Prelude

The air was stagnant and humid above the city of Tral, deep in the center of Creta's central district, the seat of the government. General Ashleigh Crichton pulled at his dull green uniform, trying in vain to remove the layer of sweat adhering it to his body. He continued to fiddle with his shirt and kept his gaze from falling on the gate of concrete and electrified wire before him. After a long minute, his com-link beeped, lighting up red on his watch. He pressed the answer key, and a raspy voice sounded from the communications device: "General, everyone else has arrived. We're ready to begin as soon as you get here. Are you just running behind schedule, or has something happened?"

"No, everything is fine, and my apologies for holding things up. I'm on my way in right now," Ashleigh replied as he reluctantly strode through the gate and into the innermost layer of the military base: the alchemic laboratory. The lab was an ugly, cylindrical building of steel, with the symbol of the Cretan Military State painted in bold colors above its single entrance. Ashleigh took the long way up to the top floor, using secondary staircases and twisting hallways instead of the elevator; any opportunity to aggravate the other ranking officers was an opportunity worth taking, especially in light of the project about to come to completion. Ashleigh still couldn't decide if he supported it fully, even though he had done most of it himself. Regardless of whether or not it was a good idea, the project was… fascinating, to put things mildly. And he would carry his work to completion, even if he was sure that it was a mistake. If things did not go according to plan, he could always put the blame on his subordinates, researchers and minor alchemists who had no clue what was really happening. Ashleigh grinned greedily. Yes, he had plenty of backup plans.

As he approached the top floor, he noticed stains of dirt, blood, and toxic solutions splattered on the floor, walls, and experimentation tables. Those would give him good excuse to scream at some low ranking officers later, an amusing way to spend an afternoon. He could look forward to that after the events of the morning were finished. First he would have to deal with the potentially dangerous result of this experiment and, worse still, the High General, or, as Ashleigh thought of him, the Dimwit-in-Chief of Creta. Finally, twenty minutes after entering the laboratory, Ashley pushed open the heavy iron door into the inner chamber of the top floor, and entered to the irritated stares of the other generals. High General Shiloue looked the most peeved, and he stepped briskly up to Ashleigh, wheezing, "What has taken you so long? I thought you were entering the building twenty minutes ago, and you are quite late."

His raspy voice was as annoying as ever. Ashleigh put on a confused expression and replied, "But, sir, its only 6:20. I'm early."

"You were supposed to be here at 6:00."

"What? Are you sure? The memo I received said that the time was set for 6:30," Ashleigh lied smugly. The poor fool is so easy to mess with. Unseating him won't be too difficult, especially after today. The High General opened his mouth to protest, but Ashleigh brushed passed him, casually dismissing his tardiness. "Well, now that we're all here, it makes no difference when I arrived." He turned to address the top alchemist serving under him, Major Borous. "Is the circle entirely prepared?"

Major Borous had a gruff, baritone voice, an unkempt beard, and bloodshot eyes, no doubt from drug use. Military officers were banned from using serious drugs, but those higher up the latter could get away with almost anything if they used enough influence and money. The major, no doubt only recently sober, jumped at having been addressed, but managed to sound somewhat respectable. "Yes, General. The circle and necessary elements are prepared exactly as you requested."

"Wonderful. Then there is no time to waste. Let's begin." Ashleigh walked up to transmutation circle drawn in the center of the room. Just as Major Borous had promised, a large arrangement of materials was set up in the center of the circle. A mass of pure carbon, tanks of oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen, and various other elements. The containers were all made of a different, necessary metal, so separate masses of metal would be unnecessary. The amounts of each substance had been calculated meticulously and measured and re-measured countless times. The cost of the project had been enormous, but the nation's taxpayers had unknowingly financed the entire thing. And the result of the project would only increase the state's absolute control over its people.

Ashleigh looked over the gathered materials in satisfaction. But… something was wrong. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the absence. He spoke slowly, his voice cold. "High General, the core is missing."

Shiloue strutted forward dramatically. "Ah, yes, I nearly forgot." He held his hand out to the side. "Bring me the philosopher's stone," he commanded, raspy voice more pompous than ever. A servant in a crimson suit came forward, seeming to dissolve into reality from the shadows along the side of the chamber, and brought a solid gold box to the High General. Slowly opening the box and drawing out its contents, the servant placed the glowing, red gem into Shiloue's waiting palm. Shiloue stood beside Ashleigh, before the circle, and, his raspy voice taking on a tone of grandeur, orated: "Today is a historic day. Today is a turning point in the history of our nation. Today, we change the course of history and politics. Our nation has been oppressed and victimized for centuries, at the hands of barbarians from the south and the dogs of Amestris, the bastard of all nations. We have been ground down, and trod into the dirt. But not today. Today, we rise above our enemies! Today, we tip the balance against the overwhelming odds that face us! Today, we create the weapon that will let us strike down all nations that oppose us and bend their people to our will! We will rise from the ashes of history and instate a new order over the entire region, emerging as the masters of the continent for all time! And it all begins today! General Crichton! Activate the circle!" As he finished the last sentence of the speech, he purposefully placed the philosopher's stone in the exact center of the circle.

Ashleigh, knowing better than to refuse to follow his cue, kneeled down and slammed his hands against the edge of the circle, palms down. The circle glowed slightly, an ominous, deep red glow, and then surged with bright energy, casting a blinding glare across the room. Ashleigh stumbled back, shielding his eyes. The elements within the circle began to loose their structure and swirl together, after a moment beginning to form a basic humanoid shape. Then the transmutation reached its peak, and the light released from the reaction was overwhelming, blocking all sight. Then, suddenly and violently, the energy was gone; in its wake was only the circle, drawn in chalk on the floor, and lying in the center of the circle, a person. An adolescent male, with pale skin, jet black hair, and a dark red mark on the back of his left hand. The mark was a dragon, curled around a six-pointed star. The oroboros. The Cretan officers gaped at the boy in wonder. It had worked. The experiment had worked. They had done it.

The boy's eyes shot open, revealing light red, inhuman irises. He sat up, marveling at the chamber, and at his own body. After long minutes of silence, he looked up the soldiers standing over him, and spoke. "What… who… who am I?"

The High General leaned down towards him and answered, a wide, manic grin spreading ominously across his face. "You are mine, homunculus."

Prologue

"You may kiss the bride," the minister declared, and Edward Elric, overcome with joy and disbelief, did so. He was shy at first, but Winry –now Winry Elric- returned his embrace, and his kiss, enthusiastically. The large crowd gathered in the open air pavilion cheered and applauded, and someone whistled. The noise of celebrating spread through the seemingly endless fields and scattered rural community of Resembool, filling the minds of everyone present. The sky was a perfect blue, interrupted only by thin, scattered clouds, barely noticeable. The cool breeze of the fading but not absent spring took the edge out the summer's heat. The morning was faultless, and none of the worries of everyday life mattered. Not to Ed and Winry, at any rate. They were absorbed in each other, in being together, finally. The rest of the world could wait.

The wedding guests certainly formed an odd group, appearing out of place together, and even more out of place in the simple, tranquil atmosphere of the town, yet they were ease, as if somehow this strange assortment of people were all old friends. Of course, they were old friends. Among them were an emperor, a prime minister, two of the High Generals of Amestris and several lower ranking officers, a pardoned criminal, a small number of individuals who were not completely human, and a researcher. Out of all of these people, only the researcher had doubts and worries knawing at the back of his mind, distracting him, despite the fact that he was the groom's brother.

Alphonse Elric stood and applauded with the others as the new couple embraced, but after a few minutes the itch returned. Al's smile faded as he rolled up his sleeve and glanced at the ugly scar on his arm, an ominous smear of red and sickly pale, infected blue. Time is running out, he thought, the doubt and fear creeping back out of his subconscious. I can't ignore this for much longer. I have to do something. General Roy Mustang nudged Al, startling him. "Al? Everything ok?" Mustang murmured.

Al covered up the scar nervously and nodded, slapping a pleasant smile back onto his face. "Yep! I'm great!" He pushed the fear from his mind, rejoining the celebration.

Ed and Winry dominated the dance floor, while the band played in the fast-paced style typical in the south. Mustang danced on the side with Risa Hawkeye, not quite concerned with keeping up with the music. Al watched the dancing for an hour or so, then excused himself and retreated to the edge of the pavilion. The emperor of Xing was waiting for him, flanked by his bodyguard. "Thanks for waiting," Al said. "I didn't want to seem rude."

Ling smiled, relaxed. "No worries. What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"

"I ran into some trouble when I went farther east." Al revealed the wound on his arm. "Do you recognize this?"

Ling frowned. "You should have come to me sooner, Al. You never told you had a run in with bandits."

Al hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I couldn't risk the military finding out. Any military, or any government for that matter. I need your help as a friend, not a ruler."

Ling nodded. "I understand. We should head somewhere more private."

They slipped away just as the forth round of drinks was being distributed. General Armstrong was on her ninth and was dead sober. Her brother had his shirt off. Al led Ling and his bodyguard to the train station, which was nearly empty. Ling wasted no time. "Let me see your arm again." Al rolled up his sleeve again. "From the looks of it you got this about three months ago." Al nodded. "That gives you two months until the limb starts to go dead. A week after that the infection will start to spread to other parts of your body. Al, what the hell were you doing beyond the Dead River?"

"Nothing. My caravan was attacked on the road," Al explained, not meeting his friends gaze.

Ling gave him a stern look. "Al, the terrorists don't waste kori on simple travelers." He grabbed Al by the shoulder. "What were you doing in that desert?"

Al shrugged him off and turned away. "Nothing! Nothing important."

"I'm not going to tell you what to do, but I can't help you if you don't tell me what's happening."

Al turned back. "Is there a known cure? Anything?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.

Ling shook his head sadly. "No. If we had developed a cure, I would have rooted out the fanatics years ago. The kori poison is the only reason that terrorist cells have survived in my boarders this long. It's infuriating! I'm the emperor, but because of a few plants that produce a deadly sap, I'm powerless to stop these deluded worms within my own country!" The young emperor sighed, and Alphonse could see the weight of power on Ling's shoulders. "Look, Al, if there's anything I can do to help you with the infection, I'll do it. And if you change your mind about taking this on by yourself… You can always come talk to me. Remember that."

Al placed a hand on the emperor's shoulder. "Thanks. I'll keep it in mind. Come on, let's get back to the party."

He turned to walk away, but two throwing knives shot through the air and sliced into the folds of his shirt before embedding themselves in the wall of the station, pinning him against the bricks. The emperor's bodyguard had a dagger out in less than a second, and Ling tensed. "Hi there, May," Al said, rolling his eyes.

May dropped silently from a nearby tree, her delicately braided hair blowing slightly in the breeze. She was a teenager now, and her elegant dress robes fit tightly around her form. She's grown up to be quite attractive, Al thought. He also suspected that she still had a crush on him, though her ways of showing it had grown much more dangerous. She was very good with knives. "Look who's sulking around in the dark, as always," she said cheerfully.

"It's good to see you too," Al said, chuckling. May always managed to lighten the mood somehow.

May bowed mockingly to Ling. "Greetings, Your Majesty." Ling muttered a distracted hello, but May had already turned back to Al, pulling her knives from the wall. "Come on! They started slow-dancing!" she insisted, dragging Al back to the party by his torn shirt.

Ling watched them go, frowning. His bodyguard stood beside him, her face obscured by the ceremonial mask she wore. "What do you think he's in trouble with the terrorists for?"

Ling shook his head thoughtfully. "I'm not sure, but I wish he wasn't so stubborn. He's too much like his brother to ask for help when he needs it."

"At this rate, he's going to get himself killed."

"I know. And there isn't anything we can do to help him."

Chapter 1

The soldier was growing angry. His blue uniform was badly stained and his rifle was caked in grime, but he apparently had enough dignity to feel defensive when some teenager mocked him in front of his comrades. Of course, this particular teenager was having a grand time provoking the border guards, and he didn't intend to stop now.

"Really? You guys are serious? Come on, I don't need a passport," the boy said defiantly, scratching his tangled brown hair. "I mean, it's not like I'm leaving the country or anything."

The soldier sighed in frustration and motioned for another guard. One of the soldiers lounging at the card table in the far corner of the train station groaned and walked over to them, submachine gun in hand. "What is it this time? Accusing another kid of being a spy?" she asked. She shook her head sadly. "Or do you actually have a reason for calling me over here? Your shift just started, for god's sake! Can't you handle something this simple on your own? Just check their passports and wave them through."

The first soldier was blushing so hard that the boy—Darron—was almost afraid his head would explode. He couldn't hold in the laughter any longer and hid it under a cough while he regained his composure. It's way too easy to push these people's buttons, he thought smugly. I should know better than to waste time like this, but… The red-faced soldier pointed right in Darron's face. "I'm not a moron, Kara! This idiot keeps refusing to show me his passport!"

"We are not on a first name basis, Private," the woman replied curtly.

Somehow the soldier's face turned an even deeper shade of red. Darron was actually a bit impressed. "My apologies, Sergeant. It won't happen again."

The Sergeant looked at Darron for the first time. "Ok, kid, let's see it. Show us your passport."

Darron looked at the ground, shuffling his feet. I should have been an actor. "Well, uh… I don't have it with me."

"You don't, huh?" The Sergeant switched the safety on her rifle off. "Then you should go home and get it. You can't board the train without it."

"Come on, I'm a native Amestrian! Can't you just let me through?"

Sergeant Kara looked Darron up and down suspiciously. "No, we can not 'just let you through' unless we see your papers. Go get your passport. There's another train west to the Table City in four hours."

"But if I wait four hours I'll be late! My family will be worried sick. My mom is going to be pissed!" Darron held out his hands pleadingly. "You have to let me through."

"Leave this station immediately, or I'll drag you to the police. They have more experience with delinquents," Sergeant Kara said humorlessly.

Darron dropped the annoying-teen body language. "What if I ordered you to let me on the train?"

The Sergeant glared at him threateningly. "I'm ordering you to leave! Vacate the premises immediately. This is your final warning."

A wide grin washed over Darron's face. "Since when do you have the right to give me orders?" He pulled out a silver pocket watch and held it up for them to see. Sunlight glinted off of the symbol carved into it's metal surface, the insignia of the Amestiran military.

The two blue-clad soldiers snapped to attention, hands raised in salute. "Please forgive our Insubordination, sir! We did not realize that you are a state alchemist!"

"Don't worry," Darron chuckled, putting away the pocket watch and sauntering past them, "I won't mention this in my report, as long as you call Southern Headquarters and tell them I'm heading west." He waved at them over his shoulder, listening to them whisper about him.

"That must be him—the new state alchemist, the second ever admitted before the required age. Darron Bradoc, the Blue Fist Alchemist!"

"That idiot's the kid everyone's calling the next Edward Elric'? How did they even admit that little—".

"He did singlehandedly put down the insurrection in Gearth."

"Oh, come on, I don't buy that shit. It's just propaganda. Besides, that 'insurrection' was a tiny terrorist group with secondhand weapons from Aerugo."

"Still, for someone his age to stop an organized terrorist group…"

Darron boarded the train with a smug smile.

The Ynouish alchemist wore a hooded cloak covered in colorful yellow, red, and orange patterns and pulled the hood back as Alphonse approached the small, shabby hut on the river bank. Alphonse had seen similar patterns on rugs and clothing imported from Ynou. The scientist invited him to join him on the porch, gesturing to a rocking chair near the one in which he was sitting. The view from the ramshackle deck was phenomenal; Al could see the course of the beautiful Korru River for miles in both directions. Al kept the silence respectfully, as was customary for guests in this part of the Far East. His host would begin the conversation when he felt ready.

Finally, the easterner addressed him, his voice carrying the sing-song accent typical to the Ynou countryside. "You've come a long way, Mr. Elric."

Al knew that the question was loaded. The implied question was: What did you need my help for that you would be desperate enough to travel so far from Amestris? He considered his reply carefully. "Distance is irrelevant when one is seeking the truth."

"Indeed. I would advise caution, as not all truths are enlightening. But you know this, don't you, Mr. Elric?" The alchemist looked at Al intensely with his piercing brown eyes. "One would think that after facing truths as dangerous as the Philosopher's Stone, you would be wary of the hidden truths."

Al returned the man's look, trying to show his determination. "I have moved forward warily, but the time for caution is over. I must have the answers I seek."

"Very well," the Ynouish man murmured. "What brings you to my home out here in the wilderness?"

"I've heard tell of your vast knowledge of many types of alchemy, from that of my home country to the alkahestry of Xing."

"Yes, yes, I'm a master and you expect me to solve all of your problems, I know the story, young foreigner. Please, just tell me your problem." The Ynouish man waved his hands impatiently.

Al hesitated for a long time, and the master waited respectfully. The people of Ynou have long been very mindful of silences, and Al knew that if he took his time, easterners would honor it. "What if… Imagine a theoretical substance which could not be transmuted and did not resemble any known element or compound. How might this be explained? What should be done with said substance?"

The easterner gazed sharply at Al. "I cannot answer the first of your questions, but I will gladly answer the second. You should dispose of the substance and get as far from it as possible. Destroy it if you can. Things that respond to no circles whatsoever are bad, unholy things, Mr. Elric, and you would do well not to meddle with them."

Al nodded and let another silence build for a while before asking his next question. "Is it possible to remove poison or infection with alchemy, even a dangerous, deadly poison?"

"Yes, it is possible, but the transmutation required is maddeningly difficult. Even I do not know techniques for that advanced a healing." The alchemist stroked his chin. "However, I have heard references to healing alchemy of that caliber in very old texts. I believe that the specific brand of alchemy involved is from Taub."

That caught Al by surprise. "Taub? As in, the island conquered by Creta off the coast of Aerugo?"

The man nodded and then silently went inside, shutting the door behind him. Al could tell that it was time to depart, and he pulled up the hood of his red cloak, setting back out into the desert and leaving the rickety shack behind.

7