Squall was six years old when he first junctioned a Guardian Force. Even then his memory was far from perfect, Sorceress-scrambled so that although everything was still there he could never consciously call it back. If he relaxed and thought of nothing at all, recollections would flicker through his mind as his eyes rested on this object or that, this scene or that.

It took rather more discipline to think of nothing at all than it did to think of anything in particular, but he tried to find time for it. Life had gotten very busy, very ordered, when they came to the Garden. He was often so tired after his classes that he just fell onto his bunk and slept, and even Seifer's frantic pounding on the door did not disturb his exhaustion. Seifer was beginning to get angry about that, but there was little Squall could do. He couldn't lessen his workload, after all, and they often did not share classes.

One day, Cid took him by the hand and led him out of his class. Squall padded along obediently, if a little warily, though Cid's strides were hard for a six-year-old's legs to match. He didn't ask where they were going, or why. Already he was out of the habit of questioning his elders. The faculty here did not like students who questioned - Seifer had already taken numerous beatings for it, and Squall did not want to experience them for himself. Just watching them had been more than enough, seeing Seifer's back a mass of red welts and his cat-green eyes too bright from holding back tears he was far too proud to shed. Squall pretended not to notice Seifer's pain - the only thing he could think of to do, since offering sympathy only seemed to make the blond angrier.

Cid led him outside, just inside the farthest gate. There was an unholy storm out there, wind and rain and thunder all competing for the harshest element. It had been several months since Squall had seen daylight for more than an hour at a time, and he stared wide-eyed at Nature's fury, forgetting the adult at his side. Already several branches had been torn away from their trees by the wind, and more than one charred circle marked a lightning strike. The clouds above roiled and churned far more than they should, though Squall could not say how he knew that. Flickers of lightning within them almost gave the impression of wings.

Cid let go of Squall's hand and pointed out at the storm. "Are you afraid of it?" he asked quietly.

Squall slanted a wary look at his Headmaster. He wasn't going to get caught making a wrong answer, no matter how tricky the question. "No," he said, glad it was the truth. You weren't supposed to be afraid of anything. He knew that. Besides, it didn't matter. If he had said 'yes' the Headmaster would send him out anyway, to learn not to be afraid. He remembered a student who had had to put his hand in an aquarium filled with tarantulas after admitting he was afraid of spiders. The screams of terror had bothered him but he'd tried not to show it - everyone around seemed to think this was exactly how one should overcome fear.

"That isn't an ordinary storm," said Cid quietly. "It happens once in a decade maybe - the coming of the Thunderbird. A Guardian Force. If you go out, and you are not afraid, you can make it your friend. But you can't be afraid."

The little boy stared out at the chaos, eyes wide. "Wow," he said. Thunderbird? It sounded beautiful - and now that he knew it was a bird up there he could see it, wings trailing clouds and limned in lightning, the forceful gusts of wind the downdraft of its powerful wings. It was amazing, really, that he hadn't truly seen it before.

Cid smiled a little. "That's the answer I was hoping for," he said encouragingly. "I'll wait here. Go on out." And - with some effort - he pushed open the last gate, letting the boy dart out into the howling chaos.

Cid pulled the gate closed after him - either way this could turn out, Squall would not need him to open the gate again. If the Thunderbird objected to him, he'd be dead - no child could stand up to the might of a Guardian Force. And if it accepted Squall, the boy would suffer no harm out there at all, and would be able to open the gate himself.

Half of him hoped the child would fail, would die. It was a terrible thing to hope for - and yet this little boy was fated to fight his own wife in a duel to the death someday. Even with the possession eating away at Edea's soul, Cid could not bear the idea of her death. So he watched the little boy fighting to stay upright in the wind and rain, and made no move to help him. . . .

* * * * * * * *

Squall found he really wasn't afraid, though the wind threatened to knock him over and the rain nearly blinded him. There was something clean about the storm, something harsh but pure, untouched. He reached out his hands to the downpour and laughed. A storm off the sea, the squall he was named for. He reached out his hands and the water fell from heaven through his fingertips, cascading down his arms, cleansing, purifying, powerful.

Not that his six-year-old mind rationalized it so far. All he really understood was that the water tingled and felt wonderful, and the winds through his rain-soaked hair made him feel like a god. He was the storm, and the storm was himself. He pointed his finger and a blast of lightning reduced an ancient tree to splinters. The storm was chaos that made things right, wearing away at sharp stones until they were smooth and safe, pulling dust and pollen out of the air, making the world anew. And nobody ever, ever told a storm what to do. He raised his head and stared up at the golden bird in the sky, flickering in and out of view among the clouds its wings trailed, reached stubby child hands as though the glowing beauty were within arm's reach. I want to be like you. Free. And he was, just like that. He looked around and realized there were no Garden Faculty here, no headmasters, no students. Just himself, and the storm, and the Thunderbird. He laughed for the sheer delight of it, and ran after the lightning.

It was then that the storm noticed him, running and playing as other children might in bright sunshine. The Thunderbird dove out of the sky, giant wings trailing lightning forks and thunder clouds as it came, heading straight for the child with quicksilver eyes and no fear in him at all.

We are the same.

The presence took as great a delight in the wind and rain as Squall did himself. Golden wings wrapped themselves almost affectionately around his small shoulders, and suddenly Squall could see through the storm as though it were bright daylight - the rain and wind no longer blinding him. For a moment the two were one, arms-wings-feathers-fingers outstretched and trailing sparks. To Squall it was like touching a live battery, warm electric tingle flowing through his limbs, making him alive in a way he'd never been before. He looked at his arms - the presence was still there, but he could no longer see it. Instead the wings were in his mind, proud golden fire tickling his thoughts. It made his brain want to sneeze, and he wriggled - how could you get your brain to sneeze?

You're beautiful.

We are Quezacotl, it said, in a voice like three voices together. A man's voice, and a woman's voice, and the crackling deep voice of thunder.

I'm Squall.

There was a ripple of amusement from the bird; evidently it wasn't used to talking but was willing to make allowances for Squall's age and evident innocence of protocol.

Will you play with me?

Consternation; the Thunderbird evidently had no way of answering that. When it storms, it said hesitantly. And when you call.

Okay!

But Quezacotl made no further reply. Maybe it couldn't talk much through its beak.

As wonderful as the rain had felt before, now it was magical. The rain plastered his hair flat against his skull, weighed down his uniform, squelched noisily in his boots - and never had he felt so alive. Like all he had to do was take a step, and he'd be somewhere brand new and exciting. It didn't matter in the slightest that he could only barely see the Garden in the distance through the darkness. It wasn't going anywhere. I am the storm, and the storm is me. Take that, tree stump! He grinned as the lightning fell exactly where he pointed. He wasn't calling it down - though he was sure the golden bird could do that if it wanted to. He just seemed to know where it would strike. Maybe the Thunderbird told him, somehow. Like in a secret language, something only the two of them would know.

He wanted to tell Cid - tell somebody - about the bird in the sky, the one in his head. He hadn't had anything to be this happy about since - he paused. Since when? He blinked. Oh well, it didn't matter. What mattered was the wonderful bird who would be his friend. He ran all the way back to the gate, jumping over the small gullies with ease and grace, paying not the slightest heed toward the slick, muddy ground or the sheets of rain that still poured down. Had someone asked him just then to run an errand to Balamb Town - a good day's hike away even for an adult - he would have agreed like a shot, with the tingling energy coursing through his veins. He pulled open the gate without thinking, and smiled up at his Headmaster - for the moment just a happy boy, completely drenched and not minding it a bit.

"Did you see it?" he asked, excited, inadvertently sending sprays of water at the once-dry Headmaster with every movement. "Did you see?"

"Yes, I saw," said Cid sadly - killing some of Squall's evident happiness. He'd seen the Thunderbird dive from the heavens and wrap its wings gently, protectively around Squall's small frame, seen the child's body glow brightly from the inside out as the junction took hold and Quezacotl faded from view, and still saw the bright sparkle in his usually serious gray eyes - a sparkle beyond mere happiness, a sparkle that could and would light rooms, that drew any viewer to his eyes like a magnet. "You'd better get back to your room now, Squall, and get changed. Kadowaki will never forgive either of us if you catch a cold."

"Yes, sir!" chirped Squall, and ran in a direct and dripping line right for the dorms - only to be stopped halfway by an outraged faculty member, who lectured him for a good ten minutes about wearing a wet uniform, being outside without an Instructor's company, being outside at all in such weather, and running in the halls. By the time the faculty member was done, Squall looked positively dejected - and then he was berated for that until Squall stood up straight and saluted, and walked - slowly - on his way, not even daring a backward glance at the Headmaster who had, after all, let him out.

Cid watched it all with a sigh. Squall hadn't known about the sparkles in his eyes. There had been sparks in his hair, too. He let the faculty member berate Squall because it killed that glow, those telltale sparks, and let Squall look the way he always had. Soon enough the faculty would realize that their young cadet had found a Guardian Force and junctioned it, and then they would take it away from him until they deemed him responsible enough not to use its power to short out the Garden. In the meantime, though, it would grow loyal to Squall - and eat away at his memories. Cid needed Squall to forget, and Seifer too if he could find another GF that could be captured without a fight. Edea had told him about her visitor from the future. It was vital that Squall forget the orphanage, and Cid's own wife, as much as possible - to make the inevitable moment of conflict easier on him.

Cid cared about the boy, he really did, but that knowledge of inevitability tore at him. Such a little boy, to one day lead the fight against the sorceress who held his wife. Such a sweet boy, to be his wife's killer. He wished he could afford to junction a GF, and forget - but what was he thinking? As long as they both lived, he must be Edea's Knight, and do what she felt was necessary. No matter how much it tore at him.

He turned his back and headed for the elevator. There were reports to finish, endless mounds of paperwork to sort...

* * * * * * * * *

Thunder rolled. A breeze picked up, strong enough to carry a faint spray from the sea a day's brisk hike away. The promise of rain filled the air, ruffling at his bangs like an affectionate uncle. The scrape of steel against stone drew his eyes back to his opponent. Seifer had picked up the Hyperion, pointed it at him, taunting. Squall drew his Revolver and swung, smacking the thinner gunblade down.

The wind blows harder, heavy now with mist, clean and cold and electric.

Clang, click, clack, click clang, thrust and parry and chop and whirl and strike. It had been Seifer's idea to duel outside today, beyond the gates of Garden and the familiar terrain of the training grounds. He'd heard the weather reports, and thought by removing Squall from familiar surroundings - as well as prying faculty eyes - he could go for an easy victory, under 'real conditions', and show Squall who was truly the master of the gunblade.

The first raindrops begin to fall, turning the rocky ground slick and dangerous.

This was not how it was supposed to go. Though they wore similar boots, Seifer was having to concentrate on not losing his footing - and Squall didn't even appear to notice the rain. There was something...odd...about his face. Fey. It was distracting, and the strikes were coming faster and Seifer had all he could do to stay upright and block them. This was not how it was supposed to go!

Twists of bright lightning lance towards the ground, a booming roll of thunder right behind, the rain is falling more heavily now.

It was Seifer, and not Squall, who startled. Seifer could have sworn that the sparkle in Squall's eyes just then was more than just a reflection of the lightning's flash. Squall took advantage of the distraction and disarmed his opponent with a quick, twisting strike of the Revolver.

The rain thunders down in a sudden torrent, pouring from the clouds like water from a bowl, striking the stony ground so forcefully it forms a mist above the earth.

Seifer scrambled for his gunblade, now nearly invisible in the rain-dark and falling water, disturbed by Squall's silent equanimity but refusing to let it show. "The hell's gotten into you, Leonhart?" he demanded, as he noticed the other boy making no move to get under cover. "It's fucking pouring!" The weather report said 'rain'. It had not said 'torrential downpour'. No one could fight in this. Yet Squall waited, quicksilver eyes gleaming in the lightning, Revolver at the ready. Were it not for the silver in his eyes, on his gunblade, on his cadet's uniform, at a mere half-dozen feet Seifer would not have been able to see his rival at all.

The wind picks up again, turning the veritable wall of water almost horizontal. The clouds are so thick as to make day into late twilight, the only true illumination the quickening bursts of lightning.

Seifer abandoned his pride, abandoned any thought of continuing the fight - and ran for the safety of the Garden. He was bent nearly double against the wind and rain, running almost blind. Thankfully there were no witnesses - cadet black and silver making him just another shadow, invisible at any distance. Squall paid him no mind, apparently hypnotized by the rain.

He sheathed the Revolver and spread black-gloved hands to feel the storm, really feel it, drawn to its raw power and its cleansing strength, washing away the brooding darkness to reveal the passion beneath, stripping the habitual casing away to reveal a live wire. Alive. Here and now he was victor, and alive. In echo of the emotion golden wings spread in his mind - the Thunderbird's call bringing a small, victorious smile to his lips. No rivals, no Instructors, no Headmasters, no companions. Just himself, and the Thunderbird, and the storm.

No one ever, ever, tells the storm what to do.

We are the same.