I can't speak to any of that. [He could be senile, everyone so far says he got out, but wouldn't he remember a place like this? Unless escape out meant shattering the Millennium Pendant into a puzzle again. Atem's unwilling to try that little theory.

Before he starts on Kaiba forearm, Atem uses the knife to cut a long shred of fabric from his cloak, and from there two pieces. One to dab away blood so he can see what he's writing, and the other to wrap the wound when it's done. With that out of the way, the knife is now in Kaiba's skin, Atem as precise and gentle he can be while still getting a decent grip. Pride isn't a difficult word by any stretch in Middle Egyptian, but it needs context or it'll a mean couple of birds and a leg, nonsense at best in hieratic. What would Siamun think if he saw his grammar lessons used like this?]

I could guess, but you're better off asking that guy than me.

[Though if he's him, then he supposes it's because of his dislike of physical touch. When all he had was the embrace of his parents, a hug from a friend promptly followed by scolding, servants too frightened to make a mistake with his clothes or make-up, three millennia of nothing, then two years of not being in his own body... That's difficult to convey without sounding weird, "No, Kaiba, I don't like being touched by anyone."

Atem doesn't have a choice in this scenario.

He dabs away the blood from his first letter.]

Rivals. [He repeats the word, the boundary between them.] Sounds about right.