Chapter 1

Ryou Bakura let his hand wander over the top of an old package, dusty from its time in the attic. He felt the slight contempt rise in him for anything that looked so shabby and old, and especially dusty, neat freak that he was. But he could no more hold onto his abhorrence for the box than he could for what it represented to him now.

Ryou Bakura could have been in every way the average teenager. Eighteen years old, in his first year of university courses, slightly wiry and never overly built in any noticeable way, with a sweet, pale face and a soft British accent, he could have epitomized the everyday coming-of-age adult.

Most noticeably, of course, are the outward appearances, and his were strange. His hair was long, far longer than most boys dared grow their hair, and white as snow. He wondered why he'd never been made fun of so much for that and more for his quiet, awkward personality. But he took what he could get.

Having just started University, many kids coming in were new to being on their own or did not have to be if their family lived in the area, but neither was the case for him. He had been alone for a long time. Too long. And how it had eaten at him over the years.

"Happy birthday," he murmured to himself. Though a happy birthday was the furthest thing from it. This would be his eighth year with no family to speak of.

He ran his finger over the old dusty box, momentarily losing any of his issues with it as he allowed his mind to drift into the nostalgia of happier times.

His father had been away on a dig site, as per usual. Though Ryou often missed him, he understood, even as a ten year old child, that it was necessary. Money was hard to come by for archaeologists in Japan, therefore he was needed in more ancient historically prominent countries, like Egypt. Ryou knew this, and was saddened by it, naturally. He had various housekeepers to keep him company, but no family. In retrospect, leaving Ryou to himself with no family may have been one of the worst decisions of his fathers' life, but such things cannot be changed. Egypt was his calling, and so he followed it away from his son.

And Egypt he had been when the site had collapsed on his head, burying himself and various other crew members with him. Ryou found out when he had tried to call one fateful night and was answered by a near-hysterical woman babbling about some nameless excavator or other, likely her husband, that had been buried beneath all the dirt and rock.

He met the woman later, along with other family members though Ryou had only met them briefly at the funeral for his father and the other funerals he had attended out of courtesy. They faded out of his life as most did; a blip akin to a stain on his life but washed away and was forgotten quickly and easily. As was the way of a too- young boy who had lost everything but his sanity. Accept and move on. Rinse and repeat.

A package had arrived for him but days after his father's funeral. That brown box, not quite so dusty and old all those years ago, sat ominously on his porch with a card attached.

A message from beyond the grave that had Ryou reverting back to hysterical tears for days thereafter, not having actually recovered from the loss of his final beloved kin. He was inconsolable and barely understandable.

Ryou could not remember much from those days and he found his brain curiously vacant when he would later attempt to recall the next week or more. He thought he remembered sitting on a couch, talking to a professional-looking woman with glasses and too many rings on her finger. He remembered he'd liked to count them in lieu of listening. He remembered flashes of long stretches of roads with desert-like landscapes all around him. He always wondered if that had been a dream though as he had yet to find a place anywhere nearby that resembled the picture in his head.

He did remember when he 'woke up.' He found himself at his dining table, spoon full of soup in hand and a half-eaten bowl beneath him. Chicken noodle, he recalled. He heard one of his babysitters, or whatever they were as it was simply easier to classify them into one big bunch, shuffling around in the cupboards, humming a tune that resembled one his mother used to sing him to sleep with after particularly bad nightmares, though only vaguely. He looked to the right and blinked as the sun shone in his eyes, quickly adjusting to see a nice, if not slightly windy day. A crow was there, in the backyard, hopping around as if it had every right to do so. Ryou didn't really like crows.

He set the spoon down and pushed the chair out; only just realising he wasn't very hungry. He wanted to go scare the crow away; it didn't belong in his backyard. He refused to share his home with the homely bird.

The babysitter had obviously not expected this of him, as he could tell by the gasp that followed when she realised he was nearly out the door.

He remembered her leading him to the couch instead and talking about silly, non-essential things that he tuned out anyways so there was no way he would remember.

He remembered she was on the phone later, talking about how he had moved on his own. How strange, was he not free to make his own decisions anymore? Had he ever indicated he didn't want too?

But for all that, Ryou knew deep down that he was not fully over it yet. There was still one thing that had to be done.

That damned box was keeping him from moving on at last. He had gotten past his mother and sisters' deaths, or so he had told himself, and he would get over this too. He only had to face that last solid reminder of his father's presence.

After he was finally able to look at the box, nearly a month late he forced himself to grasp the edge of it. His shaking little hands had peeled back the top flaps of the box, already so tear stained from previous attempts.

I'll do it though, Ryou thought determinedly. He would get through this. Somehow.

Though he could feel the tears welling up again, he pushed on through the harsh initial fear and managed to finally open his tormenting gift.

Beneath multi-colored tissue paper, likely so abundant to protect whatever lay beneath, Ryou thought he saw a glint of something gold.

Ryou could barely control his shaking limbs, trembling so hard they would often hit the sides of the box and more than once almost knocked it over. He recalled strange hacking sounds coming from somewhere, and only realised after that he must have been having some sort of episode that, had anyone seen, likely would have sent him to even more therapy sessions and cemented his mental instability for years to come.

Handy, then, that the housekeeper had been out buying groceries when he'd plucked up what remained of his broken little spirit and tiny courage, overstated in his little-boy mind, to finally carry out a task that he felt he must do. But it was typical for little boys to think they could handle more than they were truly able.

But he wasn't thinking that at the time. It was more of a reflection after the fact. In the moment, all he could think about was carefully and slowly peeling back layers and layers of packing and tissue paper.

More gold became evident within the confines of the box, until it lay fully in front of him.

It must have been some rare artifact or other. It was some sort of golden ring, depicting a triangle within the confines of the circle with one all seeing eye glaring at him from its encasement. Strung through the top was some sort of leather bind, as if it was to be worn as a necklace. Clearly added centuries after the initial making as it seemed newer than it should have. Not surprising as such things could not hold as well as gold over time.

Ryou, very carefully, placed a finger onto the cool gold ring, expecting it to have a less than average temperature as it had been sitting out and golf lost heat very quickly. And initially, he was correct. But the gold heated up under his finger and he quickly pulled his hand back, staring terrified at the accusatory, almost mocking eye in the center.

Maybe he wasn't ready after all.

How many years had it been since then? Eihght, he recalled. Ryou had never dared touch it since. It held so many memories and the innate fear of the unknown.

In retrospect, Ryou knew the gold probably hadn't heated up under his touch. Likely it was just a panicked reaction of his over-active and stressed imagination somehow linking the ring to his father's death. Not the worst of crimes and understandable, if completely irrational.

But he was no longer an irrational child. He was older, wiser, and knew that everything that day had been an overreaction. He comforted himself with the knowledge that he had been justified in overreacting at the time, but no longer.

And yet…

He couldn't quite bring himself to take it into his hands yet. After all the years, the eye was still just as unnerving as it had been back then.

Ryou was spared his over-analytical mindset by a ring at the door.

Unprecedented relief washed over him and he, much too quickly, hurried over to answer it.

Happy for the distraction and secretly, cowardly praying that it would be an elongated one, he opened the door to find his best friend of six years, Malik Ishtar.

"Hey Ryou," he said with a charming smile. Perhaps it went without saying, though. Everything Malik did was fairly charming, whether he meant it to be or not. "Happy birthday!" he said as he surprised Ryou with a tight, breath-taking hug. Literally breath-taking.

"Malik," he choked out, tapping his shoulder.

"Oh right! Sorry," he said, quickly letting go. "I promised to stop doing that, didn't I," he mused, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

It was no wonder why Malik was so popular with women, and if he was honest, most men. Malik was startlingly good-looking. His tanned skin, deep purple eyes, long blonde hair and exotic build made him mysterious and desirable. He was none too shy with his body either, often resorting to wearing stomach-baring shirts or much too tight pants. But it was one of his charms and he pulled it off nicely.

"Well, come in," Ryou said with a smile, ushering Malik into his apartment.

Of course, the first thing he saw was the very out of place cardboard box in the middle of the living room floor.

He made no comment, though. Ryou tried to face the ring every year so it was hardly a rare occurrence on this particular day.

Malik instead made himself at home in Ryou's kitchen. He held out a box for his dear friend with a cheeky grin.

"I knew you wouldn't bake yourself a cake so I took the liberty of buying you one," he said.

Ryou lit up eagerly. Malik could always be counted on to take care of him in his time of need. Despite having no parents himself, Malik did live with his siblings, an older brother and sister. If Ryou remembered correctly, and he usually did, the brother, Rishid, was not actually Malik's blood. Ryou never did know what happened there as every time it was brought up Malik seemed tense and frightened, paling to almost his own skin color. Ryou knew the value of privacy and a few secrets, so he had never pushed the issue. Should there ever be a time when Malik wanted him to know, he would make it clear. Until then, Ryou was happy avoiding topics that would make his friend so uneasy. Malik easily returned the sentiment.

Usually. That is, unless it was something unavoidably obvious or possibly damaging in some way, shape or form.

Ryou could feel his hands shaking slightly as he tried to cut the cake, still reeling from being so close to finally grabbing hold of that damn piece of jewellery once and for all. And he knew that it would not escape Malik's notice. For all the scorn heaped on blondes for being ditzy or otherwise absent-minded, Malik made up for them a hundredfold each.

"Ryou…" he started, and when he glanced back, Malik was rubbing his temple a bit, as though whatever was coming had been on his mind for a while. "Why do you do this to yourself?"

Ryou swallowed loudly, another thing that Malik would inevitably notice, but had no choice. He couldn't find a sliver of his voice.

"I don't know what you mean," he croaked. But he was such a terrible liar. Why, oh why, had he chosen a best friend who could see through the most conniving fabrications of word-play and falsities while he himself could not lie to a naïve child? A cruel twist of fate, he supposed. Though he would never demean the fate that brought him such an understanding friend, he did consider it cruel how easily his lies were ousted, by both his lacklustre skills and his friends' keen ear and eye.

"God, Ryou," Malik hissed, ruffling the right side of his head, fluffing the already naturally heightened hair even higher, and making him somehow more attractive in a bed-head sort of way. "You can't keep doing this to yourself! Every year it's the same damn thing!" His fist hit the table with more force than necessary and Ryou turned sharply, no longer wishing to have his face read so easily. His voice may give him away, but as long as he didn't look directly at Malik's sharp gaze, perhaps he could be read with less ease.

"It's different," he murmured, failing in another attempt to steady his hand and cut a straight piece of cake. "This year-"

"Is the same as last year!" Malik snapped. "All you're doing is reminding yourself of it. Why can't you just let it go? I know it's killing you to look at it every single time. Throw it out, sell it, put it in storage but stop torturing yourself like this!"

Ryou whirled on him, trembling slightly but refusing to back down. "And what do you know?" he accused. "This is how I get over things!"

"Except you're not," Malik reminded him, obviously frustrated. "It's like a cut. If you keep scratching it, it'll never heal."

"You don't know!" Ryou cried, realising his voice had broken and he was on the verge of tears. "You have no idea what it's like to lose your whole family, one after another. At least you still have some."

"Don't you fucking talk to me about losing family. You have no idea-" he cut himself off abruptly, reigning in his anger. "This isn't why I came over," he sighed, sitting back down. Ryou wondered vaguely how he hadn't noticed he'd even gotten up. Then again, he never was as observant as Malik.

Ryou turned back around and rummaged through cupboards, tiny clinking noises coming from knocking two glasses against each other lightly. It could have been a sonic boom in the dead silence though.

"I'm sorry," Malik said finally, ruffling his hair harder. "I didn't mean for that all to come out. I just hate to see you like this." Ryou glanced back and noticed a very sorrowful expression on his face. He was obviously contrite about the whole ordeal.

"I'm sorry too," Ryou said, offering him a glass of coffee, already knowing that Malik liked it black as a moonless night.

With tiny sprinklings of sugar as stars.

"I know you're just looking out for me. And I appreciate it," he continued, heading back to get two shakily cut pieces of cake.

Malik sipped his coffee slightly as to not burn his tongue and accepted the cake with no hesitation. He obviously noted the less-than professional cutting job, but chose to make no comment. Enough had been said.

"I do worry about you," Malik sighed, digging into the cake somewhat uninterestedly. "All alone all the time. It can't be healthy."

Ryou smiled kindly at him, drinking his own coffee; sort of coffee if you counted basically half-milk half-coffee to share the same name.

"You know," he continued, drumming his fingers lightly. "My offer still stands. Rishid and Isis really wouldn't mind having you around."

Ryou chuckled good-naturedly. A couple months ago, Malik had offered Ryou a place to stay, his own home. Malik had claimed that there was easily enough room for another person in their house and that Ryou's presence would be an easily accepted one, if not completely welcome. Isis had always had a soft spot for the boy, having moved to Japan two years after Ryou's inevitable heartbreak and for what Malik had only ever mentioned as 'personal reasons.' The two had hit it off instantly, Ryou and Malik, and Isis was accustomed to seeing him around the house more often than not. Rishid also seemed to like him, or at least tolerate him. Clearly he wanted the best for Malik and Ryou made him happy. Rishid could not oppose that.

Ryou had chosen to politely decline the offer, saying that he had lived alone so long it hardly mattered anymore. Besides, he was at the age when he was supposed to be alone.

But it hadn't stop Malik from asking numerous times.

"Thanks, but really, I'm okay here," he repeated, a mantra he was becoming accustomed to. "Being in a house full of people would be weird for me now anyways," he shrugged, biting off a piece of the cake and chewing it thoughtfully. Light and fluffy, just how he liked it.

Malik seemed disappointed but resigned. He had known what the answer would be, after all. "Well, my offer doesn't expire, so if you ever need a place to stay…" he trailed off, smiling like his charming self.

"You'll be the first to know," Ryou promised, taking another mouthful of cake.

"You know, everyone's excited for your party this weekend," Malik mused, twirling his own cake piece around so fast Ryou thought it would fly clean off the fork. But Malik was far too smooth an operator to ever let something so mundane happen to him.

"I bet. What else do they have to be excited about? Another year of school?" As was the unfortunate consequence of his birthday. It always fell during the first week of classes.

"Oh, let us have our fun," Malik smirked, nibbling his dessert suggestively. "Or let them eat cake, if you will."

"I don't think you know what that quote means," Ryou sighed. "No one is starving."

"But Ryou," he purred in a sultry voice, the one he always used to tease Ryou with. "I'm starving for you!"

"Knuckle sandwich work for you?" he countered. Malik grinned brightly. His face could light up a whole room if he wished it too. And he obviously did then.

"How about just some sugar?" he suggested, still in that seductive voice. Ryou rolled his eyes at Malik's antics. He was far too used to them by now. It was a shame he had to get used to them at all.

"Oh shut up, Malik," Ryou groaned, making a dismissive hand gesture at him.

"Oh that wasn't sugar," he complained dramatically, clutching his heart and leaning his head back as he placed the back of his other hand on his forehead in a display of pain. "It felt like salt in the poor wounds you created."

"I think you've had enough coffee," Ryou decided, reaching for it, only to be slapped away lightly.

"You're so easy," Malik laughed, proving his dominance over his coffee by downing the rest of it.

"I'm easy?" Ryou said skeptically, so many comments running through his mind. "Weren't you the on-"

"Now now, you don't always have to take the bait," Malik tsked. "And I thought you were so above all of these petty arguments," he crooned, poking Ryou's forehead.

"You are such a hassle," Ryou said exasperatedly.

"But such a pretty hassle," Malik reminded him, finishing off his cake. "Another please!"

"You brought it and it's my birthday! Why should I have to?" Ryou asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'm the guest and I was nice enough to bring it," he countered, lifting an eyebrow at Ryou.

Sighing but ultimately admitting defeat, Ryou went to cut another piece.

"Your chronic niceness will make you a lovely slave one day, cuz nice people don't usually get too far in any other jobs," Malik teased and Ryou could hear the grin in his voice. "Might as well start now. I could use a foot massage."

"I bet you could. Bet you could use a bath too." Ryou walked back over, setting the cake down in front of him. "Eat up, fatty," Ryou said with a secret smirk, knowing it would set him off.

"I am not fat!" he snapped, huffing indignantly but digging into his perfectly cut piece nonetheless.

XXX

Ryou stared down the enemy of the evening. As Malik had left roughly a half hour prior, Ryou had had little to do but engage in a staring contest with the golden ring, mocking him from the box.

"I'm so tired of being afraid of you," Ryo said, admitting defeat again with a blink.

This couldn't go on. He couldn't live in the past, tip-toeing around reminders of his family. He still had pictures and other heirlooms from them, so this should be no different. It was just a gift from a father to a son. And he felt guilty, knowing he had waited eight years now to embrace the present.

"I don't have anything to worry about," he told himself, repeating it over and over like a spell to calm his nerves. He was proud that his voice didn't shake, but whatever was saved in that was made up for in the violent trembling of his hands.

Just bad memories, he reminded himself. He had bad memories of many things. He was bullied in school but he kept going. His mother and sister had been killed in a car accident, but he still rode in them. And even though his father had died just before sending it, he would not blame this actually quite extravagant present for it. It was guilty only by association, and that was hardly anything to get worked up over. He was guilty of things by association too.

Mostly Malik's fault, but the point stood.

"I'm an adult now," he told himself. Despite having no one to talk to, even the sound of his voice, a presence even if it was his own, calmed him a bit. "Adult's aren't afraid of things like this."

Realising that he would likely be unable to stop his shaking, no matter his determination, he closed his eyes tightly and plunged his hand into the box. His fingers brushed against a cool surface, contrasting to the packaging around it. He fisted the object in his hand and jerked it out, falling back and onto the ground.

He stared, almost mesmerized, by the golden ring in his hands. Truly it was a beautiful piece of Egyptian artistry. Ancient Egyptian artistry.

He realised his breathing and become erratic and he put effort into slowing the ragged, haggard sounds emitting from his throat.

That… wasn't so bad, he decided after a while. It could have been hours or minutes or seconds, he really didn't know, but a smile crept onto his face. He had finally managed to face that which had tortured him so on this one day of the year.

He played lightly with the expensive ring, running his hand over the surface and that staring eye. It didn't look so intimidating now.

He pulled himself off the floor and walked to the mirror hanging in the hall leading to the living room. Smiling slightly he moved to put it on.

But he suddenly hesitated.

Did the ring feel… warmer, somehow?

It was such a strange feeling, but a deep sense of foreboding flooded his system. An innate sense of danger long abandoned to times when concrete and decent weapons kept predators out. Yes, predators. With a predatory eye so like the one in the center of the ring. Sizing up its victim.

But that was so stupid and childish and he would not back down now! He'd come too far now. He needed this; some sort of closure.

Stomach churning and head spinning and eyes wide with anticipation and unconcealed fear, he roughly slammed the strap around his neck.

It tinkled ever so slightly where the spires hit each other or the ring, having been forced into action from such a violent movement. But nothing else happened.

He hadn't known what he'd been expecting, but it came as a sort of relief. Smiling slightly at his reflection, he looked at the ring in the mirror. It sort of suited him, really. He looked back up to his own eyes to see a peculiar sight.

The eyes staring back at him in the reflection looked just a bit off. It was him, but something was wrong with him. And even as he digested this information, he realised that he was making confused facial expressions.

But his reflection was not.

It, very slowly, started grinning a dark evil grin, eyen narrowing and suddenly, a howling laughter boomed throughout the house.

But their eyes never moved from each other's.

Ryou backed up, hitting the opposite wall and tried to run, but as he turned, he came face to face with the man in the mirror. Him but not.

Ryou screamed and tried to backpedal, but he had lost all feeling in his legs and crumpled to the ground before whatever stood in front of him.

It got down on all fours in front of him and put its face so close, that Ryou was consumed and drowning in blood red eyes, glinting with malicious intent.

"Oh, what have you done, little Ryou," it whispered in a haunting taunt, grinning viciously. "And so it begins."

XXX

AN: Hey guys, I'm Running Rampant, new to the Yu-Gi-Oh community! This will be my second fanfic so hopefully I can make this good.

This story idea really just popped into my head randomly. I usually think up stories for speific characters and no other characters will ever work in my mind for the story I've set up.

Not much to say yet, I just really hope you enjoyed the first chapter and I look forward to writing more! Please tell me what you think. Reviews always make me write faster you know.