Osiris is, for reasons I can't really pinpoint anymore, the most important god in this story. Even if it doesn't turn out that way, for the readers, it's that way for me. I think, of all the gods I've invoked so far in this story, he's the one I've given the most … character. Does that make sense?

I hope it makes sense.

We're dealing with the dead, we're dealing with cycles, we're dealing with kingship.

The lord of the dead, the god of death and rebirth, the father of Horus, would have to be involved there, I think. Not to mention, there isn't a single YGO story I've ever written that didn't deal with fatherhood in one way or another.

Seto might be a brother by strict definition.

But spiritually, and that's all that matters when you're dealing with magic, he's a dad.

Verse One.

Sitting with Osiris, watching his family move with unconscious ease as they fixed up Turtle Game, Seto finds himself thoroughly undone. He hasn't fully registered the smile rising on his face, but he can feel the relief running through his veins like crisp, cold water.

Seto watches Yugi use spell cards to bind Ryo Bakura's body and force the spirit of the Millennium Ring into something like dormancy. He watches his brother expertly lead Yugi's friend in picking up the debris and setting everything back the way it should be, ensuring that the space is as safe and orderly as it can be, as they wait for the shadow game to finish. He watches Mokuba tend to everyone with his first aid kit.

Kisara Mayer seems to be the only one aware that she is—they are—being watched; Seto swears she's made direct eye contact with him at least twice.

"Patience," Seto repeats. "That's what you told me the dead have."

"I did, indeed, my son," says Osiris. "What do you think of that?"

"I think," Seto says, "it's a smokescreen. I think it's a riddle. It's true, but I don't think that's what you're trying to teach me right now. That's not what I'm supposed to be paying attention to. I think this game is about trust."

Osiris tilts his head to one side, resting his cheekbone against the knuckles of one linen-wrapped hand. "Is that right?" he asks, clearly intrigued and amused in equal measure.

Seto nods. "I think you're showing me this scene so that I understand: not everything requires my direct intervention." He waves a hand in front of himself. "I started this journey to gather the Millennium Items because I was tired of magic having one up on me at every turn. I wanted to be ahead of the curve for once. I wanted to be able to keep my family—my brother—safe. I wish I could say that Noa is under the umbrella of my protection the same way that Mokuba is, but that isn't true. I know it isn't."

"You have offered him a body made of sterner stuff than any . . . organic man can have," Osiris says. "I think, perhaps, you underestimate the sentiment of which you speak. Nonetheless, please continue, my son."

Seto heaves a sigh. He doesn't know how to argue with Osiris about Noa, so he doesn't try. Instead he says: "I've won three of them. There are four left. This is, fundamentally, the point of no return. I'm heading for the back half, so to speak, and I think that means I need a change in perspective. I think that's what this game is about. You're showing me just what my family is capable of doing, what the people around me are capable of doing, so that I can focus properly on the task in front of me. This isn't about taking care of everything myself. It can't be. I need to be able to treat the people in my family with the same trust and respect that I extend to the people who work at my company. I need to step back and admit that they can handle things, they're fully capable, and they don't need me to protect them."

"If you do not need to protect your family, then what will you do?" Osiris asks.

Seto rolls his eyes, then smiles softly. "Love them," he says. "Guide them as best I can."

Verse Two.

Osiris rises smoothly from his throne. "You may rise, my son," he says. "Your court serves you well, and I see that you will serve them well in turn." He pauses, waits for Seto to stand, then he says: "There is more to the lesson, but you have learned the most important part. I will elucidate, as a show of respect: not only must you trust in your court to care for themselves, but you must also permit your court to care for you. You aim to be a leader. Understand that a leader cannot lead alone. Stand by your family, stand by your court. Trust them to lift you, just as they trust you to shield them."

Seto hums low in his throat, then bows his head. "Thank you," he says. "I don't imagine that this is the end of the game. It strikes me that two is never the number that comes with things like this. There must be at least a third meeting, a third god."

Osiris smiles, even as he doesn't, skeletal as he is. "The next challenge," he says, "will come from one you know well. I trust you know that this closeness will not earn you any clemency. The time has come for you to face a true test, and there is none but the Tormentor better suited to guide you to it."

Seto finds himself smiling.

Of course. Obelisk.

Who else?

"I don't think I'm surprised to hear that," he says.

Osiris waves a hand toward the exit. "See to him with my blessing. Trust in what you have learned from this lesson, my son."

It strikes Seto, for whatever reason, that it doesn't bother him very much to hear Osiris call him that, to position himself as a father. He's quite sure that, in any other situation, if he were properly awake and dealing with another man, ancient and powerful or otherwise, he would be chewing glass. In this place, though, in this darkness where reality is only a tenuous suggestion, Seto finds himself only vaguely familiar to his own thoughts and feelings. His emotions are tempered, muted somehow, and he isn't sure what he ought to think about that.

He supposes it should anger him.

At best, Seto can only summon slight annoyance.

". . . I'm not Seto Kaiba, am I?" he asks, suddenly.

Osiris tilts his head. "In his entirety?" Seto nods. "No, my son. There is much of the man you are who has stayed dormant in the living world. You are Seto Kaiba in the same way that I am Asar. You do not understand the full context of what that means, but come the proper time, you will."

Seto nods. "Thank you," he says again.

Osiris nods as Seto turns away, back in the direction of the austere hallway he first entered at least an eternity ago. Or has it only been moments? He doesn't know. Nor does he know where he is going, where he will be led. When he leaves this chamber, when he exits this shelter and exchanges it for the black nothing, where will he be? Where will he go? He doesn't know. All he knows is that he's seeking out an old friend.

And he's quite sure that that old friend will be the most brutal opponent he's ever faced.

It's only fitting, in the end.

Seto doesn't hear Obelisk's voice, and he doesn't see Obelisk looming anywhere near him, but Seto knows that part doesn't matter. He knows that isn't how Obelisk operates, and that it will only be when Seto suspects his presence the least that the Tormentor will show himself.

Seto removes himself from the safety of old Osiris, throws himself into the boundless dark, knowing that he will be prouder of his brothers than he has ever been, once he's finally home again. Right now, all Seto has to his name is a cold, aching satisfaction. Something that would have insulted him anywhere else.

But he isn't anywhere else.

He's here, and that's all.

So far, anyway.

Verse Three.

Ryo Bakura opened his eyes and shook away a malaise of pain and confusion. He found himself sitting on the main storefront floor of Turtle Game; his friends were milling about the place, cleaning up. Téa had a broom and a dustpan; Joey and Tristan were hefting heavy things to and from the shop and the parking lot. Yugi was taking inventory and reorganizing the store's merchandise, and Ryo quickly figured out why:

Several shelving units had been shattered to pieces.

Mokuba and Noa Kaiba were both seated nearby, and they both noticed Ryo not long after he woke up. "Hey," said Mokuba, patting Ryo's knee. "Good to see you again. How're you feeling?"

"Sore," Ryo rasped.

Noa nodded in Ryo's general direction. "Forgive my saying so," he said, "but given what's gone down in the past . . . oh, six hours or so? I'd say you got off pretty lucky." He grinned, but all mirth left his face quickly. "Bakari don't play nice, does he?"

Ryo grimaced, then coughed. He groaned as pain shot through his middle. "No," he whispered. "No, he doesn't." Ryo cleared his throat. "Dare I ask: why can't I feel my limbs?"

"Yugi used some cards to bind you," Mokuba said, "so the other guy can't cause more trouble." The young Kaiba gestured, and Ryo saw several Magic & Wizards cards on the floor in front of him, fanned out in a circle. "I guess the Pharaoh taught him how to do that. I didn't know it was an option, but I guess since Niisama's playing games with gods now, or whatever, there's more magic in the air."

"Something like that," Noa said.

Ryo nodded; or, rather, he tried to nod. "That makes some amount of sense, actually," he said.

The three of them turned when they heard the little bell ring, signifying that someone was stepping into the shop from the main entrance. They watched Kisara Mayer guiding a positively ancient man inside; he was using what looked like a shepherd's crook like a walking stick. He held his crook in one hand, while the other was wrapped about Kisara's strong arm.

"Oh," said Yugi, bowing his head. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. We're closed at the moment. Doing some renovations. Please don't mind the mess. Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need to use the phone? The restroom?"

The old man looked around the shop, and Ryo saw a flash of his true face: a skull wrapped in old linens.

Instead of fear, Ryo felt something like grief.

"I know you," Ryo whispered, more to himself than to the old man, or anyone else. Even though his voice was barely there, so quiet that he could barely hear it, Ryo know that the old man heard him. He, somehow, heard everything. "You . . . you're . . ."

"Forgive my tardiness," said the old man. He straightened, sloughing off fatigue and decrepitude like an old cloak. His voice was powerful. Life, vitality, strength, seemed to burn in him. He offered a nod to Kisara. "I thank you for your kindness," he said. "However, there is work to be done."

". . . Sir?" Kisara looked confused, even fearful.

"In earning my blessing," said the old man, striding toward Seto's unconscious form in one corner of the room, where Ryo could only see through his periphery, "my son has permitted me to intervene here."

Verse Four.

Mokuba stood up. "My son?" he repeated, suspiciously. "Who are you talking about? Who are you?"

The old man gestured with his crook to Seto. "All who would be kings are my children," he said gently. "I mean no disrespect. Understand that I am here now, in this form, on this earth, in a show of respect." He turned his attention to Ryo. "You have been caught in a storm of misfortune, have you not? All in the name of righting a most grievous wrong. You have been handed . . . much disservice."

Ryo grimaced. "I . . . suppose," he said.

"Who is this guy?" Mokuba asked. He turned to look at Ryo. "Do you know him?"

"Osiris," Ryo said, with conviction, "the Lord of the Dead. The Father of Kings." It wasn't a question. He held the old man's gaze; Ryo's deep brown eyes did not waver. "Seto Kaiba has won your game, and now you are permitted to walk the earth on his behalf."

The old man beamed. "Oh, but you are clever."

"Permitted to intervene?" Mokuba asked. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you mean that, or is that just your way of saying my brother's finally done enough for you, so now you can finally be assed to give a damn about him? He's jumped through enough hoops to amuse you properly, so now you're doing him a little favor."

Osiris's bright expression didn't falter; if anything, he seemed charmed by the young Kaiba's ire.

"I can see why Heru has chosen you," he said. "Yes, yes. A good choice." Osiris cleared his throat. "Your anger is not misplaced. I understand your aversion to gods and our dealings. Please understand that there are rules to the ways by which we can intervene in your world. For your world it is. I am here because I have been afforded the chance. There is much I would have liked to do, if only the opportunities had been presented to me. I am here, in this moment, now, because a great number of things have converged."

Mokuba didn't look swayed. "So," he said, flatly, "what is it you're here to do?"

Osiris stepped forward, toward Ryo. "The time will come," he said, "for your anger's flame to stoke a forge again." Everyone knew who he was talking to, all at once, without having to ask; it wasn't Ryo Bakura, but the spirit of the Ring. "That time will be soon. Until that time comes, you will show restraint. You will prepare. You will make ready your arena and reflect upon your conditions."

Osiris wasn't making requests; nor was he making suggestions.

These were commands.

"This boy," said Osiris, gesturing gently to Ryo, "has suffered enough on your account. He has done much and more for you and has been offered precious little in return. Your righteous anger loses potency when it is directed at the innocent. If you would have your words heard, you must speak with clarity and conviction. Think on this as you prepare."

Osiris drew something in the air, then made a swift gesture with his crook.

Something shattered behind Ryo's eyes.

Verse Five.

Osiris was a bald man, and his chinstrap beard brought to mind a death mask, as one might expect. His skin was a deep, lustrous black, and his eyes were the brightest shade of emerald green that any of them had ever seen. Though he looked quite ancient, at least a century old if not older, Osiris carried himself with a strength and vibrancy that couldn't be unmade.

He sat on his heels in front of Ryo Bakura, gazing upon him like he was a favorite grandson. "You have been through so much, haven't you, my son?" he asked, softly. Ryo didn't answer, at least not with words; his eyes were wet. "I think it is time, for a moment at least, for you to rest."

He reached into the heavy coat he wore and retrieved something.

Mokuba and Noa immediately recognized it: it was the bible that Bakari had defaced.

Osiris handed the old book to Ryo, who found himself able to reach for it and grasp for it; his limbs, his soul, was free again. The red blotches and other stains were gone; the book still bore the marks of age and long use, but it was no longer rendered unusable. Ryo stared openly, mouth open, struck dumb by what he was being offered.

He took the book from Osiris.

"It does not do," said the god, "for a man to go through life without comfort."

Tears fell from Ryo's eyes, down his face, as he looked upon his old companion. He ran one hand over the cover and fought to not sob openly. "T-Thank you."

Osiris smiled. "You are most welcome, my son."

Noa, standing off to one side, quirked an eyebrow. "I might have expected you to . . . I dunno. Take offense at a book like that." He gestured. "Your people aren't treated especially well, after all."

Osiris shook his head. "No, no," he said. "It matters not what names are given to those who guide the faithful to their journeys' end." He laughed quietly to himself. "I would better spend my time complaining about the color of rope one uses to climb a mountain."

Mokuba snickered with sudden laughter. "I think I like you," he said.

Osiris's smile broadened. "I thank you," he said.

"So, if you're here," Noa said, "and it's 'cuz Aniki has your blessing, that must mean he's doing all right." He glanced over at his brother's unconscious body. "He's winning the game."

Osiris rose to his full height and turned to regard Noa. "I would not presume to guess at future developments in a gauntlet like this," he said. "All the same, I have faith in your brother's ability to prevail. Know this, though: he now faces the most ruthless and exacting of us all. The challenges he has faced, and conquered, up to now have all been in preparation for this moment. To prematurely declare his victory is to insult the difficulty of the task before him now."

Noa frowned. "Who is he facing now?" he asked.

"It's Obelisk," Mokuba murmured, "right? That's the god he has to convince now. Obelisk the Tormentor."

Osiris nodded. "The very backbone of our pantheon," he said. "God of all soldiers, soldier of all Gods, he demands as much as he offers."

END.