Chapter 10: Reunion

Roland had never hated Gozaburo Kaiba more than when he saw the man's fingerprints all over this latest trap for Seto. Zigfried von Schroeder was a blinded fool, playing with dangers he didn't understand, and the moment he admitted Gozaburo's involvement—along with the man's miraculous escape from the grave—Roland felt the cold fear in his heart sink its chill all the way down to his bones.

"Gozaburo is a man without morals," he told Zigfried. "He'll go to any lengths to get what he wants. Even murder."

Roland worked for the man long enough to know there were skeletons in his closet. Perhaps none with his direct fingerprints—he was too calculating for that. But his strategies did not adhere to the rules of common decency.

Zigfried shook his head, releasing a wave of strong rose perfume from his hair. His fingers danced across switches and keys, altering the lines of code across the screen, closing program functions and opening new ones. With each new attempt he made, the control console emitted quiet dings of denial, rejecting his interference.

"Nein," Zigfried insisted. "Your precious Seto is safe, if trapped. Our agreement was very clear, Herr Leibwächter. No physical harm for ze Kaiba brozers, or I would have no part. Zis program reveals truse from memory, and Gozaburo would force Seto Kaiba to reveal ze truse of how he stole my DreamSight technology and murdered his own adoptive fasser. He would restore what I have lost. Zat is ze agreement, nossing more."

"Gozaburo doesn't give a damn what you've lost!"

Joey shot a quick glance their way, and Roland clenched his jaw. The tournament champion had done a good job so far of keeping the spy girl occupied, but even Joey's signature cheer had dimmed. The longer this dragged on, the worse they were all looking.

Roland lowered his voice, leaning in. "Mr. von Schroeder, you have to shut the program down now."

"My only option for zat"—Zigfried shot back—"is to cut ze power to ze entire system. Tell me, Herr Bodyguard, if ze delicate wires of your memory are plugged to ze wall, do you know what happens if I yank ze plug?"

Roland growled deep in his throat.

"Hence ze backup generator and every failsafe. Scoundrel or not, I will not fry ze long-term memory of Seto Kaiba. Ozerwise, I will never have ze satisfaction of hearing him admit his crimes."

"You may have some concern for your enemy," Roland said quietly, "but Gozaburo doesn't. You have no idea the monster you've unleashed."

Zigfried looked away.

Roland's eyebrows drew down, his voice darkening. "Tell me you never doubted. If you spoke to him, tell me you never had the sense that he was dangerous."

He let the silence eat at Zigfried's conscience, then said, "You wanted revenge, so you ignored the signs. You may have drawn boundaries to ease your conscience, but you were always gambling with Seto's life."

Zigfried made a quiet, pitiful sound, like a wince given voice. In a near-whisper, he asked, "You truly sink he will kill?"

"I know he will."

Hand hovering over the keys, then lowering, Zigfried sighed. He clenched his fist, glancing at his sister, who was speaking quietly to Joey. He said, "Zere is . . . one option. Veilleicht, perhaps. A chance only."

"Do it," said Roland.

"It is not for me to do. Zere is someone wissin ze system wiss as much control as Gozaburo. It is only a question of if ze son will stand against ze fasser."

Mokuba felt a sense of calm and warmth, like he was snuggled up on a comfy couch, watching a favorite movie. Only he wasn't on a couch. He wasn't sure where he was. But he wasn't alone.

"Mom," he whispered, and there she was. Saori Akiyama. She was doing the dishes, facing away from him, but he knew the slope of her shoulders, the black hair—lighter than his own, more dusty—she kept pulled back in a ponytail, hanging straight down her back to nearly touch her apron tie. He recognized her in the way she looked and the way she stood and the way she felt. Like home.

She glanced over her shoulder, dark eyes sparkling with warmth, but when she spoke, it wasn't to him.

"Careful, Seto," she said. "Go slowly."

Mokuba frowned. He turned to see the rest of the kitchen taking shape around him, and at the far edge of it, he saw a gangly boy with brown hair, dragging one corner of a flannel blanket. The rest of the blanket trailed on the floor, occupied by a round-cheeked baby on his tummy, giggling madly as he slid across the floor on an improvised sled.

Logically, Mokuba knew he was looking at versions of himself and Seto from years ago. Seto's bright blue eyes were unmistakable. But what he was seeing was also impossible.

"This isn't my memory," he mumbled, turning to take in the kitchen again, feeling goosebumps prickle across his skin as he heard himself laughing as a baby.

"Tech-nically, it's composite. Y-our memory and Seto's, c-ombined."

Noah appeared beside Mokuba. The pixelated lines at his edges had increased, no longer lining his uniform but rather stealing entire chunks of it, like he was slowly disintegrating into the digital ether. A splotch of purple marked his jawline, erasing his skin in the ugliest of bruises. His expression was blank. Emotionless.

Mokuba didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything.

At a flick of Noah's fingers, the kitchen vanished, replaced by a living room. Mokuba thought he'd forgotten most of the details of his first home, but seeing it again brought it all rushing back. It had always felt so big to him, but having it reconstructed around him now, he realized it was just a cramped three-room house. Almost an apartment. His parents hadn't been wealthy.

Images flitted by. He saw Seto as a five-year-old boy lying on his stomach across from a baby, offering him a toy to drool on and then peering at him with furrowed eyebrows, like tiny Mokuba was a mystery he couldn't quite unravel. He saw Seto holding toddler-Mokuba's hand as he took bumbling steps across the floor, then fell in a heap. Seto waited patiently, hand offered to help again.

"Quite the obse-ssion," Noah said. "Seems he ne-ver left you alone."

"No." Mokuba swallowed hard, ducking his head. "He never has. Seto's always been there."

Even though he didn't remember these memories, Mokuba remembered plenty.

"T-his one in pa-rticular . . ." Noah glanced at Mokuba, then away. "Hurts."

The green-haired boy flicked his fingers, and the room shifted again. Somewhere on the cusp of toddlerhood, little Mokuba balanced on his tiptoes, leaning on a wall and straining desperately to look out a window he couldn't reach. Seto came up from behind, lifting him with a grunt, even though he had to hold with both arms and looked ridiculous hefting a baby almost half his size.

Mokuba snorted. His lips twitched.

When Seto looked at the baby he held, tiny-Mokuba looked back. Unexpectedly, the baby leaned forward, bonking his head against Seto's. Seto gave a startled laugh, almost dropping him.

Mokuba rubbed his own forehead, wincing sympathetically and wondering if all babies were weird or if it had just been him.

The baby did it again, then giggled. Seto took a step back, his own laugh growing awkward. He looked away from the window, and Mokuba realized his mother was standing in the living room, also watching.

"Why's he getting in my face?" Seto asked, his voice so much higher than normal. His arms trembled, but he didn't put the baby down. "He's never done that."

Mokuba shifted, unnerved to hear Seto's voice lacking all the deep notes it now carried, unnerved to be spying on his own life like he was an intruder. Beside him, Noah just watched, silent.

Saori came to stand beside her sons, combing her fingers fondly through the back of Seto's hair. "He's trying to kiss you, Seto."

Mokuba almost choked. Whatever it was he'd swallowed, Seto looked like it was lodged in his throat too. His eyes went wide.

"Why?" he demanded. Even though he eyed the baby in his arms, he still didn't set tiny-Mokuba down.

Saori laughed, light and cheerful. "Because he loves his brother, that's why."

"I'm not his brother," said Seto with a frown. "We're not related."

The words pierced Mokuba's chest like an arrow, leaving him bleeding. This wasn't what home was supposed to feel like.

"Can't you—" he started.

Noah cut him off with a sharp gesture, pointing at the scene still unfolding.

"Oh, Seto." Saori lowered herself to one knee beside the window, looking Seto in the eye. She rubbed his hair fondly once again. "That beautiful mind of yours takes everything so literally. You and Mokuba may not share the same ancestors or genes, but you're certainly related. You are the only brother Mokuba will ever have."

Seto's gaze lowered. His brow furrowed, and he pursed his lips. He readjusted his hold on tiny-Mokuba.

"He needs a good one," Seto said at last.

With a smile, Saori squeezed his shoulder. "Then keep being a good one."

She took tiny-Mokuba, murmuring something about naptime and tickling the baby's neck until he giggled. Seto remained behind at the window, rubbing his forehead where Mokuba had bonked him and looking far too pensive for a six-year-old.

"H-e is, isn't he?" Noah asked.

Mokuba had been rubbing his own forehead too. He lowered his hand, feeling strangely tangled in everything he was experiencing. "What?"

"Seto is a good broth-er, isn't h-e?"

"Yeah, he is." Mokuba didn't even have to think about the answer, and as soon as he gave it, that warm, comfortable feeling settled in his chest once more. He remembered all the times Seto had protected him in the orphanage, in Gozaburo's mansion. He remembered the look on Seto's face when Mokuba had drawn him a Blue-Eyes White Dragon. Seto still had that crayon drawing in his office.

Maybe Seto thought Priest Seth changed everything, but he was wrong. Even Seto could be wrong about some things.

Mokuba turned, his eyes searching the doorway where his mother had disappeared. Her words lingered, but he heard them in a different way. Mokuba, you are the only brother Seto will ever have.

Suddenly, he felt wildly important, like an entire world rested on his shoulders.

Seto needed a good brother. So Mokuba would keep being a good one.

He smiled, at least until he looked at Noah. The boy held his fingertips to his cheek, hovering just above the digital hollow that had swallowed his jawline.

"Why did you show me this?" Mokuba finally asked.

Slowly, Noah lowered his fingers. Curled them into a fist.

"You tol-d me my fa-ther lied. About everything." Noah drew in a shallow breath, and for a moment, the digital color drained from his eyes, leaving behind a pale, fearful gray. "You were right.

Seto kept his hands in his pockets because they were shaking. Everything inside him trembled as fiercely as it had on the day he'd last seen his adoptive father. The man had filled the sky on that day, too. After three years, Seto had thought himself well past the effects of his adoptive father's death; he'd thought the only remaining echo of Gozaburo Kaiba in his life was his contempt for everything the man had valued.

As it turned out, there were more emotions than he could name, and they all surged inside him in a way that set his hands shaking. So he shoved them in his pockets, and he stood tall and unmoving, his face set in a familiar glare that masked any other feeling.

"My name," rumbled Gozaburo. "My company. My legacy. You've been wearing them all this time, Seto. Pretending they were made for you when they were always intended for a much bigger man. How does it feel?"

"Constricting," Seto shot back. "Luckily, I'm an excellent tailor. I've made the necessary adjustments."

Of course the arrogant bastard couldn't stand in the meadow like the rest of them. He had to be the looming god in the sky. He looked ridiculous; a face mask stuck to the clouds. Even so, staring up at him, Seto felt the cold prickle of fear against the back of his neck, and he hated himself for that. No enemy had ever carried as much power over him as Gozaburo had.

"Who's this?" asked Dante blankly, flicking his staff toward the sky.

He'd directed the question at Yori, but Seto took the liberty to answer. "No one important."

As he said it, the words spoke to part of his soul. Priest Seth didn't know Gozaburo from a random criminal on the street. Priest Seth had seen the face of true gods and monsters in the sky. If Seto embraced that part of himself, gave it freedom, it would swallow his fear.

But he remembered the hurt on Mokuba's face just before his brother had disappeared. He heard the echo of the boy's voice, heavy as a stone in his heart, weighing it down. I love you, Seto.

Even if Priest Seth was fearless, even if Priest Seth was the smarter strategy for the match at hand, he wanted to be Seto.

"Mortality is the enemy of every great man." Gozaburo's smile stretched like pale clouds across the stormy gray. "I developed this program to combat mortality, and of all my countless achievements, it is the most staggering, the most revolutionary. I have achieved victory over the grave."

Seto frowned. He'd called Gozaburo unimportant, and the man hadn't so much as blinked. Three years couldn't have lessened his pride—the evidence was in his very manifestation.

Yori slunk closer to him. Quietly, she asked, "What are you thinking?"

"Something's off," Seto murmured.

He thought of Noah Kaiba, with his digitally altered coloring and pixelated edges. By comparison, Gozaburo looked pristine, every feature just as Seto remembered, only expanded to fill the sky. He was like a memorial picture at his own funeral, the perfect capturing of the man being mourned. His voice carried its familiar gravelly tone without the glitching interruptions experienced by Noah.

When Seto had first arrived in the virtual world, he'd expected Gozaburo to corner him at once. When Noah appeared, Seto had assumed the boy was an avatar or alias, some mask in whatever twisted game Gozaburo had concocted. Because why would Gozaburo delay the opportunity to gloat? Why send a messenger when he could have the honor himself?

"How did you do it?" Seto demanded, raising his voice. "How did you fake your death? I watched you jump."

His stomach clenched as he spoke. The memory of shattering glass rang in his ears.

Gozaburo's smile turned malicious. "You should have dreamed bigger, Seto. You're still a child, with the naivety of youth. You have no comprehension of how little can actually be achieved in a single life. But to enjoy eternity . . . to know that death itself is no obstacle to your triumphs. . . . Such is true power."

Seto snorted. "I know more about cheating death than you think."

Though his death had certainly been an unpleasant surprise the first time around. He glanced at Yori. For a moment, he saw a flicker of the past, saw a dagger in her hand, her eyes filled with hatred. He felt a phantom pain in his chest.

Clenching his jaw, Seto dragged his mind back to the moment. Gozaburo hadn't answered his question. Clearly he was exultant with his victory, but he was not engaging with Seto in conversation—rather, he was delivering a monologue, one he'd likely rehearsed in his mind a hundred times.

Even as he had the thought, Gozaburo spoke again to confirm it. "Have you worked it all out yet, Seto? I must admit, your mind is unparalleled, sharper even than my own. Certainly sharper than Noah's. He was my original plan. I cultivated him in secret just as I developed this program in secret, gave him adequate schooling and a secure environment, but he's such a disappointment, he couldn't even manage to do the simplest of tasks—keep living. At least that speeding car did me the favor of supplying a free test subject, and once I uploaded his mind, I knew the system worked."

"He's talking about his own son," Yori whispered in dawning horror.

"Welcome to the Kaiba family." Seto grimaced. He shouted up at the sky, "You're not even real, are you? You're nothing but a ghost of the man I killed. A digitized carcass!"

Perhaps this was Gozaburo's distraction. A recording delivered to Seto while the true Gozaburo worked elsewhere. But Seto knew the man's strategies better than anyone. He would not have let anyone or anything keep him from looking Seto in the eyes as he claimed his victory.

Seto's mind whirred like a processor as he considered everything he knew of the virtual program. It operated on memories. Gozaburo claimed he'd uploaded Noah's mind, like it was simply a collection of ones and zeroes like any file. Zigfried had considered the program unfinished. Perhaps he'd misinterpreted its intent. He'd made it a virtual world, a game, but Gozaburo had never developed games. Only weapons.

Thunder rumbled, but the air held deathly still. Not even a whisper of storm wind. Gozaburo's triumphant smile lit the clouds like lightning.

Seto was missing something. Something crucial. Gozaburo clearly saw himself as one move away from finishing a chess game, but Seto was still trying to see the board through the fog.

"Mistress," said Dante quietly. "I don't trust the sky man's intent. Shall I light him on fire?"

"You could go ahead and try," said Yori, "but I have a feeling it won't work."

She looked at Seto, but he couldn't offer the strategy she was waiting for. His mind strained for answers. He felt the cold wind from a broken window, saw Gozaburo's body fall as a red blur through the air. To what purpose?

Gozaburo chuckled. His laughter had always been self-satisfied, always mocking. It was not so much about his own amusement as it was about showing someone else their true identity: nothing but a joke.

"I'd intended to let Noah come of age, then wipe his mind and transfer my own to his body. Restart my own life and youth. After his death, I was forced to look for another option. So I did a publicity stunt at an orphanage, looking for a suitable replacement, a healthy specimen that could be positioned believably. You offered it up on a platter, Seto."

Yori took a step closer to Seto, like she meant to shield him despite being small enough she could disappear into his shadow. "Seto, is he . . . trying to steal your body? Can he do that?"

"Maybe . . . I don't know." Seto's mind spun, caught in the same loops of uncertainty.

"I've won, Seto." Gozaburo bared his teeth like a panther. "And I'm certain you know the fate of losers."

Before Seto could halt the weakness, he took a step backwards in retreat. Frustration raged in his chest—had he been in the outside world, the real world, he could have broken Gozaburo's coding in an instant. While blindfolded. While dueling. He could have dismantled the entire virtual world one-handed with his attention on a cup of coffee and a conversation with Mokuba. He could have won. He should have won.

Irony, then, that while his mind was his biggest weapon, it was useless when isolated. He would be defeated by a shadow, by a wisp of cloud in the sky.

Because a single cloud could still block the sun.

"I'm sorry, Noah." Mokuba pressed his toes into the floor of his childhood home, trying to ground himself in something comforting, watching a young Seto who was still frozen in a memory. "I know this doesn't mean much, but Gozaburo was never what I wanted, either."

What he'd wanted was this—everything he'd lost. The home with the parents who loved him. The home where Seto smiled freely, where he laughed.

Their home now wasn't bad. As long as he was with Seto, Mokuba could make a home even in the cold Kaiba Mansion. But it could never replace what they'd lost.

"You don't understand." Noah's voice cracked with agony rather than static. His eyes flickered, turning the wrong color again. "He t-old me—he told me S-eto kille-d him."

Mokuba scowled. "Seto didn't—"

"I saw, Mo-kuba. I sa-w the truth. Seto l-oved him. I loved him. He manipulated us b-oth. He—he—he—"

Noah vanished for an instant, then reappeared. He hunched over, clutching his head as if in pain. The gaping bruise across his jawline grew, swallowing the color from his cheek, bleeding tiny purple boxes down his throat.

By instinct, Mokuba reached for him, then pulled his hands back.

"You look like you're being eaten," he whispered in horror.

"I am." Noah looked up with tears in his eyes. His hair was black, then green again. "I know y-ou think you're invisib-le, Mokuba. I saw tha-t in your memories. N-ext to Seto, you think you disappear."

Mokuba shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his hand up his arm as if to ward off a chill. "Noah, what's going on?"

Pixels shimmered across Noah's uniform, polluting the white, dying it a sickly swirl of purple and blue. The wound on his face edged its way to his eye, darkening the white there as well. He looked at Mokuba with one eye a solid purple and the other a human gray.

"You weren't invisible, Moku-ba," Noah rasped. "He told me y-our name. He always—always—always—knew."

While Seto waited for an inevitable attack, Yori's bracelet flashed. A tiny white dragon appeared at his feet once again. Though not sleeping this time, the creature could hardly be called alert. She looked up at him lethargically, blinking large blue eyes.

Whatever piece of Seto was still Seth lurched to see that dragon, but Seto wrestled it back down. Gozaburo was a modern problem. Seto's problem. And there were still pieces on the board he couldn't see.

If stealing Seto's life was Gozaburo's intention—if he held that power—why hadn't he acted already? What held him back?

Distantly, he heard Yori's voice, asking Dante if Seto's Ka would protect him. Seto focused deeper, tuning them both out. The dragon brushed against his leg, and Seto stepped forward by instinct, placing himself between her and Gozaburo. Nothing divided him from that self-satisfied god in the sky.

"The game was always mine, Seto," rumbled the thunder.

During his time in the virtual world, Seto had been dragged through a collection of his worst memories. Gozaburo wouldn't care about those. If his intention had been torture, he would have referenced them, but all he'd spoken about was the genius of his program. Considering his obsession with cheating death, he should have raged to know Seto carried some secret about reincarnation. But he'd not said a word.

It was like he hadn't seen them at all.

Noah had been the first to appear. He'd said he wanted truth. When Seto's memories hadn't shown Gozaburo's death, Noah had dragged it from him by force.

It was only after Noah vanished that Gozaburo appeared.

"Why keep Noah's mind?" Seto demanded. "He was your lab rat. Once you knew your program worked, you'd have no reason to keep him any longer."

That was how Gozaburo worked. Efficiently. Never an extraneous piece in his strategy. For years, Seto had battled to keep himself useful in Gozaburo's eyes—to be so useful, in fact, so interesting, that the man never noticed Mokuba.

Mokuba . . .

When Noah had appeared the first time, he'd taken Mokuba. Perhaps the second time as well. Mokuba had known the other boy's name, had stood next to him without flinching. Mokuba trusted easily, but he also wasn't a fool, so clearly Noah hadn't given him any reason to feel threatened.

For once, Mokuba hadn't been kidnapped. He'd been protected.

Dread settled over Seto like a weighted blanket, smothering his other emotions, anchoring him where he stood. At his feet, Kisara gave a little mournful cry, her white tail curling around his boot.

Seto realized the piece he'd been missing. The wind had been howling in his ears all this time. The day Seto had taken over KaibaCorp, Gozaburo had made a final play for his destruction, tried to frame him for murder. If he'd planned on overtaking Seto's body, he wouldn't have sabotaged his own future.

A replacement for Noah. Gozaburo had gone to an orphanage, looking for a replacement. The replacement he claimed Seto had handed him on a platter.

"Mokuba," Seto whispered.

When Noah disappeared, he didn't reappear.

Someone else appeared instead.

Mokuba trembled. He staggered backward, found himself pressed against the wall.

Gozaburo Kaiba leered down at him, dressed in his favorite red suit and black tie. He adjusted his gold cufflinks.

When Mokuba tried to run, his adoptive father caught him by the back of the collar, choking him. He gasped for air.

"I'd never lose track of a valuable piece," Gozaburo said pleasantly, even as his grip strangled Mokuba. "Noah attempted a valiant fight on your behalf, but even his best efforts have always been subpar. A disgrace to the Kaiba name."

"He trusted you," Mokuba choked out, clawing at Gozaburo's arm and achieving nothing. He twisted and tried to kick, but Gozaburo simply yanked him off balance.

"The problem is when he stopped trusting! I only ever told him the truth. My tragic murder. My consuming desire for revenge against Seto. A man expects to be able to count on a biological son for support in such things."

"Murder—" Mokuba coughed, straining to get his feet under him again.

"You may disagree, but Seto doesn't." Gozaburo grinned, a wild, feral expression. "He's very hard to outwit, Mokuba. You know that. The most challenging opponent I've ever faced, and completely unexpected. I pulled a diamond from the trash of an orphanage. Two diamonds. Though my plans for you were always quite different from those I held for your brother. I'd hoped he would advance KaibaCorp, apply his genius to further mine. I'd hoped to get years and years of use out of that precocious brain of his. Instead, he very nearly destroyed my entire legacy. I'll have to rebuild from the ground up."

He gave another yank, pulling Mokuba back from where he'd been straining to reach a book on a shelf, hoping he might throw it at Gozaburo's face.

"Luckily," the man growled. "I have an entire lifetime ahead of me to do it. This is my opportunity to be a child prodigy. Knowing your brother, no one will be shocked to see the rise of Mokuba Kaiba."

Terror struck Mokuba like a lightning bolt. He thrashed, but Gozaburo held firm. And then Mokuba realized his skin was pixelating at the edges. His hands slipped against Gozaburo's arm, his fingertips flaking away into nothing. His feet couldn't find the floor. His body ached in a sharp, piercing way.

"Seto!" he screamed. But the only version of his brother was the six-year-old one, still frozen in a memory, looking out a window.

Mokuba's eyes found the doorway where his mom had disappeared. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and the pressure on his throat cut his sob short.

"Mom," he whispered.

Even though he wanted to see her again, he didn't want it like this. He didn't want to die. He was supposed to keep being a good brother to Seto. He was supposed to get his pilot's license and fly the Blue-Eyes jet. He was—

"Time to get my life back," said Gozaburo.

The room darkened and disappeared as Mokuba lost his eyes. His awareness of Gozaburo vanished. So did the pain.

Leaving nothing behind.

Note: This chapter hurt my heart to write. Excuse me while I go cry now.