The night air in the attic above The Dusty Relic was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the metallic tang of the city's industrial district. Rami sat cross-legged on a threadbare rug, the velvet bundle Maya had gifted him spread out like a sacred map. Outside, the neon signs of the shopping district flickered, casting rhythmic pulses of blue and red light across his cramped sanctuary.
For the first time in his life, Rami didn't feel like he was just looking at pieces of cardboard.
He picked up the lead card of the set. Its name was etched in a fading, elegant gold leaf: Sandswept Sentinel. The artwork depicted a warrior clad in armor that looked like it had been carved from the very rock of a desert canyon. The warrior wasn't striking a pose of triumph; he was braced against a gale, his cape tattered, his eyes glowing with a quiet, stubborn light.
[Sandswept Sentinel | Level 4 | Earth | Warrior]
[ATK: 1400 / DEF: 2000]
"Fourteen hundred attack," Rami muttered, his brow furrowed. "Vance's Obsidian Hell-Kite has twenty-four hundred. Even if I summon this, I'm just stalling."
He laid the card down and picked up the next. The Weaver of Veils. This one was a Spellcaster, her face hidden behind a translucent blue silk, holding a staff that ended in a crescent moon.
[The Weaver of Veils | Level 3 | Light | Spellcaster]
[ATK: 1100 / DEF: 1500]
[Ability: When this card is Normal Summoned, you may add one 'Spirit' or 'Union' monster from your deck to your hand.]
Rami paused. In the modern game—the one Vance played—speed was everything. You summoned big monsters, you used "Searchers" to find more big monsters, and you ended the game in three turns. This deck didn't have those explosive numbers. It felt... deliberate. It felt like it was asking him to wait.
He reached for the Millennium Puzzle, still resting in its wooden crate. He touched the central piece he had nearly moved earlier. The warmth was gone, replaced by a cold, inert weight.
"I can't wait for you," Rami whispered to the gold. "And I can't wait for Maya to keep saving me. If I'm going to survive Silver Ridge for the next two years, I have to know how to fight with what I have."
He stood up and walked over to a stack of old cardboard boxes in the corner. He had drawn a makeshift "Duel Grid" on them with a Sharpie. It was pathetic compared to the holographic tables at school, but it was his only training ground.
He shuffled the deck. The cards felt heavier than his old commons, the friction between them producing a sound like sliding stones. He drew five cards.
Sandswept Sentinel.
The Weaver of Veils.
Avaricious Blessing (Spell).
Shield of the Fallen (Trap).
Gemini Spark (Spell).
"Okay," Rami said, his voice gaining a sliver of confidence. "Imagine Vance has his Hell-Kite on the field. I can't overpower it. I have to outthink it."
He placed the Weaver of Veils on the makeshift field.
"I summon the Weaver. Her effect activates. I search my deck for..." He flipped through the cards, his eyes landing on a strange creature called Ironclad Symbiote. It was a Union monster—a mechanical beetle that looked like it was designed to be worn as a gauntlet.
As he pulled the card from his deck, a strange sensation washed over him. The hair on his arms stood up. The air in the attic seemed to vibrate, just for a second, with the sound of a distant, metallic hum.
Rami looked around, his heart hammering. "Did... did anyone else hear that?"
The silence of the attic was his only answer, but as he looked down at the Ironclad Symbiote, he could have sworn the beetle's mandibles on the card art twitched.
He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. "I'm tired. That's all. I've been staring at the puzzle too long."
He continued the simulation. "I set one card face down. I end my turn. On Vance's turn, he attacks the Weaver. I activate my trap: Shield of the Fallen."
He flipped over the tattered trap card. Its art showed a spectral shield rising from a battlefield of broken swords.
"The shield reduces the damage to zero, but the monster is destroyed. But wait..." Rami looked closer at the Sandswept Sentinel in his hand. "If a Warrior is sent to the Graveyard while the Sentinel is in my hand, I can Special Summon it in Defense Position."
He slammed the Sentinel onto the box. "Two thousand defense. He can't get through that easily."
Rami spent the next four hours in that dark attic, playing against ghosts. He played against Vance's Dragons. He played against the "Meta" decks of the school's top ten. He lost. Then he lost again. Then he found a loophole. Then he lost a third time.
He realized that this deck wasn't a sword; it was a labyrinth. It was designed to frustrate an aggressive opponent, to bait them into overextending their resources until they had nothing left, and then striking from the shadows.
Around 3:00 AM, the exhaustion finally began to pull at his eyelids. He began to pack the cards away, but as he picked up the Avaricious Blessing spell card, he felt that same warmth again—the one from the Millennium Puzzle.
It wasn't coming from the puzzle this time. It was coming from the cards themselves.
He held the spell card up to the moonlight. The art depicted a golden chalice overflowing with dark, swirling energy. It was a card that allowed a player to recycle monsters from the "Graveyard" (the discard pile) in exchange for new draws. In the card's background, he saw a silhouette that looked remarkably like the pieces of the Millennium Puzzle.
"Maya's dad said these were sitting in the back for decades," Rami whispered. "But these aren't just old. They're... they're connected to it. Aren't they?"
He looked at the Millennium Puzzle. For a fleeting second, the shadow of the puzzle on the wall seemed to elongate, stretching toward the cards.
Patience...
The voice was clearer this time. It wasn't a whisper in the wind; it was a resonance in his bones.
A king does not rush to the throne. He builds the foundations of his empire stone by stone. You are learning the stones, Rami.
Rami froze. He didn't turn around. He knew no one was there. He gripped the edge of his desk, his breath hitching in his chest. "Cyril?" he breathed, remembering the name his grandfather had once mentioned in a story about the 'Nameless Pharaoh.'
The puzzle didn't answer. The warmth receded.
Rami sat in the dark for a long time, the weight of the future pressing down on him. He have to think more of life ahead of him. He have to try and complete the puzzle within two years and then the puzzle would finally be complete. Two years of being "The Ghost." Two years of being the boy who got pushed in the cafeteria.
But as he looked at the Sandswept Sentinel—the warrior who stood against the storm—he felt a tiny, flickering flame ignite in his gut.
He wasn't just Rami anymore. He was the keeper of a mystery. And for the first time, the cards in his hand didn't feel like paper. They felt like allies.
"Tomorrow," Rami said, his voice firming as he tucked the deck into a protective leather pouch Maya had also provided. "Tomorrow, I don't run. I don't win yet... but I don't run."
He climbed into his small bed, the Millennium Puzzle resting on the nightstand beside him. As he drifted into a fitful sleep, he dreamed of a desert of gold, where a boy and a pharaoh stood back-to-back against an army of obsidian dragons.
In the dream, the boy held a card. And the card was glowing.
The Growth of a Duelist:
Rami has begun to understand the "soul" of his deck. He isn't powerful yet, but he is learning that strategy can bridge the gap between common cards and rare ones.