Ryuki walks. The sand stretches, an endless, shimmering expanse under a relentless sun. Each step kicks up fine dust that settles on his makeshift cloak, coating the already grimy fabric. His throat feels like sandpaper. Days have bled into each other, a monotonous cycle of walking, squinting, and rationing the meager water he carries in a stolen canteen. The outer districts had been a gauntlet of desperate duels and close calls. This desert, however, offers a different kind of torture: silence. The quiet presses in on him, broken only by the crunch of his worn boots and the thrumming of blood in his ears. He misses the chaotic din of Satellite, even the whir of a distant Sector Security patrol. At least that had been a threat he could *see*. Here, the danger is unseen, the vastness itself a threat. His right forearm throbs, the crimson dragon mark a faint warmth under his sleeve, a constant, silent reminder of why he’s out here, why he’s a fugitive. He stops, pulling the canteen from his belt. A single, miserly sip, barely enough to wet his tongue. The sun beats down, a hammer on his skull. He needs something, anything, to ground himself, to remember what he's fighting for. His fingers go to the inner pocket of his jacket, brushing against the smooth, stiff card he keeps there. He pulls it out, the only powerful card he possesses, the only one that feels like a piece of his old life. Blue-Eyes Ultimate Spirit Dragon. The card gleams in the harsh sunlight, its artwork depicting the majestic three-headed beast, ethereal and formidable. It isn’t his Blue-Eyes White Dragon, not the ones he cherished, but a Synchro Monster he’d never seen before his new life. It had simply *appeared* in his pocket. A mystery. A power he couldn't yet wield. A promise. He traces the card's border with his thumb, the faint texture familiar. This card is an anomaly, a strange gift. It’s the only thing that makes this journey feel like more than just a punishment. It’s a fragment of the power he needs, a beacon in the desolate landscape. He holds it for a long moment, letting the image fill his vision, pushing back the gnawing emptiness of the desert. He closes his eyes, trying to conjure the feeling of its power, the weight of a true deck in his hands. The memory of his Blue-Eyes deck, the raw, unadulterated strength of it, is a phantom limb. He aches for it. He pictures the pristine white dragons, the fierce gaze of the three beasts on his ultimate monster. He remembers the precision of his strategies, the way he could bend a duel to his will, every move calculated, every trap laid. That was Ryuki Sato. That was the true duelist. Until others kept using the same meta deck in master duels. This dusty, struggling figure, nursing a weak deck and a single powerful card he couldn’t even play, felt like a pale imitation. He tucks the card back, the warmth of the sun-baked plastic a small comfort against his chest. He pushes forward, the image of the ultimate dragon burned behind his eyelids. He has to reach Neo Domino. He has to find answers. He has to find his cards. The thirst and exhaustion are relentless, but the thought of that card, that power, keeps his feet moving across the unforgiving sand. He glances back at his faint footprints, already fading in the shifting dunes. Like his old life. He had to make a new mark. --- The sun begins its slow descent, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples. Ryuki squats beside a large, cracked rock, its surface pitted by millennia of wind and sand. He eats a handful of dried rations, flavorless and hard, chewing slowly to conserve energy. The vastness of the desert at dusk is even more profound, the air cooling quickly, bringing a chill he hadn't expected. He pulls his cloak tighter around him. The endless sand, the harsh environment, it all stirs something deep in his memory. Not from *this* life, this new body, but from his past. The final arc of Duel Monsters. The ceremonial duel. The Pharaoh's journey back to ancient Egypt. The origins of Duel Monsters themselves, born from a world of magic, spirits, and rituals played out in a land of burning sands. He remembers the legends, the stories he devoured as a kid, the lore that fueled his obsession. How the very first duelists communed with powerful spirits, how their beliefs manifested into monsters, how the Shadow Games threatened to consume their world. He thinks of Seto Kaiba, a man across millennia, chasing the power of the Egyptian Gods, determined to surpass the Pharaoh. Kaiba, who built a corporate empire on the back of dueling, who refused to acknowledge anything he couldn't control. A wry smile touches Ryuki’s lips, cracked from the dry air. He had always admired Kaiba. Kaiba’s ruthless efficiency, his unshakeable conviction, his belief in technology and strategy over 'mumbo-jumbo.' Ryuki had seen himself in that single-minded pursuit of victory, that defiance of fate. He had always strived to emulate that level of strategic genius, to be the kind of duelist who commanded respect through sheer, undeniable skill. This world, however, feels different. More mystic. More raw. Leo and the old scavengers had spoken of the 'Crimson Dragon' and 'giant beasts' stirring when the mark woke up. They talked about Signers being 'pillars,' their fall bringing the city to ruin. It sounded less like a card game and more like, well, an ancient prophecy. Like something out of those old Duel Monsters stories. He pulls out the Blue-Eyes Ultimate Spirit Dragon card again, turning it over in his fingers. Could this card, this Synchro Monster, be a manifestation of that? A duel spirit, perhaps? He knew his Blue-Eyes cards had always felt alive to him, but this was a whole new level. He’d seen his mark glow. He’d seen the masked figure appear from nowhere to save him. He’d heard Director Goodwin’s chilling pronouncements. This was not a game. That voice from his dream echoed in his mind. *This is not a game*. His past life had been about mastering the game, about skill and strategy. This life felt like it was about something else entirely. Something beyond the board, beyond the rules. The desert, ancient and unforgiving, seemed to whisper secrets of those bygone eras, blurring the lines between game and reality, between belief and power. He had always scoffed at the idea of fate, of destiny. He was a duelist, he made his own luck. But here, under the endless expanse of stars, the concept felt heavier, more tangible. He closes his eyes, trying to reconcile the two worlds. The logical, calculated world of dueling, and this new, mystical reality. The Blue-Eyes Ultimate Spirit Dragon card still warm in his hand, a bridge between them. He felt a shiver, not from the cold, but from the unsettling realization that everything he thought he knew about dueling, about power, might be incomplete. He had to find out what this truly meant. --- Another day dawns, painting the eastern sky in soft pastels before the sun reasserts its brutal authority. Ryuki’s legs ache, his shoulders are stiff, and every muscle protests with each step. But then, as he crests a particularly tall dune, he sees it. A faint, distant shimmer on the horizon. Not a mirage. Something metallic, vertical. Neo Domino City. It’s just a smudge, a distant promise of towering structures and bustling streets, but it’s enough to ignite a flicker of hope. He’s made it this far. He’s crossed the perilous outer districts, survived the barren wastes. The thought of a proper meal, a glass of clean water, a bed, pushes him forward with renewed, if weary, determination. But the sight also brings a fresh wave of anxiety. He is a fugitive. A publicly declared Signer Fugitive, with a city-wide alert for his apprehension. Getting *to* Neo Domino City is one thing; getting *into* it, and then navigating its tightly controlled sectors, is another entirely. Without a Duel Runner, without his powerful cards, he is just a man in a tattered cloak, hunted by Sector Security. He runs a hand over his tired face. The image of Kaiba, striding confidently through his corporate tower, commanding respect with every gesture, flashes in his mind. Kaiba wouldn't be caught in this situation. Kaiba would have a plan, a network, resources. Ryuki feels the immense weight of that legacy, the expectation he’d unconsciously placed on himself to be as formidable, as unyielding. He'd spent his whole life idolizing Kaiba, modeling his dueling philosophy after him. To duel with unwavering confidence, to dominate with sheer power and intellect, to never back down, never surrender control. It had defined him. But now, alone in this vast desert, vulnerable and weak, the comparison felt like a mockery. He was Ryuki Sato, a duelist with a deep-seated fear of irrelevance, struggling to survive in a world that had stripped him of everything he knew. He pulls out the Blue-Eyes Ultimate Spirit Dragon card again. It feels heavier now, less like a comfort and more like a burden. This card is powerful, mystical, a key to something he doesn’t fully understand. It’s part of this world’s 'fate,' its 'Signer' prophecy. But he didn’t want fate. He wanted to win on his own terms. He wanted to build his own empire of skill, not inherit one built on ancient magic and destiny. The sun begins to climb higher, beating down on him. The distant city shimmers again, a mirage of salvation and danger. He needs to find the KaibaCorp records, the old buildings, the lost assets. He needs to understand the Zero Reverse, its connection to everything. Those answers, he believes, hold the key to finding his missing deck, to reclaiming his identity. But the path to those answers feels increasingly blurred by a force he never accounted for: the unknown. He looks at the card in his hand. Blue-Eyes Ultimate Spirit Dragon. It’s magnificent, powerful, undeniable. But it’s not *his*. Not truly. He didn't summon it. He didn't earn it. It was simply given. And in that, he finds a lingering dissatisfaction. He wanted to earn his power, to forge it himself, not just be a pawn in some grand, cosmic game. He wanted to be the one who dictates the game, not the one played by it. --- He walks until the sun dips again, casting long, distorted shadows across the dunes. The distant city now seems a little closer, its silhouette sharper against the twilight sky. But the physical exhaustion is absolute, draining him to the bone. He collapses onto the sand, too tired to even bother finding a rock. The air grows cold around him, sharp and biting. He stares up at the first stars pricking the darkening heavens. The same stars, he thinks, that would have shone over ancient Egypt, over the duels that birthed the very concept of duel monsters. The same stars that had watched Kaiba, hundreds of years later, defy convention, build his empire, and challenge gods. His mind drifts to Kaiba again. The CEO, the visionary, the duelist who had no equal in his era save for one. Ryuki had always seen Kaiba as the ultimate benchmark. The pinnacle of strategic mastery, the embodiment of a duelist who refused to be constrained by anything. But now, in the chilling silence of this foreign desert, a different thought takes root. A bitter, challenging thought. He spent his life trying to be Kaiba. To channel his ruthlessness, his brilliance, his unshakeable will. But Kaiba had his own path, his own demons, his own Blue-Eyes. Ryuki had his own. His own unique style, his own connection to his dragons, his own way of bending the rules. He remembers the cold satisfaction of a perfectly executed combo, the roar of the crowd, the sting of defeat that only fueled his desire to master more. This world, with its Signers and Crimson Dragons, its Momentum and Zero Reverse, felt like a pre-written script. A narrative where he was just a character, fulfilling a role. But Ryuki Sato had never been one to follow a script. He had always been the duelist, the strategist, the one who tore down expectations and built his own victories. He looks at his mark, still a faint warmth under his cloak. The Blue-Eyes Ultimate Spirit Dragon card is still clutched in his hand, a tangible link to power, but also to this world's strange, ancient forces. He doesn’t want to be a pillar for some fabled dragon. He doesn't want to be a pawn in Director Goodwin’s grand scheme. He doesn’t want to follow the footsteps of Seto Kaiba, no matter how revered they might be. He closes his hand around the card, the edges pressing into his palm. He had always believed in the heart of the cards, but in a different way. Not a mystical force guiding his draws, but the unwavering belief in his own skill, his own deck, his own judgment. That was his faith. That was his power. He would make his own path through this world. He would redefine what it meant to be a duelist. He would tear down this preordained fate, and let the hand of cards, *his* cards, guide him.

Chapter 11: Journey of the Sands