FicWad

Written for the livejournal community 10_whores.
Ryou x Kisara (which is, apparently, called "Placateshipping"); hinted Ryou x Thief King Bakura, if you squint. I know I would.
Mostly manga-based; I'm suggesting that the second RPG probably used figurines as well instead of cards.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.




The world was a prison.



The air was standing still. Not the slightest breath, not the faintest movement. She was alone, surrounded by sand, and her homeland was erased from the map, and if she ever reached the desert's limits, she would find only walls.



She could never go back.



She felt as if she was running since days; but she could not remember when she had started. She could not remember the day before, could not remember when and how there had been another landscape.



Memory was eluding her. She recognised the path in front of her. She knew she should have been somewhere, knew there was a word, a name, that refused to resurface in her thoughts. Felt that something wasn't right, that the wind was too still, the silence overwhelming and unnatural.



But maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her. She could not, either, remember when she had been able to drink last time, and she was very tired. Soon, the hallucinations would start again, and strike her down.



xxxx



Shemu, dry season. He came when the most pleasant morning hours were already past, and would not leave, if he could chose - and he always could - until the next day. The sand was hot beneath his feet, he could feel it even through the thin material of his costume's sandals. The sky was of a blinding, spotless blue, the sun a gigantic white light he didn't dare look up to. The surrounding air was dry and hot, even in this part of the map, that seemed to always be a little colder than the rest of the world, as if something was swallowing the daylight and its heat. Even the impressive waterfall that had been his favourite part of the world, rich and clear and light, before the palace and the pyramids, and the small towns of which nothing remained today, must have dried to a thin rivulet, if it wasn't gone altogether.



It was as he'd always imagined Egypt. Not the way he knew Egypt was and had been: as he'd always dreamt Egypt, as an amazing, mysterious place where he would find... He didn't know what. Sense.



Well, he chastised himself, of course it was as he'd always imagined Egypt. That's what it was, after all, his representation of the place. He wasn't just complimenting himself when he admired it: the spirit's magic was much stronger than the first time. If he hadn't known, he wouldn't have noticed it wasn't real. The spirit had said that this was nothing yet compared to the real thing, once the pharaoh's memory would give life to the prepared world. But Ryou would never see this, if they could prevent it. And as much as he liked to believe he'd find a loophole, they probably could.



"You're very skilled," a smooth voice said from behind him.



He turned round. The thief king was leaning against one of the few still standing houses of the destroyed village, looking at him calmly. Ryou had wandered around the whole world, but he had never met the thief king anywhere but in this village, and he had found himself coming back to it more and more often. He liked the gentle whisper of spirits waiting to be awaken he could feel: it wasn't quite right, like all his enjoyment of this world wasn't right, it should have felt like a dark and threatening place, a terrible vestige of tragedy - but he couldn't help it.



"Thank you," he murmured unsurely. He could never quite tell when the thief king was making fun of him.



The thief king smiled, and walked closer to him, to gently draw a hand through his hair. Ryou closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. The thief king seemed more solid, more real and alive than everything else in his life, and he wasn't either of these things: he was not even dead, not a phantom, but a construct, a mere memory of the spirit. And yet, that couldn't be all.



He leant closer; the warm breath that caressed over his cheek had a strong smell that was already too familiar and intimate to be called unpleasant.



"You're almost finished, aren't you?"



Ryou nodded, guilt building inside him, a large knot in his stomach.



The thief king smiled at him.



"You don't have to look so sad..." he murmured, hand still entangled in his hair.



"Bakura..." Ryou slowly stepped back. "I... I saw someone." He looked at the thief king with hope. Unlike his spirit, he answered questions; it was nice, and a clear sign they were sure he was far beyond the point where he could have done anything. "It was a woman. She had pale hair, like..."



He stopped. He couldn't say the name.



"Like us?" the thief king asked, sounding amused as usually when he answered him. "She's not here, host. You know that."



"But who is it then? You said there wasn't anyone else alive here..."



"Alive..." the thief king repeated, with a shrug. "There isn't."



Ryou's shoulders sacked down. He would get no answers this time.



"Can I go? Look for her?"



"It's your world," the thief king answered, affectionate and mocking: "You're free."



xxxx



Sometimes, the world wasn't as still. Sometimes it came to life, as if a god's breath had suddenly filled it. The desert was as empty and still as ever, but it seemed as if at any moment, this could stop. Then she remembered fear, and hunger and thirst and loneliness; the name that was playing on the verge of her mind came closer and closer then, as did other memory. Memory of a land full of fresh water and grass and dark forests. Memory of dark glass towers and flying houses. Memory of fearful and merciless faces of men and women who chased her.



They were all hers, and yet seemed to come from different lives.



xxxx



He had been in the desert as well; it was softer than in reality, less cruel, and not at all dangerous. The long white robes of the white magician were protecting him from the merciless sun as much as it was possible - almost as if the figurine had been made for such a place. And he enjoyed the walk, despite of everything, enjoyed the discovery of places that had been made by him, but not quite, were real and alive on their own, like he'd always dreamt his imaginary worlds.



He stopped. It would have been done anyway, he told himself. The spirit would never have given up. Yugi's other would never have stopped looking for his memories. It wouldn't help anyone if he didn't enjoy the world...



He found her in the desert. She was marching as if blinded, in steady steps she didn't seem to believe would get her anywhere. From close, she didn't look like Amane at all, only the pale hair was almost the same, only much longer. But she didn't seem to see him any more than the lifeless statues of the others had. He watched her disappear behind a dune, looking pale and ephemeral like a ghost. He walked after her slowly.



xxxx



"You found her?"



Nights were always cold in Kuru Eruna, but the memory of devouring fire was so strong in him, and in the one who was breathing his magic in this world to make it exist, that he could never feel it. They had retired in one of the few almost intact huts, even though the earth was slightly damp, the walls moist. The host felt safer with walls around him when he was asleep.



"Mm." The host was laying next to him, draped in his long red cape; faint moonlight was falling through the fissures in the hut's walls, glimmering where it touched his silvery hair. Soft brown eyes briefly blinked up at him sleepily, before their owner simply feel back into slumber.



The host could sleep peacefully in this world which's time was different from his, in this village of phantoms and darkness.



The thief king had greeted the host's existence with wonder that had not faded away yet. He knew that if he had known about the ring and thought about what kind of person he'd have expected to be chosen to wear it, he would have expected someone completely different: someone burnt out, taken over by a similar rage, by a similar despair, someone who would see the ring as a tool and its inhabitant as a slave while slowly being crushed down by both.



But Ryou was none of this; he knew the host thought that having the ring had strongly influenced his life, and that his past tragedies were weighting heavily on his soul - but the thief king could see that he had barely been touched. He didn't act like someone who had been tainted and taken over by Darkness. He was friendly, unsteady in his occasional spurs confidence, embroiled in everyday worries, curious and naively optimistic, no matter what he thought himself. It was easy to like him, and proportionally inconsequential.



His future self had said the host was a good choice: after one single Pyrrhic victory, he had become malleable, and most important, he could construct their battlefield. The thief king believed him: but he wasn't any less amazed.



xxxx



Her mind, recovering from the shook of being torn from the dragon, forced into a human body again, was slowly putting the pieces back together.



She wasn't alone. She hadn't lost reality - she had been stolen from it. She was the Blue Eyes White Dragon, but before that, she had been Kisara, and she was Kisara again.



Someone was following her. The world was real with his presence, a real soul like her, dragged into this other world like her. She was scared of meeting someone, but she couldn't help slowing down and wondering.



xxxx



"Who is she?" the host asked.



"Didn't you ask her?"



"She doesn't know."



xxxx



"I thought you were my sister," Ryou admitted timidly.



The City - it was probably what would later be called Thebes, but it was also the only city of the model, and more and less than a historic place - was lifeless. Ryou was sure that the spirit would have populated it with stolen souls over the time of the construction just for his benefice, and he had stupidly felt like he'd accomplished something by refusing /that/. But Kisara liked the emptiness, and the city had more places to hide from the sun than the deserts and the villages.



"I wish I was," Kisara said.



She'd never had a brother. She must have had parents, at one point of her life, but she couldn't clearly remember anyone before Seto.



"But..." She looked guilty. "I remember who I am now." She paused, and added, more guiltily: "I'm dead. I died, and my soul survived to serve the high priest in all his future lives."



Ryou waited, smiling. There was security in death, nowhere else, and it didn't mean anything, except a greater difficulty in reaching one another; but it was possible. Echoes like real voices, memory and dreams as strong as reality, fleeting phantoms in his soul room...



"You're alive," she added. "Are you a priest? A magician?"



Ryou blushed and shook his head.



"I'm not... Not really.



xxxx



He lay down on his bed, and closed his eyes, imagining he was back in the other world.



Her hair and her smile, her body as she swam. He was in love. He could remember every word she had said, and her exact tone of voice. If she appeared, he would immediately recognise her steps, he...



"You're not."



He sat up with a start, then silently chastising himself, lay back down; he knew the spirit was spying on his thoughts throughout the construction of the model, to prevent any attempt of revolt, but it rarely happed that it spoke to him - let alone of something that had to seem so trivial to him.



"What would you know about it?"



"She's the first kindred spirit you've met. You don't really want us to lose: you just feel guilty for it. You don't get along with living people."



"That's not true."



"You know it is. You've never told your sister all the things you write to her now.

She'd dead, Ryou. She's been Kaiba's dragon for years, and she will die again almost as soon as the game starts. You can't bear people whose death you can't see. It scares you."



xxxx



The world was stiller when he was gone, but she didn't mind anymore, now that she knew. It wasn't true that he wasn't a magician. He was the ring bearer after all, like Mahado and Mana had been; he would be strong someday, she thought, as strong as they had been.



xxxx



The waterfall hadn't dried after all. The water was clean and shining blue and cold and wonderful. Kisara immersed herself completely, and kept her eyes wide open. The sun was far away, separated from her by a veil of water. Not really there. Not really the sun.



Ryou emerged from the water, wrapped himself into a kilt self-consciously. She smiled faintly and looked away.



"How long until you finish it?"



Ryou shook his head.



"I already have. I don't know why they are still waiting. Maybe they need the pharaoh to start the game..."



She pressed her lips together. They had tried to avoid the subject, but they could feel the end was drawing nearer and nearer.



"Will you still be here?" she asked; he said the magic he did have was weak, but it was better than nothing. It would be different, having to face everything again with someone else. Someone she trusted and loved.



"I don't know..." His voice went down to a whisper. "I'll try, but... they won't let me."



xxxx



The white magician had a few spells. He wondered if he would use them - he didn't hope so, though a fight might have been interesting. But his future self wouldn't send him back after that, and he liked seeing the host, even like this, angry, at the verge of tears, hesitating between breaking down in fury or pleads.



"I'll find a way anyway. You said it was my world. You can't stop me!"



But he felt his determination vanish at the sign of the other one's calm smile.



"On whose side would you fight, then?" the thief king asked, amused.



Ryou knew he didn't expect him to be able to fight at all. He instinctively wielded his magician staff. It had been a powerful character, before the first RPG.



"I don't know..." he murmured wretchedly. He thought of his friends, and the memory was wonderful and far away. "I don't want this place destroyed." He glared up. "Why won't you help /me/? He's using you too. I don't want you to die."



"That's no good enough, host. You don't want anyone to die."



"I don't want her to die!" Ryou complained, with sudden force and desperation.



"It's too late for that."



xxxx





"I don't want to die again."



They sat, tightly embraced, on the palace's balcony, where neither of them would be allowed to come once the world was alive. She could feel his heart beat just as fast as hers, his body trembling. He kissed her timidly on the cheek, the corner of her lips.



"You don't have to," Ryou said. "You can hide somewhere. Maybe then..."



She drew her arms tighter around him.



"I can't. Seto will need me. I have to help him, and I have to return to being the dragon."



Ryou clenched his fists, his body stiffened next to her. Self-sacrifices and heroism didn't lead anywhere, it wasn't fair that she'd...



But it they won, she'd die as well, and even the dragon would die with her.



But when they won, her sacrifice would have been vain; and there could be a few more hours of life before the end of everything.



"I'm sorry," he whispered. "If I hadn't helped them make this..."



He trailed off.



"Don't be," she whispered back, burying her head in his hair, breathing in. "Please."



xxxx



"Why is she here?" the host asked, again.



"The Blue Eyes White Dragon only appears when she's not conscious. We didn't want to take the risk."



The host clenched his fists and let his head hang, looking defeated; the thief king wondered what he had been hoping for.



"You should go see her," he suggested. "It's the last night."



Ryou looked up.



"The last? Why?"



"Midsummer night. From tomorrow on, night begins to win over day."



"Not yet. These are the shortest nights of the years."



"They're growing."



xxxx



The small fire was crackling softly; they had tried to build a greater one, but couldn't find enough wood. It would be a sensible thing, he thought absently, to burn down the whole place before - but it was what they were going to do. Midsummer fires were supposed to protect one from fire for the rest of the year...



"Shouldn't you be with your family to celebrate? Or your friends?"



He shook his head. Yuugi would have invited him, he was certain of that; maybe the real reason was that he had wanted the pharaoh to still be with them for the celebration. The thief king could be weird with his symbols.



"I can't."



If this was the last night before the start, the spirit would want to possess his body, for whatever last preparation that was needed. He could have sat in his soul room and try to conjure images of Amane. And, as disloyal as the thought was: it would have been a waste.



The stars were bright; Ryou didn't recognise any of the constellations. He wondered if they had changed over the millennia, or if the spirit simply didn't remember them well.



"Why do you have no faith? Seto, the pharaoh, the priests. And your friends - they can win."



Ryou said nothing. He didn't believe her, maybe the spirit had been right and he didn't want them to win. And if they did, this world would be gone forever, and the thief king dead, and she, she would be gone in any case. He was used to loving spirits. But that had been before they'd become as real as living humans.



"I don't... want to talk about it," he murmured, feeling unable to explain it to her, and their time was running thin; he felt like he could already see dawn rise, far in the east.



Kisara nodded and laid her head on his shoulder. His hair was so soft and light and always smelt wonderful.



"I love you," she whispered.



He didn't answer, but he turned his face away from the fire, stared at her, and leant down to kiss her, hungrily, desperately, as if she would vanish as soon as they lips ceased to touch. He drew her as close as he could, anything to forget that his body was nothing but a wooden figurine brought to life by the ring spirit's magic, and that she was only a captured spirit: but she was solid next to him, against him, draped around his body, her skin rougher than his, and yet soft under his fingers.



She said nothing now, only turned to accommodate him, and only removed her mouth from his for instants, to stare at him. He briefly thought of stories and legends about midsummer fests he had heard, and almost laughed.



He fell asleep next to her while the sun rose, fingers still entangled with hers, and didn't wake until the game was over.