Childhood definitely was wasted on the young, Kiros thought, and was surprised at the bitterness of his own thoughts. He'd never thought that way before. But, watching the little tawny haired boy run around the spacious hallway in an oversized cowboy hat, he realized that he felt just a little jealous. He scolded himself for being jealous of orphans, especially when he himself had had a happy family.

But these children seemed to have enough in each other; at least most of them did. And now they were here in this beautiful Garden, playing, and toying carelessly with time as if it would never run out on them... And looking forward to an admittedly trying life, full of difficult lessons and doubt. They would probably even lose each other at some time.

But they also had freedom; a wild sort of freedom that came with having no ties, no responsibility to family, and no single place that would demand their return. A sad and desperate freedom, maybe...

Kiros found he was thinking of his own childhood. He realized that he'd gotten to do all of the things a child should get to do. So why did he suddenly feel so mournful over it?

He supposed it had to do with the sorceress and the things she had shown him. She'd twisted his memories of his family and tried to make him believe lies, so that he would feel as lonely and desperate as she needed him to feel. And he knew those things weren't true. But, in doing so, she had brought so many other things to light, things he had never considered. Things he now missed, like the desert, the dry air, and the hot sand in his hands.

He suddenly felt sorrowful over the fact that he would only live it once, and could never, ever go back to that time. He would do so many things differently if he had the chance. Most of all he would be aware of it. He would be aware of every fleeting second of his childhood, instead of carelessly letting time slip by.


"You look sad," said a little girl's voice. He didn't know why he expected to see Ellone - maybe because the voice sounded older, at least older than the little blonde child who stood next to him, peering over the railing and watching the other children.

He shrugged and smiled at her. He'd seen her at the Kramers' orphanage during the brief time they'd spent there. "I guess I'm just feeling a little old," he said.

She sighed. "Me too," she said, and leaned her chin on the railing.

The absurdity of her comment made him want to laugh, but he held back, for fear of hurting her feelings. "Why do you feel old?" he asked.

"Because I'm the oldest kid here out of the ones from our orphanage, since Sis can't stay. I don't get to play with them."

Kiros looked down at her. She didn't look any older than the others that he remembered from there. "Why can't you play with them?"

"'Cause I guess I'm gonna be in different classes and, I don't know. I just don't play right. Those kids like me and everything, but I guess I don't make sense to them sometimes. They have more fun when they play without me."

She looked up and tried to smile easily, but didn't manage it. There was sadness beyond words in her face, and loneliness that he knew didn't end when you grew up, no matter how much it seemed like it would.

"Well," he said, "this place looks like a great new opportunity, right? Other kids will be here soon, and maybe they'll be able to keep up with you."

"Maybe," she said dully. "So, why are you sad?"

Kiros had forgotten about his own troubles, which suddenly seemed trivial. "Just thinking about when I was your age," he said.

"Were you an orphan?" she asked.

"No," he said, with a small measure of guilt, "actually both my parents are still alive. I guess I had it easy."

"Then why does it make you sad?"

"I guess I miss it."

"Oh," she said, almost as if she were familiar with the idea. "But it must be great to be grown up, too."

"Sometimes," he said. "It is great, in some ways. But sometimes I wish I could go back and be your age, only if I got to, I guess I'd think about it more."

"'Think about it more?'" she repeated. "Why?"

"So that I would always know how great it was, and I wouldn't waste any of it."

"But then you would waste it," she said quickly. "I mean if all you did was make yourself think about how great it was all the time, then you'd miss everything and you'd just sit there thinking. It'd be boring and it'd make you weird."

Kiros opened his mouth to answer, but realized he didn't have anything to say. She was absolutely, perfectly right. Letting it slip by absently was the only right way to do it. Instead of answering, he only nodded.

"If you thought that hard about things," she said, "you'd be stranger than me. You'd be like him." She pointed to a child who sat alone on a bench on the ground floor. "He's nice and I really like him, but since Sis left all he does is think, he never talks or plays anymore. I guess he is kinda like me, maybe."

Kiros looked at the little boy. He looked overwhelmed and lost. "You're right," he said. "I never thought about it like that before."

"And anyway, you're not really too old," she said, still staring at the boy on the bench. "You're still kinda young I think. It's not like you're a hundred or anything. You and your friends should play a game. That'd make you feel better. I never understand why grownups don't play anymore, it's like they all think other grownups will think they're stupid."

Kiros laughed. She had another good point. "You'd make a good teacher," he said.

"Yeah," she said, some of the dullness coming back into her voice, "that's what they tell me." Then she looked up at him and smiled. "I have to go look for the cafeteria," she said. "All the other kids are hungry cause it was a long ride. It was nice talking to you." She held out her tiny hand, all five or six years of her, like a perfectly formal adult.

Kiros shook her hand, a little surprised that she shook hands like an adult too, brisk and businesslike. "Good luck," he said. "And thanks for the advice, too."

"You too," she said seriously. "Take care."

Kiros watched her walk toward the stairs like a little soldier, then turned his attention briefly to the boy on the bench. He was looking all around him as if he expected to see someone or something familiar.


"Who was that?"

Kiros turned to see Laguna watching him with a bemused smile. "One of these Garden kids," he said. "We were having a chat. She cheered me up."

Laguna looked in his eyes. "What happened to you with that sorceress?" he asked. His journalist's instinct had never left him, and Kiros hated when Laguna suddenly knew the truth about everything. It was impossible to keep secrets from him.

"The sorceress... It's not anything important," he said. He thought about the losses Laguna had faced in his lifetime, and thought again about the orphans who would spend most of their childhood training to kill. "It's nothing," he said with a smile.

"You're smiling," Laguna said suspiciously. "So I know you're depressed."

"What? I smile," Kiros protested.

"That superior half smile that gets you into fights," he said.

Kiros snorted dismissively looked away. He had things to worry about other than his own neuroses, and he hoped that Laguna would let the subject drop.

After a moment, he caught sight of Ellone, who approached them from the stairs. She looked much too serious, and he knew it a split second that something was wrong. She met Kiros' eyes with her own worried ones, then looked to Laguna. Kiros followed her gaze.

Laguna was staring out to the ground floor in rapt attention. Kiros heard Ellone breathe the word, "no."

Laguna was staring at the little boy. Kiros could see him trembling. He looked back at the boy, and an instant after finally taking in the whole scene - the black hair, the sharp features, the edgy demeanor - he knew. Laguna knew. Once you looked, there was no way to miss it.

"Uncle Laguna," Ellone said softly, but so sharply that it almost sounded like she was scolding him.

Laguna turned around to face her, with tears streaming down his face. He looked as if he was struggling to find words, but for what, he didn't seem to know.

"Uncle Laguna, you can't," she said, and Kiros saw that she was crying too. She walked up to both of them slowly, and seemed to look to Kiros for support. But if she was asking him to agree with her, he couldn't.

"I have to," Laguna said harshly.

"But you can't," she repeated, her voice heavy with regret. "The future needs him. He needs to be who Garden will make him. I saw it with my own eyes," she said.

"He can be," Laguna said, casting a desperate glance back at the boy. "He can come with us and still learn and be a SeeD..."

Ellone was shaking her head. She tugged on Laguna's hands to pull him down to her level. He went on his knees and she hugged him. "He couldn't be the person he has to be," she said. "Plus the true Sorceress... she knows us, me and you and Kiros and Ward and stupid Dr. Odine. We need to keep running away from her. He'd be in danger if he came with us." She was petting Laguna's hair as if she were his mother, and not the child he had raised with his wife. Laguna let her, as she cried into his hair. "I have to leave him too," she said bitterly. "And I love him, too."

Kiros looked again at the boy on the bench, who had seemed to have resigned himself to curiously watching everyone who passed him. He couldn't keep staring at him, knowing who he was. He looked away and saw Ward standing at the top of the steps. His face told Kiros that he also knew what had happened. Whether he had heard the conversation, or found out from Cid, Kiros didn't know. He looked helplessly at Ward, wanting to ask him if there wasn't anything, anything in the world that they could do to change this for Laguna. Ward met his eyes solemnly and shook his head slowly.

Laguna sat back on his heels and Ellone wiped his eyes with her sleeve. Then he looked up at Ward, before closing his eyes and turning his head away. After a moment, he stood up slowly and walked away.