-beast, and planned to do so again with his righteous hatred powering Diabound. Where is Ebony, where is she, where did she go, why doesn't she protect him from this pit, this despair?

In the background, the door opens.

"We've finally found you, Lord Bakura." It's Korket. Bakura cannot show him fear, but when the thief king scrapes together the movement necessary to look at the doorway where the man stands, it seems it does not matter. Korket is pleased with what he sees, whatever he sees, whatever is happening. The oppression eases, lifting, oozing away. Bakura stands straight, then narrows his eyes into severe slits at the man. For a long, dragged out few minutes, they stand at odds with each other, neither speaking. Bakura will not lose control of his own cursed vengeance.

He grumbles lowly in his chest.

"Let's go."

He pushes past Korket, this emissary of the Dark One, and embraces the cold night waiting for him outside.

The two men leave the tavern and the village, knowing that what they leave behind will arrive at the palace as urgent news. It will be sound proof of Bakura's survival over the Pharaoh's sorcerer priest.

"I'm done picking around cautiously. I am no lone antelope on the plain, I am the lion that stalks it." Bakura's words come from a place of unrest, rather than confidence. He is in control. He has always been in control. Korket hums, but Bakura doesn't care to hear a rebuttal. He strikes his horse into riding toward Thebes once again. He will breach the palace and strike down each priest one by one, gathering each item, and he will complete his streak of hatred if it's the last thing he ever does.

Yeah, this chapter bounced around a bit, but this was the only way I could really properly set up for the end. I had a difficult time piecing it together (and here we all thought the Millennium Puzzle was a tough cookie to solve...)

The bloody Bakura scene got left out of the show. Cryin' shame, it's a doozy!

Thanks to all who are keeping with me as I drag my feet updating! I will finish this! Follow/fav/review if you are so inclined, and thanks to those who have already done so!

Til Next Time,

-A