#floatshipping

The man bore his teeth. "Gutsy woman..." he muttered. "I've come to take that necklace—the Millennium Tauk. I'll probably ring your pretty neck, too." 

The priestess smiled slightly; shook her head. "I told you—I've already foreseen this meeting. You'll do neither of those things." 

"Come off it," the man scoffed. "Kinda idiot are you? Out here all by your lonesome?" 

The priestess shook her head again, her eyes still closed. "I told you, Bakura, King of Thieves—I've foreseen this. We will speak. And we'll both live for some time longer." 

Bakura stiffened at his name—not only his name, but the self-given title that he'd never told to another soul. He took a step backwards. "How is Isfet—?" 

"Come sit beside me." The priestess opened her eyes at last; glanced over at Bakura. "I am Isis. Priestess Isis of the Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen. And you are Bakura, the last thief of Kul Elna." 

Bakura took another step backwards. "You know about Kul Elna?" he demanded. 

Isis nodded; motioned, with the hand on her lap, to the place next to her. "Come, Bakura. We will speak of these things." 

Bakura hesitated, then slunk forward. He shifted uneasily before he sunk down onto the rock beside Isis. His wary eyes remained fixed on her, though his gaze flicked between her face and the necklace she wore, the Millennium Tauk. 

"I cannot see the past," Isis began, "but my comrade, Mahad, has seen visions. He's told me how the Millennium Items were created. And I have seen glimpses of your future, so I know who you are." 

"My future?" Bakura asked, curious despite himself. 

Isis nodded. "The gods have been cruel to you. And they will continue to be. I came out into the desert to meditate, but also in the hopes of meeting you." 

"If you know that much," Bakura said slowly, his voice low, "then you know why I have to have the Millennium Items. You know why I'll take yours." 

Isis nodded, a deep sadness in her voice as she said, "I know I should give it to you, as well. But I will not, nor will you relieve me of it, tonight. I have foreseen this." 

"And if your vision is wrong?" 

Isis shook her head. "My visions are never in error." 

Bakura took a breath to argue, but let it out. He turned toward the fire. Although winter had not yet arrived, he could feel its chill in the night air. The fire’s warmth was pleasant. 

“You will come to the palace,” Isis said, “and we will fight. That is our destiny.” 

“Some destiny,” Bakura scoffed, though he knew it was true. He glanced over at the woman, the Priestess Isis, and saw her staring into the flames. Her breath was deep and rhythmic, and he felt himself, involuntarily, match it. His tension eased. 

“Do not think too ill of us, for obeying our loyalties when the time comes,” Isis said. “We will fight, but it is because fate has left us no other option. We will fight for our pharaoh, as you will fight for your people.” 

“Sure, but...” Bakura began, unsure why he wanted to argue. He’d never doubted his convictions—didn’t, even in that moment. But he wanted, desperately, for there to at least be a choice in the matter. 

Isis shook her head. “You will not waver. And our Lord Pharaoh will match you. But both sides will suffer greatly.” 

“Why talk to me?” Bakura asked. “Why not appeal to your honored pharaoh, instead?” 

Isis shrugged. “Because fate has allowed us to meet. And no amount of appeal—to my Lord or to you—will allow us to change this destiny.” 

“That’s a damned fatalistic view...” Bakura muttered, though he had no intentions of changing his mind. 

They sat together, for some time, by the flickering fire. It was a peaceful silence; a restful one. Bakura felt the painful tension leave his shoulders. He glanced again at Isis, sitting straight and serene beside him. He opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it. No solution would be reached. No alternative path would be opened. 

Bakura turned, instead, and gazed with narrowed eyes into the flickering flames. Better, then, to be present, and to enjoy the company.