It has been mentioned before that I want to teach. Chapters like the one following this note are part of the reason why. Over the numerous years I've spent as a student, I've seen any number of teaching styles. As it became clearer and clearer to me that I wanted to join them, I began to theorize what my personal teaching style would be. I've experimented, having been both a volunteer and freelance tutor at various points in my life, and that is the primary theme and exploration of this chapter.

TL;DR: School is in session.

Verse One.

"I am Isis," she declared, in a voice that commanded absolute attention. She had stepped into the room mere moments before—a young man with bleach-blond hair and a tanned, handsome face at her side—and already the students seated before her were enthralled. Considering the fact that the name written on the blackboard behind her read, quite clearly: "Dr. Isis Ishtar, Ph.D," it should have been a ludicrous statement. It should have caused laughter, or at least confusion.

But it did not.

It simply caught them.

"I am Mistress of Magic, and Speaker of Spells," said Doctor Isis Ishtar, Ph.D. "I came out of the House of Set. Thoth advised me to hide myself in the Marshlands of Lower Egypt, with my small son Horus."

The young man stepped forward, beginning to weave through the desks and looking at each student in turn. There were twenty in all, and forty eyes were eyeing him; thirty-eight in innocent curiosity, two in apprehensive suspicion. He spoke clearly, concisely, his lavender eyes twinkling. "I ask you, do you think that Isis, Mistress of Magic," here he gestured at their instructor, "would travel through the land of Egypt unattended? This woman, this goddess, the Daughter of Geb, She of the Throne?"

They all shook their heads, caught in the story like small children 'round a campfire, and it was clear that the tan man with bleach-blond hair was drinking it in like fine wine. He said, laughter in his voice: "No! No, of course she would not! Isis and her son were accompanied by seven scorpions. They guarded her wherever she went."

The doctor spoke: "Tefen and Befen were behind me. Mestet and Mestetef were on either side of me. And in front of me to open the way, Petet, Thetet, and Matet."

"Go always ahead!" the tan man cried out, in such a loud and authoritative voice that those nearest him jumped in their seats. He strode forward, back to Isis Ishtar. "Do not look to the right," he gestured right, "or to the left," he gestured left, "and do not attack children or any poor defenseless people or animals!"

There was an unmistakable, inexorable resemblance to the pair. Though Isis held herself with poise and nobility, next to the young man she looked like a teenager. And although the man was clearly young, there was an aged, lined look in his face that was somehow intangible. He was taller than she, and he slinked along like a natural predator as he spoke, while Isis stood as stolid as a limestone statue.

"They led me, my seven scorpions, to the city of Per Swi," Isis said, sweeping her regal ice-blue gaze across the room. "The Papyrus Marshes begin there, the city of the Two Goddesses of the Divine Sandals." Snickers rumbled across the students, but Isis said this last title with a face untouched by emotion of any kind. The young man glared suspiciously at them. "Here I would have liked to rest."

"She had travelled a long way," the man said, leaning forward on one desk as if daring the young woman sitting there to laugh again. "She was way-worn. She was weary. She had her young son Horus with her." He loped over to the other side of the room. "What do you think Isis did, in this city of Two Goddesses? In this city of the Divine Sandals? What would you do, weary and travel-worn, on reaching the boundaries of a great city like this?" He swept his hands out as if indicating some great, stunning urban landscape. The students looked around as though they might actually see something.

Except one.

"Well…" said the older, salt-and-pepper-haired man that the speaker had indicated, "I suppose…I would try to find somewhere to rest?"

The tan man with bleach-blond hair crossed his arms and nodded. "Yes. Yes, you would. It's only logical. But you would not be guarded by seven scorpions, seven of the most dangerous creatures in the land of Egypt. Not as Isis, Mistress of Magic, and her small son Horus, were guarded."

"At the first house where I stopped," Isis said softly, "there was a woman whose name was Gloria. I asked her if I might rest in her house, for I was weary."

"But," the tan man said, looking and sounding offended, "Gloria was frightened of the scorpions. So frightened that she shut the door to her home in my mistress's face. This…greatly annoyed the scorpions, who believed that Isis, She who Knows the Orphan, should rest where she wished. And she wished to rest there, in Gloria's house, whose door was now shut to her."

"I went on further into the city," Isis said, gently as if to placate her companion. "I found a house further into the city, belonging to one of the marsh-women who consented to receive me. I rested, and my small son Horus rested. But my guards did not rest."

"The seven scorpions consulted together," said the tan man, "and they decided to take action. Oh, yes. They would take action. They would have…retribution." He slithered along the front row. "They came, and they put all of their poison onto the sting of Tefen. The power of Tefen's poison, now sevenfold, was fit to return to the first house, where Gloria lived." He looked positively devious, with an evil grin rising on his thin lips, lavender eyes narrowed to slits.

"Gloria had a son," Isis said, sounding remorseful now, "an infant son. The children of Egypt, most prized, most delicate. They forgot my order, they all forgot my order. Petet, Thetet, Matet, and Mestet and Mestetef, and Befen. And Tefen, vengeful Tefen. Do not attack children."

"In the flames of vengeance, orders have no meaning." The tan man was still sneaking, still crouched, still devious. "And the door to Gloria's house, this door was ill-fit. And Tefen crawled in." The tan man crouched low and mimed the action of the scorpion. "He slipped through the house, one with shadow, one with earth, and did they see him? Did Gloria see him, did her husband see him? Did her son…see him?"

He launched himself up, and landed with a crash onto one of the desks, feet spread wide and arms held out like the pincers of the creature he seemed to have become. "He strikes! Swift and fast, deadly and final, Gloria's son fell gravely ill." He rose to his full height, arms raised now as though calling forth divine intervention. "And fire, glorious fire, broke out in the house, licked at the walls and cried at the air, for its work was done! Tefen's work was done! Retribution!"

He dropped down with the grace of a gymnast, and the man seated in the desk was still leaning back, looking flabbergasted. Isis stepped slowly forward, and put a hand on her compatriot's shoulder. "Gloria rushed 'round the town, asking for help. She received…none. I…Isis…repented what had been done. And I called the woman to me."

"She went with Gloria to what remained of her house, and laid hands on the child."

"Because I am Isis, Mistress of Magic and Speaker of Spells."

"She called on the poison to leave the child."

"O poison of Tefen, enter not into him, come fall upon the ground."

"O poison of Befen, come forth and fall upon the ground."

"O poison of Mestet, go no further, come forth and fall upon the ground."

"O poison of Mestetef, go no further, come forth and fall upon the ground! In the name of Isis, Mistress of Magic and Speaker of Spells!"

"O poison of Petet, proceed no further, come forth and fall upon the ground!"

"Poison of Thetet and Matet, rise not! Do not enter into him but come forth! The child shall live, the poison shall die!"

"…Because my father Geb has given me control…over all reptiles." Isis lowered her head. "As truly as Horus lives for his mother, so this child will live for his mother."

The tan man seemed half in a trance.

He said, "Then the fire in the house was extinguished. And the child…he was cured. And to this day, people who are stung by scorpions, like these scorpions, have a poultice made of barley bread placed on the wound. This draws out the poison. In the name of Isis…Mistress of Magic and Speaker of Spells."

And he, too, lowered his head.

The class began to cheer. Thirty-eight hands clapped together in the utmost appreciation.

Two did not. Two remained crossed over one another on the desk of their owner, still and silent as the grave.

Two eyes still watched in apprehensive suspicion.

Verse Two.

"What is significant about the role the scorpions play in this myth?" the doctor asked, now in a normal tone of voice that still commanded attention and respect. She checked the roster on her desk and pointed. "Yes, Miss Longworth?"

"They represent the danger of wild animals, and nature. They're symbolic of the struggle the Egyptians fought against the desert where they lived."

The tan man with bleach-blond hair—she introduced him as her T.A., Malik—pointed to another. "Yes?" he asked, and his normal speaking voice had a thicker accent than what they had heard when he had been performing. His lavender eyes were bright, almost feverish. His fingers kept tapping on his legs as they rested at his sides, and it was rather clear that he was nervous.

"There's a kind of duality, here. Isis represents mercy and forgiveness. The scorpions guarding her represent anger and…" the speaker found a smile, "…retribution." Malik, for his part, chuckled and nodded, looking satisfied. He glanced at the doctor, who had crossed her arms and was surveying the students.

She stopped at one corner of the room. "Mister Kaiba?" she prompted, and a small black-haired boy, far younger than any of the others, looked at her from the far end of the front row. He looked distracted, and his eyes kept flickering over to Malik, who in turn seemed to be doing his level best to keep his gaze anywhere but the boy. "Anything to say?" Isis asked.

"…They're proof that even gods can't control people," the boy said in a small voice that seemed older than his years. He straightened and adjusted his shoulders, nervously licking his lips. "The scorpions were Isis's servants, but they didn't follow her orders. They took it on themselves to punish Gloria. I'm surprised Isis let them live."

One thin black eyebrow raised over an ice-blue eye. "Do tell, Mister Kaiba." There was a certain amount of familiarity in Isis Ishtar's voice and face when she spoke to the boy, and a few of the other students murmured amongst each other. He was Mokuba Kaiba, heir and vice-president for the Kaiba Corporation. It was no wonder he had been permitted to attend, in spite of his youth.

Composed and calm, the young Kaiba elaborated: "Isis is a mother. She had a son of her own. Her own servants attacked an infant to punish his mother. Why would she let that happen? Why wouldn't she punish them? Not only for ignoring her orders, but for poisoning somebody who wasn't even involved in anything?"

There was something about the boy's voice, and the particular way that he looked at Isis Ishtar, that told the other people in the room that there was more to this discussion than scorpions and goddesses. The doctor, for her part, was completely unabashed by the thoroughly accusatory tone in Mokuba's voice. She said, "The myth is meant to explain why certain spells were used to cure scorpion venom. The story rose from the need for that explanation."

"Wouldn't it have proven a point for her to punish the scorpions? To show that the gods shouldn't be defied?" Mokuba asked.

"A further point was proven when they were forgiven," said Malik, with a certain edge to his own voice. "A loyal servant may act rashly in the name of his master. Vengeance is the realm of mortals. Forgiveness is the prerogative of the gods."

A woman raised her hand. "Are we sure that she didn't punish them? The story ends before that's really covered. Do we know any more, Doctor Ishtar?"

Isis shook her head. "The translation is partial, so we do not have all the details of the story. However…"

And so it went. The discussion continued. Mokuba Kaiba did not speak voluntarily, but the doctor continued to call on him to engage him in the conversation. He always had something to say, often more thought-out than his classmates who, to a man (and woman), were at the very least twice his age. But all through the discussion of Isis and her scorpions, his grey-violet eyes never left Malik. And Malik's lavender eyes never met Mokuba's.

For those who paid attention to it, the atmosphere in the room was stifling, and when the hour was over and the homework assigned for the next day's class, they were all too happy to leave. Mokuba was still sitting at his desk when the last of them had gone. He looked straight at Isis with an expression that would have been right at home on either of his brothers, and he said, icy and reproachful, "You didn't tell me he would be here."

Malik seemed perfectly willing to fade into the background. He leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, pretending—as Mokuba clearly was—that he wasn't in the room. Isis sent a look her brother's way, then back at Mokuba. She said, "The appointment of my own assistant is my decision, Mister Kaiba," she said. "I do not recall there being a prerequisite to employing him that involved asking your permission."

Mokuba's eyes narrowed. "Don't talk to me like that," he snapped. "You gave my brother that card. You got him to start that stupid tournament. You almost drove him crazy, and you," he leveled a true Kaiba's glare on Malik, "almost killed him!" He shot to his feet and snatched up his backpack. "So yeah…it would have been niceto have a warning. You didn't know what Malik was planning to do with those God cards, but you called my brother in to stop him and he said okay. So I wasn't going to say anything." He shoved past Malik and threw open the door. "But…I guess all is forgiven. Great for you guys. Have fun teaching together."

A resounding slam announced the boy's departure.

Isis stared at the floor.

Malik continued to stare at the ceiling.

Neither said a word.

Verse Three.

"Where're you from?"

Kay Mayer wasn't the sort of person Katie McKinley was used to interacting with; in fact, she was almost the complete opposite. She was quiet, cultured; she took time to compose a response to any question, no matter how mundane. It was like she thought people were watching—and more importantly, analyzing—every movement she made, every word she spoke.

She was dressed today in faded blue jeans and a white turtleneck sweater. Simple, unadorned, yet somehow…regal. Her alabaster hair seemed all the brighter and more exotic for it. She had an exotic sort of face, too, and Katie couldn't help but think of her as some sort of foreign dignitary; in another age, she might have looked like royalty. Picturing the young woman with a jeweled crown, Katie found that looked entirely too natural.

"Most of my family lives in Canada," Kay said in her soft voice, "but my parents are from Rhode Island."

Renie, always a font of knowledge Katie never would have believed of her by looking at her, suddenly gasped. "No way. You wouldn't be related to Sullivan Mayer, would you?"

"Who?" Katie asked, her face blank.

Kay nodded. "My father."

"Good God, Kate!" Renie cried, punching her friend in the arm. "Sully Mayer is the frickin' governor! We're sittin' with a bigwig here, babe." She laughed, clearly not bothered in the slightest by this. "Small world, that's awesome. So what're you doin' all the way out here?"

Kay shrugged. "I decided that if I were going to embrace the…college experience, I should do it properly. I did my research, and Brent Fueler has one of the most celebrated teaching programs in the country. Not to mention, it's as far from my parents as I could get without leaving the country." She smiled, and her eyes twinkled.

Katie laughed. "Well played! I approve."

"You're aiming to teach?" Renie asked.

Kay nodded. "I've always thought teaching was a noble, unsung calling. Not enough people think about what kind of work it takes to do it. Those who can't do, teach. Well, I'm sorry, but I don't believe that. It takes more than shattered dreams and a big desk to make an impact." She looked embarrassed. "Not that I'm…bitter or anything."

"Here, here," Katie said, raising her soda as if in a toast. "Follow the dream, Sister."

"'Take your life and force it to obey you,'" Renie recited. "'It's the only honest possession that any of us truly own, and it is the sole prerogative of each of us to realize it. When we allow our families, and friends, and enemies, to dictate the course of our lives, it is the most vile form of treachery. Your life is your responsibility. Do not fail it.'"

Kay blinked. "Excuse me?"

"One of his more famous speeches," Renie said proudly. "At his high school graduation."

"His?" Kay asked.

"Seto Kaiba," Katie said, looking exasperated and amused. "She never tires of showing off about him. Get used to it. Eventually it just washes over you. But she has a point, I think. Sounds like you've got things well in hand. Godspeed, soldier." She saluted.

"This…Kaiba person," Kay said, frowning. "Is he a local celebrity?"

"If you call the youngest billionaire in history a local celebrity, yes," Renie said. "The man's a legend. Had a high school diploma at twelve, graduated college by fifteen, took over the Kaiba Corporation and turned it into a freaking giant. Child prodigy, inventor, scientist, CEO, total hottie, whatever you want to call him."

Kay looked impressed, although still more than a little confused. "And you…know him personally?"

"My dad does," Katie said. "They met a couple years ago. The planets were apparently aligned just right, because they hit it off pretty well. Renie and I started up the website a few months later."

"Is your father in big business, too?" Kay asked.

"Nope," said Katie. "Beat cop to the core, stuffed behind a detective's desk against his will. He was working security at an event Mister Kaiba was holding."

"Oh…I see."

Renie was digging through her bag. With a cry of triumph, she pulled out a magazine. Handing it across the table to Kay, she said, "There he is. Right there on the cover of Time, 'cuz he's just a badass that-a-way."

Kay took the magazine. Her mouth parted, and her eyes widened a bit. "…I have seen this man before…yes." She looked up. "Who's the little boy with him?" She pointed, and now a smile was playing on her lips.

"Future heartbreaker, ain't he?" Renie asked, winking. "I'm impressed, Kay. Most people see him for the first time, they think he's a girl. That's Mokuba. Kaiba-Corp's vice-president. He's Seto's younger brother."

Kay stared at the magazine again. "Vice-president? He can't be older than ten years old!"

"Eleven," Katie corrected. "And yeah, we know. Still, look him up. Plenty of his appearances are online. That kid works a crowd better than anybody I've ever seen. Except maybe his brother. Still, it's a close race." She looked at Renie. "Remember last year at PAX? He came out dressed like Ed Elric to announce KC'd teamed up with Square Enix?"

Renie laughed. "Oh, yeah! I remember that! And they got Seto to wear the military uniform! I still have that picture up on my wall!" She tossed her head back and stared wistfully up at the ceiling. "That was the dorkiest, most adorable thing I've ever seen."

Kay set the magazine onto the table, looking thoughtful.

"…Huh," she said.

Verse Four.

"He told me what happened."

Noa raised an eyebrow, pretending to be innocently curious. "Who told you, and what happened?" he asked idly, leaning low in a high-backed chair and propping up his feet on a nearby end table. He'd furnished his room; aside from the chair and the table, he had acquired a bookshelf, a writing desk, and a laptop computer, which was currently charging on the floor. The money he had used to buy these items had been transferred into a bank account created in Noa's name, and the middle Kaiba hadn't needed to ask from where the funds had come; Seto would not have bothered. Mokuba had done it.

Noa was dressed in glowing white slacks, a soft aqua-green button-down shirt, and shining white shoes. A similarly pristine white jacket was slung over the back of the chair. He did not wear a tie. Seto had grimaced slightly upon seeing his adoptive sibling's posture, but had said nothing about it. In fact, this was the first time he'd spoken to Noa since the previous morning.

"Mokuba," said Seto, leaning against the doorframe, "told me that he did not, in fact, finish his homework on Thursday. Apparently, he was caught up in a game, and lost track of time. He attempted to finish the work that night, but it turns out that fatigue got the better of him, and he was unable to complete it."

The look on Noa's face was one of complete calm, but his mind was whirling. He lowered his legs, set his feet flat on the floor, and leaned forward. His thin hands dangled between his knees. "I'm not sure why you're telling me this," he said, even though he did.

Seto lifted two sheets of paper, one in each hand. "This," he said, lifting the sheet to Noa's left, "is a handout for his Language Arts class which he procured and turned in late." He lifted the sheet to Noa's right. "This is the original handout which he found, miraculously completed, yesterday morning. He did not turn this in."

"How odd," Noa murmured thoughtfully.

Seto's face twitched. He handed the two sheets to Noa. "Do you see anything odd about these two handouts, Noa?"

The middle Kaiba glanced at them. "Not particularly," he said, and he didn't. The essays were similar in tone and even in theory; though he did notice a certain divergence in the specifics. He studied them, but not as deeply as he would have liked before Seto took the handouts back. Noa looked up at his adoptive elder and crossed one leg over the other. "Why do you ask?"

"Do you think me an idiot?" Seto asked, clearly agitated now.

"Not at all," Noa said, finding a grin. "I'm just wondering how long it will take you to ask me the question you actually want to ask me. Shall we go another round? My interview with Aarden-sama isn't until Monday. I have time."

A beat of suffocating, tense silence.

"You're more devious than you've led me to believe," Seto said slowly. "Not to mention studious." He lifted the fake assignment. "Why would you do this? Did you think he would turn this in? Did you think he would keep to a lie?"

Noa shrugged. "No. I simply wished to give him the option. He neglected his work for my sake; I neglected my integrity for his. It seemed a fair trade." Seto's scowl deepened, and he seemed to be searching Noa's face. "If he refused to take the path I offered him, then he truly is a Kaiba." Still grinning, the sandy-haired, white-clad young man stood, slipped his hands into his pockets and bowed. "Shortcuts exist for the weak." He lifted his sky-blue gaze to Seto's, still bent at the waist. "You've raised him well, Aniki. My father would be proud."

Noa strode out of the room, not waiting for a response.

Seto stared after him, eyes wide and more than a little confused, his lips parted just the slightest bit, as he mouthed the word "Aniki" and his mind—nearly as machine-like as his sibling's—struggled to determine whether he should be insulted or not.

END.

The story told in the first verse of this chapter is adapted from the Egyptian myth, "The Scorpions of Isis," as told by M.V. Seton-Williams in the 1999 version of his book, "Egyptian Legends and Stories."

Kay Mayer returns in this chapter, and a bit more about her backstory is revealed. There will be a payoff later, and I promise that she is relevant to the plot. For now, just play nice and make her feel welcome, okay? That'd be great. Ed Elric, mentioned in that scene, is the titular character in the anime "Fullmetal Alchemist," a personal favorite of mine and published by Square Enix, a Japanese gaming juggernaut. I have mentioned Fullmetal in other works; I am of the opinion that Mokuba would be a fan. Anyone who's seen the anime or read the manga should understand why. Does this scene count as breaking the fourth wall?

Those of you who came to this story from its ill-fated predecessor, "Shifting Images," will recognize Noa's use of the term "Aniki." This may be a new version of the character, new and improved if you will, but certain aspects of his personality and his personal history will be retained from the old version. He's not going to be a completely different person this time around; I'm just taking the time and effort to ensure that the personality I crafted last time makes logical sense.

Until next time, I hope you all enjoyed this installment, and that you'll stick around to see where it leads. It should be fun.