Atem has heard the door of the afterlife calling his name ever since he recovered the last of his memories.
But he refuses to let that call tear away the life—and the man—he chose in the present world.
Seto feels the tremor of that distant voice long before Atem can speak the truth aloud.
When the signal finally reaches him, he crosses the sky without hesitation.
A month remains.
No fights. No tears. Just the quiet, unbreakable thread between them, tightening as the day approaches.
A story about reunion, a looming farewell, and the love that binds two worlds together.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 糸を結んだ日
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
Atem knew.
Deep beneath the sand, a door was opening—one that would soon call his name.
Ever since he recovered the last of his memories as a king, that call had resonated, faint but undeniable.
The Afterlife had not forgotten him; it had fixed the coordinates of his soul with perfect clarity.
But that call was also a signal—a sign that the warmth he had found in the living world would soon be taken from him.
He would not say it.
Not yet.
Not to Seto.
He knew Seto was in America, reaching toward his dream of the “Extraverse Brand Project.”
Atem remembered the night Seto had said “I’m going to build a world,” his expression painfully earnest.
The conviction burning in those blue eyes—Atem knew how deeply it had moved his heart.
He had no right to halt that stride.
So, he could not speak.
Before he was a king, Atem was Seto’s lover—his equal.
He would not let his own disappearance become a chain around Seto’s ankles.
On the desk lay the device Seto had left behind with joking bravado.
“Use this. It’s designed to connect no matter where in the world you are.”
That overconfident look had annoyed Atem, just a little—and exasperated him even more.
And yet, beneath that: a small, no—an overwhelming swell of affection and joy.
Atem brushed his fingertips along the device.
His thumb hovered over the message field.
But all he released was a single sigh.
He feared Seto’s words would shatter this fragile daily life.
No—he feared his own words would.
“…Not yet.”
The murmur sank into the desert night.
The wind carried it away, dissolving into the distant American sky.
At that same moment, in a lab before dawn, Seto stared at a holographic display.
For the briefest instant, a fluctuation in the data pulsed like a heartbeat.
It wasn’t communication noise. It felt as though something—someone—had called his name.
He frowned, and only one face rose in his mind.
“…Yami Yugi?”
The moment he spoke the name, the hologram flickered—a single responding flash.
As if answering him.
Seto lifted his fingers, as though confirming a sensation that lingered there.
The display had already gone dark.
But in that moment, he had felt it.
A name, called without a voice.
A phenomenon no machine could explain.
Normally he would dismiss it as noise—
but not this time.
This time, a circuit deep in his chest moved before logic could intervene.
“…I’m going.”
No one tried to stop him.
No one could.
Everyone knew that look.
“When the CEO makes that face, he’s already gone.”
He heard an employee mutter behind him as he sprinted onto the runway, long before clearance could be granted.
The white aircraft tore through the night sky, climbing fast.
There was no hesitation in his eyes.
Seto’s instincts had never once been wrong.
Especially—not when it came to that man.
Night in Domino City carried the scent of a changing season—
a smell that had never existed in the Egypt Atem once ruled.
He stepped out onto the balcony and lifted his gaze toward the distant sky.
A gentle breeze brushed his cheek.
For a single heartbeat, that breeze trembled.
He is coming.
Atem hadn’t sent a message.
He hadn’t called, hadn’t reached out.
And still—
he knew Seto would come.
That was precisely why he could not say it.
That he would return to the Afterlife.
Atem had intended to live out the remainder of his borrowed time in this world,
and accept its end by his own choosing.
But every time Seto’s face rose in his mind, that resolve cracked.
He had never understood how love could weaken him so profoundly.
Not when he was Pharaoh.
He had never loved one person this deeply.
“Even so… I must go.”
His eyes trembled; he exhaled softly.
Then he stepped into the quiet streets of the night.
Before dawn, Seto’s aircraft descended onto the small airstrip at the edge of the city.
In the cold scent of metal and fuel, he let out a single breath.
“…I need to hear what he has to say.”
It was not a command.
It was almost a prayer.
Beyond the door, Atem rose to his feet.
He felt the presence approaching—
one step, then another.
The door slid open, and Seto appeared.
Against the backlight, the two of them fell silent.
What showed on their faces was neither surprise nor relief,
but the quiet, devastating beauty of time itself.
—At the Kaiba residence.
Dawn was close.
The sun had yet to rise, but the edge of the sky already held a pale glow.
Inside the room, the breeze stirred the curtains.
There was no sound—only the quiet rhythm of their breathing seemed to exist.
Seto was standing there.
Still in the white coat he had returned in, drawing faint, uneven breaths.
Yet his eyes were clear, burning with purpose.
“…Explain.”
The word was brief.
It was all he needed.
Atem hadn’t spoken a single thing, and still—Seto had already seen through him.
There was nowhere left to run.
Atem smiled faintly.
A faint smile tinged with sorrow.
Seto knew that expression painfully well.
It was the face Atem wore before a parting.
“Kaiba… you’ve already realized it, haven’t you?”
“I don’t make conclusions based on assumptions.”
Seto’s voice was low, sharp in its calm.
That quietness—Atem had missed it more than he could admit.
“But I came back to Japan for a reason.”
“And you came to me. Speak.”
There was no refuge in Seto’s precision.
No room to lie.
Atem lowered his gaze.
There was no Millennium Puzzle on his chest.
The night wind brushed over the garden as if it, too, were breathing.
A few stars still lingered in the sky.
He stepped out onto the terrace.
No words.
But their shared silence felt strangely vivid.
“I remembered something.”
Seto immediately turned his eyes toward him.
That serious gaze pinned Atem in place.
“Your memories?”
Atem nodded slowly.
“I remembered the name Atem. It’s… my true name.”
The night air drifted between them.
Seto narrowed his eyes for an instant, and, still expressionless, spoke:
“…You are not ‘Dark Yugi,’ then.”
“Yugi was the one who awakened me. So I am no longer him.”
A short silence followed.
Then Atem smiled again—quiet, almost serene.
“I wanted to tell you. …To tell you who I am.”
“I knew.”
Seto answered without a flicker of hesitation.
“From the beginning, you were never someone’s shadow.”
Atem lifted his face in surprise.
Seto’s eyes reflected the faint light of the night sky as he continued to gaze at Atem.
“Names don’t matter. Whether you’re Yami Yugi or not, whether you’re a Pharaoh or something else entirely… to me, you’re the only one.”
Atem’s throat tightened, a faint sound escaping him.
If he spoke, he felt something inside him might shatter.
Even so, he managed a small smile.
“…Thank you, Kaiba.”
“Now tell me the bad news.”
Seto didn’t look away. His voice was low, almost quiet.
“You remembered something—beyond just your name.”
“You really are sharp, aren’t you.”
Atem sighed, lifting his gaze to the sky.
“…The door to the Afterlife is opening.”
Seto’s eyes narrowed, as though holding back something.
He didn’t look at the shape of that emotion, didn’t name it.
“You’re going.”
“…Yes.”
A brief silence.
The wind slipped between them.
The curtains swayed, as if drawing a line through the room.
“When.”
“…In a little less than a month.”
“You gave yourself quite a margin.”
“I wanted to tell you. That’s why.”
Seto’s mouth twitched—somewhere between a laugh and a scowl.
What lay beneath it was unreadable. Even to himself.
“And what did you expect me to do with that?”
“I wanted you to understand.”
“Understand?”
Seto exhaled, low and sharp.
“And you think you can make me accept that?”
“I don’t think so. But even then… telling you is better than leaving in silence.”
That honesty hurt worse than any deception.
Seto gripped Atem’s shoulders—not harshly, not gently, but simply to confirm the reality before him.
“You’re running away.”
“I’m not running. I’m returning.
…Though to you, it may look the same.”
Their eyes met.
Time stopped.
And in that stillness, love flowed between them like a quiet current.
At last, Seto spoke.
“…Make me a promise.”
“Kaiba… what promise?”
“That you won’t forget me.”
Atem closed his eyes.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t breathe.
Then he nodded.
“I won’t forget. When you cut through the wind, I’ll be at the bottom of it, calling your name.
So if you remember me too… I’ll be glad.”
“As if I could ever forget you… Atem.”
Atem’s eyes widened slightly.
His name—called back into the living world.
The wind stirred his hair.
Moonlight drifted through the passing clouds.
Seto narrowed his eyes faintly.
He said nothing more, simply drew Atem closer.
“…Let’s go back inside.”
Dawn began to break as they held each other in silence.
That morning, a new wind swept through the town—
as if it had come to connect two separate worlds.
For the next month, nothing changed between them.
No fights, no tears, not even words of accusation.
Just days passing quietly, one after another.
Atem still visited the Kaiba residence from time to time, just as he used to.
They sat facing each other in the far side of Seto’s room, the night-colored view stretching beyond the glass.
They didn’t speak much.
They simply shared the silence.
“The sky looks a little different tonight,” Atem murmured, eyes turned toward the window.
Seto closed the documents on his screen and followed his gaze.
“It’s only the season shifting.”
“Perhaps. But the stars look the same.”
“They’re changing. Humans just don’t notice.”
Atem laughed softly.
Seto’s answers were always grounded in reality, yet somehow warm.
A man who looked the truth in the eye and still refused to let go of dreams—
it reminded Atem of the ideals he once held as a king.
“What do you think about when you look at the stars?” Seto asked.
Atem paused for a moment before answering.
“Time. No matter how brightly a star shines, its light eventually stops reaching us. But even when we can’t see it anymore, the star is still there. Maybe the distance that light travels… is what we call ‘eternity.’”
Seto said nothing.
He simply reached for the glass beside him.
Tiny bubbles surfaced, catching the starlight and trembling like scattered sparks.
“The concept of eternity is inefficient,” he stated.
“That’s very you.”
“But it exists, doesn’t it?”
Atem smiled, and Seto’s mouth twitched just slightly—
a movement too subtle to be called a smile, yet it softened the air around them.
That night, they stepped out onto the terrace and stood side by side, looking up at the stars.
Their conversation was sparse, but the silence wasn’t heavy.
If anything, being together filled the space so completely that words felt unnecessary.
“…Are there stars in the sky of the Afterlife?” Seto asked suddenly.
Atem thought for a moment.
“I don’t know. There may be no light at all.”
“Then I’ll bring it to you.”
Atem turned to study his profile.
His eyes were sharp, like a beast staring down the future, yet gentle in a way only Atem could see.
“Kaiba… don’t say that so seriously, it’s troublesome…”
“Have I ever joked?”
Seto lifted his glass with quiet finality.
There was no clink of a toast—
only the starlight brushing across their fingertips.
It was the calmest night of all.
A night where they understood each other completely,
and chose not to change anything because of it.
Not an ending, but a silence meant to let things continue.
A quiet night that exists only on the edge of eternity.
—Morning in the afterlife began in silence.
Pale light filtered through the sky as bluish mist wrapped itself around the royal buildings, casting a faint glow along the stone pillars of the temple.
Atem sat upon the throne, listening to the reports of his attendants.
Voices delivering updates, the scratch of brushes over papyrus, the distant rhythm of ritual chants—
all of it familiar, yet somehow distant.
It looked unchanged from the Egypt he once ruled three thousand years ago.
And yet, it wasn’t the same.
Even though he had regained all he had lost, a small fragment still lay untouched deep within his heart.
When the audience concluded, Atem stepped out of the great hall.
As he walked down the stone corridor, he stopped mid-stride.
A breeze passed through.
A breeze—something that should not exist in the afterlife—swept across the palace.
It lifted the hem of his robe and stirred the gold of his bangs.
In that moment, Atem felt it.
He thought he saw specks of light trembling in the air.
A familiar white.
A cold stillness.
It reminded him of Seto—so vividly it stole his breath.
He tried to speak his name, but no voice came.
His fingers simply brushed the direction the wind had passed.
“…Kaiba.”
The whisper vanished.
So did the wind.
From afar, the voices of priests calling for their king echoed faintly.
Atem gave a small shake of his head and resumed walking.
He had duties—
and without them, the balance of the afterlife would waver.
But—
That night, back in his chamber, Atem stared at the flame on his table.
Each time it flickered, the light danced across the ceiling, weaving intricate patterns.
For a moment, those shifting shapes looked like the glow of a Duel Monsters card.
Countless duels they had shared in the living world—
that fierce clash of wills.
That heat felt as if it still pulsed somewhere, refusing to fade.
“…Maybe it isn’t over yet.”
He murmured the words as though reminding himself, and closed his eyes.
Atem slept deeply and quietly, yet not peacefully.
In the depths of his dream, he heard someone calling his name.
Atem.
And again, the wind blew.
―The next morning, in the living world—
The sky over Domino City was a shade paler than usual, washed in a hazy light that felt like the boundary between seasons.
In the vast study of the Kaiba residence, a lone man stood.
Seto was staring down at the communication device resting on his desk.
There were clear traces that he had run diagnostics again and again through the night—
cables, circuits, the faint blue blink of the terminal.
Everything was in perfect order, and yet… it was still incomplete.
“…So it still isn’t reaching him.”
The words dissolved into the sterile air.
Atem had vanished from Seto’s side—
like a phantom.
But Seto understood.
It was not the end. Only a shift in location.
He brought up a wall of displays.
Spread across the screens were quantum theories, ancient incantations, structural diagrams of souls, and digital coordinate maps—
a research field of his own making, where science and the occult blurred into one.
Seto called it the afterlife Communication Pathway.
Its purpose was singular:
to speak to Atem again.
“The boundary between the living world and the afterlife is ‘unobservable’ by definition…
But there is a way to break that rule.”
His pen raced across the paper, the pressure firm, filled with conviction.
“If I can stabilize the wavelength of his soul at a fixed value, I can call out to him from here. Atem will sense it—whether it’s carried on wind or light, it doesn’t matter.”
The ceiling lights dimmed.
The quiet of the pre-dawn hours returned.
Without even glancing at his cold coffee, Seto resumed manipulating the terminal.
The communication waveform rose on the screen.
Within the fine static, a brief reaction flickered—
a faint tremor, like the breath of someone unseen.
Seto’s lips lifted in a slight smile.
“…So you really are there.”
Dawn broke.
Light slipped through the gap in the curtains and interfered with the solid vision projected above the desk.
That light formed the faint outline of a human figure—
Atem’s silhouette.
A voiceless, untouchable afterimage.
And yet Seto could feel it. Atem was truly there.
“Just a little more. Wait for me.”
He began inputting a new sequence of code.
The soft hum of the machinery filled the room.
His research continued beyond the night.
For Seto, the concept of “ending” simply did not exist.
As long as he reached for something, the path forward would unfold.
And at the end of that path, the two of them would meet again.
The sky of the afterlife was deep and blue, its light wavering gently each time the wind passed through.
At the heart of that realm stood the royal palace, and in its innermost chamber—the throne room—Atem sat in silence.
Clad in the attire of a king, he gazed into the distance.
His mind was clear, yet unsettled.
The layers of light trembled.
Someone was crossing the boundary.
“…Impossible.”
At his whisper, the air split open.
Particles of light scattered; a wind cut through the chamber.
From within that brilliance, a man stepped forward—
a white coat, cold eyes, and beneath them, a faint heat.
Seto.
He said nothing.
He simply walked, unhurried, until he stopped before the throne.
For an instant, time froze.
A king and a CEO.
A soul and a living man.
the afterlife and the world above.
Every boundary dissolved.
Atem rose to his feet.
There was no shock on his face, no joy—only a quiet smile.
Seto, too, allowed a slight smile to surface.
It was the first step of rebuilding.
No explanation was necessary.
A soft wind swept between them.
The ceiling of the throne room shimmered faintly.
At last, Atem spoke.
“…How did you get here?”
“I built the way.”
A short answer, steeped in certainty.
Atem narrowed his eyes.
“You did something reckless again, didn’t you.”
“As always.”
They exhaled at the same time, and finally—laughed.
It was brief.
Silence followed.
Not the silence of reunion, but the quiet sense of a daily life resuming.
Seto lowered his gaze slightly.
“There’s something I never said.”
Atem nodded.
“I have something too.”
“When I heard you had returned to the afterlife, I felt anger. I couldn’t accept it. And… I finally understand what that anger was.”
“That emotion was…”
“You felt it too, didn’t you, Atem.”
“That moment… my heart was…”
“Yes. Grief.”
Silence settled again.
It was the emotion Seto had suppressed and refused to face.
Atem’s fingers trembled ever so slightly.
“…You’re saying this now?”
“I can only say it now. Because you’re here.
When you said you were returning to the afterlife, I refused to look at that feeling.”
Atem took a step forward.
Just a few paces.
The wall that once stood between the throne and reality was gone.
“Kaiba… I regret leaving you behind. But even then, I didn’t believe it was truly an ‘end.’”
Seto’s eyes softened.
“You were right. I didn’t let it end.”
A gentle wind stirred—
as though the afterlife itself exhaled.
Atem smiled.
“…Then we can live as we did before?”
Seto gave a small nod.
“Yes. No explanations. No theories.”
Atem returned to the throne.
Seto stood beside him.
Together, they simply felt the wind.
There was no tension of parting left between them,
no rush of reunion.
Only the quiet outline of a bond that would continue.
In the depths of that light, they existed together once more.
The throne room of the afterlife was quiet again that day.
No remnants of royal bustle, no echoes of ritual.
What remained was a strange coexistence of the ancient and the modern.
“…It exploded again, didn’t it.”
Seto’s voice resonated through the chamber.
From the other side of the device that could connect them no matter where they were in the world, something metallic clanged faintly.
Atem let out a sigh.
“It seems so. What do you think caused it?”
“An imbalance in the power supply. The energy levels on the afterlife’s side aren’t stable. Does your palace still not have solar panels?”
“There is no sun here like the one on Earth.”
Seto fell silent.
And then—laughed.
“Then I suppose that can’t be helped.”
Atem couldn’t help but smile as well.
They could laugh together like this again.
In the world of the living, Seto worked tirelessly to stabilize the communication link with the afterlife—
quantum-bound circuits, what he called occult-interference control, and the stabilization of a data stream he named “soul signal.”
No combination of technologies should have made sense.
But for Seto, “sense” existed to be surpassed.
Atem observed the progress as the Pharaoh of the afterlife, offering advice—occasionally with a hint of teasing.
“Kaiba, that circuit layout… it looks just like a pyramid.”
“It’s a structurally stable design.”
“But you’re not planning on putting a mummy inside it, are you?”
“…No one except you.”
Atem chuckled.
“I’ll take that as a declaration of affection.”
Seto went silent and turned slightly away, though Atem could almost see the faint heat in his expression.
A soft wind wound through the throne room.
For a moment, Seto felt as though it brushed against him in the living world.
“Atem.”
“What is it?”
“This connection—I intend to make it permanent.”
“…You mean left open?”
“Yes. Work reports, idle talk, pointless jokes. All of it can pass through this channel.
If so, no matter where you are, you remain part of my living space.”
Atem smiled slowly.
“An honor, truly—being woven into your life, even as a Pharaoh of the afterlife.”
“Pharaoh or not, it’s irrelevant.”
Seto’s tone was calm, but unmistakably gentle.
A silence settled between them.
But it was nothing like the silence of parting.
It was warm, easy… peaceful.
Quietly, Atem spoke.
“…Kaiba. If you say you will ‘connect,’ then I will ‘continue.’”
“Continue?”
“Yes. If we’re connected, then it’s my role to keep the link from breaking.”
Seto laughed softly and closed his eyes.
“Then it’s a flawless system.”
Their conversation didn’t end there.
From that day on, the “afternoons” shared between worlds continued—
between research updates and afterlife state affairs,
between broadcasts of the sky above Domino and the returning sound of the afterlife’s wind.
The once-fractured daily life was joined again.
Nothing dramatic—just gentle, quiet afternoons.
Yet through the faint sound of each other’s breathing, carried across the line,
both of them knew that something eternal was alive between them.
The sky of the afterlife remained its perpetual shade of blue.
A light like the mingling of day and night brushed softly over the stone floor.
Atem descended the steps of the throne room, gave a few brief instructions to his priests, and then drifted toward the corridor where the wind passed through.
A quiet breeze grazed his cheek.
In that moment, faint motes of light shimmered in the air—
a presence, subtle and familiar.
Atem stopped, a smile forming.
“…So you’ve come again.”
No answer came in words.
Yet the air rippled.
That alone was enough.
From behind one of the stone pillars, a figure emerged—
Seto, bearing the unmistakable resonance of the living world.
Here in the afterlife, his existence was not entirely “physical.”
But his gaze, his voice—those were undeniable.
“Entering the Pharaoh’s domain without permission. A grave offense, wouldn’t you say?”
“The Pharaoh seems content to overlook it.”
“…You never change.”
The air trembled faintly as their soft laughter overlapped.
The silence that followed was no longer the uneasy quiet of past farewells,
but something warm, familiar.
“You have work in your own world, don’t you?”
“Research. I’m studying the structure of your world.”
“You’re planning another breakthrough, are you?”
“Not ‘another.’ Always.”
Atem exhaled, half amused.
A perfectly Seto-like answer.
And lately, he’d begun to notice something—
that whenever Seto appeared in the afterlife, he found himself almost eager
to hear what impossible project Seto was attempting this time.
Even…looking forward to it.
“Then perhaps you should assist with my research as well.”
“Royal commission? I’m honored.”
“Not a jest. Your logic and perspective are intriguing.”
“I’ll accept that as praise.”
A breeze drifted between them.
Silence had become a natural part of their conversation,
a place their connection could simply rest.
Standing in that soft light, Atem spoke in a gentler tone.
“Seto… The sky in your world—dawn must be near?”
“It is. Just before sunrise, the boundary thins.”
“Then come again at the same time. Next time, let’s speak a little longer.”
“…Anytime.”
Seto’s outline wavered, dissolving slowly into the light.
Atem watched the fading glow, closing his eyes.
“…We’ll meet again in the wind.”
And the afterlife’s morning began, quiet as ever.
Epilogue — An Everyday Eternity
The wind that crossed the afterlife brushed the sand in its quiet, familiar way.
Between light and shadow, two figures existed.
Once, life and death had stood as an unbreakable divide—
the living world and the realm of the dead separated by an absolute wall.
But now, that boundary had become nothing more than a path they could walk both ways.
Science and prayer. Logic and longing.
Where these met, their shared everyday life began.
Seto continued his research:
communication routes, doors to the next dimension,
means of traversing between worlds.
All of it for one purpose—
Not for “reunion,”
but for continuation.
Atem fulfilled his duties as Pharaoh,
yet at the same hour each day, he paused to listen to the wind.
When the motes of light trembled in the air,
a familiar voice reached him.
And that alone was enough.
“Your world must be busy, isn’t it?”
“‘Busy’ simply means one is alive.”
“Then this quiet must be another way of being alive.”
Their voices dissolved into the wind,
yet traveled beyond time itself.
Their connection no longer belonged to “afterlife” or “living world.”
The place where they existed together—
that was the true shape of what one might call eternity.
After a moment of silence, Atem smiled softly.
Seto answered with a quiet nod.
Words were unnecessary.
The wind, the light, and the world itself connected them.
And their ordinary days continued.
Today, and always.
Endlessly, endlessly.
