Far away, the barest semblance of a craggy mountain line was visible towering above all else on the continent of Centra, years ago it would not have been as such but that was before the last Lunar Cry, a monumental natural occurrence that wiped out all life and destroyed all trace of the inhabitants. Howling winds flew along the barren landscape, very little left to impede the journey. Dust of a long-dead civilisation whirled and blustered about, millions of particles unable to decide their own path. Standing still, stark against the bleakness of the land were two figures... diminutive compared to the landscape around them yet it seemed as though the wind was not affecting them at all. Their hair, one a dull-yellow blonde the other a dark brown, and their clothing billowed about like animals trying to escape danger but they were held fast... as were the two figures. Visibility was low and the flapping clothes added to the distortion of their outlines, only two things were strikingly visible. The grave looks of determination on the faces, and the sharpened weapons in their hands.

Time seemed as if it was not moving as after an age, still the warriors were standing, unmoving, against the maelstrom which blew around them. Like two mighty colossi in a fresco of a long-forgotten race they stood. Pure hatred etched into the face of each, displaying the beginnings of a world-shattering conflict. Just as it seemed that maybe it was just a trick of the dust and the light, maybe there really wasn't two young figures squaring off... one moved...

The blond shifted like lightning, no tensing of the muscles, not even a flicker of the eyes...just instant movement. His weapon arced round from right to left, intent on the decapitation of his adversary. The brunette lent backwards, shifting his weight to his back foot, rolling with the momentum he moved down to a crouch and then sprang up and forward. His own weapon now driving pointy-end first at the recovering enemy. There was no impact however, the bonde had turned to the side at the last moment, using his own weapon to divert the thrust...using this momentum he had began to spin round like a top, building up the force of a counter attack. The brunette, realising his thust had not hit the mark assumed the worst and began to ride the mis-direction of the deflected weapon, going forward and turning wide away from the reach of his opponent. In this fashion, they ended up facing eachother once more.

There was a gale-like quality now to the wind that shrieked across the charred, barren land where the confrontation took place, the air was electric...yet in the middle of all this the two fought with a ferocity that dwarfed the mighty forces of nature that enshrouded them. Each attack was astoundingly viscous and direct, everyone could be a killing blow, but for each attack there was an equally perfect defence...attack defence, defence attack. The flow of battle moved from one to the other with no break and no quarter given.

A mixture of flurries and low sweeps pushed the younger brunette away and gave the older blonde a moments respite...or so he thought. A cry of rage emitted from the brunette; lost in the deafening roar of the gales, which flew about their encounter...he drew his weapon up to above his head and charged the startled blond with death singing in his ears... There was a loud crack as the blow connected. The blond boy fell back from strike, crashing to the ground and remaining still.

The wind grew silent and subsided, the strength and malicious intent gone for now.

"Sqaull! Seifer!" A tall lady in a long flowing black dress had emerged from a nearby residence and was calling to the two children.

"Squall, Seifer! There you are!" She saw the boy lying on the floor, the broken weapon in the others hand. "Squall! What have you don't to Seifer?!"

"He had it comin!" Squealed Squall

The lady snatched the hastily created sword-stick from Squall's hands, and snapped it in two over her knee. "Go back and go to bed this instant!" She sternly told him. "No dinner for you tonight!"

Squall stared at his broken weapon that was lying on the floor; the two pieces left after the lady had disarmed him...and the piece that had snapped off across Seifer's forehead. He looked to his unconscious foe and the small line of blood that was following the creases of his brow. Squall Smiled, "He had it comin" he said quietly to himself and then began to trudge back towards the orphanage.