Due to the condition most of the cadets were in when the Garden picked up the missile ship, exam results were delayed for a few days to give them time to recover. Shutat and Chugi spent a great deal of time in their room, flat on their backs and being 'looked after' by Naia. As far as both boys were concerned, this was incentive to get better really quickly.

Twice a day, every injured cadet got a personal call from one of the Garden medics, along with whatever medication was prescribed. Shutat was spared the medication, but not examination. In the end, all he needed was rest and food. After a day of doing nothing but sleeping and eating, he felt almost normal - which meant he got to work with Naia in keeping Chugi both in his bed and resting, as the redhead was not the least bit inclined towards either.

Thankfully, there were potions and other magical remedies available, in enough quantities that all the cadets were at least mobile under their own power to hear their scores - or more particularly, whether they'd passed.

That this was even a point to consider was a topic of much speculation; Headmaster Almasy was not given to overstatement. And indeed, when the cadets gathered in the Quad, he did not look pleased.

"Somebody told him to pass people," Chugi whispered, and Shutat nodded. The only person who could make the Headmaster look that sour and get away with it was the Commander.

"Shhh," whispered Naia. "He's going to give names."

"The mission to Anarishe was a failure," said Headmaster Almasy. "However, it has been decided that this was not the fault of any actions of any cadets. Points have been awarded and deducted based on depositions taken on the missile ships and the reports of attending Instructors. Therefore, welcome the following of your classmates to the ranks of SeeD: Denna Alise, Chugi Dincht, Shutat ab Llew, and Naia Moasi. You four will go to the Commander's office for your assignments."

I did it, Shutat thought numbly in the polite applause. I'm a SeeD. I can go home. He'd proven he could take care of himself under fire. Then the rest of the Headmaster's words caught his ears. "Assignments?" It was hardly usual for new SeeDs to be assigned so quickly.

"Yes, ab Llew," said the Headmaster with a slight, twisted smile. "SeeDs take assignments. And can be taken right back down to cadet for breaking rules. You've been given an order; obey it."

It would do no good to pass the exam if he ended up having to re-take it before he could tell his family he'd passed and show them the proof. He bobbed his head and quickly strode after his friends, who were already on their way.

* * *

The Commander's office was curiously shaped, built as it was under the stairs up to the second level. The office dated back to the second Commander, and had weapons on its walls that had been used by every SeeD to hold the office. Little plaques under the weapons named the weapon and who had used it and when, with a space above and behind the Commander's desk where his or her own weapon had pride of place. It was currently a weapon of double significance; not only was it the Commander's weapon, but it was also a weapon of legend - the Exeter rifle used by Irvine Kinneas against the Sorceress Ultimecia.

The Commander himself had nothing like so imposing a presence. Commander Omar Kinneas was a man of about the same age as Headmaster Almasy, with his gray-streaked medium brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Although he wore the uniform of a SeeD, with all the proper pins, marks, and patches of affiliation, specialization, and rank, the jacket tended to be undone and rumpled, and the shirt beneath often spoke more about his sense of humor or current favored sports team than of the dignity of SeeD. A tiny diamond earring glittered in one earlobe, and a gold ring rested on his wedding finger; he wore no other jewelry.

When the four SeeDs entered his office, he was occupied throwing darts at a dartboard. The dartboard was currently sporting a much punctured picture of the Headmaster. Naia giggled; the two boys bit their lips in an effort not to laugh. Denna resorted to a sudden coughing fit.

"Ah, there you are," said the Commander cheerfully in a broad Galbadian accent. "Come on, have a sit."

Denna slanted a look at the other three; she well knew she was the odd SeeD out in the group. But she obeyed, sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk. The Commander walked around it to take a seat in his own chair, playing with a pencil.

"Denna, you did very well," he began. "Got your whole squad out alive, by the reports, and a few injured cadets as well." He nodded at Chugi. "Including this little punk. I've got an undercover job for you, if you'll take it."

"Of course, sir," she said primly. "When and where?"

"Deling City," replied the Commander promptly. "I'm going to assume you haven't got a problem working around mageborn."

"Sir?" asked Denna, surprised, then recovered herself. "I mean, no sir. What will I be doing?"

"Keeping an eye on events," the Commander said, grinning at her discomfiture. "Specifically mageborn policy. I've been hearing some interesting rumors about forced military service. You're going to make sure that doesn't happen. Kill who you have to, but keep the body count down, will you? Mass drafting of mageborn is a global headache I'd like to avoid."

"Yes sir," said Denna, nodding. "Is that all, sir?"

"Yep," agreed the Commander. "Off you go. You're there until I can send some other new SeeD out to keep an eye on them."

Denna rose, bowed, and left, and the Commander gave a good stare at each of the three remaining SeeDs. Shutat was wondering why Denna had been sent, when if anything he would have made a better choice for such a mission.

"Well, well," said the Commander quietly. "First, I'm going to surprise you. All three of you earned your commissions." He grinned. "Which is good, because I needed you three for this. I'd not have wanted to wait a year."

"Sir," Shutat began slowly. "I have no intention of having a career in SeeD. I took the test to prove I had completed my education."

"Not so fast," said Omar, suddenly quite serious. "You're not going anywhere, Shutat. I said I didn't want to wait a year for all three of you - but the Gardens have waited almost five hundred years for you. Just you, Shutat. And you're not waltzing out until you've heard the mission."

Shutat looked to his friends, who just shrugged - they had no idea what the Commander could be referring to, either.

"Naia," said the Commander in a short bark. "Who was the third Commander of Balamb?"

"Seifer Almasy," she replied promptly, puzzled.

"What is his title?" the Commander demanded of Chugi.

"The Prophet," the redhead promptly replied, just as lost as Naia.

The Commander reached into a drawer and pulled out an ancient, delicate volume. "Right," he said. "The Prophet. The first - and damn near the only - Commander to pull off an advanced junction with Bahamut. All of his visions, he recorded here." His finger tapped the cover. "We've got electronic copies now too. And of the visions of the other Commanders who pulled off the junction." He put the book away again. "Shutat, you're in the book."

Shutat had the sinking feeling he wasn't going to go home. Ever. He well knew what visions were like. "What does it say?" he asked quietly.

"You want the exact words, or the modern translation?" asked Omar. "I don't know how it works, myself. Maybe if you hear the words you'll see his visions?"

"No, sir," said Shutat slowly. "The words are just...descriptions. The translation is fine."

"Well then," said Omar. "Basically..." he paused, thinking. "What we know for sure is that a mageborn will join SeeD. And that a mageborn SeeD will create a...kind of living time capsule."

"Sir?" asked Shutat, confused.

"Don't interrupt," said Omar shortly. "Commander Almasy said it was very important. That you find it, you create it. If you don't, then if Ultimecia rises everybody dies."

"This...time capsule," said Shutat slowly. He hoped he was getting across the idea that he felt his Commander needed more sleep without actually being insulting about it.

"I believe it," snapped Omar. "The Prophet had other visions and we've already seen some of them happen. You're some kind of key, Shutat. We've waited five hundred years or so for a mageborn - any mageborn - to join a Garden. You're the first. I don't want to find out that we don't have another five hundred years to wait for a second. You've got to be the one."

"A time capsule," Shutat repeated.

"A haven," said Omar. "Seifer foresaw a - kind of hidden place. A place only SeeD knew about. Only a few SeeD knew about. And the people in this place will be the ones who survive. You're the one that has to say where it is, and it's got to be right. If it's anyone else, it'll be found and we're all dead. If you don't find the right place, same thing." He leaned forward. "Shutat of Bahamut," he said. "I've never met a Bahamut gift before. I'm betting you'll know what Seifer saw when you see it yourself. I'm staking everything on it."

Shutat wanted to argue, very badly. He just couldn't. If it was all true, then Omar was probably right - if he walked into the parameters of the original vision, it wasn't at all unlikely that he'd have visions of his own. But he didn't want to discuss the down side when his friends would hear it. I'll die. If I have too many visions, see too much, I'll die. But Omar was thinking in terms of the whole world. One life for a world wasn't too much to ask. Except that the life in question is mine!

"This isn't my mission," he said. "This isn't what's going down in the logbooks."

"No, it's not," nodded Omar with a grin. "Officially, you're looking for the White SeeD, with intent to offer reunification."

"Excuse me?" put in Chugi. "Yo, other people in the room here. The White SeeD are a myth, Commander. Nobody's seen or heard a peep out of them in ages."

"They're not a myth," said Omar. "We've had six Sorceresses in five hundred years. How many Sorceress wars?"

"Three," said Naia slowly. "Just three..."

"Very good," Omar nodded. "And actually you could make the argument that it was just one really big multigenerational Sorceress War - the Sorceress Bria, completely bonkers, passed on to the Sorceress Este, also completely bonkers, and from her onto the Sorceress Callista, likewise nutty. But, funny thing, if you check the records, there are six more Guardian Forces on record now than there were in the time of the Sorceress Edea."

"So...there weren't six Sorceresses, then," said Shutat slowly. "Six Guardian Forces means -"

"There were nine Sorceresses total?" Naia asked. "Or eight or ten.."

"Bravo," said Omar. "Except that some of them dropped off our radar without going crazy. They found Knights, didn't cause trouble. And eventually became GFs. There is no other way for them to hide from us so completely. The White SeeD must still be around."

"But why hunt them out?" asked Chugi. "They're not bugging anybody, and there's no money in finding them."

Omar pulled another, larger but just as ancient, book out of his desk. "Because of this," he said. "The prophecies belong to Garden, but this belongs to me. It's the personal memoirs of Irvine Kinneas. Including what he saw when he traveled to the future. And he saw black and white SeeD at the base of Ultimecia's castle. They'd fought her together. We're going to need them. You're going to find them for me."

"And you honestly think I can?" asked Shutat. "Or is this just a cover for the prophecy fulfilment you're hoping for?"

The Commander shrugged. "If you find them, I'll die a happy man. Get them to work with us again, I'll die happier. But it's the haven that you've got to find, Shutat. The White SeeD could be anywhere - it's the perfect excuse to go anywhere, check out everywhere. And I'm going to give you help."

Shutat shared a look with his friends. "Look, Commander, we get along pretty well, but Chugi and Naia are no more experts on finding hidden SeeDs or havens than I am."

"Griever," said Omar. "I'm giving you Griever."

Shutat froze. "...Don't you mean you're giving one of them Griever, sir?" he asked quietly. "You know what will happen if I try to junction. I was in the Infirmary a whole day with the burns from Ifrit. I'm weak for one, sure, but I'm a mageborn. We can't junction. You know that."

Omar didn't even glance to them. "No," he said evenly. "I said you, I meant you, and unless you'd like to be a cadet again I'd advise you not to put words in my mouth. I'm assigning you the Griever junction for the duration of this mission. It's already said that it believes you can survive the process. When it says things like that, I'm inclined to believe it. Your friends will go with you, but I want you packing as much firepower as you can hold. In case it comes down to just you."

"Sir," put in Chugi, worried. "I was there when Instructor Veyn had Shutat try to junction. He wasn't the only one in the Infirmary afterward."

"Chugi, your family name only goes so far in this room," warned the Commander evenly. "I know what I'm doing. You and Naia are dismissed. I want you both ready to travel at first light tomorrow."

Shutat waited until his friends had left the office and the door closed behind them before glaring at the Commander. "Are you trying to kill me?" he hissed. "If the junction doesn't finish me the visions will! Do you know what happens to people of my Gift, Commander?"

Omar's eyes were almost sad. "Actually, I do," he said. "My family's always kept in touch with the mageborn, Shutat. At least, all we could." He waved a hand over his desk drawers. "Diaries are kind of an obsession of ours. What I haven't seen myself, I've read about. But let me tell you something - something you should have learned by now. How a man dies is just as important as how he lives."

Shutat sat back, slackjawed in shock. "And you think that makes me willing to stride forth to meet my doom? There's nothing in my training that says anything about throwing myself on live grenades or stepping on landmines for the good of SeeD, Commander. You're asking something no different."

"That's fear talking," said the Commander shortly, his kindly manner gone. "You're taking the junction. That's an order. If you refuse, I bust you back down to cadet. It's your call." He smiled in a way that didn't seem at all amused. "But I'll bet your family'll be real disappointed if you back out."

Shutat's fingers combed through his blue-white curls, irritated. Blue-white. Not white, like they should be. Blue-white. Bahamut blue-white. Omar was right. He'd had to argue his family down to come to the Gardens. Backing out now would gain him nothing. He just had to hope that it wouldn't kill him. "All right," he sighed. "I'll take the junction. But if you're wrong, that pension clause had better kick in."

"You're not gonna die, Shutat," Omar grinned, and touched a button on his desk. "Send Zou in."

Zou, it turned out, was a weathered SeeD sporting battle-scars all over his visible skin, from faded to fresh. It was hard to say how old he might be; his features were worn but smooth. He could be an overworked twenty-five, or a well-preseved sixty for all Shutat could tell. Although he kept the clipped pace that many SeeDs adopted, there was an air of complete confidence about him - as though he couldn't remember the last time he'd lost a fight. He looked down on the seated Shutat with an expression of slight disdain before bowing before the Commander.

"You called, sir?" he asked.

Omar nodded. "Zou, this is Shutat. I'm assigning Griever to him. You'll take Eden."

The man straightened and stiffened. "Am I being demoted, sir?" he asked.

"Standing orders," said Omar curtly. "You know the drill. If I'd said you were demoted I'd have said how far. Transfer the junction."

Zou - clearly unhappy - held out his hand to Shutat, as if to shake. When Shutat reached out, though, the man scowled. "Haven't you ever taken a junction before?"

Shutat settled for shaking his head - making sure his curls moved, drawing attention to the bluish tint. Technically he had, in the abortive attempt to take the Ifrit junction in training, but that had been years ago. He'd forgotten about the skin requirement. Zou cast another look of an 'are you sure' nature at the Commander before replying. "Mageborn, you transfer a junction skin to skin. You can't accept a transfer with your gloves on. Take 'em off."

With reluctance, Shutat complied. He hoped the process didn't take long; the room had to be seventy degrees and was therefore uncomfortably cool without his gloves. Zou grabbed the bone-white hand as soon as it was freed from its glove, and said, "Junction transfer: Griever."

Zou was quick - it took a swift grip, or an expectation of movement, to keep a grip on a startled mageborn. Which Shutat certainly was; he felt an overwhelming sensation of heat and fur and feline strength, crawling up his arm. If a huge cat's spirit had entered his body, he would have thought it to feel like this. A huge cat. Huge cat - he gasped for breath, trying to fight down the feeling of sudden weight crushing him, and staggered backward. He shook his arm, trying to dislodge the feeling of some thing crawling up his arm inside his skin, and backed into his chair, breathing hard. Hot breath on his skin, crushing weight - and as he cast his eyes wildly around the room he saw two people there who had not been there before. "Who - who are you?" he demanded. He hoped they were medics.

He wasn't expecting the looks of surprise and shock - surprise from Zou and the Commander, shock from the two strangers. The boy - he seemed no older than Shutat himself, but that could be deceptive - opened his mouth to speak, but the words rebounded in echoing volume across the interior of Shutat's skull. "Close your eyes! Tell him to give you an earring!"

Shutat's hands clapped uselessly over his ears - useless because the noise was already inside his head. As was the invisible cat-creature, crawling around his chest, climbing up his spine - it couldn't possibly be really there but every nerve in his body insisted that a cat was trying to claw its way through him. "Don't!" he cried, slamming his eyes shut. "Sto- stop it - it's crawling heavy - "

Omar was an incredibly agile man for his age; in one smooth motion he vaulted over his desk and slammed his fist into Shutat's jaw.

Shutat opened his eyes with reluctance, feeling a pain in his ear and on his jaw, and a heavy weight on the inside of his skull. "You've got a junction," he noted quietly. He was on his back on the floor. He wondered when that had happened.

"Bahamut," Omar nodded. "Commander's right. Aside from your new shiner, how are you?"

He tried moving his head, and discovered that the weight was uneven and not quite stationary. "Unbalanced," he replied. "What's a junction supposed to feel like?"

"For you?" Omar asked, and shrugged. "No clue. You're the first mageborn to ever pull it off. One for the history books, eh?"

Shutat blinked once, slowly. He didn't feel like upsetting the thing in his head. "I'm alive. I'll settle for that. Mobility can wait." He pointed over Omar's shoulder. "Who are you?"

Omar looked where Shutat pointed, then shrugged. "I can't see what you're aiming at," he said.

At the same time, the youth Shutat indicated managed to frown without adjusting a single muscle of his expression. "We are Griever," he said curtly.

But not alone. A girl - a Galbadian girl by the look of her - in a blue duster said the same thing at the same time.

Inside his head. Their voices were in his head. "Griever," he repeated slowly. "And that makes the cat-thing in my body...?"

The youth and girl said the same thing at the same time, in the same dry tone: "Also Griever." But unlike the boy, the girl smiled reassuringly.

"You can see Griever?" asked Omar, interrupting the other two.

"I don't know," sighed Shutat. "Can I just camp out on your floor for a few hours? I don't feel very good here, Commander."

"And I have a job to do," the Commander reminded him. "Which doesn't involve you trying out for my new rug. Take it slowly, but get up if you can."

Shutat raised a hand to his ear, which was sending sharp pain signals. He found he'd acquired a piercing. "Um...sir?"

"Leave it in," said Omar firmly. "You can see Griever, it seems - well, that earring is so Griever can see you, too."

Shutat turned the earring in its place experimentally. That piece of work was going to cause comment if he ever saw his mother again. "Sir...how did you know I was seeing Griever?"

Omar's smile was small and tight. "That's a question for another time. For now, since I know you'll live, get to your new quarters. Rest a few hours before the graduation ball. I'll have the paperwork ready for you three to sign by the time you're ready to leave tomorrow."

It seemed pointless to ask what the earring did, or how he'd know where his new quarters were. Shutat leveraged himself up on his elbows, trying to shake the feeling that his head was both heavier and unbalanced. It didn't help that Griever occasionally took it into its head - or his head - to prowl around the inside of his skull. Vomiting was starting to look like a good career move. But an order was an order, so he pushed himself to his feet - resting his hand against the wall for support - and gave his Commander a careful nod of salute before stepping slowly out of the office.

It didn't surprise him much that Naia was waiting in the shadows near the door; he'd rather suspected at least one of his friends would wait for him, or come back for him. "You don't look so good," she said. "You need help getting to your room?"

"Probably," he admitted with a relieved sigh. Stairs would not have been fun without help. The two people who said they were Griever walked at his side but didn't touch him. He was about to ask Naia if she could see them when they answered for him.

"She won't see us," they said in unison. "Actually, you shouldn't be able to either." They shared a look before turning back to him. "Don't speak out loud to us. Think your questions in your mind. We can't see anyone but you, just as you only see us. If you speak aloud we must assume you're alone."

Oh, just peachy. He jammed his bare hand in his pocket. The air was uncomfortably cool and his glove was on the floor in the Commander's office and he was not feeling up to backtracking. "Where is my room?"

Naia slipped his free arm over her shoulder, keeping him on an even keel as they walked around to the base of the stairs. "Third floor," she said with a grin. "You've got the highest rank ever assigned to a new graduate."

Shutat was not feeling up to higher levels of thinking. "What...eleventh?" he asked vaguely as they climbed the stairs to the elevator.

"Twenty seventh," Naia managed. "Hyne, you're heavy. The room's pretty cool, Shutat. Me and Chugi got your stuff moved in."

"Twenty seventh," Shutat repeated vaguely. That was an officer's rank, an instructor's rank. He ought to be panicking, he knew. He hadn't done anything that would merit that kind of special attention. Cries of favoritism were pretty much guaranteed. On the other hand, it was guaranteed to have a toilet and a bed. Shutat's stomach was rebelling against the unbalance in his head, and lying down was mandatory.

"It's the rank given to the holder of our junction," said the girl in the blue duster.

What, no double speaking? Shutat thought at her, and she laughed.

"You see us," said the boy with the scar on his face. "It's usually easier for people who see us if we speak separately."

It does keep the dizziness down when I don't have to keep looking for both of you, Shutat admitted.

Naia punched the button for the elevator, then pulled a keycard out of her pocket. She inserted it into a slot over the floor selection pad, then punched the 3. "I was told to tell you that after today, if you want to get to the officer's level you have to use a thumbprint," she said. "I have to give the guest access card back tonight. Once you've print-keyed your room, you'll have all the access to everything you could possibly want." She grinned. "Chugi wants hot dogs."

The mention of food was not doing wonders for Shutat's stomach, and he gulped. Stop moving! he snapped at the presence in his mind.

"We're not moving," said the boy matter of factly. "It's all psychosomatic. Quit thinking about the junction and the feeling will go away."

Naia took the hint, at least, and led him in silence down the hall. He wished he felt better - he'd never been on the officer's level before and rumor was rife about the kind of perks officers could obtain. She stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. "This one's yours," she said. "Stick your thumb on the pad and you're all keyed in."

Shutat pulled his bare hand from his pocket and keyed the lock. Although he registered the presence of multiple rooms - rather spacious by the feel - what he mainly noticed was a double-wide bed. This he staggered over to and fell onto with a relieved sigh. "Oh, that's better."

Naia laughed. "One junction and you're out for the day?" she asked. "You're faking it so you won't have to go to the graduation ball, aren't you?"

Shutat scowled. "Why should I go?" he asked. "No human's going to dance with me, and guess what - I'm the only mageborn here. If I'm going to stand against the wall all night, why not stay comfortable and do it in my own room?"

"Coward," Naia chided. "Oh! Right - I almost forgot. You're on your own thermostat. What do you want it set to?"

"Hundred and fifteen," he replied at once. "Low humidity."

Naia whistled, but set the thermostat. "Not big on visitors, are you?"

"I've lived for years on everyone else's thermometers," Shutat replied serenely. "It would be nice to not be cold while in my own rooms." He turned his head this way and that, looking around. It was much easier to focus lying down. "This is a really good setup."

Naia nodded. "You've even got your own kitchen - a little stove and sink and all. But if we're leaving tomorrow then I guess you won't get to try it out." She moved to leave. "We'll see you at the ball."

"The level's secure," Shutat reminded her. "If I stay here, you can't come get me."

She grinned. "But Chugi and I can take turns making your phone ring every five minutes - and you know what would happen if you took it off the hook and missed a call from the Commander!" she waved goodbye. "See you in a few hours."

Shutat waited until he heard the door close to relax. "Graduation ball," he sighed. "What a waste of time."

The Griever pair shared a look and a very small, private smile. At least, Shutat assumed the boy was smiling. "You should go," said the girl. "You can never tell who'll be there."

"Humans," Shutat sighed. "Mageborn don't go to the Gardens. My mother would probably rather cut her foot off than set foot in this one."

The boy with the scar on his face frowned at him. "Curls," he said thoughtfully.

The heat was finally having an effect. Slowly, Shutat sat up and pulled off his other glove, and then his boots. It was such a relief to not be cold. "I'm from Tears' Point," he said. "In Esthar."

"We know where Esthar is," said the boy shortly, and the girl slipped an arm around him. "We were just curious about why you'd be here."

Shutat shucked out of his jacket, reveling in the unusual sensation of having bare arms. He held them out to his guests, showing how white his skin was. Not just pale, but white - not a hint of color in it anywhere. It was faintly translucent, showing clearly the path of arteries and veins. "I'm Shutat of Bahamut," he said, using the standard human introduction. "I'm fire-aligned. I freeze like water in cold temperatures. I've got all the weaknesses, but," he drew a dagger, letting light shine on the blade, "only a part of the strengths. I'm ...crippled."

The girl frowned then. "That's not a word you should use to describe yourself. Thinking it is believing it."

"Oh, I want to believe it, Griever," Shutat retorted. "Because I owe my life to it. Bahamut gifts can call fire and flame, but what we really do is see the flow of time." He lay back down on the bed, his hands behind his head and his curls spread out on the pillow. "If I were fully gifted I would be dead by now, from the visions." He closed his eyes. "That's why my family let me come, in the end. There's buildings in Tears' Point - in every city where my people are - that can handle a lot of fire, a lot of heat. When people of my gift lose control, they're taken to those buildings to die. I think the oldest was nearing fourteen."

"Be careful what you say aloud," said the boy in Shutat's mind. "This room has camera surveillance."

"The Commander wants my visions," Shutat said. "What he's asking - this finding a haven thing - it's something only a seer can do." He sat up, combing his hand through his curls. "The only way to guarantee the site I choose can't be found by Ultimecia is to see it - foresee its survival. I can't control what I see or when, Griever. I've had exactly one vision in the past seven years, and it wasn't exactly helpful. I'm a cripple. I don't have as much of the power as I should. That's why I'm still alive, that's why I'm here to learn how to make up for the lack...and now it's all..." He whumped back onto his new bed, frustrated. "The only thing I can see is you two. I can't do what he wants me to."

"We weren't sure what effect the junction would have on you," the girl admitted. "Omar told us that you weren't strong in your power. So we thought that this would give us a chance to junction. To meet one of you."

"Congratulations," said Shutat tiredly. "I guess you have."

Griever said nothing, and - comfortable for the first time in a long time in the heated room - Shutat dozed.

A storm is on the horizon, the wind blowing wet and cool from the sea to the south. The scent of jasmine; it is Balamb Island, he is sure. Jasmine grows everywhere there. But there is open space all around, and he stands on a patch of shale that juts from the earth. The twin cities of Balamb and Balamb Dock-town are not here, nor the numerous satellite villages that he has come to know.

A pair of SeeD cadets are fighting. Both use gunblades; one uses the one handed Hyperion model - outdated except in the hands of an Almasy - and one uses the standard training model, the Revolver. He watches them for a while; he's seen this kind of competitive spirit before. Neither cadet will back down, neither will surrender. He looks around; light in the sky, reflected from the bottoms of clouds, indicates that their Garden is likely to the north. They've come here to duel.

He wonders which of them will win.

The blaring of his alarm snapped Shutat wide awake. He slammed his hand down on it, cursing Naia's forethought in setting it at all. They tried, his friends really did try, but often they misjudged his hearing; he heard a much wider range of sound, a much wider degree of sound than either of them ever would. The alarm would have wakened a sleeping human; he was mageborn, and only dozing, and the shock of sudden noise nearly startled him off the bed.

With much grumbling, he decided that he'd better go to the Graduation Ball. Naia might make good on her threat to call every five minutes otherwise. He looked around; he didn't see the Sorceress or Knight of Griever anywhere, though he did feel a lot better for his nap. The sensation of a beast crawling around the inside of his skull had faded, as had most of the feeling of weight. There was still something in his head that wasn't him, but it wasn't causing any troubles.

We are still with you, echoed the two voices of Griever in his mind. But we did not want to watch you sleep.

Fine by me, Shutat agreed. I don't think I'd have liked you hovering like that anyway.

Junctioning wasn't so bad after all, if this was the worst he could expect. Checking the clock, he decided he had time to clean up and change. Which was good, since the Ball was a formal event. And the heat in the room was right in his comfort range; he grinned at the thought of being able to strip down and walk to the shower naked. It was a much more pleasant prospect than the usual tricks he had to pull with a heavy thick robe and slippers.

He showered in hot jets, and chose to dry himself in vents rather than with towels. He'd asked Naia to set the humidity low, so all he needed was heat to evaporate water. His curls were much more blue when wet, much more distinct. He tried to take advantage of that, working carefully as the jets dried him so that he didn't end up with a cottonball look.

"You're proud of them?" asked the Sorceress, suddenly nearby.

Shutat jumped. "Excuse me," he snapped, "But some people are in a less than dressed state right now."

The girl laughed and put her hands over her eyes. "Better?" she asked. "We were only curious."

Shutat relaxed, but only a little as he went back to sorting out his curls. "Yes, I'm proud of them," he said. "Or I would be if they weren't blue. They're not supposed to be. They should be white."

"Hm," said the Sorceress thoughtfully. "Why would you be proud of them?"

"Because they don't show up very often," Shutat admitted. "One in five of the pure blood, maybe."

The Sorceress cocked her head, her short brown-black hair brushing her shoulders. "Of the pure blood?"

"Ab Gwynt," Shutat clarified. "Brown or white curls. I'm of the white curls side, only," he wrapped a finger around one of them, showing her the bluish tint, "I've corrupted them."

The Sorceress removed her hands - though she kept her eyes closed - and hopped up to sit on the countertop, swinging her legs in the free air like any teen girl might do. "Who are your parents, Shutat?"

He blinked. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just curious how much you know."

"You want...a full introduction?" he asked slowly. "You are human aren't you? Why would you care?"

"Call it curiosity," she grinned. "Come on, tell us."

The use of the plural, when her Knight was not to be seen, was unnerving. "I'm Shutat Iigeru ab Gwynt ab Llew," he said slowly, wondering why this Sorceress found it worth knowing. "I am the son of Miranda, daughter of Iona, daughter of Kano, son of Tanaka, son of Manzo, son of Akemi, son of Roka, son of Cho, daughter of Kei, son of Kochi, son of Gwynt." After pausing for breath, he added, "And if that doesn't answer your question I have no idea what would."

The Sorceress laughed, lighthearted and happy, as Shutat - now dry and with his hair sorted out - started exploring his new quarters in hopes of finding a SeeD uniform in it somewhere. While the freedom to walk around naked was a nice change, he wasn't about to leave his quarters that way. Besides, he couldn't be sure that Sorceress really couldn't see him.

"We meant who are your parents, Shutat," she asked. "Like, who is your mother, who is your father?"

Blushing while naked was not a good thing. Particularly not with his too-pale skin. "Oh," he said, nonplused. "Miranda of Pandemona is my mother. Tacitus of Siren is - was - my father." He really had to find that uniform.

"How many introductions do you have?" asked the Sorceress curiously, just as Shutat found a box in his closet containing what Balamb Garden considered 'winter' uniforms - the same cut and style as a regular SeeD uniform, with attendant gold embroidery, but made from a heat absorbing cloth. Shutat only found them comfortable within Garden itself, or in the middle of summer. But there was nothing else until he could tell his mother he'd made SeeD and get her to call the neighborhood tailor for something a little warmer. I'm just glad I didn't listen to your advice, Mother, and go to school in Trabia. Tonight would have been terrible.

The fit was pretty good, though - Shutat didn't have a hard to fit frame. In fact he tended to look a lot better clothed; it hid the pale translucency of his skin, which could be intriguing in small doses but when naked tended to make him seem washed out - almost made of ice, which could not be farther from the truth. He fished out another pair of gloves and socks from his existing stash of clothes, and regarded himself in the full length mirror inside the bathroom door.

I really am a SeeD.

There were pins of rank on the bathroom counter; watching carefully in the mirror, he affixed the appropriate combination to his collar. Two gold bars, one silver bar, two silver stars. Twenty seventh rank. And all he'd wanted was to graduate and go home. He looked at himself in the mirror for some time, trying to absorb how much his life had changed.

"All right," he said at last. "I guess I'm ready to be ignored all evening."

"Good," smiled the Sorceress. "Because I've really missed the Graduation Ball."

The Graduation Ball was something of a misnomer; most of the attendees were well past graduation. In general fewer than half a dozen cadets made SeeD in any given year; the dance floor was mostly taken up with older SeeDs who were between assignments, or Instructors. At least, that was the case among the uniformed attendees. The Ball was also a prime site for potential clients to recruit SeeDs directly, and given the kind of retirement packages the Gardens offered, SeeDs were considered good catches for well to do families as well. So there was no lack of people in the great hall - but as Shutat had predicted, none wanted to talk to him. Most mageborn could pass for human, but Shutat's own deviancy was starting to become more common - unusual eye colors, unusual hair colors. Humans, ever wary of the not-so-human in their midst, avoided such obvious signals like the plague.

He grabbed a glass of champagne and wandered over near the mini orchestra, sipping once in a great while but mostly listening to the music. His father had been an orchestral maestro - a natural post for one of the Siren-gifted - and Shutat enjoyed hearing orchestra recitals when he had the chance.

Naia cornered him briefly, insisting that he dance, but Shutat got out of it by insisting that not only could he not dance, but he'd likely end up breaking her foot if he tried. Chugi eventually saved him by taking her onto the dance floor himself, which made Shutat smile. The two of them were the best of friends, but only rarely lovers; very early on Chugi and Naia had worked out that theirs was a relationship best left platonic. Not that most of the Garden believed that for a second, other than Shutat himself. Both were outrageous flirts, a skill that Shutat both envied and much enjoyed seeing in action. He entertained himself for some time, watching his friends coaxing this wallflower and that onto the floor.

The orchestra struck up an old, old tune - traditionally played at every Graduation Ball, presumably on the order of some Commander or other. And Shutat was distracted - for Griever danced in the crowd.

I wasn't aware Guardian Forces could handle waltzes, he noted, and the Sorceress laughed.

"Maybe once in a century," she remarked as her Knight spun her around.

"It's not often we are here to attend this Ball," the Knight noted complacently. "The song is for us."

You're kidding, Shutat blinked. Every year the same song, just so you can dance - if you're here?

"Yes," the Sorceress laughed again.

"On such small details a Command is held," remarked the Knight. "Go back to your people watching."

Shutat sighed and took a swallow of the champagne. His powers were weak, but he still had the physical capabilities of his kind; alcohol did nothing to him or for him. He'd never really acquired a taste for it, preferring Esthar's wide variety of exotic teas. Tomorrow we set out, he mused. I guess I'm in charge, since Chugi and Naia are lower ranking. Find the White SeeD? How do I do that?

According to the Commander, the White SeeD had something to do with the formation of Guardian Forces. Guardian Forces, he had been taught, were formed by the melding of a Sorceress and Knight into one being - which lesson had been particularly well reinforced in the past few hours.

There was one definitive archive of all known tidbits of Sorceress lore. The Presidential archives at Sorceress' Memorial. Scientists there had spent decades doing nothing but studying the phenomena associated with Sorceresses and Guardian Forces.

It probably didn't have the answers he was looking for. If it were all that easy, the White SeeD would have been found ages ago. But he could think of no better place to begin. That's where we'll go. Sorceress' Memorial. It's not quite home, but it's at least Esthar.

The song was finished; he'd done his duty by his friends and his junctioned companions. Shutat finished his champagne and left the glass on a table. He'd go back to his room and thaw, maybe get a good night's rest for a change before setting out.