It was dark.
The sun had set, and the moon was nowhere to be seen. It was still spring and cold at night, so Edward and Alphonse Elric gathered some dry wood and made a bonfire.
It was with some reluctance that Ed lit it, shifting branches and adding dried twigs as it caught, blackened and curled the bark. They often had to build a fire when traveling, of course, but it usually heralded a long and quiet night for the two of them.
It was spring and not fall; they were no longer children; they were in a land far away from where they were born and raised. And yet, raw flames against the black night would always be to the Elric brothers a sharp reminder of October the 3rd.
Bright sparks on the wind, the heavy smell of smoke, the scream of twisting wooden beams, the searing heat as their life, as they had known it, burned to the ground.
As Al sat beside the fire, as he was now, the firelight glinted off the hard, cold metal, cast shadows over the sharp angles of the suit of armor. It obscured the light in his eyes, and made the metal seem dead and uninhabited. Seeing it that way always reminded Edward of another night, a night of blood and terror. The night he saw the light flicker and gleam off of the metal as he activated the circle and reached into hell to pull back his brother's soul. But that memory was Edward's burden alone, and he would not speak of it to Al.
Edward looked from his brother's form back to the fire, which was now full and bright. Alphonse had told him once that though October the 3rd would never fade, the light of flame held another meaning for him, as well. It was the light that their mother, and later Winry, had shined from the window, the light of the lamp Edward and Alphonse hid under blankets to talk and read late into the night. It was the light of the candles on the Hughes' dinner table. And as long as it was that, Al had said, he could not hate it.
Edward understood, for he also could not hate it; to Ed, however, fire was a different light. It was the fire in the dark eyes of the man who had pulled him from the depths of blackness. It was the flame that soared from his fingertips. It was the blaze the man had struck in Edward himself with his eyes and his words, pushing him forward, driving him on.
As long as that flame burned, the darkness could not consume him.
"Al," Edward said, breaking the silence. "Early start tomorrow. Let's get some sleep."
"Mmm," Al agreed, but made no pretense of lying down as Ed curled up beside him. Edward watched the flames dance until his eyes were heavy and fell shut, lulled at last to sleep by the crackle of wood and the drone of crickets.
The fire burned on.