The Night

Chapter XIII: The Sharpest Lives

The Night

Chapter XIII: The Sharpest Lives

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The 2000s

Squall never knew his mother.

At least... he never had a chance to.

He did know that she was a skilled florist, her heart was full of love, and that she died giving birth to him. Sometimes, in his dreams, he would see his mother's face, hear her voice, her gentle assurances... but that's all he had of her. He always asked about her, but it seemed like the more he asked, the fewer answers he actually got.

He knew she was a gentle, yet firm, person; always taking on greater responsibilities than were worth her time. He knew she had long flowing hair which was soft like the grassy hills of Midgar or the finest silks of Bikanel.

He also knew the Leonhart name was haunted, as his grandmother (despite her growing dementia) would often lament the stories to him in her native Romani tongue. Once the family crest was changed, the predecessors of the name became haunted by a specter. While at first many of them thought it was a misplaced punishment for the horrible fate of their ancestors, they came to find the spirit was more protective than anything. The Ghost of the Leonharts was more like a guardian angel.

Upon learning so much about this supposed guardian angel, Squall came to loathe it. What kind of cruel phantom would allow his mother to die before she was truly able to know her only son?

His grandmother took ill and the young boy spent many years bouncing between the care of his family, absorbing their ghost stories and loathing them. None of them knew his father; many of them didn't even know Raine was pregnant until she was already gone. She didn't leave any way to contact his father either, so they all simply assumed she'd given up on the mystery man.

Squall couldn't stand the gall of his supposed family being so confident in their conclusions. One day, he'd be old enough to go out on his own and track down his father in demand of answers. This, despite his young age, he knew for certain. This one goal kept him going despite everything else.

And where was the Ghost then? Still nowhere to be found. He'd gotten into his fair share of trouble in his youth, pushing his limits to draw the phantom out. He'd get into deadly scrapes, violent encounters, serious accidents... still, no guardian.

One day, Squall's hatred for the Ghost reached an angry crescendo, and in a boyish rage he did the unthinkable.

If the ghost doesn't come to me on it's own, He thought, I'll force it to.

His first idea was to jump off a building, but he doubted even a specter could save him from such a gruesome fate. Oddly enough, the less brutal option to him was standing on a train track. At the last possible second he could leap away from the platform, narrowly missing the train. He waited at the nearest station, jittery with nervousness and fury all at once. When the train came warbling along in the distance, much to the horror of onlookers, he sprang onto the track.

Of course, he realized his foolishness as soon as his feet touched down.

The walls were too high for him to crawl out of, and when he went to make an exit his pant leg snagged on a jagged piece of metal. People were screaming at him, but he could barely hear them over the sound of the train barreling at him: brakes squealing, but completely unable to stop.