DD: Hey guys! I have a bit of an unusual story for you this time (for me, anyway). There is very little shipping. *le gasp* I know. Shock, horror, the works. This story is set in Ancient Egypt when Kul Elna was attacked and when Mehen (Marik) and Menes (Yami Marik) were getting the tomb keeper's initiation. It's an AU and kind of my idea as to where Akefia got his scar. It has dashes of Citronshipping, but as they're seven and nine, there isn't very much shipping. I hope you like it, Killer Queens! Let me know what you think down in the comments section and enjoy the rest of the magazine.

-YGOMAGAZINE-

Fire.

All Akefia could see was fire.

Fire everywhere, and burning everything.

"Mama!" He shrieked, his lungs burning from the smoke.

Everywhere, people were screaming and running back and forth, trying to find their loved ones.

He could hear horses, and squelches, and yells, and roars.

He darted through the streets, slipping in something that coated his hard feet red.

"Mama!" He shrieked again, louder this time. "Papa! Heru!"

No response.

Well, he got a response. More horses, more squelches, more yells, and more roars.

It just wasn't the response he was looking for.

He felt someone grab the back of his robes and he fumbled for the knife in his pocket.

As they tried to drag him away, Akefia whipped around and slashed at them.

He saw a flash of purple and gold; the symbol of the Pharaoh.

Then red splattered over it and he heard cursing and yelling. The grip on his robes loosened and he squirmed free.

He ran back into the fray.

He could see his house burning. People were running and lunging left and right.

He didn't know if they were soldiers or villagers anymore.

He just had to get to the safe house. Heru would know to go there, and Mama and Papa would follow him.

He skidded to a halt outside the barn. Although it was wooden, it was one of the few things not on fire. Yet.

He tugged the door open; just enough for him to slide through.

It was dark inside; darker than he'd seen it before. Even with the flames.

Mama and Papa never let him go there after dark. They always worried about him. They would probably be worrying now too.

But Heru knew about the secret door. So he would be able to bring them there. And any other villagers he saw.

Akefia had seen Donkor in the flames as well.

He used to bully Akefia for having long hair. And wearing white. And anything he could really; he hated that Akefia's father was the leader of the village.

But Akefia had reached out a hand to help him. And Donkor had been stabbed through the chest by a spear right in front of him.

Some of his blood was still on Akefia.

Akefia stumbled across the stone floor to the trap door. It took him a few minutes; it always did. The door was heavy, and he was panicked. He was fumbling. Shaking. Nearly sobbing.

However, he managed to pull the door open, and closed again when he was inside.

The room was even darker than the barn. As he walked down the steps to the tunnel, he clung to the wall, scared of tripping and falling to his death.

That would be embarrassing, and Heru would cry when he found his brother.

He did slip. Several times. But he didn't fall.

When he got to the bottom step, he had to leave one wall to find another.

He only walked for a few minutes when he found the second wall.

He didn't trust the tunnel. Once, Heru had stepped on a loose tile and arrows had nearly shot through his head.

He had been lucky that he had stumbled and fell underneath them, or he would have died.

When he stopped, he stood there for a moment.

Down this far, he couldn't hear the screams. But he could feel something in front of him.

His eyes had grown somewhat accustomed to the darkness. Enough to see three things in front of him.

He slowly reached down and touched one. It was warm but growing colder. He could feel fluffy hair. And a scar on its head; right where Heru had been nicked by one of the arrows.

"Heru?" He whispered.

He didn't get any response this time. His call just echoed through the empty hall.

He bit his lip and sank to the floor, sobbing.

He couldn't see any detail but he could feel something wet as he knelt down.

He didn't need to see to know that it was blood.

-YGOMAGAZINE-

"Mehen."

Mehen looked up from where he was seated by his brother's bed.

His father.

The initiation.

No.

No, he couldn't do this.

Menes was in tears after it, and Menes never cried.

He looked up at Isis. It was dark, but he was long used to the darkness.

Enough so to be able to see Isis look away from him.

"No!" He shrieked.

"Mehen," Dakarai growled, glaring at his son. "Now."

Mehen clung to Menes' bed. His brother was unconscious.

Even if he wasn't, he wouldn't be able to rely on him. It wouldn't be fair after the initiation.

Dakarai snarled and stormed over to him. Mehen wrapped his arms tightly around the leg of Menes' bed.

Dakarai grabbed Mehen around the waist and wrenched him away from his brother. "Menes!" Mehen screamed, squirming to get free. "Menes, help!"

He saw Menes' eyes flutter, and for a moment, he dared to hope that he wouldn't need to go through with this.

But Menes didn't stir and Mehen was dragged into the next room.

"No!" He yelled as Dakarai tried to place him down on the table. "I don't want to do this! Stop!"

"You're going through with this, son," Dakarai hissed, pinning Mehen stomach-down on the table and tying his hands and wrists to it. "You don't have a choice."

-YGOMAGAZINE-

Mehen could hear sobbing.

He wasn't sure where it was from, but he knew that sound all too well.

He gritted his teeth, one hand braced against the wall for support. His back ached, and the roughly woven robes itched and burned the cuts.

Isis had healed them to the best of her abilities, but the initiation always knocked people out of it for a few days.

Which was why that was the perfect time to escape. No one but Rishid would be checking on him in that time period, and he knew Rishid would keep him safe.

Which meant he had a while to escape.

First, he had to find whoever was crying.

He just needed to follow the sound and avoid the tomb keepers' traps.

Loose tile, loose tile, trip wire, loose brick wall, double trip wire, loose tile, loose tile, there!

The sobbing was closer now. Mehen could make out a few lumps on the ground, and something curled up near them.

"Hello?"

The creature stopped sobbing and sniffed. "Wh-what do you want?"

"To get out of here," Mehen replied honestly.

"Then g-go."

"But I also want to help you..." He sat across from the creature. He could make out shaggy grey hair and bright eyes, though he didn't know the colour. "What's wrong?"

"They're dead," he whispered. "All of them. They're all dead. M-Mama, and H-Heru, an-and P-Papa..." He was shaking, but he wasn't sobbing again. Yet.

Mehen reached out and pushed the creature's bangs away from his eyes. "What's your name?" Mama, Heru and Papa were probably the three lumps on the floor.

The creature sniffed again. "A-Akefia..." Mehen could see tears rolling down his cheeks now that his bangs weren't hiding his eyes.

His own eyes burned with his own tears. "I-I'm sorry..."

Akefia shook his head but said nothing. They both sat there.

The bottom of Akefia's robes were stained red with the blood of his family. The back of Mehen's robes were stained red with the blood of tradition.

Tears formed and fell from their eyes, and sobs rose and escaped their throats.

They clung to one another, having nothing and no one else to cling to anymore.

Finally, when Mehen could see cracks of light filtering down from a nearby exit, they stopped crying. Mehen could see Akefia was still shaking; he could see that the other boy was a year younger than him. Maybe two.

So he leaned in and did what he remembered his mother doing for him when they were children.

He pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Then to each eyelid. Then his nose, each cheek, and finally, his lips.

Akefia had stopped shaking by that stage. He just looked up at Mehen. Mehen smiled softly at him. "Let's go."

Akefia cast a glance at the three lumps. "But-"

"You're not safe here," Mehen murmured. "They would want you to run and live. Not stay and die."

Akefia swallowed and allowed Mehen to help him up.

Mehen squeezed his hands. "Let's go," he repeated. This time, Akefia nodded and followed him through the tunnel and up the stairs.

Mehen had only been up once, but he knew each trap and trick laid out.

If he didn't, he would have died. Both of them would have.

It took both of them to push the trap door up; wooden beams and debris had fallen on it when the barn had burned down.

Mehen could see pain and anger flashing through Akefia's eyes as they climbed out of the tunnel. "This was your home?" He asked.

Akefia nodded. "Kul Elna," he whispered. He pointed west. "That was my school." The stone foundations and part of the roof was still there. Mehen could see the charred remains of what looked like a teacher that had been stabbed lying outside it. Akefia turned and pointed a bit further away. "That was my house."

It was reduced to nothing more than a pile of ashes and rubble.

Mehen swallowed. "If you want to cry, you can," he said softly.

Akefia shook his head. He slowly made his way over to the pile of rubble with Mehen following.

A fluttering piece of red caught their attention, and from the rubble, Akefia pulled a red cloak adorned with golden seams and thread.

His eyes softened, and once again, pain flashed through them. "Papa..." He closed his eyes, hugging the robes close.

Mehen wrapped his arms around him and repeated the action. He kissed his forehead, each eyelid, his nose, each cheek, and finally, his lips.

When Mehen pulled away, Akefia opened his eyes again and slipped on the cloak. "Do you have a knife?" He whispered.

Mehen nodded and pulled the knife out of his pocket. He had stolen it from his father - just in case.

Akefia took the knife and stared at it for a moment before slashing at his own face.

Mehen stared dumbly as he made another slash. As he went for the third, Mehen caught his wrist. "What are you doing?!"

"One each!" Akefia wrenched his arm free and slashed one final time. Fire burned in his eyes, much like it had burned through the village; chaotic and destructive. "One each," he repeated, a bit calmer. Blood trickled down his cheek. "One scar," he whispered, handing the knife back to Mehen, "for each member of family I left behind."