Relic
For the first time in ages, Atem dreamed at night. He did not sleep, however, even though his eyes were closed as he was sitting at Yugi’s desk in the light of the street lamp falling through the slits of the shutter - instead, he remembered. In his mind, he walked through the labyrinth of his memories, its vast branching paths untrodden for millennia, but no longer empty and dark.
For the first time in ages, Atem wandered through the depths of his soul and found familiar faces.
Some memories were fresher, more vivid, and they drew him in, accompanied by emotions that had to have been within him all along. Still, their intensity filled him with wonder and as he reminisced, it was almost as if he experienced them for the first time.
He remembered his mother singing softly in the warm evening breeze wafting in from the balcony, and her hand on his forehead, sure and protective. He remembered his father’s hand resting on his back, reassuring and steady, as he guided his young son through his first ceremonial duties.
When Atem opened his eyes, there were tears on his face, and the overwhelming feeling of loss surprised him. It had been so long ago, after all, yet somehow it felt to him like no time had passed, like it had barely been a year.
But no matter how vivid his memories were, they remained an echo of a different life. A life that was as distant now as it felt close to him, a life without his new-found friends, governed by duties and protocol, removed and sheltered and isolated.
Maybe this was why he remembered the little things above all.
He remembered the gravity in Isis’ voice when she predicted the paths of fate, even when they were favourable, as if she was always concerned for the future, and especially for his.
He remembered Mahado’s steadfast presence at his side when they entered the quiet, thick air of a temple sanctuary, the sound of their steps aligned on the stone tiles, and how his calm, low voice would ease Atem’s nervousness and doubt.
He remembered Seth’s challenging, impetuous attitude and how it stood in such contrast to the earnestness with which he performed his duties. Somehow, Atem remembered his provoking smile as vividly as the diligent care in the way his hands would undress and reverently tend to the divine stone-carved body of the god he had sworn his service to.
Something tugged at Atem’s heart, then, like an old ache, and it was to him as if the air about him was heavy with incense and the smell of anointing oil. And there were words, spoken softly, intimately, reciting spells to protect and to guide, as those firm, warm hands carefully wrapped his body in white linen with the same utmost care.
It was not a memory, not quite. It couldn’t be – his body had died and withered long ago even though his soul had lingered on. But with his name he had not only regained the memories of his past self, but also of the body he had once resided in, and as his soul had remained bound to this world, the remnants of his heart, preserved for eternity inside his corpse, connected him to his body still.
In a way, Atem had always been aware of it, distant and vague.
Unconsciously, Atem pressed a hand to his left side, tracing a cut that was not there, and the heavy smell of incense mingled with the tangy scent of resin. With his hand on his stomach, he barely felt anything beneath his touch. All inside him was entirely still and quiet, if it weren’t for Yugi’s heartbeat faintly resonating in his chest. But as his fingers brushed over what should have been the swell of his ribs, the cavern of his chest felt strangely full, like it had been lovingly carved out and very carefully filled up again, and the distant smell of resin, herbs and spices did no longer alarm him.
As unsettling as it was to be so aware of his own corpse, there was comfort in it, too, wrapping itself around him like linen bandages, tight, but tender and protecting.
Instead of fear, a weariness pulled at the core of him, as old and ageless as his soul.
“You’re still awake… Is something bothering you?”, a rather sleepy voice interrupted his thoughts. Yugi was sitting on his bed, blinking in the dark.
“It’s nothing”, Atem reassured him, “I just have a lot to think about, that is all.”
Of course, Yugi knew there was more to it than that and he surely was about to offer to talk about it, but Atem smiled, lightly.
“Go to sleep”, he said, softly but insistently. “There is still a lot ahead of us.”
“You’re right.” Yugi nodded, and despite his sleepiness, he looked determined. A lot of things went unsaid between them lately, but maybe after sharing a body for so long, there was little need to talk for them to understand.
“Goodnight”, Yugi said as he lay down again and pulled his blanket up. Then, a bit softer, he added, “…Other Me.”
The cheerfulness in Atem’s smile wavered as he answered, “Goodnight.”
He would not tell Yugi about the wistfulness that had come with regaining his memories. Yugi was well aware of the path that awaited them, and Atem did not want to influence his feelings before their last duel.
It was true that Atem would never be ready to leave, neither Yugi nor the others, but with this weariness came a heavy, overwhelming desire for his soul to finally rest, just like his bones that were long buried beneath sand and forgotten in time.
Memories rose again in his mind, of faces and voices, of fondness and loss.
Atem did not want die. He had already died a long time ago.
His memories were simply calling him home.
