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CHAPTER 1 – IN THE GARDEN
"Come on, Laguna," a voice called from the doorway. "We're going to miss the transport if you don't hurry it up!"
"Just gimme a sec, will ya!?" he hollered back from his locker, being still in the process of gearing up for their newest assignment. "Not like the battle's gonna be over anytime soon, from what we heard. Gotta make sure I don't forget anything big."
Laguna Loire examined himself before the mirror adorning the inside of the locker door, taking his time to double and triple-check his outfitting before he regrouped with his squadmates in the adjoining corridor. The regal navy blue coloring of the Galbadian military attire, coupled with the gleaming silver sheen of the armored breastplate and accompanying shoulder mail cut a dazzling figure upon him. Rather, it would have done so, had he bothered to perform his expected duty of routinely pressing and polishing the uniform's components. In their current condition, the pant legs were visibly wrinkled from having gone without ironing for months on end, while the once spotless alloy had gathered its fair share of grime and fade. His negligence had earned him an earful from the commanding officers on a small handful of occasions, though no more than he was typically reprimanded for his hairstyle. His flowing shoulder-length, dark brown hair was as far from the standard crew cut as any other soldier in his entourage dared to tread the line, and could often be a challenge to stuff into his helmet while on duty. Despite the impracticality and the unwanted attention it tended to bring however, he simply could not bear to cut it.
He was by all accounts an unmotivated slacker of an infantryman, who had passed basic training not even a year earlier with just barely high enough marks to warrant his stature as such. Though a small part of him resented the label, Laguna was honest enough with himself to acknowledge this lack of motivation on his part, and took it all in stride. His was not the heart of a soldier, but a man who dreamed of seeing all the world had to offer with his own two eyes, and living life on his own terms. His enrollment in the Galbadian army had been born out of this desire, and had led him to meet his two best friends, both of whom now stood outside waiting for him to finish gearing up.
He scanned his eyes over his utility belt carefully, perusing the various articles he carried: spare ammunition magazines, two grenades, a rappel cable, and a small container of medical supplies. Satisfied with the state of his basic commodities, he reached into the locker and withdrew his weapon. It was little more than a standard-issue assault rifle, the likes of which nearly every infantryman had become more than accustomed to using in battle. For Laguna however, it was the symbol that instilled him with the confidence and bravery to face down any opponent, the catalyst that could transform a happy-go-lucky man who cared little for violence into a battle-hardened combatant of the Galbadian military. Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he reached back inside to retrieve his visored helmet from the upper shelf, before he closed the locker door and stepped out into the hall.
"Everything in order?" asked the same voice from before. Its originator stood propped up against the side of the door to Laguna's right, his own helmet held by his side as he tapped the fingers of his free hand against the wall impatiently.
Kiros Seagill's tall yet thin figure appeared too slender at first glance to possibly belong to a soldier. Likewise, his dark skinned features appeared too smooth and fair for a man, complimented by a set of three braided and beaded dreadlocks to the rear of his black crew cut. In the time Laguna had come to know him however, he had proven himself beyond any doubt to be a deadly fighter on the battlefield, particularly with regard to close-quarters engagement.
Flanking him stood a man taller still, and at least three times in width. Ward Zabac was a fearsome giant of a man, standing at an even seven feet in height and sporting musculature that Laguna and Kiros combined could not match. He was never to be seen anywhere without his signature blue bandana upon his head, the same color as his piercing eyes, which despite their vibrancy were not the most prominent facial feature he possessed. A wicked scar bearing the semblance of a small river ran its way down the entire left side of his face, from where the bandana ended to the bottom of his lightly-stubbled chin. He had never told them of how he had received such an egregious wound, and despite his genuine curiosity, Laguna knew it was not his place to ask.
"Yup, all set. We're good to go, boys!"
"We're heading into a full-on war zone, you know," Kiros sternly reminded him. "We're going to have to stay vigilant at all times. No goofing around like on our last deployment."
[...where am I?]
"Who was goofing around?" Laguna feigned offense, paying little heed to the strange tingling sensation that had just washed over his mind. "We'll be fine. Besides, I don't know about you guys, but I've got way too much left to do with my life to end up keeling over out there."
"Like gawk at the piano lady some more," Ward rebutted in a deep, matter-of-fact tone, eliciting a snicker out of Kiros.
"Don't call her 'the piano lady'! She's got a name!"
Ward turned to make his way down the hall without another word as he pulled his oversized helmet over his bulbous head, Kiros gesturing for Laguna not to take the teasing so seriously before following suit. Begrudgingly, he fell in, as the trio made their way to the vehicle hangar to meet with their assigned troop transport. Deep down in his heart, he knew he could not have asked for a better pair of friends to face the horrors of war alongside.
Kinda wish they didn't have to bust my balls so often, though…
The beaming sunlight streaming through the window above his head gently roused Squall from his slumber. Merry birdsong reached his ears from beyond, his mind a blur as he slowly cracked open his eyes, and raised his arm to shield his vision from the glare. On the edge of his sight, a figure rose from the swivel-chair situated by his bedside, slender and wrapped in a shawl. His grogginess combined with the intensity of the light prevented him from making out anything more, as the visitor rounded the bed toward the adjoining exit.
"Squall," came the voice, kind and feminine, with what sounded to be a tinge of disappointment. "So we meet again."
The woman stepped through the parting automatic doors, leaving Squall by his lonesome in the otherwise vacant wing of the infirmary. Even in his jumbled and disoriented state of mind, he would have recognized the distinct sanitized scent of latex and chemicals anywhere. This had not been his first time being admitted as an in-patient, and he had no reason to suspect it would be his final one. His eyes at last coming around as he slowly sat up in the cramped twin bed, he reflected upon the circumstances that had brought him to that very moment. He recalled the announcement for those participating in the upcoming field exam to remain on standby, Seifer's challenge to him the night before, and the bloody confrontation on the Alcaud Plains that morning. At once remembering the vicious slice he had received, and the incredible amount of blood loss he had sustained, he quickly raised his black-gloved hand to his forehead, brushing away the numerous hanging strands of his unruly brown hair. A thick bandage had been firmly pressed in place, taking up much of the divide between both of his eyes. It had been nothing short of a miracle that he had not bled out from the wound, nor been rendered blind from even the slightest misdirection of the blade's trajectory. Whether his good fortune were owed to his rival's trained precision, sheer dumb luck, or an amalgamation of the two, he could not say for certain, nor could he fathom how he had been returned to the Garden for treatment to begin with. Surely it could not have been Seifer's doing.
The automatic doors hissed open once more before he could complete the thought, and in stepped a middle-aged woman clad in a white lab-coat with black hair tied up in a bun.
"Ah, look who's awake," she commented before gesturing for someone else outside the door to follow her into the ward.
Dr. Kadowaki had been the chief medical practitioner at Balamb Garden since its inception, and was unquestionably the most knowledgeable person in the field Squall had ever known. That distinction came as a natural result of the innumerable times he had found himself in such a scenario, and through which he had also become intimately familiar with the sarcastic side to her otherwise professional demeanor. Regardless, her expertise and dedication to her craft had been an invaluable benefit for each and every student on campus, despite her tendency to take on the attitude of a nagging mother figure at times. As if on cue, in stepped her colleague, a young blonde-haired woman dressed in regal black SeeD attire with silver-rimmed glasses.
Speaking of nagging…
"How did I just know it would be either you or Seifer?" she sighed, her expression one of exasperation rather than concern for the well being of her student.
Of every SeeD to have trained in the Garden over the last twelve years, none had advanced through the ranks as quickly and with as much aptitude as Quistis Trepe. The acclaimed prodigy of Balamb Garden, and the youngest instructor on the teaching staff by five years, she had achieved a sort of pseudo-celebrity status in certain circles of the student body, some of which had even started an unofficial fan club centered around her. The golden pigtails of years gone by had since been replaced with two elegant fringes framing either side of her face, the remainder of her hair tied up in a duck-tail fashion. For Squall, who had already spent years attempting to put up with her continued insistence on butting in between him and Seifer, the fact that she had become his de-facto instructor a mere six months earlier was almost more than he could stomach.
"How are you feeling?" Dr. Kadowaki asked him as she strode over to retrieve his medical chart.
"Okay, I guess," Squall replied. "My head hurts a bit, though."
"Yeah, no kidding," she scoffed as she wrote. "That was one hell of a deep cut. I managed to stop the bleeding, sanitize the wound and perform suturing, but you'd better believe it's going to leave a scar. Seifer looked like he had one just like it when he brought you in, but refused my offer to treat him for some foolish reason. What were you two trying to do to each other out there?"
Squall hesitated, not wishing to compromise any specifics regarding the cut-throat nature of their fight, but instead redirected his attention to the passing mention of how he had ended up in the infirmary to begin with.
"Seifer brought me here?"
"Yep, he had you slung over his shoulder as his 'spoils of war'. He'd wrapped bandages around both your head and his. He dropped your sword off over there, too."
Squall turned his head to the left side of the bed, to see his sheathed gunblade resting against the nightstand.
"I also let your friend in to see you a little while ago, but it looks like she's already left."
"My friend?" Squall questioned, remembering the woman who had been at his bedside.
"Will he be fit to participate in the field exam today?" Quistis asked the doctor before Squall had the chance to ask who it had been. At once, his attention was drawn away yet again by the realization of far more pressing matters at hand.
The exam's today? Already?
"I would say so. So long as he avoids any more serious trauma to the head, the sutures should hold. It would be another thing entirely if it were an arm or a leg."
Dr. Kadowaki heaved a heavy sigh, placing the medical chart on the nearby nightstand, and turned her scrutiny back to the bedridden youth.
"Take it easy out there, alright? I know you just love to push your luck, but that was a very close call you just had. You might not get so lucky again."
"Tell that to Seifer," Squall retorted.
"That Seifer," the doctor muttered in concern. "He won't listen to anyone, will he? Can't you just ignore him for once?"
"Don't even bother with that, Doctor," Quistis interjected with her arms crossed. "I've been trying to get that through his head since..."
She paused, seeming lost in thought for the briefest of moments.
"You know, I think it's gotten to the point where I legitimately can't even remember how long it's been."
"I can't just run away," Squall insisted.
"You want to be cool, huh?" Dr. Kadowaki snorted as she slowly began to remove the bandage from between his eyes. "Well, don't go getting yourself killed in the process. Consider yourself discharged. Just remember to keep the water pressure down when you shower, and try not to stand with your forehead directly under the stream. You're free to go. And seriously, take care of yourself out there."
"Noted," Squall quipped as he lifted off the duvet and swung his feet out of bed. He quickly slipped them into his waiting black boots by the side and began to lace them, knowing full well that time was of the essence.
What little wonder it was to have just experienced such a vivid dream of being a soldier heading off to battle; the day for which he had spent his entire life training was finally upon him, and he could not afford to let this opportunity pass him by at any cost. His footwear secured, he rose to his feet, snatched his gunblade from the bedside, and pulled the weapon from its solid black sheath to properly examine it for wear or damage.
The polished sheen of the silver blade was mesmerizing in the sunlight, adorned with the image of a lion's head in mid-roar and extending from a cross guard designed in the likeness of a six-round revolver. More than a mere stylistic flourish, each of the six chambers held an explosive round which could be fired by pulling the trigger fixed on the weapon's hilt. When depressed, the vibration produced from the detonation would further magnify the impact of the strike, allowing it to cleave through virtually any material known to man. When considering the impeccable sense of timing required to master usage of the weapon, let alone the ability to effectively utilize it in combat, the number of cadets to have ever selected it as their specialty were few indeed. At the moment, there were only two: himself, and the man who had brought him to the infirmary, in both respects.
The tip of the blade appeared to be soiled with a smudge of crimson, the bloody residue left from Squall's desperate retaliation on Seifer. He made a mental note to clean it upon returning to his dormitory and re-sheathed the sword, clipping it to the left side of his twin belts. Satisfied, he turned to his instructor and started out the door with her, passing through the infirmary lobby and into the connecting corridor leading to the main hub of the academy. Through the rectangular glass windows lining either side of the synthetic hallway, he could see various cadets clad in uniform milling about the adjacent courtyard. Some rushed to make it to their next class, while others merely tried to make the most of such a beautiful spring morning. Several of the many picnic tables dotted about the expanse played host to an equal number of Triple Triad card games, just as a thicket of trees to the south lent their shade to yet more students engaged in their own personal reading material. Such was a day in the life at Balamb Garden, the world-renowned institution where young minds trained rigorously each day in the hope of joining the ranks of SeeD, the elite mercenary army.
The Garden itself was a massive structure, easily a half-mile in diameter and not significantly shorter in height to accommodate for a student body numbering in the thousands. The central structure was designed in the image of a towering conch shell, tinged blue, silver and gold, topped by a suspended floating ring akin to a halo with a cross-shaped crest upon it. It was a breathtaking sight to behold, visible even from the namesake town of Balamb twenty minutes away by transport. Numerous facilities the likes of the infirmary branched off from the center, dividing the open space between each connecting pathway into eight semi-circular inner courtyards walled off from the outside. It was the place Squall had called home for as long as he could recall, and where today he would at last achieve admission to those envied ranks he aspired for.
"Squall, what's on your mind?" Quistis chimed in, snapping his attention back to his current bearings.
"Nothing," his response sounded in stereo. His instructor had anticipated and mimicked his very reply in tandem, intonation and all, and burst into a mischievous giggle not a moment after.
"What's so funny?" he irritably questioned, the two coming to a halt before the entrance to the atrium. It was moments such as these that filled Squall with all the more disbelief that his standing as a cadet was at the mercy of this still juvenile woman, merely a year older than he.
"Funny? No, it's not that," she assured him, catching her breath. "I'm just... happy. I feel like I'm finally beginning to understand my student a little. That's all."
"I'm not that easy to figure out."
"Then tell me," she insisted. "Tell me more about yourself sometime. If there's ever anything you need to talk about, I'm always all-ears."
"That's-"
"-none of your business?" she finished his sentence for him, simply cracking that same cheeky grin. "Fine, you don't have to if you don't want to. Regardless, participants for the exam are to assemble in the ballroom in cadet attire at 1100. That gives you a little less than an hour to clean yourself up, check your equipment and make your way upstairs. I'll be the one overseeing your squad."
How convenient, he mused, taking his leave. Wonder what strings she had to pull to make that happen?
The interior of the Garden's main structure was a massive atrium, the outer rim a wide circular pathway around the circumference which branched off at regular intervals in each of the eight compass directions. Beneath the raised walkways sloshed what was for all intents and purposes a small lake, constantly refilled by a series of fish-shaped fountains arranged in the open space between the rim and the further elevated central platform. Accessible by four separate sets of stairs situated to the north, south, east and west sides, a massive pillar ringed by numerous glass, capsule-shaped elevators reached up into the ceiling on the tenth level, intertwining with a network of other walkways above like a hive. More impressive still was that the dizzying height in fact comprised of only half the distance to the top floor; the elevators continued through a series of openings leading to the upper levels, twenty in all. Students scurried to and fro as Squall made his way around to the northern dormitories, catching several unnerved glances from passersby. A sinking feeling promptly took up residence in his gut, understanding that he would undoubtedly be receiving many more such stares over the course of the day.
After minutes of navigating the familiar halls, he arrived at his dorm, fished his card-key out of his back pocket, and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, he bypassed the central common area he shared with his three roommates and entered his bedroom, closing the door and for the first time that morning examining himself in the mirror on its rear. His casual attire was the same as always, a bleak and somber wardrobe comprised almost entirely of black: black boots, pants, gloves, and his signature leather bomber jacket with a white fur-trim collar. Aside from this, the only reprieve from the all-encompassing dreariness came from the white v-neck t-shirt he wore underneath, the brown belts intertwined in an X around his waist, and the silver lion pendant he wore around his neck, bearing the same design as that imprinted on his gunblade, as well as the ring upon his left hand. Squall's blue eyes met themselves in the mirror, and at once noticed the freshly-cut swathe between them. The scar stretched diagonally downward from his lower forehead, above his right eye and across the bridge of his nose to just barely under the corner of his left. Surprisingly, the mark appeared to suit him well, inadvertently bestowing him with the distinct battle-hardened appearance that he had long strived for. His only lingering disappointment came with the knowledge of whose hand it had been dealt to him by.
At least I didn't end up like Fujin, he thought as he turned away from his reflection, and began to undress to take a shower. While he was forced to share the central kitchen and common area with his roommates, each of their four bedrooms came equipped with their own connecting bathroom and shower combo. He stripped down, turned the faucet on and stepped into the stream, taking care not to raise the pressure too high per Dr. Kadowaki's advice. As he rinsed the grime and sweat from his body, he turned his thoughts to the upcoming battle and the potential ramifications of what was to come.
The SeeD field examination was held annually at the beginning of each spring school term following the entrance ceremony. It was to be a full-fledged military operation conducted with the express purpose of testing the skills of the eligible cadets on the battlefield, with the most superb candidates graduating to the rank of SeeD. Naturally, it was impossible to schedule such an operation in advance until a suitable request came in for consideration, and so the registered students were given a tentative two week period in which they were expected to prepare and be at the ready to roll out at a moment's notice. It had only been a mere two days since then, a surprisingly quick turnaround based on prior years.
At seventeen, this was the first year Squall would be eligible to attempt the exam. Garden regulations dictated that each cadet must pass before the age of twenty, at which point they would be released from the academy. In essence, every student would be given a potential three attempts to pass, though it was not unusual for some to abstain on their first year in hopes of bettering their skills, and all but expected of students transferring from Galbadia and Trabia Gardens for the purpose of taking the exam. Seifer and Quistis, both being a year older than he, had made their first attempts the previous year. The former had received a failing evaluation due to his unprofessional conduct, while the latter had supposedly performed with such an unprecedented level of mastery, that she had been extended the opportunity to apply for an instructor's license almost immediately after graduation.
I will pass, he swore as he stepped out of the shower, drying himself quickly with a towel. I've trained too hard for this.
He strode back into his bedroom, throwing on a fresh set of undergarments and retrieving his cadet uniform from the closet. The blue pants and jacket were lined with silver flourishes, the shoulders patterned with the SeeD crest on either side. As he donned the familiar attire before the mirror, he was struck with a strange sense of deja-vu, reminded once more of the dream he had experienced prior to awakening in the infirmary. The color scheme was nearly identical to that of the Galbadian military, if entirely different in terms of design. Regardless of his inexplicable unease, he dressed himself, checked his gunblade, making sure to wipe away the lingering bloodstain with a sheer white cloth, and proceeded to stock his uniform's belt with the necessary preserves. He re-filled the ammunition compartment with a spare set of rounds, clipped on his med-kit and sheathed weapon, and reached over for the last missing article still left attached to his casual attire's intertwined belts. Seconds passed as he ran his bare fingers across the full length of the leather straps, realizing it was nowhere to be found.
Where is it!?
Squall's heart caught in his throat as he frantically double-checked the two belts, hoping beyond hope that he had simply overlooked it. He finally tossed them on his bed and began combing over the entire dormitory, his breathing becoming erratic as he came up empty-handed once more. Had he dropped it on the way back? Had it fallen off in the infirmary? Or worse still, had it fallen off when he'd been carried back to the Garden unconscious, at which point it may well be beyond recovery? It was an all too real possibility, and with less than fifteen minutes left before the scheduled assembly in the ballroom, he would need to move quickly.
Squall bolted out the door at once, his eyes fixed to the ground every step of the way. He retraced his steps all the way back to the atrium, taking the outer rim counterclockwise in the direction of the infirmary. He just barely managed to dodge the crowds of oncoming students as he scanned the floor at light-speed, cursing the flurry of shoes that obscured his view.
"'Scuse me, sorry!" came a voice approaching from the direction of the quad. "Sorry, coming through! Oh geez, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!"
Squall was knocked off balance as a young girl clad in her cadet uniform slammed into him, falling backward onto the floor. She cried out in surprise as she landed, the surrounding students stopping in their tracks to observe the commotion.
"Are you okay?" Squall asked as he extended his hand to help her up.
She paused for a moment as a look of apprehension flashed across her features, perhaps feeling intimidated at the sight of his new scar. The cursory expression fell away as quickly as it had appeared as she accepted his offer, rising to her feet again with his assistance. Her hair was brown and shoulder-length, curled upward on either side of her kind face, and as her striking green eyes met his, she finally cracked a smile.
"I'm fine, thanks!" she beamed. "Sorry about that, I was really in a hurry."
"Aren't we all?" Squall chastised her as he turned to leave. "Just be more careful next time."
"Um, actually," she started sheepishly, hands clasped behind her back in embarrassment. "You… wouldn't happen to know where the ballroom is, would you? I just transferred here from Trabia Garden, and I'm still trying to figure out where everything is."
"The ballroom?" Squall asked, puzzled. "You're not taking the SeeD field exam, are you?"
"Yeah, that's right!" she excitedly exclaimed. "This place is so much bigger than Trabia, I don't even know where to start looking!"
"You just transferred here?" he reiterated. "And you're already taking the exam?"
"Yup! I already finished all my training before coming here. Is there something wrong?"
Squall was utterly taken aback at the sheer naivete this bubbly girl exemplified, as though she possessed no cognizance of the unbelievable disadvantage she would face for jumping in right away. Surely the instructors had explained the risks, and recommended that she wait until passing the next certification in a few months. And yet, if only based on this single brief interaction they had shared, she certainly did appear to be of the 'leap-before-you-look' persuasion.
"No," he lied. "It's just that doesn't happen all too often. Anyway, good luck. I'll be taking the exam too."
"Oh, awesome! Then can you show me the way?"
Damn.
Squall realized too late that he should have kept his mouth shut. He had no time to be wasting casually chatting with such an overzealous transfer student. He quickly glanced at his watch, realizing that his remaining time had now dipped below the ten-minute mark, and he had yet to find his elusive missing piece of equipment. Even if it were indeed in the infirmary, he would almost certainly never make it to the assembly in time. If there was one thing Balamb Garden frowned upon above almost all else, it was tardiness. Showing up late could potentially bar him from taking part in the exam altogether, which was something he simply could not afford to risk.
"Alright," he reluctantly agreed. "Let's go."
"Yay! Thanks so much!" she rejoiced. "So, where to?"
"We need to take the elevator up to the fifteenth floor," he gestured up the nearby stairs to the central platform.
"Oh, man. I didn't know it was all the way up there! Okay, let's get moving."
The two started up the stairs to the circle of glass capsules, finding the first available one and maneuvering themselves inside. As the girl stepped aboard ahead of him, Squall took note of the pair of large nunchaku strapped to her back; each of the two iron bars appeared as long as one of her arms, their solid red coloring decorated with smatterings of gold. He pressed the button for the fifteenth floor, understanding it to be the point of no return. And yet, if this girl was brave enough to face the exam at such a detriment, then surely he could make it through all the same. The only thing he could do now was hope that Dr. Kadowaki had found his missing item and would keep it safe for him. The prospect of having lost it out on the vast wilderness of the Alcaud Plains was almost too much to bear. The doors slid shut and the elevator started to rise, providing the two a stellar aerial view of the atrium.
"The bottom floor is the connecting hub for all the main facilities," he formally began. "On the north side you have the dorms, the cafeteria and the parking garage. And since you were coming from the quad, I take it you're at least somewhat familiar with there."
"Yeah!" she excitedly affirmed. "I'm on the committee for this year's Garden Festival! I'm sure it's going to be great!"
"Anyway," he continued. "Going counter-clockwise from the quad is the infirmary, the entrance, the library and the training center. Most of the higher floors are reserved for classrooms and lecture halls. Except floor 10, which is the physical fitness floor, and floor 15 which is the ballroom, like I said."
"That's a lot to take in."
"Sorry," he apologized, only half meaning it. "But we're a bit pressed for time. Anyway, the floors above the ballroom are the living quarters and meeting rooms for faculty and instructors. You need a special card-key to access those floors. And the twentieth floor at the top is the Headmaster's Office."
"Question!" she chimed in. "What's the headmaster's name?"
"Headmaster Cid Kramer," he answered as the elevator came to a rest, the doors parting into a circular antechamber through which the elevator-pillar stemmed. Its walls were decorated with elaborate golden flourishes in the design of various flowers and trees, no doubt conceptualized to accentuate the theme of a botanical garden.
"I'm sure he'll be making a speech to send us off. It's over this way."
He gestured to the large double doors standing ajar at the north end of the chamber, opening into a grand glass-domed ballroom rimmed by towering golden arches. From each of their supporting pillars hung majestic banners, already set in place for the coming graduation ball to be held in honor of the successful candidates. The archways situated furthest from the door opened to a series of outdoor balconies, while the remainder led to the designated staff-only catering and preparation areas that took up much of the rest of the floor. A stage had been erected to the opposite end of the entrance, with a speaking podium at the fore, and in the middle of it all, a massive crowd of cadets and SeeDs alike forming their assigned squadrons.
Standing guard around the perimeter were a collective of the Garden's enigmatic robed faculty, known to the student body at large as the 'Thorns'. Unlike the blue and silver of the standard cadet attire, or the solid black with fringes of gold that adorned the SeeDs, the Thorns each wore flowing red and white robes topped by a golden, disk-shaped headpiece that shrouded their entire visage. They were a mysterious entity, unbelievably strict in their adherence to and upholding of the Garden code, and bore a level of authority above even the instructors and SeeD captains.
"Wow," the girl breathed in amazement. "Just how many students are signed up for this?"
"Likely most of the year-twelve class," Squall answered. "And any stragglers that didn't make it the last two years. Probably somewhere in the two-hundred range, plus around half that many SeeDs to accompany us."
"Squall!" cried a voice from off to the side of the ballroom. "Over here!"
He turned his head to see Quistis beckoning to him from the edge of the crowd, standing alongside a single cadet. The young man cut a figure ever so slightly shorter than she, though sported a similar shade of blonde hair, wildly spiked in the front. Squall's heart sank as he recognized the signature tattoo design imprinted on the left side of his face, a collection of strange black tendrils that framed his eye.
Oh, please no…
"That's your squad?" the girl snapped him out of his dread.
"Unfortunately, I think so."
"Aw, don't be such a downer!" she playfully nudged him. "Now, if I can just find my own squad..."
"Well, I can't help you there," he said, turning to make the short jaunt over to his instructor. "Good luck with the exam."
"Wait!" she stopped him. "'Squall' was it? My name's Selphie. Thanks for showing me here. And yeah, good luck to you, too!"
With that, she began to wrap around the assembly in the opposite direction in the search for her own team. Squall trudged over to Quistis and the blonde youth who could only be his squadmate, his dismay building ever more as he realized it was indeed who he had suspected.
"So, I'm with you, huh?" the boy asked. "Let's do our best out there, 'kay?"
"Whatever," he mused, hoping now more than ever that the exam would be a quick, in-and-out procedure.
Zell Dincht was a personality entirely opposed to Squall's own: obnoxiously cheery and loudmouthed, yet hot-headed and easily riled. He was a superb martial-artist, virtually unmatched in hand-to-hand combat among the Garden populace, yet also a gear-head with a penchant for all things technology-related. What shame it was that for all his mechanical intelligence, he sported an emotional intelligence to match that of many an underclassman yet to even reach basic weapons training.
"Heard Seifer whooped you pretty bad this morning," he goaded, his eyes landing on Squall's forehead. "Well, I can see that now."
"I got him back for it. And besides, it wasn't a fight. We were just training."
The lie escaped his lips with greater ease than he had imagined.
"Betcha he doesn't think so. Look, Seifer's just being a pain in the ass like always. All you have to do is ignore him."
Who are you, Dr. Kadowaki?
"That's-
"-none of your business." Quistis finished his sentence once again, tagging a small chuckle on the end. "Speaking of which however, that 'pain in the ass' as you so eloquently put it happens to be your squad leader."
"Say what!?" Zell reeled.
It just got worse.
"I'm sorry," Quistis apologized. "It wasn't my decision, and it can't be changed. He gets preferential standing by default for being the most combat-experienced of you three."
Squall had not a clue of how to react to this news. The idea of Seifer being given any modicum of authority was a truly frightening prospect to consider, and particularly so if he was to be the one under his command. He did not know the details as they related to his 'unprofessional conduct' from the previous year's exam, but found it hard to understand why the higher-ups would place him in such a position of power in spite of it all.
"And here he comes," Zell groaned, prompting Squall to raise his head back to the entrance.
Seifer Almasy strode forward, flanked by his two partners in crime, both underclassmen who would not be participating in the current exam. To his left stood Raijin, a tall bronze-skinned exemplar of fitness. Despite being only sixteen, he had already developed a wealth of dark stubble upon his square jaw, which combined with his height and clearly visible muscles gave him a far older appearance. His abs bulged proudly from his toned stomach, placed on full display courtesy of an ill-fitting vest that barely covered most of his upper body, while his pants were a baggy black fabric tied by a red cloth-belt. He was a blowhard by nature, much like Zell, though clearly in far more dire need of the latent brains to compliment his brawn.
To Seifer's right stood Fujin, a young woman dressed entirely in light blue with short silver hair and an eye-patch covering her left eye. The color of her right was an unnatural red, and yet despite all of this, the most peculiar oddity of Fujin's lay not in her physical appearance. Her preferred manner of speaking was concise to the point of absurdity, coming in brief one or two word bursts rather than fully-formed sentences. As such, engaging with her in a proper conversation was all but impossible, and Squall would often wonder just how the three ever managed to communicate effectively.
The man of the hour was still clad in his grey jacket with a red cross shaped symbol on the sleeves; he would already face a harsh deduction on his final grade for failing to assemble in uniform. He was precicely as Squall had seen him that morning, save for the scar upon his face trailing from the bottom right to above his left eye, a direct mirror image of his own. The wound appeared slightly more shallow, no doubt from Seifer's attempt to reel himself away from the blade's strike, and was likely what had allowed him to treat the wound himself without Dr. Kadowaki's assistance. Nevertheless, it irked him to no end that the reputation the two had garnered together had now, quite literally, been etched on their faces for all to see.
"Man," he heard Zell quip to Quistis. "They're like twins now."
"Great," Seifer moaned. "I've got to deal with Zell the chicken-wuss this time?"
"What'd you call me!?"
'All you have to do is ignore him,' Squall sighed inwardly. So much for leading by example.
"Oh, and before I forget," he began as he turned to Squall and fished something out of his coat pocket. "Catch!"
Seifer tossed the object underhand to Squall, who promptly leaned forward to grab it with both hands. His eyes widened as he stared down at the small metallic sphere roughly the size of a billiard ball cupped in his palms, the emblem of SeeD prominently featured on its shell. Taking it in one hand, he depressed the twin switches situated on the top and bottom of the device with his thumb and middle finger. The two halves parted vertically by a half-inch to reveal a narrow crimson line of fiery energy blazing within.
"Figured you'd still need your training-wheels after this morning," Seifer derided him.
"Where did you-" he started, before remembering the sideswipe Seifer had made past him during the battle. The attack that had knocked him off balance, and after which he had been unable to harness the energy required to perform his fire blast for reasons unknown, until now. He had not in fact lost or misplaced his Guardian Force, nor had he faltered in conjuring its power it in the heat of battle. He had been pick-pocketed.
"That's enough." Quistis broke up the confrontation. "Like it or not, these are the teams that have been decided. You three will make up Squad 19, and will be under my jurisdiction. So please, Seifer, don't antagonize your squadmates. Remember, teamwork is of the utmost importance, and one of the most crucial criteria you'll be judged on. I really do want you to pass the exam this time."
"'Course he will!" Raijin exclaimed from his side. "Seifer's gonna clean up this time, y'know?"
"Redemption!" Fujin flatly barked, with not a word more.
"I hope your faith hasn't been misplaced," Quistis replied. "Well Seifer, you're the squad leader. Good luck to you."
"Please, instructor," he began, obvious sarcasm dripping from the title he addressed her by. "I can't stand it when people wish me luck. Save those words for a bad student that needs them, eh?"
"Okay then," she conceded, unperturbed. "Good luck, Seifer."
Zell instantly burst into a snicker, and even Squall found himself internally fighting to keep his face devoid of smug satisfaction. As he disengaged the sphere still in his hand and clipped it to the holder situated on his belt, Seifer narrowed his eyes in irritation, before turning to Fujin on his right.
"Another one for the list."
'The list'? What's that supposed to mean?
"Attention, cadets!" a booming voice reverberated through the hall. Squall instantly pivoted on his feet with the assembled masses to face the stage, where a Thorn stood before the microphone-equipped podium. "It is 1100 hours, and the SeeD field exam will begin henceforth. Before the operation officially commences however, the Headmaster would like to say a few words to you all."
With that, the Thorn abdicated the podium to a stout, brown-haired and middle-aged man. He was dressed in a sharp burgundy vest atop a white dress shirt and emerald tie, his face kindly and bespectacled. He reached the microphone, as every cadet and SeeD operative in the room saluted in near unison, their legs pressed together, and right arms held directly up with the open hand obscuring one's right eye.
"At ease," Headmaster Cid commanded, briefly clearing his throat, and began his address. "Good morning, everyone. It's been quite a while, hasn't it? I am happy to see you well, and expect you will all demonstrate this confidence and professionalism on the battlefield today. This year's field exam will involve a total of 225 participants, split up into 75 squads of 3. In addition, there will be an even 100 SeeDs dispatched in your stead. Should you fail, they will get the job done, as they always do. There, that should be one less worry on your minds!"
The Headmaster took a moment to chuckle at his own remark, as a stony silence enveloped the rest of the room. For the generally approachable and grounded personality he always exuded, Squall could not help but think some such comments of his to be tonally inappropriate for such grave matters.
"Regardless," he continued. "For many of you, this will be your first experience in a real, life-or-death battle. Always keep in mind the lessons and skills you have internalized at this Garden, and allow them to guide your actions in the line of fire. Remember the years you have spent training for this very day. This is your moment to prove your place among the ranks of SeeD, the elite mercenary force of Balamb Garden. Learn from them, obey their commands and accomplish the mission. I wish each and every one of you the best of luck. And with that, let the exam begin!"
Headmaster Cid bowed his head slightly as the room burst into applause, Squall joining in with the rest of his team, save for Seifer. It was true, the day of destiny had at last arrived, and he would do whatever it took to join those ranks he aspired for.
"We're to file out to the parking garage and take the transports into town," Quistis announced. "Let's move, everyone!"
She started for the ballroom doors, Zell following in her footsteps just behind. Squall began to step forward himself, when a hand gripped itself firmly on his shoulder, holding him in place.
"Listen up," a familiar voice menacingly whispered into his ear. "Teamwork means staying out of my way. It's a squad rule. Don't you forget it."