Time to find answers.

Taran carefully weighed Tika's rein down with heavy rocks - the best he could do for the time being, and he made sure she was hidden from casual view. Wouldn't want to come out and find his chocobo had been eaten by something - particularly when the Chocoboy's silence depended on its safety. That done, he nerved himself and faced the dark entrance.

Touching the power, gray eyes now sparking fields of yellow-white, Taran walked in.

There were more bodies here. The air was musty to his heightened senses, heavy with the smell of ancient death. The halls he strode through were smoothed and might once have been beautiful - polished stone, tiny veins of untapped minerals giving depth and color to the walls. It was hard to tell, for all around were splashes of old, dried blood. The copper tang of it stung sharply in his mouth as he breathed. Set at intervals were fixtures in the walls - lamps, he supposed. Perhaps he might find a means to turn them on.

His enhanced senses told him that the main corridor he was on curved downward in a lazy spiral, but there were periodically level corridors branching off from it. Exploring these, he found living quarters - all untouched, as though abandoned in haste. All were decorated in different styles, but if they had a thing in common it was opulence. The people who'd lived here, had lived like kings. The rooms were large and spacious, the mattresses and blankets soft, and the colors and fabrics were rich and vivid. Raiding the drawers, Taran found plenty of clothes of all descriptions and sizes - but very little that actually suited the region he was in. Had this been a hotel? A resort? The thin, flimsy clothes he found wouldn't last two weeks outside.

It made no sense. Why would SeeD annihilate a resort in the middle of nowhere?

He continued his search through the upper corridors, idly looking for anything he could use. Right now, that amounted to hardwearing clothes that fit - or at least some weather gear. In the end, he came away with two pairs of blue jeans and several scented bars of soap. He took those back to his saddlebags, and returned to continue his exploration.

Below the opulent rooms were rooms much smaller and plainer - perhaps servant quarters. Here he found much more that would suit his needs, enough so that instead of carrying it out he made a pile of it in the main corridor to come back for. These rooms, also, were untouched - abandoned in haste. There was little in the way of jewelry or valuables on this level, but he did make an interesting discovery. All the doors he'd found were capable of locking - but while the ones on the upper level locked on the inside, the ones here locked on the outside. Which meant that someone had wanted to be able to lock the servant-people in their rooms. Why? What purpose would it serve?

Perhaps they had abused the servants here? Would that merit SeeD's attention? It seemed doubtful.

Below the 'servant wing', he found several corridors leading to large, open spaces. One was laid out like an obstacle course or gymnasium, with ramps and ropes and rings and ladders. Another led to a huge room that was quite obviously intended to house orgies; the floor was entirely covered in soft mattresses, there were plush pillows everywhere, and such an astonishing array of sex toys on the wall that Taran blushed just looking at them. There was a game room, a library, and a laboratory as well - and one room that completely mystified him, because it appeared to be completely empty.

He focused on these last two - mainly because it was in the laboratory that he first caught sight of something unusual. All the fighting had taken place in the main corridor or very near it, except here - the short corridor leading to the lab. The place looked ransacked, and there was a large black circle of char on the floor - as though things had been burned. Chances were that this laboratory was what had brought the SeeD here - this was the only place off the main corridor where evidence of destruction could be found. So, what had they been after?

There were little rooms near the laboratory, with the doors kicked in - at least, he guessed that to be why they were hanging off their hinges. One room was empty - each of the others held a skeleton. SeeD had opened the doors, found people here...left them to die?

The more he learned about SeeD's actions, the less he understood. What had these people done to deserve such an utter lack of mercy? The answer had to be in the lab somewhere. He began opening cabinets and any doors he could find, searching for some scrap of information.

He found a generator. He could turn this place on again! It appeared to be a battery-powered generator, probably augmented by solar or wind power. He checked the leads, and started it up - using his own internal electricity as a jumper. Sometimes, having Quezacotl's power could be an unmitigated blessing. As the complex flickered to life, he let the power go - no need for it now, with the lights on, and anyway the scent of old blood was starting to get to him. To merely human senses, it was too old to detect.

To his surprise, one clear pane of glass began to flicker - and boot-up information appeared! The screen was a monitor for a computer, and the SeeD hadn't destroyed it! Taran grinned gleefully - here, at last, he might find the answers he was looking for.

He wasn't sure what he would have expected. A logbook maybe, or a database - some clinical, scientific notation worthy of the complex lab he was walking in. Words with eighteen syllables written so neatly it would count as a computerized font.

He wasn't expecting a diary - he wasn't expecting digitized script to flow within the glass, a personal journal of someone long dead. He wasn't expecting, here in a deserted complex on an abandoned continent, to see his fathers name roll past his startled eyes. Quickly he halted the scroll, sweeping equipment off the countertop that doubled as a touch pad, the beginnings of utter disbelief uncurling in his heart. His father had been here, in this place, with all this death. Taran had to know what his father had done, if it could make sense of all the strangeness he had found.

Day 21
 Seifer has finally proven his worth - and his worthlessness. It is no surprise to me that the man has so consistently failed to reach the SeeD title he still craves; he is far too prone to getting carried away, and has as much self-control as a child in a candy shop. It took all of Odine's skill to counteract the overdose he inflicted upon Squall, bringing the man far too near to death for my liking. Why can the fool not understand that Squall is no good to me dead? Who risks their lives to avenge a dead man? SeeD does not, I am sure. If they did, they'd be at it all the time.
 Squall will live now. Odine assures me he will sleep only a few more hours - plenty of time to prepare him. Seifer has disappointed me for the last time; he will spend the night in the Tank, while I consider what to do with him.

Seifer had been here too, then. Working for...this person, whoever they were. Fighting his father? Well, Zell had said the two were rivals once. Perhaps this was part of what he'd meant.

Day 22
 Events progress well. My guests are quite enjoying themselves with my new little moon, pale and beautiful as he is. I must admit I agree with them; he is quite astonishingly beautiful. Everyone would like to have him for themselves, I know - but they are willing to share, at least for now. Perhaps, in a few hours, I will join them for a time. Seifer is still in the tank, and would not know. And my little moon is already incoherent - I doubt he can tell one person from another right now. Quite amazing. I thought SeeD trained their mercenaries better than this, and he's reputed to be the best they've ever had.
 Quite the best a few of my guests have ever had, also. I have gained a sizable stud fee from Torwena Allens, since Squall is my pet and she has conceived by him. I shall hope that the boy is up to doing this a few more times; Odine's research has quite drained my pocketbook.
 I think I shall hold off on taking Squall for myself, at least for today. I shall have Seifer instead; I'm in the mood for blondes. There is always tomorrow, after all, and if I need I can send him out on some stupid errand and he can take his two pet rats with him.

Day 23
 I think I prefer Seifer. Squall is too close to breaking; I must be watchful. Besides - I have earned four more stud fees, from Jaqueline Clem, Moire Thomas, Denise Lattic, and Narise Rohm. With this money, I can jump my schedule ahead by several weeks. I shall have to remember to keep track of the pregnant ones; the children could be of inestimable value if Odine's theories are correct. If I took them in hand, they could be warriors of a quality heretofore unseen - and loyal to me, I would be beyond assailment. They should be strong and fine, with the power and my Squall's bloodline in them. The best bred to the best. I shall make sure that the women 'volunteer' to be infused with the strongest possible Forces.

Day 24
 Experiments were a complete success. Squall killed a dozen servants as they dressed him, and now he roams Centra as a wild beast - hopefully to do to his friends what he has done to my underlings. We will now begin testing the materials on Seifer and his rats...

But Taran couldn't read any more. Nausea swept through him; he retched until his stomach was empty and heaving, and the dust on the cold stone floor felt good against his cheek. Five women...five 'stud fees'. Five mothers. He'd known, intellectually, that of course the Pride were all half-siblings...well, except the twins. He'd known, too, that none of them were Rinoa's. Seeing names, though...he'd never known his birth-mother's name. He had no idea which of the five women was his mother, or what she'd been like.

He thought he'd known his father - but for the first time he was forced to confront this simple truth; Squall had sired half a dozen children on five different women, and not a one of them the woman he claimed to love. Was it just that Rinoa was a Sorceress? Was that the difference? Would he have wed Narise, or Jaqueline, or any of the others - if that woman had been a Sorceress?

In a pair of days, Squall had sired six children. Had the man no shame? Rinoa loved him - Taran knew she did. How could he betray her like that - and with so many?

I thought I was like you, Father, but how can I be? You let yourself be part of a calculated breeding experiment...designed to create people like me and my siblings. You betrayed Rinoa, you betrayed our trust in you. Is this why you didn't want us to become SeeD? Because we might be better at killing than you are? Is this why you can look at us without recognition? Are we your pets - something you feel you must hide? Is that why this place was destroyed - because you wanted to hide evidence of your crimes?

Taran hugged his knees fiercely, rocking back and forth. He wanted nothing more than to confront his father with what he'd learned here - wanted to shout at the man, demand an explanation - obtain a why. Of all the reasons why he had five brothers and sisters, the idea of his father hiring himself out - like some common whore - had never crossed his mind.

And all the mothers died, and Squall lived. Had he arranged their deaths? Had he ordered this place destroyed? Taran copied the five names down on his pad - he'd decide what to do with the names later. For now he wanted nothing more than to get out of this place. And after that...confront his father.

* * * * * * *

It was rare for him to be able to pull himself into the eternal realm alone. That was Irvine's gift, something not one in ten thousand people could do.

It helped that he'd lived here, of course. It helped that he knew this place, knew it as home - perhaps the only 'home' he would ever know. It meant that sometimes, when he really wanted to, he could visit without having to call Irvine first. He didn't have the gift, though. He would have no real rest tonight. This was a reality, not a dream, and he would pay for it.

He hadn't wanted to call Irvine. Not for this, not to this place and not for this reason. This was personal.

He didn't have to call out for his father, either. That helped, too - because Taran knew that if he were forced to call for him, there would be hurt in his voice. Betrayal. Tears. And that wouldn't help at all. No, Squall would always know who among his family and friends were walking the eternal realm, because that was one of the things Squall always watched for. So Taran had time to find a nice boulder to sit on, and then his father was there. Simply standing there, and for a wonder alone. His eyes were human and gray and dark with emotion, and that meant Rinoa was not here.

Perhaps, here, that was not wisely done. But Taran was upset too, and didn't feel like worrying about Rinoa getting worked up, so he said nothing. About that, at any rate. Instead, his first words were simple, obvious, and to the point. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

Squall's eyes shifted. Not from human to Griever, but from living to dead. Where before Taran had seen a surge of emotion barely contained, now the Wall was in place and nothing was coming out. There wasn't a hint of emotion in his voice, either, as he said, "I didn't want you to know."

Taran bit back a sharp response. He knew his father, knew him better than any save Rinoa alone. If Squall felt the need to retreat behind his walls, it was only because he feared what might happen if he let himself feel anything at all. And for that, it meant Taran didn't know the whole story yet. He needed to know.

So he opened with what he did know. "Five mothers," he said. "I used my power to jump-start the generators. I knew we weren't Rinoa's, but...Hyne, father, with five other women? When you had Rinoa? Why?"

Quicker than thought, quicker than steel, Squall had his hand around his son's throat and was lifting him off the ground, choking him into silence with one hand. The wall behind his eyes was cracking - and there was a violent storm behind them as he said, "You will shut up, Taran. You don't have the slightest idea what happened, and you will do me the favor of not talking when you don't know what you're talking about."

Just as abruptly as he grabbed him, though, Squall let him go. One hand clenched into a fist, but his voice was steady and level as he said, "Is that why you came here? To accuse me?"

Taran's voice was rough as he retorted, "No. I came here to learn the truth. I think you owe me - owe us - that."

Squall blinked. "I don't owe you anything of the sort," he said. "If anything, I owe it to all of you to say nothing."

But Taran wasn't buying it. "This is who we are, isn't it Father," he said. "Children of spoiled noblewomen, bred to be weapons of war. We're meant to be killers, the way you're a killer."

The wall behind Squall's eyes broke, and the full force of the storm was in his voice as he spoke. "I didn't have a choice!" he snapped. "I've never once had a choice!" His eyes narrowed as he glared at his son. "But you," he said, "You have a choice." Unspoken but in his eyes, and you don't know what it's cost me to give it to you.

Taran looked down then. "Are you proud of it?" he asked. "Are you proud of what you are?"

The rage in Squall's eyes died down, retreated behind the Wall again. Slowly, he shrugged out of his fur-collared jacket, pulled off the plain white shirt - so like Taran's - that he wore beneath. He set them down on a rock, neatly folded. His gloves stayed on, though - and with gloved hands he pulled Taran's gaze toward him. One after another, he traced with gloved fingers scars that were slightly raised ridges on pale skin.

A spray of bullet-scars. "This, from a fight against Galbadian soldiers."
A long, thin cut down his right shoulder. "This, from Estharian cyborgs."
Star-shaped scars, indicative of ice spells. "These, against NORG - the first Balamb Garden Master."
Four parallel lines down the front of his chest. "This, against Adel."
A large healed patch - as though a giant beast had taken a bite out of his hip. "This, against Ultimecia."

All over his chest, stomach, arms, and back, little mementos of every fight. So many they often overlapped each other. He left the most visible till last. He indicated a large, jagged scar just to the right of his heart. "This, when we first fought Matron - who took me in when Raine died." The scar across his forehead. "This, from Seifer the day I became a SeeD." Lastly, he pointed out circular ridges around each wrist, not as healed or as old as the others. "These, from this place."

He reached down and picked up his shirt. "I don't remember any more where the rest came from." Pulling on his jacket again, he said, "I'm not proud of what I've had to do to survive. Satisfied, maybe. Proud that I have survived. I didn't have a choice, not in any of those fights, and not here."

"And I do?" asked Taran.

Squall nodded. "If nothing else, you have that. You can be their son," and he indicated the dark entrance to the deserted complex, "and be the killer they wanted you to be - that they thought I chose to be. Or you can be my son, and be what you choose to be." He spoke calmly, but slowly, each word dragged carefully from behind the wall in his eyes.

"I don't want your life," said Taran. "I don't like what these people tried to do. But I don't have choices, either. I can't go to the cities because I look like you, and people remember you."

Squall shrugged. "I've never met someone who was completely free. They'd probably drive me crazy if I did." He regarded the dark entrance silently for a while, as though it had an almost hypnotic pull on him.

"I still wonder if I should have killed you, and the others," he said softly, almost dreamily - as if talking to himself. "But I can't decide. There's too much there. If I let you live, is it because you are innocent? Or because you are mine? If you must die, is it because you or your descendants might start a war? Or is it only because it hurts to remember this place exists - that what they did...was real..."

Taran shuddered. Squall was rapidly becoming lost in his own world, and he wasn't sure how to pull him out of it. His reaction to the sight of the complex, and the scars on his wrists as if from manacles, filled in the carefully skirted blanks in the diary he'd found. But now that he had his answers he wasn't sure how to bring his father back. He wasn't about to try touching. He didn't know a lot about scars, but if the ones on Squall's wrists were from manacles then his father had come close to killing himself trying to escape them.

It occurred to him then that the scars of the mind were far more dangerous.

So - carefully, and not without trepidation - he slowly put himself into Squall's field of vision, standing between him and the cavernous entrance. Standing outside of easy grabbing range, just to be on the safe side, he began repeating, "Father, come back," until Squall blinked. He dared to tug at his father's hand then, to pull him away from it.

"When I wake up, father, I will destroy this place," he said. "I understand now. The others shouldn't know about this."

"Neither should you," said Squall flatly. "If I'd known it still existed, I would have told Irvine to blow it up before now. You shouldn't have found this place." There was guilt in his voice now, unmistakable self-reproach.

Taran, though, shook his head. "One of us needed to know," he said. "The others...if they come across anything...they'll probably come to me before they come to you. Now I can send them looking other places. We should probably find out which of the women is whose mother, for example, just for medical reasons. I can set Daear on that. We might have half-siblings around, or cousins, and while I don't think any of us are keen on reunions there might be inheritances and that'd be useful. Gwynt can keep an eye on the Esthari scientists and make sure they don't try this again. And Noddy can watch SeeD. I can take care of this, Father, you'll see."

The way he said it turned Squall's expression wry. "I think I know how Quistis feels, now," he said. "But you're right. I don't want to know who they were, and I don't want to know anything about them. If it benefits you or the others, fine, but I don't want anything to do with it. The women are dead now. With their names, I could find them in the eternal realm." He grimaced. "The temptation to do some things I don't have to would be a little much, and I won't let them make me less than I am, not again. Take care of it how you will, Taran. Let them research their mothers if it makes them feel better - but I want my story left out of it."

Taran nodded, grateful to be honored with his father's trust - on more than one level. Squall was saying what he genuinely felt, and trusting Taran to understand him. It was Squall's way of saying you are like me - for no other but Rinoa would have a hope of understanding. "I'll take care of it," he repeated. "Thank you - for showing me." He paused. It was rare for him to be alone with his father, and even rarer that he could pry answers out of him - but tonight seemed to be a night of confessions. Slowly, carefully, he asked, "Father...were they right about you? Are you a killer?"

Squall blinked, as slowly as his son. Then, "Yes." No explanations, no excuses. Simple truth. It wasn't Squall's way to hide from truth.

It was Taran's turn to consider. "Why?" he asked at last.

"Because those were my orders. Because it was them or me, and I didn't want it to be me."

Taran's eyes narrowed. "Because those were your orders? That's a reason to kill?"

"It is, when the people giving you the orders have complete control over your existence." Squall paused, frowning. "I won't say that I minded, because I didn't mind that. It's comforting to have your life laid out for you - all you have to do is go where you're told, do what you're told. I minded killing, at least at first. Understand, Taran. It's not something that will always hurt you. You get used to it after a while even if you don't want to. Eventually...you just go numb."

Taran shuddered. "Did you? Go numb?"

Squall nodded. "Yes. It didn't take as long as you might think. Maybe a year."

It was Taran's turn to frown. "How long were you fighting? Are you still...numb?" That would explain the Wall, at least.

Squall's eyes unfocused as he tried to remember. "I think...I was thirteen...when I got my gunblade. So...four, five years of real combat." He sounded distant, a little puzzled. "As to being numb...in a way, yes. I don't know how many people I've killed. I do know I've never struck to disable the way Zell has. Too tricky with a gunblade."

Taran considered this, then said, "Noddy was much younger than thirteen. Is that why he is the way he is?"

Squall's lips tightened. "Probably. Garden experimented with combat ages early on - the youngest ones tended to end up broken. Something in their minds never worked right - they couldn't make the adjustment, understand death. Most of the ones in Garden ended up trying to kill other cadets, for the challenge. Didn't understand that it was permanent."

"Nodwydd thinks like that too," said Taran. "But he hasn't tried to kill anyone."

Squall shook his head. "Thank Laguna for that. Nodwydd's pretty easygoing, and Balamb's a quiet town - but if someone pushes him it'll get messy."

Taran blinked. This must be what being a killer was - Squall was talking about his son killing people, possibly lots of people, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. Taran twitched at the mere idea of Noddy getting pushed that far, and resolved to keep an eye on that situation. Squall turned to the east, frowned.

"It's almost dawn," he said. "Irvine didn't bring you here, did he?"

"No," said Taran. "I came on my own."

Squall's eyes narrowed. "Don't do that again. You don't have Irvine's knack, you can't see sleeping bodies. Do you remember where you laid down?"

Taran shifted nervously. "Um, basically."

Squall scowled. "Not good enough. Taran, people die when they don't get back to their bodies, and you don't even remember where yours is. I can't see it either, not without a Token." He closed his eyes briefly. "You're damn lucky Irvine wasn't awake yet - it's almost time for his alarm to go off. He'll be along shortly - and don't you ever try this stunt alone again."

Taran kept his eyes on the ground. He knew that tone - one wrong word right now and his father's patience would be completely shot. He was technically an adult now, at twenty - but he'd screwed this one up and knew it, so he took the reprimand in silence. Squall could assume an air of absolute command when it suited him to do so.

Irvine appeared, looking a bit rumpled. "Oh, it's you," he said to Taran. "Long time no see." He cast his eyes around, focused on a bare patch of ground. "Give me your hand, Taran," he said. "I'll throw you back in. The hell were you thinking, coming here alone? How did you expect to get back?" Then Irvine blinked, realized where he was, and said, "Ohhhh...shit. All right, don't tell me jack. Just give me your hand."

Taran complied, and Irvine made a move as if to throw him. He jerked - and realized he was awake. Neither his father nor Irvine were anywhere to be seen.

He fell back onto the ground, and heard Tika's confused waarks behind him.

"S'okay, Tika," he mumbled, then closed his eyes and entered true sleep - too tired for even daylight to rouse him.