Ascension [A Yu-Gi-Oh! FanFiction]

42: Home

The sun was setting on Egypt by the time the convoy rode back into Memphis, and Atem wondered how it would ever rise again. He'd spent the slow ride watching the sky bleed red, unable to will himself to look at Ra's stone slab, drawn behind the foremost horses and bearing the body of his beloved wife. Seto had wrapped her in his cloak, but the evening wind blew the white linen away, revealing her peaceful, pale face for all to see. The soldiers stole disbelieving glances as they marched, and the priests mourned in deafening silence.

Atem had long since wept the last of his tears, his face dried by the arid desert breeze. When they finally arrived at the villa, he considered breaking away from the convoy — following the sun into the mountains, chasing Ra's light so as to never let it set on Satiah's last day. But when he laid eyes on her father, waiting intently with the rest of the Conclave outside the villa gates, it seemed as though night had already fallen.

Atem drew his horse to a sudden stop, watching as Metjen stepped forward and scanned the convoy in search of his daughter. The earnestness in his eyes gave way to fear as his gaze fell to Atem. The look sent a lash of shame across Atem's heart, causing him to drop his head and dismount. In his periphery, he saw Metjen pushing through the line of despondent soldiers, just as the horses drawing his daughter's body came to a halt. From his mouth came a subtle sound — sharp and inward, as if he'd burnt himself on a smoldering ember. Voice thickened by this heavy gasp, he breathed a soft, "No."

He repeated the word — over and over, his voice growing louder and louder — but Atem's eyes had long since fallen to the ground, where he watched the sands shifting beneath his feet until the full weight of a father's rage connected squarely with his jaw. Stunned, Atem stumbled back and landed flat against the ground, but in his numbness he felt neither the pain of the blow nor the impact of his fall — only the taste of bitter blood pooling on his tongue.

Blinking back stars, Atem tipped his chin down to watch as a storm of soldiers swarmed Metjen. "You were supposed to keep her safe!" he shouted, thrashing against the hands holding him. "You were supposed to protect my little girl!"

Atem made a move to stand up, aided swiftly in his effort by Seto and Mahad. He waved both off, then turned to the soldiers and did the same. With hesitance, they released Metjen, who jerked his shoulders and spun away immediately. He strode back to the slab and kneeled down hard at his daughter's side, brushing a trembling hand across her cheek. She had since been surrounded by mourners — priests and former attendants to her household, including her handmaiden, who threw herself over the body of her ward, muffling keening cries into Satiah's middle.

As Atem watched, a thin stream of blood dripped down and stained the front of his tunic. Swallowing hard, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then slipped past the gathering crowd and into the villa.

Day turned to night and then back into day, but Atem felt neither the setting of the moon nor the rising of the sun from beneath the Sekhmet's temple. Priests had come and gone from the embalming chamber in a regular rotation, some to bestow blessings upon the queen's body, others to simply observe their king's ceaseless vigil. After some time, the Sacred Guardians came to pay their respects as well. Seto offered to sit for Atem and let him rest, but he'd dismissed all three of them with a wordless wave of his hand.

In his solitude, Atem studied Satiah's face intently — memorizing each line and curve, storing the images deep in the recesses of his heart. It felt odd to think of her as dead, when no earthly thing had taken her life — there were no bloody wounds upon her body, no lingering signs of sickness. If not for the stillness of her breast, Atem might have thought she was simply sleeping.