7 April 1975
Harold DeWitt knew from the time he was three years old that he was destined to be a reporter. His mother used to tell the story that when he was old enough to really understand words and what they meant, he heard his father talking about the Eastern Herald. He had demanded to know what the Eastern Herald was, and his father had told him that it was a newspaper. Upon asking what a newspaper was, he answered that it was something that people read when they wanted to know what was happening in the world.
Then Harold had demanded to know why they had named a newspaper after him.
Everyone in the family would roar with laughter when that story was retold and Harold would grin and smile good naturedly, all the while desire curled in his chest.
As much as his family might treat it like a joke or an old story, he wanted it desperately.
Not necessarily a newspaper named after him, but what he wanted above all was to be one of the greatest reporters of all times. The kind that would search to discover the truth and uncover the hardest hitting stories. The kind that would change the world.
Unfortunately, his boss didn't exactly see that in him.
It had taken quite a bit to convince him to give him this lead. Yes, there were a lot of other reporters who had more experience than him, but he was destined to discover something as momentous as this!
The Last Empress.
There was so little known about her. Despite the fact that she lived in such a recent age, only forty-five years ago, information about her or her life was about as rare as rain in the Xerses ruins.
Anyone and everyone with information about her went missing, died, or refused to talk. Most of the historical records recording her ascension, her rule, or her displacement had been destroyed in a giant cover up. And even if there was anyone in Xing who knew anything about her, they would certainly never talk to an Amestrian like him.
Especially not about her.
It was only by a miracle that Harold had learned about the lead at all.
He had been walking by his boss's office when he heard him discussing it with one of the senior reporters. He had… he would admit it, eavesdropped, and would do it a hundred times over to have heard it.
They had discovered someone still alive, alive and living in Amestris that might have information about her. Quite a bit of information, if their sources weren't mistaken.
He had barged into the office right then and demanded to be the one to track the lead down.
His boss had been outraged and threatened to have him fired on the spot for having eavesdropped, but Harold had stood tall and told his boss that if he wasn't given the story, he would track down the source himself and sell the story to another newspaper.
The man couldn't say no.
Which was what had led him here.
It had taken a bit of digging to figure out where to find the source, but through a quite impressive if you asked him series of document searching, he found an address in a small town in the East called Resembool.
He frowned slightly when he saw the house, but shrugged and marched up to the front door and knocked on it.
He had to wait a few minutes before the door was opened.
Standing in the doorway was an older man. He stood rather tall for someone of his age, easily six foot or taller and hardly stooped at all. His hair was completely grey, but his eyes were a startling color of gold. His face was soft and warm, and the most prominent wrinkles on his face were around his eyes and mouth from smiling.
"Hello?"
"Hello. Are you Alphonse Elric?"
"I am."
"Hello. My name is Harold DeWitt. I'm a reporter for the Central Times." The man in front of him blinked.
"Oh? And what are you doing asking for me? I haven't done anything interesting in a long, long time."
Harold smiled. The man seemed very friendly.
"I beg to differ, sir. You're alchemic theories are renowned! I just want your time for a few minutes to talk about them—"
"I haven't come up with an alchemic theory in thirteen years; it's hardly something to send a reporter over now. Especially the Central Times, which hasn't cared about alchemic discoveries since Fuhrer Mustang first became the Flame Alchemist and threatened to torch any reporters who tried to get ahold of his secret. Why don't you tell me why you're really here, son." The man didn't seem angry or annoyed, instead his eyes twinkled in amusement. Harold had to admit to be impressed. This old man certainly still had his wits about him.
"I… I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to… offend you."
"It's fine, Harold. But you're going to have to use better tricks than that to get my secrets from me." Elric winked and smiled good-naturedly before inviting him into the house. Harold smiled and nodded, entering the home.
It was neatly kept. Very warm and inviting, like the man's demeanor. There was light pouring in from the windows. The furniture was all solid, but worn, as if it carried many memories.
"Do you drink tea, Harold?" he asked, back still turned. "Or are you a part of this younger generation that seems to have coffee instead of blood?"
Harold laughed. It was very easy around this man. "Tea is fine, sir."
"Very well then, I'll just serve that up real quick. Take a seat in the parlor. It'll be ready in a jiffy."
Harold nodded, doing as Elric had told him. He took a seat in one of the low Xingese styled cushions around a coffee table in the middle of the room. There were a couple of large photo albums sitting on the tables that he picked up and started flipping through.
The first few pages of the first book he picked up were full of pictures of two blond boys. Sometimes they were accompanied by an older brunet woman who was probably their mother, sometimes by a blond girl. There was even a couple with what looked like… a shriveled old hag with a pipe.
Then the pictures began to change. There was still one of the blond boys, but instead of being accompanied by his brother, he was now accompanied by a large suit of armor. Some of the pictures included men in military blues. Harold was even shocked to recognize one of the men in one of the pictures as the former Fuhrer Mustang.
Just as suddenly as the suit of armor appeared, it disappeared. In its place was a teenage boy that resembled a skeleton. The first few pictures with him in it he had long blond hair, but a few pictures later it had been cut short. The next few pages of pictures documented the skeleton boy gaining more weight and strength, before eventually looking like a younger version of the man who was in the other room preparing tea.
"Terribly interesting, isn't it?"
Harold jumped slightly.
"Excuse me, sir?" he asked, turning around with the album still in his hands.
"It's terribly interesting. Isn't it? Watching a young lad like that," Elric gestured at the pictures with a cup of tea, "turn into an old decrepit man like me."
"You're not that old, sir."
"I'm a bag of old bones. Not even alkahestry can stop the aching. It's a part of life, son. Growing old is another adventure that'll only end when a child survives by eating the food that was grown using whatever nutrients these bones can give it."
"That's very… deep, sir."
"Why thank you." He settled down on the couch and then handed Harold his cup of tea. "I hope you like jasmine."
They sat there in silence, drinking slowly as to not burn their tongues.
It was eventually Elric that broke the silence, putting his cup and it's saucer down on the coffee table.
"Now, what did you really come here to ask me about?"
Harold followed his example, and put his own cup on the table, before pulling out a notepad and pencil. His heart started pounding in his chest. This was it.
"How long did you serve as Ambassador to Xing?"
Elric blinked before frowning slightly and rubbing his chin. "Let's see, I started little less than a year after the end of the Great War, so it was fifteen years."
"You quit shortly before the death of the first President, yes?"
Elric snorted. "What a disaster that was." Harold decided not to comment.
"So you were Ambassador during the Last Empress's rule, correct?"
"Yes, yes I was."
"How much do you know about her?"
"You're going to have to be more specific than that, son," Elric said, picking up his tea cup again and staring into it. "I suppose I could tell you a lot of things about the Empress, but none of it might be anything you're interested in hearing. She would always have her tea at 2:00 whether that was in the middle of the court session or a meeting with important dignitaries. Always on the dot." He took a swig of tea, swallowed, then smiled at Harold over the rim of his cup. "But that's hardly the information you're interested, am I right?"
"Well… yes, you are right Mr. Elric. You see, we have such few records about her time on the throne. We really know next to nothing about her other than the fact that her rule led to the fall of Imperial Xing."
"So do you want me to describe her policies? The moves she made? I was there for most of it."
"Would you actually mind telling me how close you were to the Empress? There are very few people alive who know anything about her… it might be a long shot, but were you particularly close at all? In any occasions?"
"You have to understand, young man, that the Empress was rather shut off. She always felt like her position was in danger, for good reasons mind you, and let very, very few people into her close circle of friend or advisors."
"Oh…" Harold could feel his reporter career slipping out of reach. No! No!
The man shifted, before leaning forward with a twinkling in his eyes.
"It just so happens, that I was one of those few." Harold's eyes widened and his heart began to race.
"You were?"
"I was. I can honestly say that I was one of the Empress's closest friends. I visited her in prison before she died."
"Actually, I was hoping that you might be able to give me some more information about that—"
"Al?"
The old man lifted his head as Harold heard some noises from the kitchen.
"Al? Do we have company over— Oh. Oh, hello." An old woman that looked to be the same age as Mr. Elric entered the room. She was short, even for an old woman, and her long hair was still mostly black, but slightly peppered with streaks of grey. Even if Harold couldn't tell from her obvious features, her clothing gave her away as Xingese.
"Hello."
"Al, who's this?"
"This is Harold DeWitt. He's a reporter from Central Times. He's asking questions about the Last Empress." Harold glanced back at the man, whose eyes were twinkling again. The woman nodded, before sitting down next to Elric, who could only be her husband.
"Well you've come to the right place to hear about her. My husband loves sharing his stories about her. Sometimes I start thinking that I should be jealous of the way he almost seemed to worship her. Though, most people did until the Rebellion." Elric chuckled and pressed his face against the side of hers.
"Well to be fair, my dear, if it wasn't for her, we never would have gotten together." The woman rolled her eyes and shoved him slightly with her shoulder, only causing Elric to chuckle even more.
"This is… Mrs. Elric?"
"Yes," the woman said, holding out a hand for him to shake.
"Were you two married before the Fall of the Empire?"
"No, actually. We fell in love while Al was serving as an Ambassador. He left a few months before the Fall and could only get sanction to come back once the first President had been elected and Xing regained some stability. Then he smuggled me out of Xing and brought me here where we got married."
"Oh…"
"And before you get any ideas about turning us in, young man, it's not illegal to bring your girlfriend into your country if you get the leader of said country to personally approve her entrance and arrange the paperwork himself."
"Ah… well, if we still have time after this interview I'd be fascinated to hear your story further." The offer actually was genuine. It seemed like a fascinating story. While Harold's true interest was in journalism, perhaps he could even get a book written. If he published it as a novel based on a true story… there was a whole market popping up for those, he could make a fortune. "However I am here for the Last Empress…"
"Of course. What do you want to know?" A shiver on anticipation coursed through Harold's whole body. His voice was breathless when it came out.
"Anything and everything."
"Hmm. Anything and everything huh… let's see, I think I'll start at the beginning."
15 May 1915
"The Philosopher's Stone. Where is it?"
The small Xingese girl held out her arms, both to balance herself and make sure that no one else started talking and broke her concentration.
There.
She immediately ran for the small vial of red liquid, skidding on her knees to reach it. Her hand closed around the vial, and she thrust it into a pocket of her sash, not even checking to stare at it. She could feel the unnatural qi. She knew that this was legitimate. This was a Philosopher's Stone.
And she had it.
Then she was looking down at the scuffed shoes of King Bradely.