Sailing with Gwynt and Nodwydd down to the coast of Centra was the most fun Taran could remember having in his life. He laughed with the sheer exhilaration of it all, Gwynt's eyes glowing purple-gold as he called the high winds that pulled the ship through the waters. He envied Gwynt this - of all the six, Gwynt's power was easily the most versatile. Of course, it was also the most responsive to his will - Taran remembered Rinoa getting testy more than once when the wind picked up because Gwynt was asked to do something he didn't want to do.

Taran had always kept a close eye on everyone. Somehow, somewhere, the other five had decided that he was the leader. It couldn't be because of his resemblance to their father, either - because the role had been decided before they knew who that was. It wasn't until they'd followed their newfound father into eternity that Taran had gotten an idea of what his siblings might have seen.

Squall pulled people after him. He didn't try to, and often wasn't happy that he did, but he had an inborn ability to pull people's attention to exactly where he wanted it to be. It inspired almost reverential devotion in those that followed him - not least because Squall also had a knack for choosing solutions that were both simple and effective.

Like the other five, Taran had immediately latched on to Squall. None of them really believed him to be their father at first - having had far too many discussions with Soares Detmer on people claiming the title. But his eyes had proven he was One Of Them. And the six children would have followed Squall off a cliff because of that.

And the longer they were around him...the more they started seeing how very similar he was to them in ways beyond simply having the Guardian Force eyes. Taran was easily the most perceptive when the subject was not himself; he'd seen Squall and Gwynt frown in exactly the same way when asked to rely on someone else for something. He'd seen the strong resemblance between Squall's face and Daear's, as well as her fierce, unbreakable pride, and in rare unguarded moments he'd seen Cariad's vulnerability and Chwaer's protectiveness and even on one occasion Nodwydd's happy smile...all in Squall.

Taran didn't really see the resemblance between himself and Squall, but he accepted that other people saw it. Beyond looks, though, he knew himself to be Squall's son because he seemed to have inherited Squall's ability to pull people after him. He wasn't older than the others, he wasn't bigger or stronger. But if he laid out a course of action, all five would follow it without question unless their father got involved. That was Taran's role - he was the leader.

Until now. Now, and for the rest of his life, he would be alone. It was an uncomfortable prospect, not least because it was due to the 'uncanny resemblance' he bore to his father. Squall Leonhart was famous throughout the civilized world as the savior of that world. The great SeeD Commander who had led the fight against Ultimecia. That the official report had him dying not too long after didn't really make a difference. Heroes didn't retire, after all. Dying in battle was more or less an occupational hazard.

Thing was, Squall wasn't on record as having had kids. Any kids he could have had would be twenty years old now, anyway, right? That was how long it had been. Taran was physically only fifteen, thanks to the warped passage of time in Griever's realm, but he'd lived twenty years. And more than once even his siblings had gotten confused as to which was the son, and which the father - since owing to the same warped passage of time, Squall himself only looked to be about eighteen. If Taran were seen out here in any 'civilized' part of the world, there were enough images of Squall around that Taran could probably win any lookalike contest. All he'd need to do would be to find himself a furry-collared jacket and apply makeup for a scar.

But people weren't to know that Squall had children. There might still be people like Soares Detmer in the world - people who had had an idea of what was going on, who had had a clue that there were powerful experiments taking place. And those few people would take one look at Taran and regard him as a prize.

Better to avoid the whole problem, and simply stay away from people. Better to make small targets than large ones, so he and the others would scatter across the world.

He tried not to think about it while they practically flew along the waves. He knew why they were going so quickly; that was Gwynt's doing. Gwynt was the only one who was truly a loner by nature, and he was practically itching to get his brothers off the ship so he could explore the world alone for a while. It wasn't that he disliked his siblings, exactly - it was more that he was easily made to feel hemmed in. Taran didn't take it personally. He himself tended to hang around the edges of gatherings, but that was just it - he wasn't so much a loner as an observer. On Centra, there would be no others to observe. For now, he contented himself with watching his brothers.

Gwynt held the wheel. He knew best which way his winds were blowing, and which way the wind would blow if he wasn't ordering it. His hair was about halfway between brown and black, and tended to curl - the only one whose hair had any curl to it at all, in fact, and he was incredibly proud of it. Especially since he had none of the delicate beauty that graced all the others. Pandemona's crazed purple-yellow eyes gave his face a frightening appearance if you didn't know him - especially since he tended to scowl while concentrating, as he was doing now. It wasn't easy to do other things while commanding the gift. Taran didn't even try talking to him. Even when he wasn't the slightest bit upset, every word tended to come out as though Gwynt were on the edge of an explosion. Right now, while he was commanding the wind and attempting to steer a ship, he really would be short tempered.

Nodwydd was practically Gwynt's opposite, in that respect as in most others. He had his own variant of the family beauty - rich, thick black hair and dark green eyes that made him look more like Laguna's little brother than his grandson. He shared his grandfather's easygoing nature as well, always quick to forgive. At the moment he was clambering around the rigging like a monkey, completely unafraid of anything as he tightened a rope here or loosened one there. He was grinning to himself as he hung by his knees upside-down, idly singing to himself one of the bawdier songs in Rinoa's repertoire.

Taran frowned, and returned his attention to the waves. Nominally, his job here was to catch dinner. Gwynt could call up a whirlwind to spin fish out of the water, but none of them wanted to try that while standing on a ship. Nodwydd's needle attack could make mincemeat out of anything they came across, but wouldn't leave bits large enough to eat. Taran's lightning power was perfect, though - it stunned fish in a large radius around them, but didn't actually kill the ones they weren't planning on eating.

It didn't require anything like the attention the other two needed to devote to their jobs, though, and Taran was having to find things to distract himself with, rather than wish himself home. Never mind that 'home' wasn't a place to be found anywhere in the world - that 'home' was the domain of the current leader of the Guardian Forces - no matter how unreal the place was, it was home. Even if he would probably never get to go back while he was still breathing. Even thinking that was depressing.

"Got lost in your head again, didn't you?" came Noddy's cheerful comment. He'd gotten down from the rigging, apparently. "You want to give me a hand up aloft? It'll give you something to do, anyway."

Taran blinked, and felt his expression soften from its unfortunately stern 'thinking face'. "Yeah, sure," he said, and followed his overeager brother up the mast.

Hyne, the freedom up here was incredible. Just for a moment he wished for Gwynt's gift. Just so he could spread his arms and have the wind carry him. He lost that idea when he identified the smudge on the horizon, though. Land. Centra, most probably - Gwynt had an uncanny directional sense. He notified the other two of his findings by bellowing 'land ho' and leaping lightly down onto the deck.

Not a stunt that a normal person would ever have tried, that. A drop from that height should have broken something. But Squall had not believed in wrapping his children in cotton - not in that sense, anyway. All six children had had exhaustive training routines in self-defense, both against Squall (for armed opponents) and Zell (for unarmed ones). Zell had been their instructor, though - on the theory that their physical enhancements should provide them all the defense they would ever need, properly applied. Best not to flaunt it by carrying a weapon. The blond punk had shown them - definitively - that if you didn't know how to use it, you might as well not have it. Shorter than all but the twins, slower and weaker than all six since junctions didn't carry into the eternal realm, Zell still beat them soundly nine times out of ten. It had been a terrible blow to Daear's pride, and it had won Zell unconditional respect. When he said 'jump', they jumped.

Squall and Zell had pushed them to their limits, not least so that they would know what those limits actually were. Taran could make a leap from the crow's nest to the main deck without having to worry at all.

"Of course it's land, Taran," snapped Gwynt. "Did you think I'd get us lost or something?"

"Probably thought you'd run us right onto the rocks, blowhard," joked Noddy. "You gonna let the wind go anytime soon?"

"Dominant wind right now is strong and southerly," said Gwynt shortly. "I let it go now, the mast snaps. You guys have no faith in me at all."

"Don't hold back there, Gwynt," teased Noddy. "Tell us how you really feel."

Taran just watched the growing smudge that was his destination, wondering how long he would be playing this conversation in his mind before he wouldn't remember how his brothers' voices sounded any more. Damn, he was good at depressing himself. Was this, too, a thing he owed his father for? Most things about himself seemed to trace back to his father somehow. Even Laguna had remarked on it - though Laguna had seen it more as an opportunity to see how his son might have been, since they hadn't met until Squall was seventeen. Oh, well. If there were any chance of meeting someone who didn't see his father in him....the biggest likelihood would be to find them on Centra. The biggest, most uninhabited, monster-ridden continent of all.

One more duty though, before disembarking. Taran aimed his fists at the water and threw lightning into it. In a few seconds, stunned fish began to surface.

"Catch anything edible," said Gwynt to Noddy. "He's on his own after tonight, and we can't stun fish. Better to plan ahead."

"You're making Balamb look positively enchanting, brother mine," sighed Noddy as he fished out the wicker baskets they used to scoop up fish. "They like fish too, but you know what? They have sauces."

Taran grabbed a basket too, hauling stunned fish up to the ship at Noddy's side. His wouldn't be part of the stockpile, though. He was catching fish for himself, to live on until he could locate a monster that tasted reasonably good when flash-fried or grilled. Like Nodwydd, he threw back anything that wasn't edible or too small. Even if the fish were dead, other fish would be along to eat them eventually.

Finally, Gwynt threw out the anchor, some hundred feet from shore. "All right," he said, "Everybody off. Anything not waterproof I'll float in the case."

Noddy looked down. "The water looks deep enough," he remarked. "Why so far out?"

"'Cause this cove is tight and I'm not that good at sailing in small places," said Gwynt forthrightly. "Now get in gear, willya? Want to give our brother a decent night out before he vanishes in Monster Land, if that's all right with Your Majesty?"

Noddy grinned. "Fine by me," he said. "But if you brought party gear on this thing, I must've missed it." And he grabbed two baskets full of fish and jumped into the water, swimming easily to shore even with that burden. Next came Taran, with a basket of fish in one hand and his worldly goods in a waterproof duffel in the other. Once Gwynt had finished checking over the ship, to be sure the anchor could hold it in place overnight, he took a fourth basket and another duffel and followed his brothers overboard.

The swim was invigorating, the water pleasantly cool but not cold. Once they got their baskets and bags settled, all three brothers opted to swim for a while. Taran proved to be the strongest swimmer, and even managed to come to the surface with a handful of ancient Gil coins. He let his brothers keep them, though. He couldn't see much use for Gil around here.

"Tell you what," he told them, "You take these and see what they're worth to a collector. If it's enough, one of you can send me a guitar down here - ship it to the old orphanage, and I'll be by to get it eventually."

Gwynt shook his head. "Too risky," he said flatly. "Seifer would know all he'd have to do is send a SeeD to wait for you to pick it up, and then he'd have you. I don't trust that bastard not to watch the mail routes for something as unusual as a guitar heading for Centra. I've got a better idea - Esthar's known for its air transport, right?" When the other two nodded, he continued, "Well, I just happen to have a power that'll do me a lot of good there. I'm gonna get settled in Esthar, then I'm gonna take up gliding. You know, those big-wing planes that just ride air currents? No engines, generally fly too low to be picked up on radar and even when they are it's just ignored 'cause gliders can't carry weapons or heavy equipment like cameras. With my power I could float one of those right off the ground and anywhere I wanted to go. I'll be our mailman - run packages between us anywhere you need me to be. Sound good?"

Taran just stared at his brother openmouthed, then broke into a rare grin. "Gwynt, that's perfect! Only you probably better get certified with bigger craft too, just in case things get hairy. You're having to count on Seifer not noticing a small craft, and if you make too many runs he's going to notice eventually."

Gwynt just shrugged. "If he notices the glider, then I go smaller. I can do the same trick with just a hang-glider, or even just me if I have to. Only I'd rather not do that, 'cause it took us a few days to get down here and I don't want to get sleepy if I'm trying to fly myself over an ocean. The glider's best 'cause I could just take it up to the jetstream level and let the wind carry it without my help for a few hours."

Taran was spared making a reply, though, because his stomach made one for him. "Guess it's time we got the campfire going," he said. "Noddy, want to cut wood? I can get it burning."

Nodwydd just rolled his eyes. "You see a forest around here?" he asked. "Centra's rock for the most part - but we can probably do all right with driftwood." He headed for the shore and began running along the tide lines, looking for wood. He didn't bother getting dressed; he'd just end up with sand in his shorts and it was only the three of them, anyway.

Gwynt and Taran swam in to shore, and Gwynt began gathering rocks to use as a campfire base - and larger ones to use as seats.

Taran knew what his own job was; hunting. Fish they had, but after days of only fish, the others would want something new. So did he, really, but he would have all the time in the world to learn about Centra monster cuisine. He got dressed so as to wear his utility knife without chafing, and chose a direction at random.

Some time later, he returned - hauling the carcass of a rather large Grand Mantis behind him. It had a water crystal in one mandible; he kept it - fresh water could be hard to come by in the next few weeks. Gwynt had built a respectable firepit with large flat rocks at a comfortable distance for seating, and Nodwydd had found more than enough driftwood to get a fire going. Taran pointed a finger at the mound of wood and released a spark - concentrating fiercely, because it was always harder to use a little of the power than a lot.

They took turns ripping chunks off of the Mantis and holding it near the fire; its exoskeleton made for a wonderful means of holding it safely while it was being cooked. All they had to do was remove the shell from the parts they wanted to heat. It wasn't as good as, say, beef - but it was a welcome change from fish.

Noddy looked up from the chunk he was holding, and commented, "I know what you forgot, Taran. Your guitar."

"You just had to go and remind him, didn't you," said Gwynt sourly. "Just when he's going into No Guitars For Four Hundred Miles."

"Just because you were never any good at the game doesn't mean the rest of us should avoid it," said Noddy. "I'll get you one, Taran. When I get to Balamb. And Gwynt here can deliver it for you."

Taran felt his face slip into the Mask - the expressionless wall he knew very well he inherited from his father. But he didn't want to show how he felt, not about this. It tied in too closely with too many other things. "Thanks, Noddy. But Irvine already sent me a note on the pads - he's got one waiting for me whenever I can give him a place to send it to."

"Idiot should've cc'd that to me," grumbled Gwynt. "I can handle delivery. Even from a Moving Garden to a Moving Brother. Man, you guys just have no faith in me at all."

"That was very nice of him," said Noddy. "I don't remember him being at our games though. How'd he know?"

Taran shrugged. "Maybe Griever told him. I don't know."

Nodwydd moved to clasp Taran's shoulder; the closest thing to a brotherly hug that the young man would allow. "It's okay, Taran," he said softly. "You get so...involved...with the music. More than anybody else does. Even Dad must know what it means to you. If we hadn't had to worry about Seifer I'm sure we could've gotten Irvine to bring you a guitar or something at the picnic." He looked around at the desolate landscape, and frowned a little. "Are you sure this is what you want? I mean, you could probably go around Trabia pretty well, and there's plenty of open spaces around Galbadia and Esthar. This place...Hyne, brother, this place is only a step away from Hell."

Taran shrugged off his brother's hand - not so much out of fear of contact, but because it was so tempting to agree. To say, yes - let's go back. Let's go somewhere else. But he knew he couldn't do that. Nodwydd was right - there were still many empty places in the world. But those places were under someone's rule, even if they weren't inhabited. The risks were greater, far greater, when a city could be reached just by walking. For the sake of the Pride, Taran had to be the hardest one to find.

"I'll stay," he said - a little gruffly. "I'll manage. You two can have the rest of the Mantis if you want. I'm sure I can get more."

Taran stood up then, and began ruffling through the things they'd brought ashore. He assembled a survivalist's pack as his father had taught him - taking only the barest minimum required to ensure his continued survival, as his two half-brothers watched. When he'd finished he stood and faced them, the Mask making his expression cool and impersonal - but his gray eyes bright with tears he was refusing to shed.

They spared him the need to force calm words through a constricted throat. Taran was their leader, as much as anyone was, and they understood that the reason he was trying to be strong was so they, too, could do what they had to. All their lives, the Pride had been together - never separated, never alone. But now Taran would be - and soon thereafter, Gwynt and Nodwydd too. Taran was doing what a leader should, and was taking the initiative. Being the first.

"Good luck, brother," said Nodwydd, his voice soft and respectful.

"Good hunting," said Gwynt, his face a mask to match Taran's own.

Taran gave them one curt nod of acknowledgment, his features frozen in an expressionless mask that made him look a great deal like his father. Then he turned around, and strode into the dark of the Centran night.