The Pharaoh's Champion

Beep… beep… beep…

 The machine hooked to Zhara's finger cheerfully sounded in a rhythmic balance.

 The Pharaoh moved to her bed, looking down at her beaten face. Something deep inside him crippled at the sight, an ache he thought he had never felt before.

 He didn't know why, what is this connection we have? His mind throbbed trying to find the answer.

 The urge to reach out and smooth her forehead was too great. Even with the scabs and bandages, her skin was so soft. His eyes were drawn to the flowers he brought. They were native to his homeland; to their homeland, he hoped they'd bring her some comfort. It was cruel for him to take too much control of the vessel he and Yugi shared, it took a long time to track them down.

 But he couldn't help himself. 

That was the second reason he felt it best he didn't see her. When they spoke at Grandpa's shop, he nearly broke. This girl, so mysterious and enchanting, almost brought him too his knees. For a moment, he was filled with a strong nostalgia from a scent he was sure he knew, he was adamant. It was fresh, like a spring morning, mint and menthol that opened his nose and his senses, to everything around him. 

His hand quivered, and he stepped back, desperately dragging himself away to keep this new, overwhelming feeling at bay.

A tin box grazed his fingers and a jolt of static zipped through. In curiosity, he gingerly opened the clasp, and lifted the lid.

A small light gleamed from inside. Letting go of a gasp, his eye were fixed on a duel monsters card that emerged from the brightness. A feminine hand bathed in a near-white light held it out to him. Thought of stealing never crossed his mind, that was not in his nature. The light of his Millennium puzzle matched the glow, like they were having a secret conversation.

What's going on Pharaoh?

I don't know, Yugi. Somehow, I feel drawn to this card, like it belongs to me, and I to it. He reached out to take it, time seemingly slowing as he moved closer.

And closer…

 I'm sure it will be okay of we borrow it, we can return it as soon as your friend wakes up.

A second hand reach out of the light. Slowly, as if trying not to startle him.

His eyes widened in panic as It neared.

 A ghostly chill ran down his body as the hand pressed on his head, it's thumb gently brushing against his forehead. 

Suddenly, the light faded like a dying star, and he was left holding a single duel monsters card.

The door abruptly opened and a nurse appeared.

"Oh?" Obviously startled that he was in the room. "Sorry to not have knocked, I didn't expect anyone to be in here."

"You were expecting her to be on her own?"

He made his way to the end of the bed and took out a clipboard."Well, we've just managed to contact her only next of kin, they're on their way here now, but they're a long plane ride away." He made his way to the beeping machine, making a note of the numbers and lines on the monitor. "There was no one from Domino City on any record we could find."

"How is she?" 

His silence spoke volumes, it felt like an eternity before he spoke. "If you don't mind, I'm afraid visiting hours are over and only immediate family are allowed in the intensive care unit," his face smiled empathetically, knowing it was horrible to ask this.

"I can't just leave her on her own." There was a firm tone to his voice that surprised him.

"I know. But the intensive care unit has strict rules, they're for her safety. If something happens and she needs help, any people in here could really be more of a hinderance."

"Yes," he sounded somewhat uncertain. "Yes. I understand."

He moved to the door at the nurse's request, and allowed himself on last look over his shoulder at the girl, laying on the bed.

He couldn't help but wonder.

Who are you?

 ****

The sounds of her shoes hitting the ground echoed through the halls. Every breath held a hitch, as her arms pumped for more speed.

 I'm coming baby, hold on. Mrs Goodtree's eyes stung with tears. Please baby girl, hold on…

 The yellow line that led to the intensive care unit felt unending as she weaved along it, one corridor led to another. Each wall was a medical whitewash, each ceiling was lit with an artificial glare. The smell of disinfectant lingered as the distant drone of an overused PA system crackled. She didn't hear it, there was only one thing on her mind.

An eternity seemed to pass before she almost collided into a body, wearing a nurse's uniform, that seemingly appeared from thin air.

 "Are you Mrs Goodtree?"

A solemn and silent nod in answer.

 "Please, come with me." There was a rapid come-with-me gesture, as they disappeared through the doorway they appeared through.

Absentmindedly, she followed down a corridor, her head flowing with questions she tried not to think about for fear of the answer. It was wide enough for only two people to walk side-by-side. The nurse walked down the middle as if knowing there would be no opposing traffic, she had a sinking feeling that once you went down this corridor, there was no coming back. Windows spanned all along the sides, only doors that led to small rooms separated them. Closed blinds blocked most, but there was one she happened to notice was open; inside, lying on a long hospital bed, a young man lay with the most horrific gash down the side of his face she had ever seen, the other side was pristine, with a well-shaped eyebrow and long lashes that she could spot, even from this distance. The only thing to mar his youthful skin was a clear mask that covered his nose and mouth, pulled in tightly by elastic. Some thinner tubes came from his nose and both his hands. More seemed to pour out of the side of his bed, each was attached to some sort of intense machine that looked to be working overtime.

Next to him laid an older woman, judging by the greys she saw shining dully through a head of blonde hair, she looked to be sleeping herself, with her head lying face down upon his shoulder, her fist in a tight grip of the sheets that covered up to his chest.

Her breath was unsteady, her bag shifted on her shoulder as her grip tightened.

 "Mrs Goodtree?"

 Her gaze followed the noise.

It was then, through tear-filled eyes, she noticed the nurse.

His face wore the soft features of a man who was accustomed to tragedy. They gave nothing away, only that she could trust him.

 "We're in here." A gentle, but firm tone.

Part of her was rooted to the spot, could she take what was in that room?

As if sensing her anxiety, he opened the door and motioned for her to enter.

Every step was a mountain. Every breath was a mission. Every cell in her brain had seemingly shut down in fear. All she could feel was her heart pounding, it was all she could hear, and when she walked in, it was all she could see.

The room was bare, except for some sparse additions of furniture, a small table, a desk, and a comfortable-looking chair that seemed oversized. Then right in the middle, flanked by beeping and ticking machines, was her daughter. Her little flower.

Instead of glowing pastel skin that always had a delicate hint of pink, was as pale as a sheet and dotted with small cuts and grazes, some bad enough to need stitches. Her golden gaze with a hint of mischief and ablaze with knowledge and power, was gone. Her full lips were white, almost translucent, no stubborn attempt to disobey her came from them.

She'd give anything to hear her argue with her about something. Anything.

A cast covered one arm, it was elevated slightly by a series of weights and pulleys, attached to the ceiling. Despite it all, her face looked calm and serene. A sleeping bud she'd beg, and beg, to bloom once again.

From the side of her bed, she ran her hand up and down the sheets covering her. They were soft to the touch, almost comforting. Tears streamed down her face now, there was no stopping it, she was too afraid to touch her hand.

A darkness seemed to take hold, one that felt heavy on her shoulders and threatened to knock her to her knees. Her chest heaved uncontrollably, gasping for air she couldn't hold on to.

 The edge came nearer…

 "She's stable," the kind nurse came to the foot of the bed and pulled out a chart, flipping pages in an effort not to stare at her while she broke. "She's currently in an induced coma. The injuries were…" he paused for the right words, "quite severe.'

Words that hit her like a ton of bricks.

  Severe… Coma…

 She had allowed her daughter, her only true purpose in life, to chase after some stupid prophecy that had hunted her through the ages. Every death. Every life she had lived waiting. And for what? For this? Absolutely fucking not!

Her body boiled with anger, about to spill over.

A curious breeze that carried the scent of something long forgotten, caught her off guard. She noticed, in an attempt to 'brighten' up the room, that someone had left a bunch of white and blue flowers. They were stunning, and against the bland background of white and pine, they were a pop of colour.

 "My… are these-" she leaned towards them, "these are water lilies."

Nostalgia hit her in the gut, evaporating all the anger that threatened to shatter her further.

It had been an age since she had beheld these beautiful lotus blooms. The blue, with its pointed flower petals and leaves with smooth edges, and the white, with its more rounded flowers and jagged leaves, were the perfect harmony.

As these waterlilies do, they opened in the morning and closed at night, she remembered that at least. For her, it signified an image of birth, and regeneration. Right then, they were fully opened, a testament to the time of day, and the long flight it took to get here after the phone call.

The chair gave out a jaw-tickling screech, as she pulled it as close as possible to Zahra's bedside.

She lowered herself onto it, and watched over her, as she always promised she would.

 Suddenly, Zahra's body begun to jerk.

 Mrs Goodtree jumped in fright. "What's this? What's happening?"

The nurse had already moved over to a machine on the far end of the room that spilled out paper filled with jagged lines, the lines were more exaggerated now. His face was a professional blankness. Something wasn't right.

 "Not to worry, it's quite common in trauma victims, especially so soon after..." He let his words trail off.

Her face tightened in confusion at him. His widening eyes said he was wondering if he should tell her why.

 She must have looked desperate, his features pulled back into a professional blank as he looked down the page, somehow able to read it like a book. "Her NE levels are high," he glanced over. "She's having a nightmare."

 Mrs Goodtree broke a little inside. Yes, a nightmare, that's how modern science would describe it. But she knew different, having experienced its talon grip with every rebirth, ripping your mind apart if you let it. And she had let it once, or twice.

Zahra's memories were returning to her. The clash of old and new was too much for one mind to take, too much information to process. Young people struggled to find themselves as it was.

A nightmare. That was the best way to describe it. Not because of the physical pain, but for the memories that flood your mind first and for the longest, because as anyone would know, the bad things are much easier to carry with you.