Zell shoved as many building blocks as he could into his pockets, then waddled to his favorite corner of the room and unloaded them onto the floor. He plopped down and sorted them, wondering what he could build with the shapes he'd managed to snatch from Selphie's expanding fortress. Not much, it turned out. With a sigh, he began stacking them anyway, knocking them over when he ran out, and starting again.
Rainy days at the orphanage were the worst. Everyone was stuck inside, in the main room of the house, restless, bored, and getting on each other's nerves. Even with the windows open, the air was stuffy and warm, and all the kids' voices mixing together hurt Zell's ears. He scooted closer to the wall and began mumbling to himself, trying to ignore the noise, and hoping everybody else – especially Seifer – would ignore him.
No such luck.
"You hafta put the big blocks on the bottom, Zell, else they'll all fall over."
Zell didn't have to look up to know Quistis was frowning at him. Maybe even shaking her head. She thought she was so smart, so grown-up – which meant she also thought that everyone else was stupid. She probably thought he didn't know how to play with blocks, even though he'd built a whole castle for her doll just a few days ago.
"Yeah, I know," he mumbled, stacking two large blocks on top of a smaller one on purpose.
Quistis whimpered. "No, no, you're doing it wrong. Lemme help you." She knelt beside him and reached for the blocks, but Zell toppled his structure and wrapped his arms around the pile.
"No, Quisty! Leave me alone, I know how to play!"
A snicker came from Zell's other side, raising goosebumps along his arms.
"Yeah, Quisty," Seifer said, sauntering over to them, "leave him alone. He knows how to play. It's 'bout all he knows, though!"
"Shut up, Seifer!" Zell drew his blocks even closer.
"Yeah, be quiet!" Quistis stood and placed her hands on her hips. "You're not so smart, either!"
"Smarter'n him," Seifer said.
"But still not smart." Quistis pointed out the window. "Do you know what makes the rain?"
Seifer scoffed. "The clouds."
"And what makes clouds?"
"Uh … puffy white stuff? I dunno, who cares?"
"Water." Quistis crossed her arms and gave a smug grin.
"Whaddaya mean, water?"
Quistis went on about how Matron explained to her that clouds are made of tiny drops of water, and when they get too heavy, rain falls from them, all while Seifer rolled his eyes and made faces at her. Meanwhile, Zell used the distraction to start building another tower, happy that he was being left alone again, at least for the moment.
"Yeah, well," Seifer said at last, "you're just a big nerd and no one's ever gonna like you! Aww, whatsa matter, Quisty? You gonna cry? Just like Zell, a big cryba –"
A bright white flash lit up the room, and the loudest sound Zell had ever heard came with it. It was a tearing sound, like the sky above them was being ripped apart, followed by a boom that rattled the windows. All of the children clapped their hands over their ears and screamed, and Zell noticed a strange smell in the air, a hot smell, but a clean one, kind of like Matron's iron on laundry day. He opened his eyes and took his hands off his ears, and the first thing he noticed was silence.
No one said anything. Seifer had no smart remark, Quistis had no explanation. Instead, they, and the rest of the children, turned to him, and watched. Waited. They waited for his eyebrows to twitch, for his mouth to curve downward, for the flood of tears to start.
But he didn't cry. He didn't want to. Sure, the noise and light had scared him, but he wasn't still scared. He was excited.
More thunder rumbled in the distance, and Zell breathed in that peculiar scent again, grinning as the other kids wrinkled their noses at it, thrilled that they didn't understand what it was. That was the smell of power. Power to silence bullies and know-it-alls, power to be heard. He looked at them, and a big smile stretched across his face.
"Awesome!" he said, and went back to his blocks.
* * *
He waited for it, for the exciting combination of light and sound and smell, every time the sky above the orphanage grew dark. He'd sit on the steps to the beach and watch the clouds roll in from the ocean, squinting, but seeing nothing; straining his ears, but catching only a low rumble.
Even when the storms reached the orphanage, they did no more than all those that had come before. They rained, they flashed, they rumbled. But none of the lightning was close enough for Zell to feel, to smell, to nearly taste. And so, each time the clouds parted, and the other children ran out to soak in the sunlight, Zell sighed and returned to his favorite corner to play until his disappointment faded.
But he did not give up easily. He was still waiting for the lightning on the afternoon that a sturdy-looking couple visited the orphanage, and Matron brought them over to talk to him.
"So, Zell," the man said, sitting beside him, "you like the ocean?"
"Uh-huh." Zell glanced at him. The man was big, and looked strong. His skin was tanned, and little lines showed up around his eyes when he smiled. His voice was gentle, but his hands were rough, and he could probably beat up ten Seifers, if he wanted to.
Zell turned back to the ocean. "But I like the lightning more," he added.
"Is that so? What do you like about it?"
"It's bright and strong and makes Seifer and Quisty be quiet."
The man laughed. "Well, we don't have any Seifers or Quisties in Balamb," he said, "but we do have the ocean, and plenty of storms, especially during summer."
"With lightning?"
"Absolutely."
The woman came down the stairs and sat on Zell's other side. "And lots of fish," she said. "Do you like fish?"
"Yeah!" Zell smiled at her. She was almost as big as the man, and looked just as strong. Her eyes were soft, and her hand was warm on Zell's back. Comforting. For some reason, he wanted to lean toward her, wanted to give her a hug. But he remembered the manners Matron had taught him, and tried his best to sit still.
"Would you like to go to Balamb? Would you like to live there, with us?"
"Live there?" Zell's eyes widened.
"Yes," the man said, "as our son."
"Son?" Zell felt stupid, repeating what these people were saying, but he couldn't believe his ears. Seifer had told him lots of times that nobody wanted a crybaby, and that he'd stay in the orphanage until he was old and wrinkled, but here was a family that wanted him. They wanted him to be theirs. Their son.
"That's right," the woman said, smoothing down his hair and chuckling when the section in the front refused to stay put. "Our son, Zell Dincht."
Zell repeated the name under his breath, and something warm fluttered in his chest. Zell Dincht. It had a nice ring to it. More importantly, though, it had a family behind it, a home. He chewed his lip and looked from the woman to the man and back.
"Can I call you Ma?" he asked.
"Of course! Ma and Pa. What do you say, would you like to come with us?"
Zell nodded, so quickly that he felt his head might fly off. "Yeah!"
"Great!" Mr. and Mrs. Dincht stood up, and each held out a hand toward Zell. "Come on, then, Zell. Let's go home."
* * *
Zell couldn't remember why, but he was fascinated by lightning. Every time a storm rolled in, he would run up to his room and watch it through his window, or, if he could sneak past Ma, he'd watch it from the harbor. She warned him time and again that he would get electrocuted one day, and Pa tried to instill the healthy caution of a fisherman in him, but the pull of the storm was too powerful.
His parents told him he'd been this way since he was very little, and joked that he must have been born during a storm.
"Don't you remember if I was?" he asked once.
Ma and Pa laughed nervously and glanced at each other.
"Well," Pa said, at last, "there's so much commotion when a baby's being born, you forget to check the weather."
"And once the baby is born," Ma added, hugging Zell tightly, "you don't care about the weather at all."
That was good enough for Zell.
Today, he stood on Pa's fishing boat, helping him prepare for the next day's work, and watched cumulus clouds piling up along the horizon.
"Weather report said they should blow through tonight," Pa said. "Hope it's right."
"Yeah, they'll probably be in by the afternoon," Zell replied, reaching a hand into the breeze. "The wind's been picking up all morning."
"You've got an eye for the weather. It'll help you a lot as a fisherman."
"A fisherman that doesn't fish. Can't I go with you tomorrow?"
"Sorry, Zell. Not until you're twelve. Your mother's orders."
"That's nearly a year away! Can't we sneak out before dawn?"
"And how do I sneak you back in?" Pa laughed and shook his head. "She worries about you, Zell. You're her little boy, her one and only. I can vouch for you until I'm blue in the face, but a mother will always be a mother."
Zell's shoulders slumped, and Pa rested a large, callused hand on one of them.
"But you're a big help already," he went on. "These preparations would take me all day without you here. Just hang in there, and you'll be out here before you know it."
But Zell never made it out to sea. Five months before his twelfth birthday, his grandfather passed away. A decorated soldier, Zell had looked up to him all his life. He wanted to be strong like him, brave like him, dependable like him, and he had convinced himself he could do that on a fishing boat. But when Ma brought home Grandpa's portrait and several of his guns, Zell felt his priorities shift.
Grandpa had had power. The power to fight, the power to protect his loved ones. Now that he was gone, who was going to do that? Who was going to stand up and fight when things went wrong? Who was going to protect Ma and Pa and Balamb? Zell looked at Grandpa's portrait, at the blue eyes that seemed to pierce his own, and felt the answer inside of him.
Me. I’m gonna protect 'em. Don't worry, Grandpa, I'll take care of everything and everybody now.
Ma and Pa didn't blink when Zell asked for a punching bag, or when he asked to learn martial arts. Staying strong until he joined a fishing crew, they probably figured. But when he brought home a brochure for Balamb Garden, Pa frowned, and Ma sighed.
"I should've let you go out to sea a lot sooner," she said.
There were arguments, there were pleas. There were chilly days when Zell didn't speak to either of his parents. They didn't understand, he thought, no matter how he explained his reasons for wanting to become a SeeD. No matter how he mentioned Grandpa. They only worried, no doubt imagining him dead on some foreign battlefield, when he could just as easily be swept overboard on a fishing vessel.
But he did not give up easily. He continued his martial arts training, and he continued helping Pa on the fishing boat, demonstrating his strength by hoisting heavy objects with ease, proving his stamina by working from sunup to sundown. Slowly, Pa realized that Zell was more than competent at physically demanding tasks, and could easily take care of himself. Pa became more receptive to Zell's interest in Garden, and soon, Ma found herself outnumbered.
"Let him try," Pa said. "At the very least, the discipline at Garden will do him good."
"I don't know …" Ma ladled soup into three bowls and handed two of them to Zell.
"C'mon, Ma!" Zell said. "I'm tough, I can handle it!"
"Those battles. Those assignments."
"I'm not gonna be a SeeD right away! Anyway, SeeDs do lots of other things besides go to war. They protect people! I can protect you and Pa. I can protect Balamb!"
"The boy's got a point," Pa said, starting on his soup. "Besides, remember what happened when you wouldn't let him go fishing?"
Ma scowled.
Pa chuckled. "He'll just find something even more dangerous to do."
"Pa's right," Zell said. "I might even become a spy!"
"You're too loud for that," Ma said curtly. She stared at her bowl of soup for several moments, then let her features relax. "Very well. You can go to Garden. Just promise me you won't get yourself killed."
"No guarantees, Ma, but I'll try." Zell laughed. "All right! Balamb Garden, here I come!"
* * *
The pamphlet on junctioning did nothing to prepare Zell for the stabbing in his brain. He groaned and staggered backwards while half the class laughed at him, and the other half moaned in commiseration, hands on their heads, adjusting to their own GFs. The instructor kept his voice even and told Zell to concentrate on the energy in his body, rather than the pain in his head. Zell did as he was told, and soon felt the GF settle in, humming steadily, but causing no more discomfort.
At fifteen, Zell had been at Garden for two years, and, while he struggled with sitting still through lectures, he had performed generally well. Ma slowly warmed to his decision to become a SeeD, though she was less thrilled about his decision to move into the dorms at Garden.
"You'll at least stop by once in a while, right?" she said, as he packed his duffel bag.
"Of course, Ma! I'm not abandoning you. It's just easier to make it to my classes if I'm living right there." He zipped his bag shut. "I'll stop by this weekend, promise!"
He kept his promise, for a while. Soon, however, studying and training took up much of his spare time, and he made it home less often. He felt guilty, but he reminded himself that he was doing all this for Ma, and for Pa and Balamb, too. One day, he'd be a SeeD, and he'd waltz through the door of his home in his fancy uniform, and all his hard work would pay off.
One day.
But today, he was learning how to junction. He practiced with this low-level GF for several weeks, until the instructor presented the class with a choice of several more. These were slightly stronger, their abilities customizable, and they were cleared for use on the battlefield. Zell scrolled through the options on the terminal in front of him, and stopped when he found a thunder elemental.
Thunder. Lightning. He'd always been drawn to them; what would it feel like to actually have them inside his brain? What would it feel like to produce the energy, the power, that had long fascinated him?
"Quezzy-coddle," he said, when the instructor asked him which GF he wanted.
"Quetzalcoatl," the instructor corrected, and motioned Zell forward. He handed Zell a small silver cylinder, which Zell raised to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut and preparing for the pain. He stumbled backwards when it hit, and gasped with the warmth and faded memories that flooded his mind when Quetzalcoatl's energy merged with his.
There was a bright light, a rumbling in his chest, a tickling in his nose. A half-forgotten scent tugged at his heart and brought a smile to his face.
"Very good," the instructor said. "You handled that well."
"It was nothin'," Zell replied, a strange excitement building in him as Quetzalcoatl settled into place, trilling happily.
* * *
For the next two years, Zell kept Quetzalcoatl close, sometimes even "forgetting" to unjunction it at the end of the school week. To finally own the storms he'd loved all his life, to actually be those storms, was exhilarating, and filled him with a sense of purpose, and of power.
Quetzalcoatl dispatched the Grats in the Training Center with ease, chirping happily in Zell's brain as it did so, and Zell would stand still for long moments after the battle was won, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of ozone left behind. That smell did something to him, as if it had been injected directly into his veins. His heartrate spiked, adrenaline ran hot through his limbs, and he felt as if he could take on the world. He was powerful. Intimidating. Indestructible.
He couldn't help but swagger a bit when he went back to Balamb, and he couldn't resist stopping to do pull-ups on the gas station sign. But he had an extra bounce to his step that afternoon in early spring, when he visited home to give his parents the good news: he'd passed the written portion of the SeeD exam.
He was halfway there.
Pa congratulated him with a genial slap on the back, and Ma was all hugs and compliments. When she pulled away, however, Zell could see her mouth drawn tight, her eyebrows twitching in concern.
"Don't worry, Ma," he said. "The second part is in the field, but we've got a bunch of experienced SeeDs supporting us. Garden hasn't lost a cadet during the exam in years."
He realized too late that he should have omitted the last part.
"Besides," he said, snapping his fingers and coaxing forth a few tepid sparks, "I'm not helpless. I've got all the skills I need. I'll hit 'em with magic, and if they're still not down, I'll finish 'em off with these fists o' mine!"
Ma sighed. "Do be careful, Zell. You'll let me know the minute you're back from your field exam, right?"
"Sure thing! I'll make you proud, Ma. You and Pa, both, you'll see!"
He woke early on the day of the field exam, checked in at his homeroom class, and spent the rest of the morning keeping his body limber and his mind focused. He was running through his moves in the front hallway, when Instructor Trepe called his name. He answered in typical boisterous fashion, closing the distance between them with a few backflips. Even though he smiled, his stomach tensed when he realized that this was it.
The real, final test for SeeD.
Quetzalcoatl caught his excitement and stirred in his brain, and hummed louder than ever when Zell looked at Instructor Trepe and Cadet Leonhart. Their faces seemed familiar, but he couldn't place them. He tried to reach deeper into his memory, but met only Quetzalcoatl's presence, instead. Still, when he looked into their eyes, something flashed in his mind, and the sharp scent of ozone returned to him.
Strangers or not, they were his teammates now, and he had a duty to protect them, just like he would protect Ma and Pa and Balamb. Quetzalcoatl chirped once more, and Zell nodded and smiled in response.
Psych yourself up, baby! Let's do this! It's time to become a SeeD!