I always knew Osiris was going to have a role in this story, but I don't think I had it in my head that it would be like this. I think, though, that's always how things go. I never have any idea what I'm doing when I kick off a story, and I usually don't figure things out until I'm staring at it. It's one of those "laying the track down while riding it" situations.
If that's how the metaphor goes.
I honestly don't know. The point is, I like how I've portrayed the gods in this story so far, and I think it's important that Osiris be the kindest, and most patient, of all of them. I don't know why that's so important to me, but it is.
I think I just like the notion of a god who shepherds the dead with a gentle hand. Yeah, yeah, evil death gods are rad and all that, I don't disagree, but I find it a lot more comforting when they're nice. I don't think the Grim Reaper is a villain, actually, and I think it's important that this extends to everything I do. It's one of my themes, I guess.
Safety and comfort, warmth and kindness, that's the whole vibe for me.
If not when I was little, then certainly now.
Verse One.
Osiris sat in a chair offered to him by Yugi, answering questions as they were asked, keeping a close eye on everyone present; it was a sudden shift, when his unnervingly green eyes shot toward Kisara, but everyone saw it.
The god smiled. "Aha," said he. "Of course. The moment arrives."
"Huh?" Kisara looked confused, and more than a little affronted, to have Osiris's eyes on her. "What do you mean?" she asked. "What moment?"
"Surely you feel it, my daughter," Osiris said, "the power that sleeps in you."
Kisara looked down at herself, then placed a hand over her heart. "I . . ." She stopped. Then she looked back at Osiris with a kind of hungry expression; would she finally have answers? "You . . . know about it," she said, then looked annoyed at herself. "Of course. You're a god. You would know these things. This is about . . . it's the dragon. Right? That's what you're talking about."
Osiris beamed at Kisara. He nodded. "Just so," he said.
"It's real. The dragon. It's not just a bunch of metaphors and poetry."
"It is poetry," Osiris said, "but that does not mean it isn't real."
Kisara grimaced. "I guess I'm supposed to just accept that and move on," she said, "but I'm going to have to ask what you mean. That makes less than zero sense to me."
Osiris laughed. "Think of science as a work of prose," he said. "Magic is a work of poetry. Both use the same building blocks to express what they are—letters, words, sentences—but with different fashions. It takes a different skill set to analyze one as distinct from the other. That you are a dragon is a meshing of both. You are a dragon, in the sense that dragons exist at all. Which, perhaps in the realm of science, they do not. But in the realm of magic? They most certainly do."
"Mm." Kisara didn't look convinced, but she looked less annoyed.
"In other words," Osiris went on, "there is both a tangible and intangible means by which you could be called a dragon. The power of your soul exists in the living world and in the world outside of it. The underworld, I suppose you might call it. You are of both worlds, my daughter. You exist in both worlds. In other words, of everyone here, you are one of the few who can actually reach young Seto, even where he is, and assist him, if you choose."
"Is that . . . what's happening right now?" Kisara asked.
"Correct."
"The dragon is . . . sentient."
"She is," said Osiris. "She has yet to fully work with you, in the sense that she is present and available to you. This will come in time. For the moment, you act as her anchor. By giving her a foothold by which to act, you offer her stability. In exchange, she gives you strength and stamina." The god gestured grandly. "Perhaps you have noticed that you . . . shall we say, very rarely fall ill? Or perhaps injuries heal quickly and without trouble? Perhaps you are often stronger than you expect to be."
Kisara seemed to chew on this information as it was given to her.
She said: "That's . . . all because of the dragon?"
Osiris nodded. "You are descended from her. More than that, however, you are chosen by her."
Verse Two.
The dragon is bracing. The ability to endure becomes easier; he becomes stronger. With the dragon's talons digging into his shoulders, he is able to contextualize himself. He is able to remember that he exists, that he is, and that alone is worth more than he can ever articulate. In most cases, Seto would retain the belief that Gozaburo Kaiba instilled—beat—into him as a boy: relying on someone, anyone, else is a sign of weakness.
But the dragon is different. When it comes to the dragon, he is able to cast aside that lesson and ignore it entirely. The dragon's help is not to be denied; the dragon's help is not to be ignored. The idea of proclaiming himself stronger than the dragon, too strong to accept the dragon's assistance, is absurd. It's nonsense. Indeed, one of the main reasons that Seto has never paid much attention to religion, to theology, as it's been sold to him throughout his life, is because he already has an object of worship.
While he flies over the cascading waters of the Sea of Chaos, held by her talons, Seto is praying.
To fly, to soar over the darkness in this moment, is his religion.
Seto wonders what he'll make of these sentiments once he's returned to his body, once he is fully himself again, but for the moment it helps to center himself. That, he thinks, is enough. He doesn't need anything else out of this moment; if that's what it takes to get him through it, he'll permit himself a bit of . . . spiritual sentimentality.
Even though he knows he is flying, even though he can still feel the beating of the dragon's wings, the unknowable stranger still walks up to them. Reality has no foothold here, and so it does no good to question anything. Seto knows this. Despite that, however, he still finds himself trying to question it, trying to work it out in the realm of proper reality; at least, in the back of his mind.
"What is your business here?" asks the unknowable stranger, sharply, and Seto knows this is directed at the dragon. Even if he hadn't been able to guess, even though the unknowable stranger doesn't have a face, Seto still knows where its attention is riveted.
And it's not at Seto.
"My business is my own, deep one," says the dragon, the queen, and this time Seto actually hears her voice carried in the air. Somehow, it's even more impressive, more musical, than when he hears it bouncing about the inside of his skull.
"Not now, it isn't," says the unknowable stranger. "Not here, it isn't."
Seto feels the dragon remove her claws from him; she settles down beside him. It's difficult to focus on her; she's simply a column of light. He considers speaking, considers placing himself inside this discussion, but there's just enough of himself left that he doesn't feel very motivated.
This is god business, and Seto has never put effort toward that.
He has nothing to do with this.
Just because the Blue-Eyes White Dragon is the closest thing to a patron god Seto has doesn't mean that he's interested in fighting her battles for her. Not like this. Not here.
Besides.
Seto knows he doesn't need to.
"Do not test me, deep one," the dragon growls. "This may be your domain, but you meddle in my affairs. Do not pretend that I have no jurisdiction here."
Verse Three.
"This is a matter beyond you."
The dragon twists her neck. "Is that so . . . ?"
The unknowable stranger is exasperated. "Do not make this more difficult than it already is."
"Oh." The dragon tenses. "I do apologize. Have I inconvenienced you? Does it bother you that I've intervened, and interrupted your mindless cruelty?" She flips a talon. "Please. Spare us both your justifications. You speak of matters beyond me? I will speak of matters beneath you. Do not hide behind your epithet and pretend any of this was necessary to impress upon my champion the lessons he has already learned. He has sacrificed much for this knowledge, for this strength. Pain is no teacher; it is simply pain. What strengthens a spirit is the act of healing. One needn't break a bowl for the sole purpose of fixing it. Keep the bowl intact and be done with the whole business."
Seto knows that his predecessor—his father—would have laughed off the dragon's words.
He knows because he's tempted to do it himself.
He doesn't.
The unknowable stranger laughs enough for the both of them. "I don't have the patience or the energy to listen to you critiquing the thesis of my work, blue-eyed maiden. I am not a serf, nor am I a soldier, in this fortress. This is no battlefield. It is my sanctum, and I will not be belittled here."
"Oh." The dragon chuckles, that rasping-blade sound, again. "You intend to stop me."
"Must everything be a contest with you?"
"Wheresoever my champion is involved, yes." The dragon grins; even though Seto can't see it, he knows it's true. "In fact, let us play a little game, why don't we? I will ask you a question, and you will answer it. In what way could you possibly teach my champion anything worthwhile, anything new or necessary, by placing him into the passenger seat of the vehicle that killed his father? What, precisely, does dying in a car crash teach anyone?"
Seto flinches.
Father.
His father.
The dragon wouldn't call Gozaburo Kaiba his father, even if he would. She knows better.
She's talking about . . . about . . .
The unknowable stranger seems to grow several feet taller. "You have no place questioning my methods, maiden. You forget yourself."
The dragon chuffs. "I have earned more scars than you have ever given. Do not think yourself unbreakable simply because you have hidden yourself in this low place, where naught but scum and worms can touch you. I have carved my legacy into mountains. You cannot hide from my light."
"I, who even the sun cannot reach, have ought to fear from you?"
Seto listens to them bicker, and somehow he knows—in the same way that he knows when his brother is too tired to be reasoned with, and simply needs to be guided to bed—that this is over. He doesn't need to listen to their jibes and jabs at each other; this is their way. Darkness and light are compliments, ever touching each other, ever dancing together, but that doesn't mean they have to like each other.
If Obelisk intended to revoke his blessing over this, he would have done it already.
That he has the time and space to trade jabs with the queen of dragons means he's already seen what he needs to see.
Verse Four.
There is something . . . solid . . . about the darkness, as Seto leaves the domain of Obelisk and heads for whatever is next. He keeps thinking back on the final test, the one that the queen of dragons stopped him from having to take. He imagines sitting in the car, with his father, on the night of his death. Seto can't be sure what he thinks about that, what it means about Obelisk or himself, but he finds himself focused on it. More than focused, actually; he is fully fixated on it. He can't remove the image of his father from his mind; the way he looked.
How tired, how drained, he was on that last morning before he died.
Kohaku Yagami had always been such a soldier. He'd never served in the military, but it's still the only word Seto can think of, when he imagines his father. Kohaku was a soldier in the way that mattered, in the way that meant something. It's not the same as when someone talks about serving one's country, and Seto isn't thinking of borrowed valor. All the same, it feels important to call Kohaku a soldier. Seto doesn't think he has the words to explain this feeling, not right now when he isn't fully himself; nor does he think he'll have the words when he comes back to himself.
Seto has never been good at analyzing his own history.
He has perfect recall, and it's often been a blessing. Sometimes, though, Seto finds himself circling around some memory, something he's experienced before, and he can't escape from it. He can't let go. It's not unlike the test Obelisk pushed him through. Though, by comparison, Seto supposes that there's a certain . . . ease to it. After all, the pain isn't real; not in the way that Obelisk is able to make it real.
It's muted, these memories, and Seto thinks he'll be able to handle them better now that he's seen just what they could be. If he'd been fully within himself, alongside himself, he would have understood that this was the true purpose of Obelisk's challenge. It was the Tormentor's way of forcing strength into him. After all, now that he's endured this torture all over again, what can memories do? How much power can they possibly have now that he's proven himself capable of taking them on twice?
Seto wonders how effective that is, as a strategy; he would probably consider it short-sighted and too simple, but that's always been how Obelisk operates, isn't it? Obelisk has always been straightforward, especially compared to his fellow gods. The dragons who flew where he marched only ever made it painfully obvious how stark Obelisk's tactics were.
Obelisk had no time nor tolerance for maneuvering, for trickery, for subterfuge.
With Obelisk, all that mattered was survival.
With Obelisk, all you ever did was bare your teeth and fight.
That was all that ever made a difference to him.
Seto supposes he can't blame the queen of dragons for finding such a creature irritating. After all, she has plenty of power of her own, but she has never been simple or straightforward.
She has always been . . . elusive.
Verse Five.
The black-skinned girl is sitting by a simple wooden door, dressed in a cream-colored robe. She has a scarf wrapped around her neck and a sash around her waist, both blue, and she wears simple sandals on her bare feet. She is, quite possibly, the most ordinary person Seto Kaiba has ever seen in his life.
It's this, more than anything, that tells Seto he is now in the presence of, quite possibly, the most powerful being to ever exist. At the very least, he is determined not to underestimate her.
Seto sits down in front of the girl, crossing his legs beneath them. He's left a few feet between them.
A show of respect, he hopes, and not fear.
"This is the last test," Seto says; it isn't a question.
The girl smiles at him. "If you wish to call it a test," she says, softly, musically, "then you may call it a test. I would only consider it a warning." She reaches out and picks up a stick, which only appears as she reaches for it, and she starts to draw in the darkness between them. The girl's stick leaves little lines of light that mostly remind Seto of the way certain artists will draw constellations.
He isn't sure what she's drawing; he isn't sure it matters what she's drawing.
"You have a warning for me," Seto says, carefully.
The girl nods. "You have spent a great length of time chasing after the boy king who reignited your life," she says, and Seto doesn't have to ask what she means; nobody who knew him would have had to ask. "I am here to warn you that you will soon face a challenge that he failed."
"Soon," Seto repeats. "So, not here, from you. Something else."
The girl nods. "I think he would have passed these tests, as you have, but I know full well what he failed. It is important that you do not fall into this trap, because it will doom any chance you have of fixing what he broke. That is, after all, a major reason why you were chosen for this task. You are one of the few living people capable of fixing what he broke."
Seto hums. "Is that right?" he asks, slowly. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."
The girl shrugs. "Perhaps it is neither; perhaps it is both."
"There are no simple answers when it comes to him."
"That is a truth that shines whenever love is involved," the girl says. She smiles again. "Guard yourself against the tendency to mimic him. Do not ask yourself what he would do, or guess at what he did, as you face your next challenges. That, more than anything else, will sound a death knell for your chances at success. You must remove yourself, entirely, from him. Become wholly yourself. Do you understand what I tell you?"
Seto nods. "I do," he says.
The girl watches his face for a time. "Yes," she says, "I think you do."
She gestures, and the door behind her opens.
"Go forth, child, with the blessings of Ra, Osiris, Ra . . . and Horakhty."
END.