The mist around Morro deepened in his slumber, curling tighter as his body shuddered, his sage-and-emerald-green eyes darting beneath closed lids. The dream pulled him deeper into its grasp, vivid and haunting, each moment unfolding as though he were living it himself.
The first scene came suddenly. Morro found himself beside Yami in the heat of a duel, the tension palpable as Yugi's spirit materialized next to them, his presence charged with urgency. "No, don't use that card!" Yugi pleaded, gripping Yami's arm tightly, his voice trembling with desperation. "It's too dangerous!"
Yami's expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he shook Yugi off, his crimson eyes blazing with determination. "I must!" he declared, his tone sharp and resolute. "Let go of me!"
Yugi stumbled back, his golden-purple gaze shimmering with grief. "Please don't use that card..." he murmured, his voice fading as Yami played the Seal of Orichalcos. The card's dark power pulsed through the battlefield, demanding its price.
The dream shifted abruptly, disorienting Morro as the mist thickened around him. Rafael stood before Yami, his voice steady and cold as he declared, "Time to pay up, Pharaoh." Morro's pulse quickened, his sage-and-emerald-green eyes darting frantically as he watched the Seal's twisted energy begin to encircle Yami.
Then, Yugi's spirit reappeared—stronger now, brimming with resolve. Without hesitation, he moved behind Yami and shoved him out of the Seal's path, his voice clear and unwavering. "Yugi! What are you doing?" Yami cried out, his tone raw with fear and confusion.
Yugi turned to Yami, his expression soft but firm. "The Seal needs only one of us," he said quietly. "So I'm letting it take my core instead."
Before Yami could react, Yugi's spirit dissolved into the Seal's energy, his golden-purple light fading into nothingness. Yami staggered, his body giving out as he collapsed into unconsciousness, his presence dimming like the last flicker of a dying flame.
The dream shifted again, pulling Morro into a new scene, the mist swirling around him like a living shadow. He found himself kneeling beside Yami, who lay motionless on the ground, still in Yugi's body but hollow, his core absent. Morro's hands trembled as he reached out, shaking Yami with desperate urgency, his voice frantic. "Wake up! Please, wake up!"
Yami stirred faintly, his crimson eyes opening just enough to release the flood of emotions he'd been holding back. He sobbed, his voice breaking as he cried out, "The Seal didn't take me—it took Yugi! Yugi's gone! It should have been me!"
Morro's heart ached, the weight of Yami's grief pressing down on him. Even as he became aware that this was a dream—a lucid fragment of his subconscious—he couldn't hold back the surge of emotion. Moving closer, he wrapped his arms tightly around Yami, his hug firm but gentle, as though trying to anchor them both in the storm of their pain.
Somehow, the dream felt real. The warmth of the hug, the sharpness of the grief, the fragile connection between them—it was all vivid, tangible, pressing deeply into Morro's heart as the mist around them began to fade.
Yet some of the dreamscape's mist lingered, faint and shifting, as Yami clung tightly to Morro, his form trembling with raw emotion. His head buried into Morro's shoulder, the Pharaoh sobbed openly, his voice cracking as he repeated, "It should have been me. It... it should have been me." The weight of his grief pressed down like a storm threatening to consume him.
Morro, though surprised by the intensity of the moment, tightened his arms around Yami, holding him steady in the shared dream. He didn't speak, didn't try to interrupt—he simply let Yami release the flood of pain that had overtaken him.
Yami's sobs came faster, each one heavier than the last, before he managed to choke out the words. "I made a mistake," he began, his voice trembling with anguish. "I thought... I thought I could win. That I had to win. And when the moment came, I..." He paused, his breathing uneven, as though it hurt to continue. "I used the Seal of Orichalcos."
Morro's brow furrowed, his hold on Yami remaining firm as he listened. Though the specifics of what Yami was saying were foreign to him, the raw regret and self-blame were achingly familiar. He stayed silent, letting Yami find his words.
"I ignored Yugi," Yami admitted, his voice breaking as he continued. "He begged me not to play that card. He knew... he knew it would cost me my soul. But I was desperate. I thought the power would be enough to protect us. Enough to save everyone." He tightened his grip on Morro's shoulder, his trembling intensifying. "I didn't listen. I pushed him away. And then... then the Seal came for me."
Yami pulled back slightly, his crimson eyes shimmering with tears as he looked at Morro. "Yugi... he stepped in. He shoved me out of the Seal's path. He sacrificed himself to save me. His spirit, his very core—it was taken in my place. Because of me."
The Pharaoh's head dropped again, his sobs shaking his entire frame. "I woke up," he murmured, his voice barely audible, "and he was gone. Just... gone. The Seal didn't take me. It took him. And it was my fault."
Morro tightened his hold, his sage-and-emerald-green eyes flickering with a mixture of sorrow and understanding as he pressed his forehead against Yami's. Even though he didn't fully understand the intricacies of Yami's world or the Seal, the pain of losing someone dear—someone who'd taken the fall for him—was something he could feel deeply. His voice was soft, steady. "I'm sorry," Morro said simply, the sincerity of his words carrying the weight of his own empathy.
Yami clung to the younger teen, his sobs gradually subsiding but the sorrow still heavy in the air. "It should have been me," he whispered again, quieter now. "I failed him. And I've carried that failure ever since."
Suddenly, the mist around Morro shimmered faintly as he shifted in the dream, his body brushing against something hard and unfamiliar. He reached down instinctively, his fingers brushing against the object—a card wedged just beneath his ribs. As he pulled it free, his sage-and-emerald-green eyes widened slightly. This wasn't one of Yami's cards; it was different, glowing softly, radiating a warmth unlike anything he'd encountered before.
It was a Core Card—its face adorned with Yugi's likeness. Morro stared at it for a long moment, his trembling fingers tracing its edges as his gaze shifted between the card and Yami. The resemblance struck him deeply—Yami and Yugi, two halves of the same whole. The bond between them, so deeply intertwined, reminded him of his connection to Zeph. The parallels were impossible to ignore. Just as Zeph was an older version of him, Yugi's presence was the heart that kept Yami grounded.
Morro's lips quivered as he looked back at the card. It felt like more than a dream; it felt like a sign. A sign that somehow, in some way, Yami would find Yugi again. That the fracture between them, no matter how painful, could be healed. Tears welled in Morro's eyes, spilling over as he turned toward Yami, whose form still trembled with grief.
Without a word, Morro slipped the card into Yami's hand, his fingers steady despite his own shaking. Yami's crimson eyes widened briefly, the card's warmth radiating through his fingers as he clutched it tightly, as though it were a lifeline. His grip on Morro tightened as well, pulling him close as fresh tears spilled from his eyes.
The dream began to fade, its edges softening, the mist swirling gently as Morro's surroundings grew hazy. But even as the vision melted into the ether, the connection between them lingered. Morro could still feel the warmth of Yami's arms, the comfort of the embrace that had grounded them both in the storm of their grief. And as he stirred faintly in his physical body, Morro felt another sensation—wetness against his cheeks and neck. Tears. More than he could have shed alone.
The lingering traces of Yami's sorrow etched themselves into Morro's heart, even as the dreamscape released him. A faint echo of the bond they had shared in that moment stayed with him, pressing gently into his consciousness like the memory of an unspoken promise.
The mist still hung in the air as Morro stirred awake, the warmth of Yami's embrace lingering faintly in his muscles, and the wetness against his cheeks and neck refusing to fade. He blinked slowly, his sage-and-emerald-green eyes hazy with exhaustion, before noticing Zeph sitting beside him, his stormy-green gaze steady with concern.
"Morro," Zeph began softly, his voice calm but curious, "what were you dreaming about? And... why are you all wet?" His hand hovered near Morro's shoulder as though ready to support him if needed.
Morro shifted, sitting up just enough to steady himself against the moss-covered ground. He glanced down at the dampness on his clothes, his brows furrowing faintly as his thoughts churned. The dream was still vivid, the emotions raw, and the wetness—those tears—felt all too real.
He hesitated, glancing at Zeph, before speaking softly, his voice threading with quiet disbelief. "Zeph," he murmured, "can the magic in Mysterium... can it make dreams be... real?"