She floated through a timeless space, struggling second by second, forcing herself to exist in the endless nothingness, without time, without thought, without hope. Her heart reached out, grasping some lifeline and began to reel her in. Words she could not hear whispered through her body. As they became stronger she could feel herself again, coming to life as the words reverberated through her being. The sense of floating gradually shifted to falling. As she plummeted through the emptiness, her mind began to awaken, and she began to feel the feeling of existence. It was impossible to describe. Incomprehensible on every level. So slowly, as she wakened, the memory of the time in between, the time of nonexistence, faded from her. As her consciousness awoke and she slipped back into existence all that was left were the words, a piece of a conversation. A promise made lifetimes ago, resonating through her soul:
"I'll be here…"
"Why…? "
"I'll be waiting…"
"For What…?"
"I'll be waiting…here…for you. So if you come here…you'll find me…I promise."
And they drew her home.
Now she stood in an endless meadow of flowers, stretching as far as she could see in each direction. It seemed she'd always been there. She was filled with the feeling that she had dreamed a thousand dreams and forgotten them all. The sky overhead boiled, and storms of petals were whipped from their stalks in flurries of color by the wind. The field was empty. She reached out and caught a petal on the wind. "Please," her heart cried out, "where are you?" She opened her hand, and in it was a feather, as white and pure as snow. It lay in her hand for a fraction of a second, and for a moment the timeless place in between froze. Then the wind caught it and swept it up towards the heavens. And the girl followed it, back into the void.
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All night, a bitter northerly wind swept down of the Trabian snowfields, over the tropical Balamb current, so that when the day dawned, its spawn of threatening clouds could be seen crowding up over the southern horizon. As the day progressed, the forbidding mountains of moisture continued to blacken and swell. Around noon, the winds swung round to a strong southerly breeze, blowing back the way they came. Within an hour they reached near gale force, ushering the menacing storm north towards the isle of Balamb. By five that evening, the clouds had strangled the late April sun and her blue skies, and though the wind had calmed, the clouds had only grown darker and more dangerous.
On a cliff overlooking a turbulent ocean, two young men stood, tense and alert, sizing each other up, and preparing themselves for battle. The first man stood slightly less than a head taller than his opponent. His hair was blonde, and cropped close to his head. He was garbed in a light blue vest and a long white trench coat with red swords emblazoned on the sleeves. His hands were gloved in black hide, and in his right, he held a hybrid sword-like weapon. The blade was long and black, engraved with an intricate pattern, and razor sharp. At its base, where the hilt should have been, was a handle similar to that of a handgun, loaded with a magazine of cartridges that would send a powerful jolt of concussive energy down the blade, and a trigger. The hem of his coat whipped to and fro in the rising strength of the gusting wind, and his bright blue eyes narrowed as he surveyed his adversary.
The man across from him was clad in black boots and black pants made out of a durable material, a white undershirt, and a leather bomber jacket, with a soft white fur adorning the collar. Around his waist were slung three belts. One secured his pants, while the other two hung loosely, the first holding numerous large cartridges, and the second holding an assortment of medicinal supplies. His hair was long and dark, the longer strands hanging near his grey-blue eyes. His hands too, were gloved, and like the blonde man, he held a gunblade in his right hand. However, unlike his antagonist's long narrow blade, the blade of his weapon was constructed more along the lines of a katana, sharpened only on one edge, which curved up at the tip, though the blade was thicker, and the flat much wider. Rather than a magazine in the handle to hold his concussive shells, the hilt of his gunblade resembled a revolver. From the butt of the hilt by a silver chain, hung a silvery pendant of the fierce head of a lion. Around his neck hung its mate, also on a silver chain, and beneath the glove on his right hand, a telltale bulge betrayed a ring that matched the pendants.
An unspoken understanding passed between them, and the air between them seemed to tighten, as the blond man raised his weapon to shoulder level with his right arm strait out, and the flat of his blade downwards. His opponent stepped forward, raising his blade with both hands, holding it out in front of him, with his elbows bent and his feet offset. The wind died suddenly, and in the eternity of a few seconds, the tableau seemed frozen: the calm before the storm. Then, like a signal, a bolt of lightning arced across the sky. In the split second before the thunder, the scene shattered as the blond twisted into a spin, his weapon singing through the air. His adversary stepped forward, swinging his blade up to block the strike, but in the moment of impact, a deafening roar of thunder overwhelmed the sound of clashing steel.
The combatants whirled across the rocky terrain, as the sky opened up, and the rain poured down. Below them, a wrathful sea hurled great waves against the cliffs, sending spays of seawater high into the air, which where whipped away by the howling wind. The men seemed evenly matched, as neither seemed to be able to find an opening in his opponent's defense. As the blonde pressed forward, the darker man carefully parried each stroke and jab, moving slowly backward. As he did so, his foot slipped on the slick rock, causing him to stagger back, his weight unsteadily on his heels. His foe leapt eagerly forward, taking advantage of the momentary weakness with a long, upward slash. The dark haired man somehow managed to block it, but his gunblade slipped from his grasp, and was flung high towards the clouds. His opponent drove forward with a thrust, which he barely dodged, throwing himself into an agile backwards roll, and rising nimbly to his feet, weight on his toes. He looked up as his gunblade fell, smashing down between them, its point buried it the rock, quivering. He stepped forward to retrieve it, and the battle began anew.
Again the two men ducked, dodged, and parried; struck, whirled and thrust. The ring of steel on steel resounded across the rocks, between the flash and explosion of the lightning and thunder. As the battle progressed, it became more heated as blood pounded hot through their veins, replacing calm calculation with anger. As they felt themselves near exhaustion, their strokes became stronger with desperation. The blonde's eyes narrowed with frustration as he dodged and sliced around his opponent, attempting gambit after gambit, each as fruitless as the rocks beneath them. The brunette had become completely defensive, pacing himself, saving his energy, biding his time. Suddenly, the blonde spotted an opening, and lunged in to take advantage of it. His move was anticipated however, as the brunette sprang back out of reach, narrowly avoiding the tip of his attacker's sword as it bit at his torso.
Now they circled each other warily, panting with the exertion, their breaths billowing in hot steamy clouds from their open mouths. The blond smirked across the space between them, and taunted his adversary, beckoning him on. The second man accepted the challenge, charging across the gap; launching himself into a flurry of frenzied strikes, forcing his opponent to give ground, using his emotions to fuel his attack, striking hard and fast. Sparks flew as the blond deflected each powerful stroke. Each slash hammered down on his gunblade, causing his balance to shake. He could feel his strength draining away as he struggled to block each powerful blow. The brunette, sensing the weakness of fatigue, summoned his strength and swung his blade back for a final assault. Desperately, the blonde swung his blade in a low, horizontal swipe, catching his opponent off guard, disrupting his attack, and forcing him to leap back yet again.
The darker haired man landed lightly, twirled his blade, and sprinted forward once more. But even as he did so, the blonde was raising his arm, and from his outstretched palm flew a fiery blast. For the last time his rival was caught off guard, barely managing to deflect the brunt of the magical attack with his gunblade. He was flung backwards, his weapon clattering across the stone to rest beside him. The blonde rushed forward, a sneer on his lips, triumph in his eye. With victory at hand, he raised his gundblade up for a final cut. The dark haired man watched the blade arc skyward, then descend in a long, oblique slice. Pain seared across his face like a white-hot knife, and he watched as blood spattered across the ground in front of him. Rage flooded through his being, and in one smooth motion he seized his weapon, and rose. A primal scream erupted from his lips, as he swung his gunblade up towards his opponent's surprised face. The tip connected and drew an identical red line between the eyes of the blonde, sending a spray of blood skyward. The blonde man staggered back with a shriek of pain and shock. Squall set his feet as adrenaline coursed through him, expecting a vengeful onslaught. Without warning his vision blurred and for a split second a feeling of overwhelming fear and anguish flooded through him. He collapsed on the ground, and the last image that flashed before his eyes was of a raven-haired girl, racing desperately across a barren wasteland with a look of utter despair in her eyes. Then he knew no more.
Squall's retaliation had caught Seifer completely unawares. He stumbled backwards, shouting in pain and surprise. Fury flooded through him, and he lifted his gunblade to charge Squall, but as he looked across the rock towards the brunette, he saw in his eyes a look of such intense pain that he was startled into hesitation, and in that moment Squall collapsed before him. The anger leaked out of Seifer like water through cloth. He shot a look of contempt down at the prostrate fighter at his feet.
Oh well, He thought scornfully, he probably feinted. Guess I better get him back to the infirmary.
"What a pussy," he said aloud. And with that, Seifer sheathed his gunblade, lifted Squall's limp body onto his shoulders and trudged off slowly across the rocks through the pouring rain, back to the shelter of Balamb Garden.
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Seifer Almasy was not above cheating to win a battle but he did have a warrior's sense of honor to an extent. To him it was all well and good to do what you had to do to win, but once your opponent was beaten there was no need to embarrass them. There were exceptions of course. In his opinion weak people deserve to be punished, and he wasn't above even the basest of acts in the name of revenge. But despite Seifer's derisive attitude towards Squall, he did have a certain amount of respect for the brunette as a worthy adversary. In all honesty, any battle between the two of them could go either way. They'd had a handful of scuffles in the past and both of them had won a few. Seifer had to admit (if only to himself) it could just as easily been him kneeling on the rock beneath Squall, though he knew Squall's sense of honor would not allow him to use magic to win a weapon only duel. And he probably wouldn't have cut Seifer's face open had the situation been reversed. He would've considered that a cheap shot. In any case, Squall was neither weak, nor had he given Seifer enough insult to deserve complete disgrace. Squall had nearly as much pride as he, and it would sting sharply from his defeat. He would not enough give Squall the added humiliation of being carried back into Garden unconscious. It would be bad enough when he told the school about Squall feinting, and since Dr. Kadowaki would most likely hospitalize Squall for the night, he would have shame enough as it was.
Besides, It was slow going, and by the time Seifer had managed to toil off the rocky plateau onto the wide grasslands that covered most of Southern Balamb, he was sick of carrying Squall. The rain had slowed to a steady, drenching, drizzle, and it was nearly dark as Seifer approached one of the small copses that were scattered across the grassland. He ventured into the trees, but did not go too far. T-rexaurs, though rare, were common enough to watch out for in the woods. In addition, he thought it likely that he would not be the only one seeking shelter from the rain. He dropped Squall roughly on the ground beneath a tree and searched himself for a Phoenix Down. Once he located one, he dug a syringe and a tourniquet out of his coat pocket and injected the medicine into Squall's arm.
Phoenix Downs and Potions were one of the famous Doctor Odine's most useful inventions. The basic formula for both was a combination of steroids, amphetamines, and endorphins, combined with the extract of certain stones and plants with magical rejuvenating properties. No one but Dr. Odine really knew how they worked, but the affect was simple. The amphetamines gave the body energy, increasing the slowing heart rate of an exhausted, unconscious, or dying patient; the steroids boosted cell replication to heal injuries; and the endorphins dulled pain and created a sense of mild euphoria. That combination was then coupled with the rejuvenating magic by a process called junctioning (which simply put, is the method by which objects with magical properties are fused with ordinary ones). The magic magnified the effects of the other chemicals as well as adding its own curing force, and then the medicine is injected into the patient. They came in several different potencies, potions of various strengths for injuries and fatigue of varying magnitudes, up to Phoenix Downs of varying strength for those unconscious or recently deceased. Unsurprisingly success rates decreased rapidly the longer the subject was dead. To take any effect at all, Phoenix Downs had to be administered within roughly five minutes of "Departure". Phoenix Downs and potions were not the only medicinal miracles invented by Dr. Odine. After designing the junctioning method to harness magical healing properties, Odine had turned out a whole line of remedies for almost every magical or physical ailment imaginable, and now they could be bought at any authorized medical supply store by anyone with a license to purchase them.
Phoenix Downs took action rapidly, since they were injected strait into the bloodstream. Seifer hadn't been waiting a minute and a half before Squall stirred. He heard Squall curse quietly as he sat up. A look of disorientation flew fleetingly across his face before the normal deadpan returned as he recognized his surroundings. Seifer pulled two potions out of his coat and tossed one to Squall.
"There you go, sleeping beauty. Hurry up and drink, I want to be back at Garden before midnight."
Squall opened the bottle wordlessly and drank the repulsive liquid. The pair sat for a few minutes in silence, waiting for the medicine to take effect. Then rose and trekked through the cold and the dark, back to Balamb Garden, the blood mixing with water from the steady rain and running in streaks down their faces.