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"The moon is always jealous of the heat of the day, just as the sun always longs for something dark and deep."
-Alice Hoffman, Practical Magic
Alive
It was raining. A fine drizzle fell like mist upon the Alcauld Plains, not quite enough to get one wet, cold nevertheless.
More like evening than morning, Squall thought as he made his way towards the Fire Cavern.
A Bite Bug buzzed towards him as soon as he left the path. Without even thinking about it he drew Revolver and ran it through. He shook his weapon free of residue and walked on across the field. Rumor had it that the field exam would be today, and he wanted to fulfill the prerequisite as soon as possible.
He decided to cut through the forest to get to the cavern. A Caterchipillar attacked him the moment he entered the shadow of the trees. Caught off guard, he received a couple of blows before he swung out with Revolver, nicking the beast.
The Caterchipillar hesitated; Squall rushed in, pulling the trigger with every plunge of the blade, his timing deadly accurate. The monster gave a final shudder before it doubled up and died.
He reached up to wipe his brow with a sleeve, then continued walking. The exercise had warmed him up, and he no longer felt the wet chill of the morning air. At the same time, he was unsated--though he told himself the urge was impractical, he couldn't help but long for a challenge. Sometimes the heat of battle was all that made him real, that broke through his habitual detachment.
As he neared the edge of the forest he heard the distinctive whistle of a blade splitting air. His pulse quickened with something between anticipation and dread, and he found his pace hastening along with his heartbeat.
The trees fell away as he emerged into the open. Seifer was there training alone, as he had expected, almost known. Seifer's eyes were closed as he whirled, stepped, spun in startlingly graceful movements, the black blade of Hyperion stabbing and cutting at the air. The remains of Bite Bugs littered the ground around him, probably ones that got a little too close for comfort.
Strangely compelled, Squall paused to watch. Seifer's fighting form had always been unconventional--their old gunblade instructor had called it an abomination, the way he used only one arm, the 360-degree turns he would make before a blow, how his trigger timing melded into his swings without pause or preparation.
Squall himself had always found the unusual stance oddly beautiful, perhaps because of its unbridled intensity. The answering heat of battle rose in his own veins as he watched. He wished he could draw his own blade and leap into the deadly dance, as Seifer himself would. But he knew he couldn't, and wouldn't. He needed the other boy to draw out that violent side of him, and despised himself for the need.
Hyperion whipped through the air one last time before it came to an abrupt stop, a near-impossible feat that required a phenomenal amount of muscle control. Seifer opened his eyes and turned to face Squall, sheathing his weapon in one fluid motion.
"Morning, Rain Boy."
Squall only shrugged in reply. Seifer never quit coming up with names for him, and he was used to the mocking. Though he couldn't remember where the "Rain Boy" bit was from, come to think of it.
"Come to do the prerequisite?"
Squall gave a slight nod.
"That pit just gets more and more boring every time." Seifer idly fingered the hilt of his gunblade. "And wouldn't you know it, I got that Xu woman as backup. Talk about a bitch." There was a flash of anger in his green eyes.
"Whatever." Squall walked past him towards the entrance to the Cavern. Just as he was level with Seifer, he felt a hand brush his side. There was a scrape of metal on metal, and he had a brief glimpse of Seifer's face close to his before he stepped away, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Instinctively Squall's hand went to his side--and encountered only air where the Revolver's hilt should have been.
"Looking for this?" Seifer dangled the Revolver before him.
"Give that back," said Squall through gritted teeth.
"It's funny." Seifer twirled the stolen gunblade easily in a hand. "You want to fight as much as I do. I can see it in your eyes. So how come you're always the poor innocent victim, and I the bully? Got any goody two-shoes tips I could use, Squall?"
"Go to hell." It surprised him, the way Seifer could make him react. He enraged him, challenged him like no one else did. It made him feel--
"Somehow, I don't think that's it." Seifer brought the arm holding Revolver down and back, eyes alight and lips grinning. "Enough crap. Let the fun begin." With terrific force he tossed the gunblade high into the air. It went spinning up, up, up, until it lost itself in the gloom of the morning sky and was out of sight.
A flash of lightning brightened the sky, followed by a low growl of thunder. Rain began to fall in earnest, but Squall felt no cold as anticipation tingled through his limbs. Every sense almost painfully sharpened, his heartbeat in his ears, he watched and waited for his weapon to come spinning down, for the rush of battle to begin.
And he felt alive.