Squall's frown deepened with the effort of putting his jumbled memories into some kind of order.
("Can you carve out your path without the help of others?")
"Not very much," he admitted, eventually, tersely. "Somebody I fought alongside. The Warrior of Light." Not an actual name, but more than a title - at least, more than just a figurative title. Being on the wrong end of the flood of light that poured off that shield was one of the clearer memories, and how it hit like a freaking truck. But there was no resentment to go with the memory, just a certain faint, grudging respect.
no subject
("Can you carve out your path without the help of others?")
"Not very much," he admitted, eventually, tersely. "Somebody I fought alongside. The Warrior of Light." Not an actual name, but more than a title - at least, more than just a figurative title. Being on the wrong end of the flood of light that poured off that shield was one of the clearer memories, and how it hit like a freaking truck. But there was no resentment to go with the memory, just a certain faint, grudging respect.