A tomb like tens of others he had raided. Dark, musty, and nothing but flat, taupe stone from the walls to the floor to the ceiling. It looked near identical to all the other ones he had ever been in.
But this one was different. It even felt different. There was a mysterious, unnerving aura hanging in the air. He was not here to rob this grave. His love was gone. Princess Aya had died. Her death was announced only a day before and a huge funeral procession made its way through the capital, her coffin at the center of attention of it all. He had quietly followed from the shadows, stalking the party illegally until they disappeared into her premade final resting place.
But he didn't believe it. He wouldn't accept it. It wasn't true until he saw it for himself. But his heart was in his throat. Though he denied it, something inside him had broken upon hearing the news. It was an intense, anxious bundle of anticipation that sat in his chest, fearing the worst and refusing to leave until his question was answered.
He was alone, refusing to allow any of his men enter this tomb. He would not allow raiding of any kind, which was all his men wanted. This place was off limits and his men knew better than to cross him. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one allowed inside of Princess Aya's burial chamber without dying a brutally horrible death at his hands.
He traversed past every trap, diversion, and obstacle made to stop intruders with ease. It displeased him how little the designers put into preventing trespassing. The tomb of such an important, strong, and powerful human being should have been better protected. It should have taken him much longer to navigate his way to her final resting place than it had. He only avoided floors collapsing into pits, poisonous spikes shooting out of the walls, a dozen false rooms and dead ends, and multiple huge blocks of stone suddenly falling from the ceiling. It was amateur and lazy. He would've thought that they'd go above and beyond for a member of the royal family.
He forcibly pushed open another stone door, using his entire bodyweight to shove it little by little. It was a thick, stone slab, purposely difficult to move, decorated with colorful images of hieroglyphs, scarabs, and lotuses. He finally opened it just enough for him to slip inside, taking a moment to catch his breath, but immediately losing it again when he realized where he was.
Gold littered every corner of the room in every form imaginable: daggers, statues, rings, jewelry, amphoras, and more. The room was intricately painted with scenes from Aya's life and also with scenes of her supposed journey to the afterlife. Games, clothes, family heirlooms, and all sorts of treasures that Bakura had seen a million times before were laid across every inch of the room. But he ignored all of it. He didn't even see it. His eyes were adhered to the sarcophagus that rested in the middle of it all.
The realization of confronting the truth dawned on him. Inside was presumably the body of Aya, her death suddenly feeling very real, scaring Bakura the longer he stared. He hadn't felt scared since he was a child. He had become numb as an adult. The only feelings he had were typically of anger, indifference, or some kind of psychotic thrill. But not now. Now, he was truly afraid.
He walked up to her casket and examined it carefully, delaying the inevitable. The outside was an image of Aya, represented with gilded gold, lapis lazuli, amethyst, and more precious gemstones. It looked nothing like her, though. It didn't come close to embodying her beauty, her radiance, nor anything resembling her actual appearance. Though, Bakura knew, they could try with all their might and they would never be able to do her portrayal any justice.
That horrible feeling in his chest grew immensely as he placed his hand on the cover, feeling the weight beneath his palm, but hesitating to actually open it. He wanted it to be empty. He wanted to find someone else. Anyone else. But he had done this too many times. They were never empty. They were never anyone else than who the tomb was designed for. Still, he secretly prayed this one would be different. He once again strained to open the heavy lid, giving it one hard push, sliding it off just enough so the top was completely exposed.
And there she lay. Her body wrapped in linen, but her face free to view. She looked like she was simply asleep, but Bakura knew better. Her head rested on presumably the softest pillow imaginable. Her wavy, brown hair was strewn down her shoulders behind her back. Her eyes, of course, were closed, for all eternity. She was surrounded by more gold, jewels, and precious items meant to guide her to the spirit realm and aid her in the afterlife.
He felt his heart suddenly tear to shreds. His entire being fractured in that instant. He crumbled to his knees, draping himself against the side of her sarcophagus. He sobbed against the stone, clutching his chest as if his heart would burst. His bawling got louder and louder until he was practically screaming at nothing, his cries echoing against the far walls of the chamber.
He continued until his voice was rasp, his throat raw, and his eyes stung. He slowly quieted back down, piecing himself together just enough to stand back up. His body painfully tensed when he was forced to look at Aya's perfectly preserved corpse again. He gently reached in, lightly touching her cheek with the back of two fingers, but he quickly snatched them back. He had wanted to feel her soft skin one last time, but he hated the way she felt in death. She was stiff, cold. The exact opposite of how she had been in life.
He took one last, hard look at her, engraining her form into his mind, and then gradually pulled the cover back closed, sealing her away for eternity. He kept his hand on the cover over where the effigy's heart would be, as if he would be able to feel her heartbeat if he just waited long enough. But it was still. The stone gave no indication of life of either itself or the body that lie underneath. He slid down to the ground, leaning his side against the sarcophagus and silently crying until he ran out of tears.
And there he stayed. He wanted to remain with Aya. He had no desire for anything left outside. There was no point in riches if his heart continuously ached for her. There was no point in taking over as king if he did not have his queen. He had no drive to take revenge for his village any longer. The spirits would have to accept the death of the princess as suitable enough.
He woefully decided that he would stay and guard her tomb until the gods chose to take his life too. Then he would hopefully be reunited with Aya. If not, then death was no worse than life. He had nothing left.
Days passed by, Bakura unmoving, not even standing, only shedding the occasional tear. He lost track of time having no sunrise, no sunset, and no light of day. Just perpetual darkness, darker than any natural night. Until finally, after undoubtedly many days, he could barely keep his eyes open. His breaths were heavy, his body weak and lethargic, and lips severely chapped. His eyes couldn't focus, outlines in the blackness blurring and unblurring over and over. His heartbeat grew louder and louder in his ears, the scarce noises outside fading slowly to nothing. More and more time passed in between beats, until finally, they ceased all together.
And there he remained. He now watched from a fixed perspective outside his own body. Hundreds and thousands of years passed by in seconds. Dust settled on every object in the room, turning the tops an ugly gray. The skin rapidly rotted off his body, not subjected to the preservation of mummification like Aya had been. His robe hung loosely on his shoulders as he decayed, threatening to slide down at any second, but seeming to fight against doing so. Soon he was nothing but a skeleton, which even then continued to grow dry and brittle with the punishment of time.
Bakura's eyes suddenly shot open, his entire body jolting awake. He panted heavily, heart beating wildly in panic. For a moment, he believed that him being in the cave, waking up, was the dream. He thought he was truly festering away in Aya's tomb far away. He touched his face, relieved to feel his skin had returned. He sighed away his anxiety, calming down back to normal. It just been a nightmare. It was the most vivid dream he had ever experienced. It felt completely and utterly tangible. He could still hear, see, smell, and feel everything in that tomb. Every detail was so unbelievably clear.
He turned his head to look out the cave entrance. The storm had dwindled from a raging tempest to just a speedy wind. The dust had thinned from a thick cloud to mere static in the air, the distant sand dunes no longer blocked from view. It was still dark, but the sky wasn't black. It was a deep indigo blue, indicating that dawn was only an hour or two away.
He looked down at his chest, finding a slumbering Aya sleeping peacefully, unbothered by his sudden lurch. The despair from his dream immediately came back to mind. Her corpse, her cold skin, her stillness. He held her tighter to him, burying his lips and nose in her hair. She was alive. She was here. She was with him. She was safe.
The events of his dreams repeatedly ran through his head. Every trap he dodged, every door he opened, his last moments in Aya's resting chamber, her deceased form in her sarcophagus and feeling her dead flesh beneath his fingers. He couldn't lose her. That couldn't be the end. He wouldn't let it. That won't happen, he thought to himself determinedly. As long as I am here, I won't allow that to happen.