Heirloom 
A bit of Final Fantasy 8 fanfiction, By Anima. Not to be used for commercial purposes, don't 
steal this or I'll eat your brain, all characters are Square-Enix's property but the story is 
mine, blah blah blah.  

Squall shielded his eyes with one hand, squinting at the horizon... How much further?
Overhead the sun glared on, oblivious to the discomfort it caused in the young student. 
'Maybe black isn't the best color after all,' Squall thought sullenly, as he trudged along the
mountain path. 'Might as well review while I walk...'
     He recalled the instructions passed on to him at the start of the exercise. This was one of 
the few courses Cid himself taught, when Garden business didn't keep him away. Gesturing grandly 
as usual, the balding Headmaster gave Squall his orders.
     "Simple survival exercise. You'll be dropped off by car, and you are to return to Garden 
within three days. For equipment, you have only your standard issue kit, and a full canteen. 
Good luck."
     Squall rolled his eyes a bit as he scrambled over a ridge. 'Not much to review, really.' 
Up ahead the path shrank, huddling closer to a face of rock streaked with rust-red. Squall 
turned his back to the face and sidled along, a thin breeze toying with his hair. The standard 
blade he carried scraped against the face, making Squall wince. 'More polishing to do later...' 
Just as he began mournfully considering the chore, the path gave way beneath his feet! What had 
looked like rock was only dirt, and overbalanced, Squall pitched off the path and down a 
brush-studded hill! The sparse shrubs and spiky weeds kept Squall from building up much speed, 
but by the time he tumbled in a bruised bleeding heap at the base of the hill, he couldn't quite 
bring himself to be grateful for that. Coughing hoarsely in the dust cloud he'd created, Squall 
staggered upright and took stock of himself.  Pants...holed. Shirt...torn. Jacket was 
fine...blade...missing.  Jerking his head up, he saw his weapon, broken in two where it had 
wedged between two rocks and tore free of its harness. Groaning, he scrambled up to retrieve 
the pieces, a fierce scowl taking over.
     "Great. Just wonderful." Squall plopped down and stared at the dust-coated halves of his 
only weapon... A bird alighted on a nearby shrub, cocking its head at the dusty boy. Squall 
shot it a look. 
     "Glad you're the only one who saw that," He muttered, gesturing up the hill. A distant 
voice sent the bird airborne once again, startling them both.
     "Boy! Boy! Are you alright? I saw you fall..." Squall groaned a bit louder as a farmer 
pushed his way through some weeds to reach him. 
     "I'm fine, just..." He let the pieces of his sword fall to the earth. The farmer merely 
nodded, and extended a rough callused hand. 
     "Well, if that's the only thing broken, you're still doin okay. Come on down to the house, 
we'll give you a lookover."
     Squall shrugged inwardly, and got to his feet without taking the farmer's offered hand. 
'Either I fell a lot further than I thought, or I must've been at the foot of the mountain 
already...' Squall realized, as he followed the farmer right into a field of soybeans. Waves 
of wind rippled the plants as the pair crossed the field, and slipped through a well-maintained 
fence of scrap steel pipes. 
     "It's not much, but it keeps out Wendigos," The farmer grinned, shutting the gate behind 
them. Squall nodded, frowning as he wondered whether he'd be deducted points for accepting help 
like this. Seeing his look, the farmer just chuckled.
     "You aren't the first to wind up here, you know. Most of those students fall for that 
disguised bit of path. Those Garden people put that there to test you! Oh, I'm Morris, by 
the by."
     Squall grimaced to hear who was responsible for that path. More points gone. Morris 
tugged open a screen door with a asthmatic squeak, and Squall followed him in slowly. Morris 
waved him to a sun-dappled table, while he muttered something about 'bactine.' Squall sat, 
and rested his chin in his palm, brooding. How many students fell, ('Literally,' Squall sighed) 
for that trick? How many others had he passed without a hitch? 
     'I really don't want to take this one over. I know just who'd mock me for it too...' 
Squall shook his head a little, gently rattling his dust-grimed pendant. Morris had just 
arrived in the kitchen with a bottle of bactine when a terrible screech rose from just outside 
the window! Morris blanched, as what looked like three umbrellas mated to a piranha spun 
crazily right outside the glass!
     "Wh, what in the world is that?!" He stumbled back from the window as Squall jumped up, 
staring at the creature.
     "It's a Buel. Common to this region, but they're cave dwellers..." Squall murmured, a bit 
of knowledge picked up in the classroom actually coming in handy for once. 
     Morris grimaced, "Then what's it doing out here in the middle of the day?" 
     Squall shrugged, shaking his head helplessly. "It's sick? Crazy? Who knows."
His fingers clenched and unclenched, the itch for battle making his palms sweat. 'I'd fight it 
off if my sword wasn't...'
     He turned around to tell Morris to take cover, only to find the farmer gone. "Smart guy," 
Squall sighed, and looked around for a weapon. If the monster was crazed, it might try to bust 
in through the window... Footfalls behind him made Squall look up.
     "Morris?"
     The farmer wrestled a long black case in through the door, grunting. "Here! We can, nngh, 
use this!"
     Squall stared at it. "What's this? A trombone?" dust and cobweb filaments covered the case, 
particles dancing in the sun as Morris set it on the table. He frowned at Squall, and flipped 
the latches.
     "My son...my son was in Garden too, once. There was a training accident, no one's fault, 
just...these things happen. They returned his personal effects to me, along with a letter. 
This," He sighed, as he swung open the case, "is all I have left of him. I haven't the foggiest 
how to use the thing, but you..."  Squall tried to ignore the man's tears as he reached into 
the case and lifted out the lovingly-polished gunblade. It smelled of grease and steel... Six 
shells lay packed inside as well, gleaming in the dark foam.
     "Morris, get under the table." He struggled to remember how the mechanism worked on these 
things, as he plucked the first shell from the case. *raclock* The revolver-half split open, 
and Squall chambered rounds as fast as he could. With a heavy flick of his wrist, he swung the 
weapon up, realigning and locking it.  With one hand on the door and the other on the safety, 
Squall took a deep breath...and burst out of the door, taking a flying leap off the porch! The 
Buel caught the flicker of motion and wheeled around the corner of the house, screeching with 
insane rage!  Squall braced himself, and flipped off the safety as the creature hurtled toward 
him... Distantly, he heard Morris yell something, but his blood was pounding in his ears and 
there was no time and here it came and his muscles tensed----!
      He swung the shimmering blade in a wide arc, felt resistance, and pulled the trigger. A 
terrific explosion sent a bolus of flame and smoke right into the face of the Buel, his blade 
having sliced right through the tough membrane of one wing. The recoil shoved Squall back as 
the Buel collapsed...a talon narrowly missing his head. Regaining his balance, Squall reset his 
stance, gunblade quivering as vibration-numbed hands struggled to hang onto it... What a kick! 
     Then Morris was there, jabbering, but Squall could only shake his head...partially deaf 
from the blast. Finally he caught one phrase, as he was led back inside.
     "Keep it...it needs to be used."


The End