I know, in canon, that Kisara dies during Memory World. I have chosen to ignore this. I don't have a reason for that, a justification. I simply decided I didn't like it. Especially as I get older, I've found myself more and more willing to pick and choose which elements of a given canon I want to use. This is especially true for YGO, a series which I've been dabbling in for half my lifetime, and which has … what, four, five, different canons to work with?

So, yes. Kisara survived her initial meeting with the kings and princes of Egypt.

Also, again, I don't have anything to back up my estimation for how the Millennium Items function. It's just the best I could come up with. That said, I'm actually proud of how I've worked out the different abilities of each given Item and how they're meant to be used as weapons.

I don't think we can afford to ignore that part.

The Millennium Items are weaponry.

Full stop.

Verse One.

"Which one do you think is gonna happen?" Mokuba asked, and it had the timbre of a challenge, like he was daring Isis to intimate Seto wouldn't triumph.

Isis sighed. "I cannot say," she said. "The difficult thing about your brother is that he delights in defying expectations. I have ever struggled to predict him with any kind of regularity. I have never had much in the way of luck when it comes to following his path. This remains true regardless of which world, and which Seto Kaiba, I am attempting to study."

Mokuba's smile came back; his eyes were sparkling with pride. "What happens if he wins?"

Isis's eyes were still shut. "I'm afraid that isn't something I can tell you, Mokuba. There are specific rules in place for this pilgrimage, and I am under quite strict limitations when it comes to our own world's future. Even if I could predict what happens next, I would be unable to share that knowledge."

Mokuba pouted. "I mean, can't you just . . . I dunno, tell me about what happens in a world that's almost like ours?" His face brightened suddenly. "Is there one where Noa's a dog? Or a really sassy lizard?"

"There is, yes, both," Isis said, "but the gods are quite judicious in their interpretations of their servants' actions, specifically with regard to intent. I am afraid that, even if I attempted to make use of a loophole like that, I would be . . . interrupted. This is not something I do out of malice. I know that you worry for your brother's welfare, and I am not trying to stop you. I am merely explaining how this works. If I try to tell you what happens if your brother prevails, the gods will stop me."

"The gods are lame," Mokuba muttered, but he didn't press further.

"I am sorry."

Mokuba blew a lock of hair away from his face. "Do you know what kind of game he's playing right now?" he asked. "It doesn't really look like anything is going on."

"Has Yugi Mutou explained to you the concept of a soul room?" Isis wondered.

Mokuba frowned thoughtfully. "I . . . think so?" he said. "Some kinda space in your head, or your heart, that represents you. I guess. I dunno, he gets vague when he talks about that magic. I think he gets frustrated when we don't know what he's talking about."

"Your brother's wager to win the Millennium Torque is unfolding in your brother's soul room."

"Niisama's soul room?" Mokuba's eyes widened, suddenly keen with interest. "Niisama has a soul room, too?"

"He does."

"Do I have a soul room? Does everybody?"

"I believe so, yes," Isis said. "My Torque does not permit me to glimpse into soul rooms, unfortunately. That is the shared purview of the Eye, Rod, and Ankh."

"The Eye. So . . . Pegasus Crawford could look into somebody's soul room?"

"He could," Isis said. "More to the point, he could close it off from its inhabitant. If we follow the metaphor further, allowing for a soul room to have a door, then we must imagine that such a door would have a knob or handle, and a lock. It is less to say that the Millennium Eye is capable of locking the door to a soul room. It is, rather, capable of removing the lock, and the handle. Even the hinges. Which is to say, the Millennium Eye is able to render the door to the soul room . . . not a door anymore."

"That sounds . . . bad."

Isis nodded grimly. "If I recall stories I have heard from your fellows, you have intimate experience with such an act." She gestured, still with her eyes closed. "I believe Pegasus Crawford liked to call this ability mind card."

Mokuba's face went pale.

". . . Yeah," he said. "That's right."

Verse Two.

Seto had no understanding of time passing in his soul room. There were no clocks; he never lost energy, never lost focus, never thought to wonder how long he was taking on any given decision. He ate, and drank, merely because the tools—finger foods and soft drinks—were available to him. Seti was nothing if not patient, ready and willing to wait hours, even days, for Seto to answer his questions. The ancient king never pressed Seto to hurry, never gave any indication that he was annoyed. If anything, Seti was pleased to find his descendent was deliberate, careful, and asked any number of clarifying questions.

The game went like this: Seti would describe a situation as it had unfolded for him, as the king of a large, influential, struggling nation. The political upheaval of Atem's death, so soon after his father's—to say nothing of the Millennium Items existing as the magical equivalent of nuclear weaponry—had presented Seti with so many unprecedented conflicts that his own advisors had been flummoxed at nearly every turn.

The Torque would then show Seto the events as they unfolded.

Seti would then ask his successor what he would do, given the information offered.

It was the age-old tabletop standby prompt: What do you do?

The Torque would then show Seto the consequences of his choice.

"You are warned," Seti said, "that this decision will result in momentous consequences. It would be best, your advisors are quite sure, for you to marry a proper woman. This would reestablish order and stability in this time of troubles. You must think of your duties as king."

Seto grunted. "A proper woman," he repeated. "What you mean is, not a foreigner."

Seti shrugged and held out his hands. "You are not given an answer, save for an expression of consternation and nerves."

Seto's eyes narrowed. "I want to know more."

Seti gestured to Seto's dice. Seto rolled.

"You have every confidence," Seti said, "that your guess is correct. The fact that none of your advisors have the courage to say it out loud does not stop them from showing their feelings on their faces. This is all to do with your choosing a foreign woman."

Seto shook his head. "Times of political upheaval don't need order and stability. That's a smokescreen. What I need is the right person at my side. Someone I can trust to work with me to shape my vision for the future. She's the one. I know she's the one. This isn't an argument, and it isn't a discussion."

Seti smiled dotingly, like a proud grandfather, as the scene unfolded between them on the table. "You certainly understand how I thought in my youth." He nodded. "Yes, yes. There are few memories which stand out to me from that time, but I do recall my days of defending Kisara's presence in my court. I knew she was instrumental to my nation's survival, and I knew the only hope we would ever have as a people would hang 'round her neck."

Seto was already starting to understand, on some level, what he was expected to learn here. He didn't say anything; he wasn't about to second-guess his decision just because a man he disliked happened to agree with it. No. Kisara—and how that name rang in his memory every time he heard it—wasn't just the champion of the dragon Seto had been following all his life.

She was that dragon.

"You are king," Seti said, "and your word is divine writ. There is no one in your court with the authority to countermand your decisions. You know, however, that there are only so many controversial choices you can afford to make."

"This is one of them," Seto said with conviction.

Verse Three.

"What, um . . . what does the Rod do?"

Isis grimaced, but she schooled her expression expertly. "That is, in some ways, more straightforward to explain than the Eye, but in other ways it is . . . profoundly more complicated." She sighed. "This is the best way that I have ever managed to work it out: the Millennium Rod allows its bearer to . . . take up residence in another's soul room; to redecorate it, take control of it, force the soul in question out."

Mokuba's brow furrowed. "So, the victim is . . . a puppet."

"Essentially," Isis agreed. "My brother was quite gifted at this. I can only imagine what the cause of his . . . talent is. I wouldn't presume to make any declarations. Suffice it to say that Malik was . . . something of a savant."

"What do you mean?"

"Most records of the Rod's use, limited though they are," Isis said, "make reference to its limited capability. One must be careful. The more people a bearer attempts to control, the weaker that control becomes. Think of it like multitasking. The more things upon which you try to split your attention, the less you are able to focus on any one of them."

"So," Mokuba said, "somebody trying to use the Rod needs to be realistic about what they can do. One person at a time. That way, they can make sure they've got proper control over their . . . thrall."

"Precisely," said Isis. "The highest number of people the Rod is capable of controlling at any given time—that I've ever seen recorded, anyway—was . . . four. Once a fifth was brought into the equation, the spell broke, backfired, and the bearer collapsed dead of a stroke."

"How many . . . did your brother have?" Mokuba asked, suddenly worried.

"I have never asked for a specific number," Isis said, "but Rishid has mentioned that Malik would have control of at least forty of his Ghouls at any given moment."

Mokuba's face went slack. ". . . Wow."

"I have wondered how many thralls, as you put it, Seto Kaiba would be able to control. I have doubts that he would be able to match my Malik." Isis said this with a kind of reluctant pride; Mokuba thought he understood the sentiment. Mind control was evil, it was twisted, it was disgusting; but her baby brother had still been really good at it. "That said, your brother is very particular about autonomy, isn't he? I have only ever witnessed one world where he was willing to use the Rod to control another."

"I'm guessing," Mokuba mused, "that didn't turn out very good for him."

Isis shook her head, quite emphatically. "It did not."

"I don't wanna ask for any details about that world, do I?"

"You do not."

Mokuba grunted. "Niisama wouldn't use the Millennium Rod," he said, with conviction. "I think, maybe, he might use some of the others if he thought he had to. I can't think of a reason he'd ever force someone out of their own body like that. Like . . . like he did."

The young Kaiba wasn't talking about Malik Ishtar.

At least, not entirely.

Verse Four.

"It would not be accurate to say that the people are rioting in the streets," Seti said, gesturing to the map with a wide sweep of his hand, "but there is unrest." He pointed out specific pockets of activity. "You have received reports of many more . . . complaints. Minor things, in the grand scheme. Things that might be considered too insignificant to notice in normal times. If, in other words, your court was not already paranoid and disgruntled. Because they are, they bring these problems to your attention. Neither your court nor the populace seem interested in the grand scheme. They are insulating themselves, focusing on their own troubles, and they are thereby less than hospitable to their neighbors."

Seto drew in a deep breath. "I'll open a forum for them," he said, after a time. "Let them bring their troubles directly to me. A king is not a ruler from on high, not in any sense that matters. A king is a servant. The crown I wear," he gestured to the little figure that represented himself, "is not a trophy. It is an oath."

Seti settled back in his seat.

He regarded Seto carefully, silently, for a long time.

Then he said: "I think that this game, such as it is, exists as a manner by which we both are learning." He chuckled to himself. "I find myself . . . regularly thrown by your decisions, child, not because they are foreign to me but because they are so intimately familiar."

Seto quirked an eyebrow. "Did you do the same, in my place, then?"

"Not in so many words," Seti said, "but I was committed to my people and uninterested in the displays of power and proper leadership that my court seemed to expect of me. I had no patience for flashy displays of prosperity or strength. It mattered little to me, the state of our coffers or the lengths of our borders. Could the people feed themselves? Did they have proper shelter? Did they have wine and bread? Did they sing? Did they dance? That mattered to me. In my estimation, that was the mark of a proper king."

Seto hummed low in his throat. "I have a question I would like to ask you," he said carefully.

Seti gestured. "Please, child. Ask."

"The anger you displayed at my refusal to . . . play ball, so to speak. My disdain at the notion of following your guidance and chasing the gods . . . do you think it was stoked by the feeling that I was disregarding, disrespecting, the people you so devotedly lived your life to serve? The people you died for?"

Seti considered Seto's question.

"I think," he said, eventually, "that it was. Yes." He drew in a breath, let it out. "I would suppose that your anger, then, was set alight by my absolute unwillingness to trust your judgment, you who have navigated this modern world. Just as I was disdainful of the advisors who expected me to adhere to their instructions simply because of their proclaimed authority. Even when they were so disdainful of even trying to understand my goals as their figurehead, could not fathom for their lives that I might have aims that were not their own . . . I must be as ignorant and defiant as an upstart child. It could not be that I simply had a differing perspective. It certainly couldn't be that they were wrong."

Seto smiled softly.

"I think, ancestor," he said, "there is more alike between the two of us than not."

END.