Blue Hour

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or its characters. They belong to Hiromu Arakawa and the respective companies, and I do not own Bluebird's Illusion. I am grateful to be able to create Blue Hour from this beautiful concept.

This is just a summer holiday venture, so I thought. Blue Hour has been in my head for months and eventually I began to scribble the ideas down. Here is where it leads, and there shall be more coming soon. Pride and the others want the spotlight now, and with that, I hope you enjoy.

Edited 01/09/16

Prologue:

He was trapped in the dark, a darkness so perpetual that he thought he would never see the sun rise again.

He had been chasing a Homunculus. But Envy had outsmarted him. He had been captured and chained like the weak ass he was.

Edward Elric was bleeding profusely from his head. It felt like a waterfall was pouring out of his skull every damn second. It hurt. His automail arm was wrecked, and his leg was faring little better. If those limbs had been flesh, the horrible way in how the Homunculus had contorted them made Ed certain that his arm and leg, had they not been made of metal, would have been severely broken. He gazed up at the windowless ceiling, the lair of the Homunculi, which was riddled with the scent of death and shadow. It was driving his mind insane. He couldn't sit here and wait because the longer he was here, the closer Al would come to finding him.

And what they would then do to his little brother…

He wouldn't allow that. He would have to escape on his own accord and find Al before Al could find him. His brother being alive and well was his only hope and one of the fuels for his willpower which prevented Ed from surrendering.

He had been left alone for a while now. Ed suspected that an hour had passed since Envy had deposited him here.

"Catch ya later, pipsqueak! I still have some dirty work to finish!" And then the Homunculus had swaggered off into the curtain of darkness which wreathed around this place like a disease. Ed had collapsed and fell unconscious from the lack of blood being delivered to his brain.

He had come to what felt like five minutes ago. Ed was only guessing that an hour had passed. He sure as hell hoped that he hadn't been unconscious for more than a day…Envy could have definitely captured Al by then.

Shut up, dumbass! Give Al a little more credit. The alchemist had to prioritise escaping over worrying. However, Ed couldn't see more than a metre in front of him and couldn't assess the damage of his body; he could only feel a torrent of blood splashing from his head, he could only feel the crumbling remains of his automail arm as he attempted to move a finger. It was like lifting a block of iron.

With spots of his vision flashing white from the indescribable pain, Ed shifted his torso. His chest burst into imaginary flame inside, as though his insides were brewing a riot against his brain. A couple of broken ribs at least. He just hoped there wasn't any internal bleeding. But Envy had beaten him up pretty severely for him to be captured; Ed wouldn't have surrendered without a fight.

Biting his tongue, Ed mustered his remnants of willpower to rise to his feet. His vision swayed into and out of focus as though he was on a carousel ride going in never-ending circles. His legs threatened to buckle, and his automail was feather weight and almost lifeless, but it was holding. Good enough. Ed injected every ounce of energy into commanding his feet to take a step forwards. The nerves were sluggish as if held up in traffic and the impulses took what felt like years to reach his leg. He winced. Of course it would bloody hurt.

Bend the automail, bend the muscle. Transition my weight forward. Judge the distance and position. Place feet back in the ground. Don't fall over.

For Truth's sake don't fall over.

Don't fall over…

He crashed to the floor before he could balance himself. Automail clattered with the ground creating a screeching resonance. How could he keep going? How could he move forward? He couldn't even move one step…

"We can't give up now, Brother." Al's voice. He would be alright. Roy and the others would take care of him.

"I never thought I would actually appreciate how much beauty the world has at this moment…I believe that I am in love with this view, Fullmetal." That was when he had shared the perfection of the Blue Hour with Roy. It had been a beautiful night…

He wanted to hear Al's voice again. He wanted to watch Resembool's sunset with Roy again. He wanted to so badly!

"Brother?" The voice quivered in the thin air like dust. It was a sound Ed didn't want to fade into silence, a sound that would simply fade into the recess of his memory. He wanted that voice to be real. "Brother…where are you?"

Ed clasped a hand over his head. That voice was a mask of disguise. Envy was disguised as Al and then Ed would believe he would be murdered in cold blood by his own brother. Ed wouldn't succumb to that devil's plans so easily.

"Fullmetal? Stop fooling us around," another voice whispered. Roy. Ed's heart raced. First Al. Then him. The bastard he had fallen in…

"Ed!" Al's voice burst with excitement like the voice in Ed's memory of a golden-haired boy beating his brother in a sparring match. A voice that sounded so similar to Al's…But it wasn't Al. Envy would keep trying to fool Ed like the fool the Homunculus was.

"You're alive, little flea," a snarky and fond tone from Mustang at the same time. This was torture, Ed thought. Envy was really trying to torture Ed.

There was the faint pad of footsteps in the distance, as quiet as drizzled rain falling; one could almost feel it, but then again, it was so quiet it might not have existed. That was how Ed felt about hope. He couldn't risk feeling the false hope of his brother and the bastard finding him. The blood was no longer pounding in Ed's head; white spots weren't dotted in his line of sight any more. And there was now the chance to think…

Envy disguised as Roy called me a "little flea"! Who does he think I am being as short as a microscopic flea that can't even…But…

But Envy always called Ed "pipsqueak". Only ever that. So…

They were really here.

Al. Roy.

They had come.

"Ed!" Al flung into Ed's arms before Ed could draw in his next breath. Warmth flooded through Ed, not only from Al's flesh body, but from the relief Ed could feel radiating from Al's soul. Tears gushed down Al's face – Ed didn't have to look, he knew – and he wiped them away as gently as dandelion seeds flying in the breeze.

"I'm here, Al. You've got to be strong. The Elric brothers haven't completed their mission yet," Ed murmured rising shakily to his feet.

"'Their' mission, Brother. Not yours alone."

"Fullmetal. I'm glad you're alive," Roy decided he would add. Of course the gallant hero would have to make his appearance known.

"You're just glad I've shortened your paperwork pile by an arm's length, you bastard," Ed growled. "After all, my death would have been slightly problematic for your future career promotions."

"Where is that sweet soul who watched the sunset with me in Resembool?" Roy chided, grinning while shrugging his shoulders innocently.

"Don't throw that at me!" Ed turned abruptly away from Mustang and started to limp towards the spot that both his brother and commanding officer had emerged from.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," another voice added to the commotion. Envy emerged from the distance like a product of darkness, his black hair a silhouette entwined with shadow. He smiled, his teeth widening into a demonic grin. And to that he snapped his fingers, and illuminating, artificial lights flickered on from out of nowhere. Ed's head suddenly started spinning; nausea clutched his insides.

There were in a carnivorous room which threatened to swallow them whole. Ed blinked furiously as his eyesight adjusted from the gloom to the deathly brightness, which was more terrifying than the darkness. Because now the shadows were revealing their secrets. In the centre of the room was a throne laid out on a stone dais. And upon the throne sat a golden-haired man who resembled Ed's father strikingly. However, Ed knew that the man on the throne couldn't be Hohenheim; even his bastard of a father had some human emotion etched into his features. This man wore a blank expression on his face, as though he considered humankind's existence to be irrelevant to the world.

Al tensed beside him. Roy's fingers folded around the fabric of his gloves. Ed tried to focus…but his vision swayed…blood…he had lost far too much blood.

How could he fight to protect these two people?

Envy lunged. Head pounded into the floor. Al transmuting…or something…vision blotchy. Can't lose consciousness. Al shouting something… "run"…

A scream. Couldn't hear anything. Saw Al thud on the floor. Crimson red spilling from Al's delicate body. Rushed forward…must protect Al. Roy moving to stand guard…back turned away…couldn't see his face…

Couldn't see his face as life was ripped away from him…slurred…mind too slurred… couldn't do anything…

COULDN'T DO ANYTHING!

Pain. Not on the outside.

"Bring him to me, Envy…I could make use of you, alchemist. You shall do well in your next life as my Pride."

No…no…no…

They didn't… They couldn't be.

Tears…wet face…indescribable, surmounting pain…vision failing…

No...

Not the ones I love.

Chapter 1: Pride

A dream, or a place inbetween.

He was alone.

A young boy caressed in sunlight waltzed over the dappled pastures back to his home, smiling and laughing merrily all of the way. Away he went with a black and white dog at his heels and a blue-eyed girl who stumbled a few steps behind. She glimpsed around for a moment as the sunlight became swathed in grey from the looming clouds. A hand reached out for them, strengthening into existence by being carved like a silhouette out of shadow as if he could return to that moment. The children stopped, and turned, perplexed, as he was rendered immobile. And suddenly, they continued along their way. So close…so close to the field of dancing daisies…but he was being pulled away from the memory of the times he could never regain…

"Pride. My son."

I had awoken from such a realistic dream. There had been colour and light in that dream.

Yet here... yellow, disinterested eyes locked with mine for an instant before they shrugged off and glanced into some unknown horizon. Father. He was seated upon a dais while I was bound by chains below. Above my head, in the corner of my vision, I saw an open pool of a lava-like substance swinging from its container, before chains began to pull, clinking in the distance; the object then started retreating into the shadows.

My body was pressed against a slab, the chains bound tightly to my hands, feet, neck and waist. r to the crimson marks swirling upon my skin, molten embers subduing to form a pattern of tattoos. I trembled once, but all was in vain; it was a futile attempt to escape. There was no point struggling - I was bound, and there was no way in which I could free myself.

The chains were corded tight against my throat, constricting my ability to speak, although there was no purpose in protesting. After all, I lived to serve my Father. The truth behind my appearance in this life. Even though I knew this, these chains were tightly pressed against me, as if I had struggled already. My skin was sore - with angry blotches of red shining from it.

I raised my head towards my Father, who bore only the indifferent complexion that he wore. The being I was unquestioningly drawn into obeying, down to my core. He waved a hand in the air as the chains about my throat clattered to the ground; they had disintegrated into dust.

Collapsing heavily to the ground, the brandishes of agony marked to my skin made me wince, although I was unsure if this was "agony". Some of the red marks were tattooed onto my skin like spirals.

It was like eyes were watching me from around the chamber as I rose shakily to my feet. I bit my lip. In truth, experiencing reality in my own body was a new sensation for me; I had only ever existed as a fragment of Father. In truth... I had never had a body of my own. I had waited so long for a vessel for my soul, a body which I could call my own; another few years would have made so difference to me. But I was here now, the last extraction of Father, and by far his most powerful asset.

Suddenly, nerve sparks shot down my back as an unsympathetic hand slapped my shoulder while I pivoted around so I could look up to my older sibling. I could sense the eminence pouring from his being. The Ouroboros tattoo was the first feature I could clearly see emblazoned upon his thigh - it stood out like a bright light - and he radiated a cruel authority. This individual, dark mass of hair unfurling across his back, laughed at me.

My sibling extended a hand to help me rise fully from the slab. As seconds crawled by, I accepted his help reluctantly until I was competent enough to stand upon my own two feet. I was being made a fool. As I straightened out and flexed my muscles, rearing up to my full height, my head barely reached his neck, and this stretching causing numerous muscles in my back to twinge. I would not be made a fool.

However, there was respect wavering from me and I had gained enough height to gaze at the jealousy being emitted from my sibling. He was dressed in a black garment, a three-point headband resting on his forehead, illuminating his eyes. Purple, velvet-brimmed eyes flaring only with the dominance over his newly-born sibling and the jealousy restricted to the antics of humans; those were eyes burning with Envy which was his sin. I knew.

Envy pouted with his head tilted downwards. The faintest emotion of sympathy stirred in his gaze. I looked between him shrugging and Father paused like a tableau on his throne, wondering how portions of the same soul could be so different.

Inside, I started to shake, and this trembling sensation was spreading along one of my arms, one of my legs, my abdomen. Suddenly my vision flashed black and I was skimming rapidly in and out of focus, like a pebble glossing over water. I was blind one moment, and then not. I tried to control my body, which protested mightily.

I heard Envy, by some undiscovered rapport of sharing Father's one soul that was split with me, understood. He clasped at my shoulder to which he growled, staring at our Father, still seated upon the dais, with a discerned expression worn above his scowl.

"Hey, Father! Think about what his body has endured for the past hour! Transmute him something, will ya?" Envy waved to guide our creator's attention from the book firmly implanted in his hands. Seconds passed…but Father's attention waned as he focused back into the reality plane, some emotion stirred in his frame as he tapped his finger once upon the throne. Crackles of blue energy sparked around me and I fixed my eyes shut at the bright light, another human instinct that had dawned upon me.

This process was entirely new to me, but it was the magic of alchemy. The sound of rocks distorting and reconstructing echoed in the hollow chamber that my Father and siblings lived beneath, but despite this being "home", I refused to open my eyes, as if I never wanted to bear witness to the divine transmutations that delved into the world of alchemy. I knew about light and dark, lies and truth, virtue and sin, although I had yet to experience the tantalising prospect of this world in a body of my own. And I owed it all to my Father.

"Come on, you softy! Look at what Father created for you," Envy said sarcastically, and then added while muttering sternly to himself. "Being the youngest and he has to receive a far more pleasant welcome than I did…"

While my eyes were closed, I could hear the pumping of a liquid inside of my chest, and then the sound expanded to the pipes along the wall of the lair, the only room I had viewed with my eyes. There had been a mirage and flicker of images of Xerxes, a land of golden sand; Xing, the land of shadows; the daunting view of the world from the white-capped mountain range of Drachma; the sporadic travels above the earth through Father's eyes, but they had primarily been made in the underground, the centre of the universe, or the circle. Home. The images were distorted in my mind, like an oasis and lacked the clarity of seeing them with my own eyes, not being fragments of information from Father. Never though through my own eyes.

I had dared not displease him. I had been awaiting this day since that great unrest and shuffling of souls when the first of the seven had been extracted. The first Homunculus had been Lust, representing Father's ever increasing the thirst and lust for knowledge. And then a brother of mine had been extracted two centuries ago, possessing the desire of Greed, which caused a cataclysmic stirring in Father's core as he rebelled against Father, as he had ventured beyond the realm of the lair which had angered the tidal depths of souls within Father. Then Envy...Sloth...Gluttony...Wrath...Pride...

And here I was, the portion of a soul powered by multiple thousands of souls now belonging to me. Until my extraction, Father had still pondered on the workings of the world with a lingering curiosity he was unwilling to impart on, but these had to be removed, and now they resided in me. Then I had awoken and I was bestowed the gift of a body I was unacquainted with, which had made me oblivious and doubtful to what these emotions were. But nevertheless...they were a gift.

"Pipsqueak. Open your eyes!" my sibling called to me once again in the ringing silence and I rapidly opened my orbs which allowed me to see the scope of the world I had arisen into. The world of shadows which was my paradise by right. Tingles once again shot down my spine, although this sensation collected and focused in my stomach, draped with the crimson scars that had boiled over my skin while I had drifted unconsciously in the molten orange of lava, now bubbling in its container far above. Even with my intertwined connection with Father, I had no thought of what the substance was conjured from.

My attention returned upwards to the rotating chains clinking in union away from my head and into the unoccupied space above, where nothingness reigned. However, below an object had materialised from alchemy, the object which Father had transmuted. Despite how it was a chair, the design made the artefact different from any chair I had seen in Father's mind's eye. The main supporting frames curled backwards into a spiral pattern of metal; two main frames facing vertically while flat horizontal beans connected the vertical frames, one set at either end of the structure. It was made out of tree bark…no, this was artificial… it was wood.

Some voice in my mind was silently scorning me. Of course you should know this, you're an alche-

No.

Father could transmute stone into a living feature in a second. My mind suddenly collected together the fragments of information and alchemic equations to how the transmutation occurred, but still, I could not use alchemy. I was not an alchemist.

He was upon his throne as Envy guided me to its base; ornate figures decorated the Centre of the Universe, an alchemic principal that Father had been… applying. However, since my extraction, I felt that I understood less about him and I had started to confabulate with my own experiences, eyes and fascinations of my body; I was already beginning to differentiate from him.

I carefully placed myself upon the seat, perched on the edge. Some instinct caused me to heighten my guard and not to lean back in my seat but as Father quizzically observed my stature, I leaned back, afraid that I would fall. Some instinct which was to undermine my Father…I may not have been purified of all but my deadly sin despite the work of Father to give me this body. Why would I feel the desire to disgrace Father?

While I peered blankly into the vaulted heavens above, Envy forced me to budge over as he was about to flop into the seat beside me, until an unexpected hand was raised by Father; he regressed into silence during these "sibling quarrels", or from what idle thought triggered inside of my mind on the matter.

"Wait a moment there, Envy," Father cautioned to which the individual with the ratty black hair waved his arms in the air in protest, while I moved along the seat and bowed my head in Father's direction. I would not be involved in their petty quarrels, but externally, my emotions reflected impassively, as if a churning black chasm lurked behind me, swallowing up all of the feelings I could generate.

"I know my true form can be problematic, Father. I was only joking around," Envy slopped onto the floor and caused faint cracks to arise in the surface of the rocks, almost lamenting under his hulking frame. Each of my siblings had a special gift bestowed upon them by Father, and Envy's, his Ultimate Form, was the uncanny ability to those outside of the shadow world to shape-shift. However, I responded with a cock of my head to the side. Curiosity. Another instinct developing… and slipping as Father tapped his fingers to the throne once, lightly, but which resounded in the chamber like an ancient throbbing, diverting my attention away from Envy. Said sibling was now twirling loose strands of hair with gracefully pivoting index movements.

"Pride. My son. How does your new body feel? What is it like to have a tangible existence?" Father methodically questioned. Envy snorted. His tone lacked the clear ability to feel raw emotion, since all of his seven desires had been extracted out of his body. And I was the last. I gazed absent-mindedly at my hands, still sore from where the swirls of boiling crimson tattoos had been woven into my skin. I nodded towards Father before I sat up, the… bench creaking beneath me, complaining, not lamenting, with my eyes wide open. At that second, the first words escaped my lips, a voice chiming across the room, a melodic tune, and then I spoke. Dutiful.

"Thank you, my Father," I lowered my head once again to the throne as my creator caused the bench to dissipate back into the earth. However, that instinct, the one which would not be quelled, surged alive through me, the devotion to live up to my virtues, or sin, to take pride in serving my Father. "I will serve you through my undying days; any use of me and I will be there."

"Ok, ok. He is not that menace. The first Pride was not like this at all! He's now a ragdoll! I cannot believe that the pipsqueak is being so formal. When would Pride ever say that? How outdated has your Philosopher's Stone been these past fifty years?" Envy slapped his hands against his knees, looking as flabbergasted as Father remained neutrally composed. I was unsure how to feel… I was Pride. There was not ever another. But according to Envy...there had been another Pride. I instead turned away as the black-haired Homunculus cut his questions through to Father.

"Hush with your raptures, Envy. I wish to speak to my son alone." Father had spoken. Through some deep residing honour or sheer contempt, Envy scowled to himself, turning his face away from Father before muttering to some non-existent entity about favouritism and sibling rivalry.

Once the door had slammed shut behind him, the chamber shook momentarily as Father rose, as though a pillar and structure to the centre of the world was shaking, and he stepped down from the throne. But the throne did not alchemically decompose into rock and waste. His sandals padded over the stoned ground below, treading warily as though carrying a burdensome load and stared down to face me. The last Homunculus. Father was silent.

"What would be your bidding, Father," I announced with fluidity, but somewhere, a segment of my catalyst, my Stone, flared with disgust. My body was over a head, possibly two, shorter than Father's and a misted silence followed; speaking would cause the invisible mist of tension to collapse and freeze my shoulders, so I vouched for the quiet. Father inspected his results, tapping my Ouroboros tattoo on my left shoulder once so the crimson marks ceased to glow a molten, ethereal colour. While I remained indifferent as he scoped at his creation, a lock of hair held back by a thick band came into my peripheral vision as he brought it closer to my face.

Miraculously the red elastic had survived the extraction, loosened as Father ripped the band out, causing the ponytail to collapse. It was in that moment that the human's life before mine was over. Waves of golden hair tossed down my back and my shoulders to which I caught a strand twirling to the floor, which I held closely to my chest. It felt warm, a comforting presence pressed against my skin. Through my mind's eye, I was reminded of how all of my siblings had hair as dark as night, while mine was graced golden by the Sun in the exact image of my Father, although mine was the closest shade to gold, as if it had cascaded down to Earth from the remnants of the Sun's fire-storm from the heavens. This was the gift I had been blessed with, a heritage none other could boast of.

"Pride, you have served me willingly from within my sub-conscious for the past centuries. You are Pride. While it is true that you are a piece of my soul and my most affluent essence, you now have your own identity. Do not dwell on some trivial past," Father retraced his steps so he finally reached my eye, I responded with a head bowing into submission.

"Yes, I will, Father."

"When in contact with the outside world, talk in their colloquial language. Even though the inefficient form of communication in this time era perturbs me, we cannot raise suspicion with our enemies." Father steadily returned to his dais, flicking the red band which had been secured in my air, whirling it around on his window finger before allowing it to rest on the plateau beside his throne. I wanted to tie it up. I didn't understand why. My scalp itched without it, as though the last flickers of my human form had been removed. This was nothing to me, but everything too.

Suddenly, the ground quaked with a violent shudder as an object spun through the air, clattering against my forehead. Assuming this was my cranky sibling, I awaited the heavy indentations of his feet to crash into the ground, although none followed. My eyes lifted to Father tiresomely raising a finger and tapping it on his entombed throne once again, the ground shook, a weaker tremor. This time the object was hurled by a jet of stone into my hands, materialised through alchemy; I had to leap to clutch the item, sending an electric-dagger-ripple pain along my left side, searing my leg. That's when I noticed that was where the spiral tattoos ended, just above my left knee, and the same for my right arm; some significance resonated in the recess of my mind, but this was a faint tingle, and faded away as one turned from a naïve childhood memory. The object was a case containing a cream of some sort.

"Those will help with your brandishing marks, Pride. Unfortunately, this was the repercussion of your extraction, the most tenacious of all. Consider it another gift from your Father," the Philosopher reached to the plateau and pulled a notebook out from a mass of pipes, bound with leather and string, a treasure from the remnants of Xerxes.

"You are a Homunculus. Your name is Pride. Therefore you bow down to nobody in the world above. Never forget that, my son." Father then began to ponder through his notebook in his lap while I remained firmly in place, refusing to move without having been summoned by Envy or chased away. The minutes ebbed by into hours which surpassed with the flicking through his book. An absence and abundance of thoughts flowed through my mind. I wanted to explore this place and assert my honour. I wanted to prove that I was here.

But I contemplated to inspect the room, I realized that this reality...I was now a part of it. I wasn't looking through Father's eyes, a chaos of souls in his Philosopher's Stone. Here I was. Look to the future. Follow the commands which my core was harrowed to obey from Father.

My attention suddenly refocused on the pipes along the chamber floor, providing his life source in addition to my own, wound like serpents towards the throne, entwining and rooting from the centre of every alchemic principal, the centre of every Homunculus' construction point. I had been created here. Each pipe had contents diffidently flowing through its veins to return to Father's heart, the replicated Xerxean.

No existence in the cavern thrived as the liquid travelled through the expanse of tunnels under the ground; however, creatures were pattering down the many antechambers which disconnected from the central lair, the throne room. That privilege was withheld for the Homunculi.

A sound had commenced to patter from the top of the building as the astral world above shifted into night, and the patter cascaded into a melancholy intensity. The rain drifted back into a drizzle a few moments later. I knew it was rain, but despite how I was aware of the substances and experiences from Father, I had yet to witness them as Pride, as my own entity. I had never felt the rain, with golden hair soaked and falling down my back like a rippling sun ray, water lashing against my tattoos. Eyes open, capturing every moment, neck craned back as the soul of the storm unravelled its chaos.

My hands reached out in front of me, and clenched lightly. I wanted to be a part of this world, until the storm ended.

So many feelings, but none at the same time. Here I was at the Centre of the World.

It all started with this moment. Here Pride was born.