He woke when someone touched his hand, his eyes snapping open at once and his other hand grabbing a blanket. Trust the Commander to make a surprise midnight visit on the first night in five years I can sleep in shorts!

The Commander wasn't in uniform either, which turned Shutat's alarm at being woken into a greater alarm as to why. Seeing his Commander in the chaps of a Galbadian rancher - in his bedroom, in the middle of the night - was sending his wit-scattered mind down far too many unpleasant paths.

"Whoa there," Omar waved with a grin. "Nobody's after anything. Calm down."

Shutat wasn't taking his eyes off him while he felt around for the blanket. "Sir, the Commander is in my bedroom and he's not in uniform, and neither am I, and if there's a good reason for that I'd really like to hear what it is. Right now."

"Look at your bed," the Commander shrugged.

Poised to whip around and fight at any second, Shutat did so. He would have jumped out of his skin with startlement, only it appeared that this had already happened. Behind him, on the bed, his own body lay apparently sleeping. Quickly he scrambled out of the bed, and found that his body (or at least what he had to consider as his self since his body wasn't moving) went right through the rumpled blankets. "What the?" he started, and wasn't sure where to stop.

"It's a dream," said Omar - it was hard to consider him the Commander in that outfit - with a grin. "It's a knack of mine. I can do this on my own, and bring other people with me."

Prior worries and suspicions swarmed to the front of Shutat's mind again. "And you did this because...?" he asked slowly, trying to be calm and reasonable. In a dream anything could happen, and if it was Omar's dream then he couldn't rely on powers or gifts. He looked around his quarters, and decided if it came down to it he'd rely on a lampstand.

As if reading his mind, Omar raised both hands in a placating gesture. "Calm down!" he said. "Nobody's going to be molesting anybody. Being here isn't great for your health, since you can't come here on your own. Think yourself some clothes and weapons if it makes you feel better."

Clothes sounded like a very good idea. Shutat concentrated on his off-duty gear, which was warm and comfortable. A black polar-fleece longsleeved turtleneck shirt tucked into black leather pants that were lined with multiple layers of the same fleece. Lined heavy black leather jackboots that went most of the way to his knees and into which the pants were tucked. An ankle length black leather trenchcoat, also fleece-lined, with heavy duty black leather gloves.

Black, in Shutat's view, was less a fashion choice and more a case of common sense. Black absorbed heat. Sunbathing in this gear on a sunny summer day in Balamb was the closest he'd come to bliss. The only accents were buckles - silver belt buckles around his waist and calves - and the small silver Bahamut pendant he wore around his neck. The back-scabbard for his flamberge went over his shirt and under his coat, so that the top of the scabbard rested at the base of his neck. It made the huge sword easily accessible.

Omar nodded at Shutat's easier stance. "Won't pretend to understand fashion, but as long as you're not scared stupid you can wear what you want," he shrugged. "Now - why you're here. I know you took this mission because I made you. Tonight, you're going to find out why." He sighed. "Look, Shutat...I don't want to force this on you but I'll do it if I have to. I've always got on well with your people, done what I could, and it's not personal. But you've got to understand how important this is."

"What is?" asked Shutat. "Dying? I can work that one out. If it weren't important, people wouldn't do it."

"Living," said Omar shortly, and vanished.

Shutat sighed. "All dressed up and nowhere to go," he mused, looking at his body on the bed. He wondered how difficult it would be to just wake up.

"It's not possible," said the Griever-sorceress - either stepping out of shadows, or stepping through the wall. He couldn't be sure. "We told Omar to bring you here so you could meet people."

"Ah," said Shutat, at a loss. "And here is...?"

She smiled. She did have a very playful, innocent smile, even with the oddity of her eyes - amber gold, and slitted like a cat's. "This is eternity. A place beyond time, beyond visions...beyond life."

Shutat blinked. "Don't tell me my Commander just -"

"No, you're alive," laughed the Sorceress. "Omar's power is to come here at will. With the earring he gave you, he could see you and bring you here as well."

He fingered the little diamond thoughtfully. "That's it? That's why he jabbed me with it?"

"Well," she smiled, "It's one of the reasons." She held out her hand. "Come with us. There are people for you to meet."

Lacking any real possibility of getting back into his body without help, and therefore having no better option, Shutat reached out and took Griever's hand.

Open sky, and daylight. That pretty much guaranteed it was somewhere on the Galbadian continent, unless 'outside time' meant it was always day. Shutat looked, but couldn't find the sun - the sky was clear and blue, but blank. It was exceedingly unnerving.

The Sorceress had brought him to an open field, which had to be pretty far out not to be part of a city-state. And there were people all around; he assumed them to be strangers until he saw one person sporting the white curls that were the mark of his own Line - and he had no idea who the man was. "What is this? What's going on?"

"We thought you would know," the Sorceress replied, mildly surprised. "We understood the Reunion to be a universal custom."

Shutat was dumbstruck. "I...left home when I was twelve," he said quietly. "To join SeeD. I've only been to one Reunion...and I don't remember it very well. Just that there were a lot of people. But you said this was outside time? How do they know when to come?"

She laughed and patted his wrist, making an odd sound on the leather. "This isn't everyone," she said. "Only the ones we thought would help you understand." Gently she nudged him forward. "Go on - talk to them. It's a once in a lifetime chance."

He did as bid - walking slowly forward into the group of people, though he had no idea who they were or what they were to help him understand. Simply out of a desire to find the familiar, he approached the man with the white curls - and paused. Aside from the color of his hair, he looked completely Galbadian. It was mystifying; should he say hello or not? In what language?

The other saved him the trouble; with a quiet sort of smile he said, in perfectly understandable Esthari, "I'm Kochi Iigeru ab Gwynt of Pandemona. So...you're Shutat then?"

Shutat's jaw dropped. Of course he knew the name - recited it every time he recited his lineage. "I'm - yes, I'm Shutat. How did -"

"Everyone here knows you, who you are," said Kochi softly, watching the cloudless sky. "Griever said it wanted you to meet us, so we came." He smiled a little. "It's not as if any of us had plans, being dead."

Shutat didn't know what to say to that. The phrase But you look so Galbadian kept leaping to mind. Kochi really did look more Galbadian than Esthari; he was rather short, with a slenderish build. His skin held the gold tone of Galbadian nobles, and his eyes, while pale blue-green, held a Galbadian tilt. By rights Kochi should have looked much more the Esthari noble than Shutat did - his particular line of descent sporting far more artists and scientists than nobles - but it was not the case. "Why did Griever bring me here?" he asked instead.

Kochi gave him a slanted, sideways look. "I should warn you that we can hear your thoughts," he said. "I'd not worry much about being polite." He shrugged. "My mother was half and half. I got...just about everything from her, really, apart from the curly hair that honestly I could have done without. I ought to apologize for that, really." Then, switching tracks before Shutat could process the revelation, he said, "We're supposed to make you understand who you are."

"I can recite my ancestry perfectly well without added visuals," Shutat shrugged. "Who am I supposed to meet?"

"Well, most of your direct ancestors have already gone on to the Judgement," said Kochi. "I'm one of the ones that stays behind. Kind of like a tour guide." He grinned. "I think you're the first living person I've shown the ropes to."

"Flattered," said Shutat dryly. "Why you? You aren't the first of your Gift - that would be Gwynt himself wouldn't it?"

Kochi nodded, beginning to walk - and Shutat, having little in the way of options, walked with him. "They're not here," he said. "My mother and father aren't here. Vesta is, if you really want to meet her, but the head of our Line is gone." Something in the way he said it sounded amused rather than distressed.

"Why?" Shutat blinked. "Did the others of the Pride leave too?"

"Oh, no," Kochi demurred, pointing. "That's Nodwydd over there - that large group? He's the one with the black hair. Taran's the one with his head in the blond's lap, that's Quistis Trepe. Those two girls with the dark hair, holding hands? Chwaer and Cariad." He pursed his lips. "You'll have to take it on faith that Daear is here in eternity. She's just not here - at this reunion. We didn't think you'd mind."

"No..." said Shutat vaguely, his attention caught by something else. "Who's he? The blond in the white uniform."

Kochi's tone shifted to one of weary endurance. "That would be Jerolin," he said. "Jerolin Trepe ab Taran of Alexander - and a right pain in the butt if you ask me."

"He's in a white SeeD uniform," said Shutat. "And I've been told to find the white SeeD. Hold on while I ask."

"It won't do you any good," Kochi shrugged. "But if you like banging your head on the wall..."

He stayed put as Shutat strode over to talk to Jerolin, who was engaged in a conversation with Taran and Quistis. Shutat was absorbed enough in finding an easy solution to his 'mission' - since it was only a cover mission - that for the moment he was willing to deal with the consequences of interrupting such important figures. "Jerolin?" he asked. "Are you a white SeeD?"

All three fell silent; two pairs of blue eyes and one pair of grey turned to look at him. "I was," the blond man nodded. He adjusted his uniform jacket - identical in cut to the one Shutat wore when on duty, only white. And where Shutat's shoulder sported the yin-yang-and-cross of Balamb, this man wore an eight rayed golden star. And for some reason large gold bands at the end of his sleeves, above which were rings of gold stars, though he wore an Administrator's gold star on his collar. "I was captain of the Southern Star, Fleet Admiral of the White SeeD."

Shutat blinked, barely registering Taran's small sigh and Quistis' pursed lips. "So...you could tell me where to find them, then?" he asked hopefully. "Only Commander Kinneas -"

"No," said Jerolin flatly. "That is, I could tell you. But I'm not going to."

"What?" Shutat asked. "Why?"

"Because I'm the one that separated them from the Black in the first place," said Jerolin shortly. "If the time has come to reunite the halves, then you'll prove it by taking the time and effort to find them and reconcile yourselves with them - which as far as I know has never once occurred. No. I won't make it easy on you. You should never have joined up with the murderers in the first place."

Shutat was very much taken aback - shocked, even. Oh, he'd heard the sentiment before - mageborn as a rule regarded SeeD as being only one step above hit men. Some would say not even one step above - just publicly accepted hit men with better clothes. It was not that attitude which shocked Shutat. It was that Jerolin could tell him this while wearing a SeeD uniform himself. The level of hypocrisy was such that Shutat was fighting down an urge to beat the Alexandrite's holier-than-thou arrogance in with his fists. They stood, staring at each other in silence for a long moment, before Jerolin nodded slightly.

"You want to fight," he said quietly. "You're alive. You broadcast your thoughts to everyone here. You want to fight. You want to fight me." He smiled - to Shutat's utter surprise, he smiled genuinely, honestly pleased. "But you aren't fighting. You're a black SeeD and an ab Gwynt, and you're not fighting." He nodded slightly. "You just might be able to do what you intend, Shutat." With a bow to Taran and Quistis, he said, "Father? Mother? I'll be back later," and then he disappeared. Simply vanished, without a puff of smoke or even a pop of sound.

Shutat only blinked; he was still bordering on furious, but now he had no target.

"Told you it wouldn't do any good," said Kochi mildly, appearing suddenly at his elbow. "Jeri's got a rod up his butt the size of the old Ragnaroks. If you want to know why mageborn don't have kings, he's pretty much it."

"Yes, thank you Kochi," said Quistis peevishly, getting to her feet and brushing off her peach skirt. "I apologize for dying before I could teach him when to step down."

Taran had the expression of a man who had heard this argument so many times he'd memorized the script. "Kochi...some time alone if you please?"

Kochi grinned. "Sure."

Just then, out of nowhere, a lithe and slender girl with short red hair and gray eyes appeared, nearly bowling Kochi over in a tackle. "Smoochies!" she cried cheerfully, and proceeded to literally smother Shutat's ancestor with kisses.

Shutat discovered that it didn't really make any difference if it was your mother, your grandfather, or your who-knew-how-many-times-over great-grandfather. The idea of them having a sex life made you want to cringe anyway. By her speed - faster than Kochi - she could be only one gift; Cerberus. "Um..." he said, and the girl leaped up off of the grinning but still a little bemused Kochi and held out her hand. "Fleta," she said cheerfully. "Oh, wow, blue, Kei never had blue..."

"Shutat of Bahamut," said Shutat, taking her hand and shaking it quickly. His run ins with Cerberus gifts told him just about everything with that Gift could be considered a use-it-or-lose-it proposition.

He wasn't expecting Fleta to get upset. "Bahamut?" she asked. "But - you've got to be at least sixteen -" she turned to Kochi. "He's at least sixteen isn't he? He got to grow up and -"

"Fleta, he's not dead," Kochi said gently. "Shutat is alive."

"And seventeen, thank you," Shutat added.

Fleta whirled on him, abruptly furious. "That is not fair," she snapped, and disappeared. Kochi slumped a little and sighed.

"I'm sorry about that," he said. "She wasn't invited - she was just looking for me. Her attention span is generally...rather short."

Shutat was still getting over it. "Not fair?" he asked.

"Her first child was the first of your Gift, Shutat," Taran put in quietly. "No one at the time knew what would happen. She watched Sophisma -"

"Die," finished Shutat shortly. "I can guess." He nodded to Kochi. "If she's still thinking about it, go distract her."

Kochi took a deep breath. "You don't want to meet Sophi?" he asked. "She's here, you know."

Shutat's gaze was entirely level, his voice perfectly calm. "I know how I'll die, Kochi," he said evenly. "I don't need my Gift, or my ancestors, or anyone else to tell me. I'm sorry I upset Fleta."

"I'd better go," said Kochi, and gave Shutat a wave. "Call me if you need me." And then he, too, disappeared.

Shutat turned back to Taran and Quistis, and it was only then that he thought to be self conscious. His people's history was almost completely oral - stories told from parent to child about whatever was considered important. Mostly, those stories revolved around the first six mageborn, traditionally called the Lion's Pride, or the Pride. Shutat didn't know all the stories, having spent several years away from his kind, but everyone knew about Taran. Taran was the exile, the songwriter, the wanderer...and the king. The one mageborn ever to live who could call on all the lines, at any time, and have them answer and obey.

And he was an unprepossessing young man a few inches shorter than Shutat was himself, with maple brown hair in a long braid that reached to his waist and bangs that fell into his gray eyes, and a pair of jeans so old and threadbare as to be borderline indecent. He wore neither shirt nor shoes, but a large tattoo of Quezacotl - drawn in the tribal Thunderbird mode - covered his chest and stomach, with two black and two blue lightning bolts under the jagged wings. On his left shoulder were two more tattoos; a rather spiky looking blue crown was highest, and beneath that a swimming outline of a swan over a very intricate line drawing of a snowflake.

This was not in any way what Shutat would have imagined the mageborn king to look like. Or act like - unlike Jerolin, who almost radiated formality and procedure, Taran was very relaxed and unassuming. Shutat could imagine him thumbing for rides along the streets. It left Shutat at a loss; had he acted like Jerolin then Shutat would have begun with 'Majesty' or at least 'sir', but as it was he had no idea how to address the man.

"Hello works well," Taran laughed, and Shutat blushed. "I know. It's what you're taught. Just please don't call me Master. I'd swear Kochi or Liam came up with that just to annoy me."

"Liam?" Shutat asked, redfaced.

"Ab Nodwydd," Taran clarified, indicating the knot of people around Nodwydd. "Liam is Nodwydd's son - with a unique sense of humor."

"Oh," said Shutat, feeling that he was supposed to say something. "But Jerolin -"

"Is my son," nodded Taran, then grinned at Quistis. "Well. Mostly her son, but I'm just as much to blame. He had a lot to live up to - don't take him personally."

The frustration returned. "I don't want to criticize, sir, but - the Commander gave me a mission. He could've been a big help. I never did anything to him."

"Jeri does what he thinks is right," said Quistis quietly, but firmly. "Always. Not what's right for him, but for everyone."

"And my Commander's just delusional?" asked Shutat heatedly, and then paused. "Okay...I could make a case for that, but it wouldn't be a good one. Commander Kinneas has done a lot of good work with Balamb." He sighed. "Why'd he separate the halves anyway? We're all SeeD aren't we?"

"No," said Taran firmly, shaking his head. He indicated the tattoos on his shoulder. "I served with the white SeeD for a while. Quistis, you well know, served with the black. Their missions are complimentary, but opposite - just like the yin yang on Balamb Garden's flag."

"But with only one half you don't get a yin yang," said Shutat heatedly. "You just have - I don't know, a funky looking tadpole or something."

Quistis laughed into her hand; Taran grinned, but shook his head. "Okay, that image is going to stay with me a while." He turned to Quistis. "Remind me, next time we see Killian around."

"Over there," said Quistis, indicating with her hand. "It looks like he's doing a game with Selphie and Fuujin."

"Who?" asked Shutat, surprised, but Taran drew his attention.

"They're here," he said. "Selphie, Fuujin, Irvine, Quistis of course - they're all here. But before you go talk to them I should tell you a few things."

Shutat wasn't sure what to make of that. "All right?"

"First," said Taran evenly, "The white and the black SeeD split over a Sorceress and her Knight. That's where their missions differ, Shutat. That's where they've always been different. The Black SeeD exist to contain or destroy Sorceresses who become a threat to the world. At times, they've just gone after Sorceresses for existing. The White SeeD exist to shelter Sorceresses or any persecuted people - find them and hide them as it were. At least once that I know of, though, they've hidden a Sorceress they shouldn't have shielded - or didn't treat properly, because she went mad. Both sides have made mistakes. But they're not the same organization, not at the core, even though you need both sides to keep magic from destroying the world."

"So...Jerolin's right and I'm wrong?" Shutat asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

"No," said Taran. "Because frankly I don't like either side. I was a guest of both at different times, and both sides nearly killed me. So you could say I'm impartial in my distaste. But this mission of yours is going to put you with the White SeeD and that means you need to know what drives them. And the Sorceress and Knight that split the halves, Shutat...the Knight was a mageborn. The sorceress escaped to the White SeeD with a lot of help from mageborn, too."

Shutat wondered why that would matter at this late date. Thinking it over, he thought he understood. "Jerolin was Fleet Admiral - that's Commander, isn't it," he said, and Taran nodded. "So...the White were accused of playing favorites - shielding someone they shouldn't because it was personal?"

"Yes," Taran nodded. "One of Jeri's cousins, even, which made it worse. The timing was all....all wrong. But Jeri - well, you've seen. He didn't care about the politics of it, only his ideals and his mission. Rather than see those tarnished, he hid the entire fleet and set measures in place so they'd stay hidden. That's why he won't help you. You're not the first to wear the black uniform and be told to find the White SeeD. You're just the first mageborn to do it."

"That's probably why me," sighed Shutat. "In case they're still playing favorites." He paused. "You served, you said. Could you tell me where to look?"

Taran shook his head. "I do not agree with my son's methods, Shutat," he said regretfully. "But I do agree with his intent. If I told you where to look you could find them in a week or two - and you're not ready. You haven't seen enough of the world to understand." He grinned. "Besides. You've already been given a ton of clues. Who am I to spoil the puzzle?"

Shutat could only stare. "Sir, you might be just a little behind the times here. I don't have fifty years to work this out."

"You won't need fifty years," laughed Taran. "If you even take one year I'm going to be very, very disappointed."

Quistis, too, was wearing an amused look. "He's not very good at seeing what's in front of him," she noted, and stood up to poke Shutat in the chest. "I'll bet your Headmaster has had a lot of words with you about it, too."

"What?" asked Shutat, startled because yes, Headmaster Almasy had said exactly that. Less politely, of course.

"Well," said Taran to Quistis, "Since it's part of what he's here to see, I guess we'd better help matters along."

Shutat was just about to ask what on earth Taran meant when the Griever-Knight appeared - standing behind where Taran was sitting. Rather than being startled, the mageborn king got to his feet and stood at the Knight's left side, as Quistis stood at his right. All three watched him pointedly, telling him this was something he was supposed to figure out. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to see, but he did know what he did see. The only striking difference between Taran and Griever's Knight was the scar across the Knight's face. "You're related," he said slowly, blinking. "You've got to be." After trying to remember names in his head, he added, "But...there's only six in the Pride. Taran, Gwynt, Nodwydd, Daear, Cariad, Chwaer. If there was a seventh I'd know, I'm pretty sure about it."

Taran put a resigned palm to his face, grinning in a rueful way as Quistis made an exasperated noise. "Oh, he's Gwynt's all right. Dense as a brick." She flicked his forehead with a finger. "Shutat, did it never occur to you to wonder where the Pride came from? Or why they're called that?" She waved a hand at the large group of people around them. "We're all here. Griever told you that, Kochi told you that. Selphie, Irvine, Fuujin, Raijin, me, Zell...we're all here."

The Knight simply watched quietly, though the white fur of his jacket's collar gave the impression of bristling as he crossed his arms over his chest. Shutat was getting the uncomfortable feeling he was taking a kind of intelligence test, and failing. We're all here, he mused. Who else is here? Pride and Six. Taran, Gwynt - no, Kochi said he's gone but there's no way this Knight is Gwynt. Nodwydd, Daear, Cariad, Chwaer...that's Pride...Zell, Quistis, Irvine, Selphie - Squall, Rinoa! And Seifer. But Fuujin is here. So it's just Squall and Rinoa that I haven't seen as a pair...

The Knight nodded once, a short jerk of the head. "Yes," he said.

"You're...Squall?" Shutat all but squeaked - undignified, but the idea of such a famous historical figure prowling around the back of his brain was giving him the shivers. But now that the name occurred to him it all fit. Scar, furry jacket, the gunblade he wore belted at his waist, the lion necklace...lion necklace...he looked again from Squall's face to Taran's. "Not brothers," he said. "Father and son."

"That's why you can junction Griever," nodded Taran, as the Griever sorceress - Rinoa, Shutat now understood - appeared and looped her arm into Squall's. "You're - well, you're a descendant. All the mageborn are."

"You live for a reason," said Squall quietly. "Griever lives for a reason. We stop Ultimecia."

"There's a little debate about that," said Quistis, taking Taran by the hand. "But we won't bore you with it right now."

"One more thing," said Taran as he stepped to Quistis' side. "If you do find the White SeeD, give the avatar my regards." Rather than disappearing, she and Taran walked over to the main group of people.

"You're a Guardian Force," said Shutat, still reeling from the notion he had a famous ancestor running around his brain, so that Taran's cryptic remark passed right over his head. "You don't need me or anyone else."

"We do," said Rinoa quickly. "We are the strongest Guardian Force, Shutat, but we don't have your power. We can't see the future. We can't see what paths to avoid to keep Ultimecia from rising. You can."

"I can't!" snapped Shutat. "I don't have control of the visions! None of my Gift ever have! We just - see. And keep seeing until it kills us. And we don't even know half the time if it's the past or the future, and we hardly ever know who we're seeing. It's not a great and wonderful gift, Rinoa, it's a curse!"

"We've seen a lot of history," said Squall evenly. "And some of the future. We might be able to identify who you see. When you see. We have alliances with many Guardian Forces, Shutat, but not all. One of the ones apart is Bahamut - who does control what it sees and when. We know Bahamut is working toward something, but we don't know what. It is a very old Guardian Force, Shutat. One of the oldest, if not the oldest. It doesn't like humans. It might well be working to bring about Ultimecia's rise so as to be free when she does show up; the fact that all human life would be destroyed means nothing to it."

"I am of Bahamut," said Shutat. "That's my gift. And you want me to tell Bahamut where to shove it? Would you like to tell me where I'm going to be buried while you're at it? We're nothing to you - mageborn powers are nothing to the real Guardian Forces."

"We know," said Rinoa. "Taran was tortured once with that knowledge. He told us about it. We're not asking you to go toe to toe with Bahamut. Only to tell us what you see, and when." She looked pensive. "We can't shake the feeling that it's already too late, you see. That Ultimecia is an inevitability."

"And if that's the case," added Squall, "Then the entire game becomes survival. Bahamut doesn't care one way or another about humankind - we're fairly sure about that. So - if we can make sure humankind survives whatever it's planning, we don't think it will work against us."

"And you couldn't just tell me this," said Shutat. "You couldn't tell me. You had to bring me here. Why?"

"Because you're connected," said Rinoa. "You're part of the ultimate mission of SeeD. It's not just a - a revenue generator or something. We couldn't tell you that and have you believe it. You have to see it for yourself."

"There's....lots of mageborn," said Shutat. "And all of them are your descendants. Why me? I'm probably not even the only Bahamut gift."

"You're the only one that came to SeeD," said Squall. "We didn't choose you. You chose yourself. Are you going to help?"

"You can tell me what I see?" Shutat asked. "I suppose that's worth something. And...there's no denying the gift. I might as well try to put it to good use." In his mind he was thinking over Omar's words to him: how a man dies is just as important as how he lives. It was a very, very cold comfort. It was one thing to watch, in a movie say, a hero facing torture and death with bravery and courage. It was quite another to look at that torture and death and know you would suffer it yourself, in due time, and nothing you did would change it. Was it really courage if you knew you were dead in any case?

Did he really have to die at all? He could go home, right now. Leave SeeD. As a cadet if he had to. His mother would certainly do her best to make sure he never had to use his power again, never had to fight. She hadn't wanted him to come to SeeD in the first place. But...he'd be a coward. He'd chosen to come to SeeD, to the Gardens. To leave in dishonor, a discredited cadet instead of a SeeD as he'd tried to become...we are ab Gwynt, his mother had said once, after his father died. We don't run. If we die, we die fighting.

Yes, his mother would shield him. Protect him. In a way, that was her duty as his mother. But he would be shamed. It wasn't enough, not of itself, to make him leap forward and embrace the fate that Griever was holding out to him. He didn't care one way or another if he were remembered by future generations. He didn't care about fame, or recognition. But he did care a great deal about independence. If he went home, if he refused, he would be dependent on his kinfolk. He would have nothing to contribute, nothing to offer in exchange for their support. Oh, he'd have that support, but the debt would always be there. He'd die in their debt. And the idea of owing anyone that much, for that long, when it wasn't even guaranteed to do any good - no. Self reliance was built into his very thoughts - you neither asked for favors nor indiscriminately offered them.

He was still afraid - enough so that he knew thinking in any depth about what he was agreeing to do might send him running the other way. But SeeD trained to risk their lives all the time. They trained to live with that risk. Looked at that way, this mission was no different from any other. This choice, no different from the choices made by any other SeeD in the line of duty. He nodded, knowing Griever would have been following his thoughts.

"Then it's time to go back," said Squall. "Eternity is not a good place for the living to stay."

Shutat nodded. Meeting any more ancestors or other famous persons would just serve to make him feel that he was an idiot for standing in their company. And tomorrow he had a lot of ground to cover; he needed some sleep.