Why?

That's the only thought Erik Romanov could ask himself as he looked from his corner, hopelessly, across the bustling tavern. Of all that was going on in that crowded room, Eric only had care enough for one lingering thought, one which had plagued him for so long. It was the simple question, why?

Why am I sitting here?

Through the crowds of heathens and whores, gamblers and drunkards, rejects and freaks, Erik was searching. Not for someone, but for something. It wasn't a tangible thing, no physical object. It was the answer to his question.

Why have I been punished?

Ever since his childhood, Erik had come to question the order of the world and everything beyond it. He couldn't accept its flaws, he couldn't accept his own. He had no understanding of sin or virtue anymore, for over the years, the definition of each had become indistinguishable.

Why did you take them from me?

Erik had been misguided. He had been wronged. He had been punished.

"Hey, buddy!" hollered a voice.

He had been angered.

"Get the hell up! This table's reserved!" The owner of this voice slammed his fists down on the table.

Erik quickly snapped from his introspection. He had drooped over the table, slouching. His mind had wandered and he had not realized that a man and his posse had been waiting impatiently for Erik to move. Through the dimly illuminated and smoky room, he noticed looks of absolute evil on these men. It appeared their patience had worn thin.

"If you value any aspect of your life, you'll get up right now!" the man yelled.

"My apologies, sir, I didn't realize there was a reservation on this table," Erik said politely, standing up from the table.

The man laughed at him. "It ain't reserved, people just know damn well not to sit here. And a real class act we have here! 'My apologies, sir!' Where the hell do you come off talkin' like that?"

"I'm sorry, it was not my intention to anger you," said Erik. He was completely out of the way of the table and he could've easily avoided confrontation with the man.

"Hold up there, bud! Where you goin' in such a hurry? Got a hot date?" said the man, jeering. "Or are ya scared of me? I ain't never seen someone walk away so quickly!"

Erik slowed his pace so he could listen to the man make a fool of himself. It was amusing to him, how righteous people would act, despite any apparent goodness within them. Suddenly, a man stepped in front of him, pushing Erik to the ground. Everyone in the room was now looking at Erik and this man. It was clear that Erik was not going to get out of the tavern without difficulty.

"He says he ain't from here! Says he didn't know there was a reservation on my table!" shouted the man.

The room exploded in laughter. They knew what was coming.

"I didn't know being a stranger was such a sin," quipped Erik. The tavern fell silent.

The man glared at Erik. "What you say, punk?"

Erik smiled. He looked right into the man's eyes. To any other person, this man – six feet tall, a brooding physique, angry face – would be an exemplary person with whom to avoid conflict. But not to Erik.

"I said, 'I didn't know being a stranger was such a sin'."

There was absolute silence. It was clear that this man did not appreciate Erik's candor in the least bit.

"A real joker! You're hilarious, man!" He laughed, sarcastically. The man stepped towards Erik, clearly fed up. "Well, if ya feel so comfortable in your skin already, hows abouts we give you a nice warm Rablyska welcome?"

Erik sighed.

His opponent did not approve.

"That's it!" He lunged towards Erik, grabbing him by the collar, then quickly throttling his neck, squeezing with all his strength. He lifted Erik off the ground using all of his strength. "Any last words, bud?" he said, seething.

Erik rolled his eyes.

"Hah! I'll see you in Hell, punk!" The man was about ready to break Erik's neck.

"I've already been to Hell."

Erik kicked the man, hard in the ribs. It sent him flying, back into his "reserved" table. Beer bottles and silverware flew everywhere as the table fell onto its side. The bar was nearly silent, though gasps and some reluctant laughs broke the calm.

As he started on his way out of the tavern, Erik looked into the faces of each of the witnesses of the event. They were in shear disbelief by the scene they had just witnessed. Surely they were curious as to who he was. No one had ever stood up to that man like that – they were all terrified of him. And here was this tourist, this stranger who had so fearlessly defended himself from the bully.

"Get back here, ya punk!" said an irritated and shaky voice from behind.

Erik turned around to see that the man was now running after him – with a knife in hand.

Thinking quickly, Erik lunged back at the man. In a split second, he had to formulate his attack.

Let's see. It seems like floor this tavern is pure earth. Let's hope it is.

Moments away from tackling the man, Erik quick dropped into a slide, kicking the man's feet out from underneath him. As the man flew overhead of and behind him, Erik quickly got to his knees, clapping his hands and pressing them to the ground. It was such a fluid motion, and so much had happened in such a short time. A light began to appear from Erik's area and the ground shook slightly. From the ground, he pulled something absolutely amazing. He drew a sword – a perfectly crafted sword. And if it wasn't odd enough, there was a very distinguishing quality of this weapon.

It was a blue sword.

It was a beautiful weapon, something not of this world. Glassy and resilient, it was perfect in almost every way. With a hilt of what appeared to be gold and a perfectly crafted shape, it would send any common thief mad with avarice. It was about four feet long, but not much wider than a couple of inches. In the hands of an experienced warrior, it would be the perfect killing machine. Never had something so dangerous been so captivating and lovely.

The room was absolutely shocked, almost horrified by this display. How on earth had Erik just pulled a sword from the ground? A blue sword?

"It's sapphire," announced Erik as he pressed the tip of the sword into the man's neck. "It's a precious gem. When crafted correctly, a precious gem can be sharper than any metal you'll ever come to wield." He tightened his grip. "Sometimes, my creations are faulty, but that's very rare. Are you willing to take your chances against me? Are you willing to attack me when I'm not looking again? Next time, I won't hesitate to kill you, and I have yet to show you all of which I'm capable. And frankly, you don't want to see that."

The room was silent. They wanted nothing to do with him.

Erik's voice was commanding and intimidating, but ultimately stoic. It had an almost angelic quality to it, like a sound you wanted to hear but at the same time feared. His voice held wisdom, though he didn't seem much older than twenty, and perhaps not even that old. There was something unique about this boy. Something terrifying. And something beautiful.

He shifted his weight forward a little, sending the man cowering away, behind one of his friends, who was equally terrified. Erik saw the impression he had made on the room and noticed that it was time for him to leave.

It was an odd thing that had just happened. Erik was a beautiful person. He was rather small, not much above five feet in height, but not to his disadvantage. With short blond hair and piercing green eyes, a face and smile to cause any faithful girl problems, a perfect athletic build and the voice of an angel, he seemed like the most unlikely candidate for one to pull weapons on other people and to demonstrate an alarming knowledge of how to use one.

He began on his way out of the tavern. All eyes were on him. Everyone was hoping for him to leave immediately, but at the same time, for some unexplainable reason, they hoped he would stay. Noticing the impression he had made, he paused.

"Forget what you've seen today," he said, almost as if he was warning the crowd. "You may be fascinated by the things I can do, but I assure you there is no glory in my acts. If there's any saint in this room –" (he turned around quickly to make sure he had the attention of everyone) " – it certainly isn't me."

Still holding the sword, he exited the tavern into the cold and frigid streets of Rablyska, gently closing the door behind him.

It was just about midnight in the city, so no one was around to see him with the sword.

"Well, it's time to give you back to the earth," he said, dropping it to the ground. He clapped his hands together and pressed them onto the sword, breaking it apart as it melded with the earth once more.

It had just begun snowing and it was the beginning of winter there. Winter was typically harsh in Rabylska, due to its location in an extreme northern environment, and Erik was beginning to feel that. Reminded only by the lack of life and light in the dimly lit streets of the city, he realized that the comfort of the tavern was not something he should've left so quickly.

"Dammit, look what you've done to me," he said, holding his hands in front of him. "Well, I might as well make you useful while you're not getting me into trouble."

He clasped his hands together, rubbing them vigorously, and then massaging his arms to maintain heat.

"Do all cute boys who pull weapons from the ground talk to their hands?" said a sweet voice from behind Erik.

Startled, he jumped forward a little. He turned around to see a girl his age standing there.

"Don't scare me like that."

"Scare you? I think I'm the one who should be scared after what you just pulled off in the tavern!"

He laughed. "My bad. I guess you've got a point. My apologies."

She looked at him oddly. "Why are you so polite and proper? After that display, I'd expect you to punch me for talking back." She was hardly serious.

"Y'know, I was hoping that my closing statement would discourage anyone from following me." He analyzed the girl, noticing how seemingly innocent she was. Her eyes were brown, as was her hair, and it blew almost seductively in the nighttime chill. She had left her coat in the bar, as she was in a hurry to talk to Erik, and now she was beginning to regret that decision.

"Listen, I'm freezing my butt off here, so let's cut the chat, okay? I have a proposition for you – "

"Whoa, hold up there. I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not that kind of guy."

She laughed at him. "Please, what kind of girl do you take me for? You're cute, hun, but I earn my living in a different way."

"My bad," said Erik, feeling embarrassed. "You were saying?"

"Yeah. I'm guessing a guy – or should I say boy? – like you doesn't have many friends here in Rablyska. And there aren't that many quality hotels around here, so I'd pity you if you had to stay in one. So, handsome, why don't you come home with me?"

"Not that kind of girl, huh?" He smirked.

"Hun, enough with the whore jokes, alright? You wouldn't be staying there for free. And maybe you'd even get a reward yourself."

"I guess this is your proposition."

She nodded.

Then, Erik Romanov heard something he really wished he hadn't heard.

"What do you think of being a man-for-hire?"

Shocked, Erik stepped back to retaliate, but within seconds, he was on the receiving end of a handgun.

She's fast.

"Any answer but 'yes' and you're dead."

"I guess I don't have an option." Erik signaled her to relax, that he wasn't going to fight back. "Why me? What makes you think I'm the right material?"

"I know what it is you do for a living. You're an alchemist, hun. And that's what we're looking for. Look, I'm not answering any questions right now, not here in the open. Someone could be listening." She took out a piece of paper. "Hold out your hand."

He obeyed, and with a surprising will to do so.

She placed a small piece of folded paper into his hands. "Go here, hun. I'll be there soon, I just need to get some things in the bar. You won't have to wait long." She winked.

Erik took the paper and opened it. It revealed an address written in pretty handwriting. There was a playful little heart drawn on the paper, perhaps a tendency or an attempt to flirt.

As she began to walk back towards the tavern, she paused momentarily. "You agreed without much a fight. Why is that so? Pretty boys aren't so eager to kill for money."

Erik had his reasons. But he wasn't about to tell some stranger his life story.

"A name. You have one?" he asked, rather politely.

She smiled. "Hannah. And you?"

"Erik."

"Nice to meet you, Erik." She winked. Then, she asked one final question. "Hun, is it true what you said about sapphire – that it can be stronger than metal?"

He nodded. "Why?"

"No reason. Burn that paper, will ya, hun?"

She turned around and continued back into the noisy tavern.

There Erik stood, soaking in what had just happened. It wasn't every day he signed up to kill people. And he, too, was surprised with what ease he accepted the offer.

I guess I'm just hoping this gets me closer.

He looked at the paper again, to check the address one more time, but he noticed something under a fold he had not corrected. There was more writing. It was a name: Edward Elric.

Erik knew what this was.

"Sorry, Edward. Looks like I have to kill you."