Scar and Miles could see the Xervan mountain range in the distance, rising up against the setting sun like an archeologist in Egypt.
"It looks like the road is blocked up ahead." Miles said, and Scar bobbled.
"We'll have to go around, else we'll be late to arrive in Ishval." He said, pulling out a map. He traced their path so far with his finger, as though he were playing Bejeweled, and found another road they could take. "Here, there's a path up ahead which is only just longer than ours."
Miles agreed it was the best course of action, and when they reached the fork, they took the right instead of left. This led them through a forest as dark as a basement, as out of place in the region as snow on Mars. However, though was no choice to be had, as they needed to reach Ishval before the holy day of Wishvala was over, though it wouldn't start until sunrise. It wasn't long before there was another interruption, though, as they were stopped by three chimeras, and Scar wondered if they'd wandered into a bad joke.
"Halt!" One of them, who seemed to be humanoid at least, yelled. "What's the password?"
"We don't have time for this," Miles said as he drew his weapon more smoothly than Bob Ross, "Let us pass or you'll be arrested."
"What's the password?" He shouted again, in a higher pitched tone like a flute. "What's the password, halt?"
Miles swapped his snow-goggles for opera-glasses, and noticed the chimera was beaked with fur. "Scar, this is no human, but a parrot crossed with a bear."
"Sounds beastly, should I blow it up?" The Ishvalan asked, but Miles shook his head.
"There are at least two others of the same make and model here, so it's better if we just run like we're allergic." So they ran as though touching the chimeras would result in rashes and hives.
"Halt! What's the password?" Came a cacophony of parrot voices, as the three dropped on all fours and gave chase. "Halt!" They continued to yell, and they were so frightening, more frightening than a ceiling collapsing on you while you sleep through a hurricane, that neither Scar nor Miles noticed at first when they grew more separated than Mario and Sonic.
Scar was well clear of the chimeras when he finally caught his breath and turned around to find his escort was gone. The sun seemed to have set already, like a child to bed past midnight, but it was really just the dense foliage blocking all light. Scar grabbed a large stick, and used it to feel around and make sure he wouldn't fall on his face or caboose.
"Miles! Where are you?" He shouted into the trees, but the only reply was the sound of wind rustling leaves, which rustled his jimmies.
So Scar walked on, through the forest, knowing that he'd eventually find the edge if he continued, straight as a married man in Russia. Before he even managed to grow tired and need a rest, he'd grown bored of this system, however. "If I don't find Miles, I'll be late to Ishval." He continually muttered to himself, like a person who had no pen when shopping.
He eventually saw a light, illuminating the area around like a old video game's draw distance, and waved towards it. "Hey!" He shouted, "Miles, is that you?" The light continued moving closer, and he saw it was an Ishvalan, specifically, an old man he'd never seen before, wearing the robes of a cleric.
"Scar, do you know who I am?" The elder asked him, and he shook his head.
"No, I don't. Will you be able to get me out of this forest, though?" He asked, "I must reach Ishval before tomorrow is over, for Wishvala."
"Don't worry about that, Scar, it's not the important thing at the moment." The figure said, and Scar looked at him with an intimidating expression, like he was dropping a load.
"I don't know you, but if you know my name, there's something wrong here. Who are you?" He asked like a mobster in New Jersey.
"I am Alim Lofte, Grand Cleric of Ishvala." He said, and Scar raised a fist.
"The legendary Cleric who spread Ishvala's teachings throughout the desert, and wrote them in the words of men? I don't believe you, that man died more than one hundred and fifty years ago- He's older than the dirt I grew up on!"
"Lower your fist, child, I'm not into that." The old man said, "If we must come to blows, the words I transcribed for my Lord and my people have been wasted, utterly." He handed Scar a lamp of his own, as the meaty one unclenched his hand. "Wishvala is tomorrow, but there's no rush, for time moves slowly in the forests of sinners."
"Oh, okay." Scar said, accepting that a crazy man is a better companion than none. 'I'll have to humour him until we find Miles.' He thought. "Do you know the way to Ishval, though?"
"Of course, Scar, for this is Ishval- The holy land is under your feet as we speak."
Scar sighed, but accepted once again that he was insan. "Let's just go, old man." He said, and began walking.
"Which direction is that?" The Cleric asked him, and he stopped. "Exactly, one such as yourself can't possibly know! You must follow me." The elder walked in the opposite direction, and Scar followed him like a Roomba on a leash.
Before long they heard some quiet talking, whispers really, until Scar couldn't resist the suspense any longer, feeling like he was at a Hitchcock film. "What is that sound, old man?" He demanded to know, and the elder shook his head.
"The unfortunate Ishvalans who refused to stick up for their beliefs." He said cryptically, but gave no other information.
Scar could see movement in trees near them, and his eyes widened as he stretched to tell just what it was, barely lit up by the lanterns. It seemed to be a fleshy monster, reminiscent of whale blubber, with limbs and head growing out of his, but he realized it was just a creepy bush, and not the presidential kind.
"Not all forms are so lucky." Alim said, before forbidding him from trying to again glimpse the suffering dead.
They eventually reached a river, roaring like a lion gripped by a fire ant, and Scar saw a boat.
"What's that?" He asked, and was tempted to strike the elder when the only answer was "It's a boat."
"Act cool, or he won't like you." The cleric said, as they approached the wooden bulk. "Oi, Charon! We need passage."
An old man, who seemed to be Amestrian, looked up from the newspaper he was reading, still wearing the scowl he gained from hearing about the coup several weeks ago, and let them on board. "Aren't you two living still?" He asked, and the oldie shook his head like he intended to whip it off.
"I'm dead, he's not, but has good reason for crossing over the Lymps."
"Hold up," Scar said, grabbing the cleric's arm like you'd grab a baseball, "I don't have any good reason for seeing the afterlife, I need to get to Ishval!"
"Scar, you must see what death is, or you'll never be as Grand a Cleric as I!" Alim Lofte snapped like a guitar string, and again told the captain to shove off. This time he obeyed immediately, like a golden retriever, and kicked the river bank.
Before long Scar felt seasick, and turned to the railing so that he could release his lunch into the river. He saw a face in the water, though, and recoiled. "What was that?" He shouted, and Lofte ran to him as fast as an old man can be expected to run on a moving ship, so about as fast as a balloon falls from a tower.
"Oh, the faces of the dead? Yea, they're more and more every year." He said, and returned to eating grapes. "If it starts singing it's own lamentations, just throw a chair down there, that should shut it up."
Scar stood speechless at the supposed cleric's lack of empathy, but got over it quickly, remembering that crazy people are insane. Soon he heard the singing, and when he looked over the rail it was also signing in ASL, Amestrian Sign Language. Scar was caught in internal conflict- If he threw a chair at a dead man, that'd be cruel. But if he's in the river Lymps, he's obviously a sinner, so if he did nothing, he couldn't justify his killing alchemists. So he went below deck and took a nap, lulled to sleep by the combination of deathly moaning and beautiful singing, which seemed to emanate from somewhere above.
When he woke up, the boat had stopped, like Havoc's legs. He went above deck and found the Grand Cleric waiting for him, and they departed from the boat.
"Ah, so you're awake, scabbard." The Cleric said, and when Scar asked what he meant, he continued "Your power, used to fight heretical alchemists, is within you, making you the Scabbard of Ishvala."
"I'd rather be a sheath."
"You're not a sheath, you're a scabbard."
"Where are we?" Scar asked as he gave up on titling himself, and looked around. They must've been in a cave, for there was rock all around, including in the sky.
"We're on the outskirts of the Inferno."
"By Inferno, and since there's no fire, I assume you mean we literally went-"
"Grand Clerics don't cuss, Scabbard." The elder said, rubbing Scar's hair with nostalgia, wishing he still had his own.
"So using deconstruction alchemy isn't heretical so long as I use it to kill people?" Scar asked as he realized the implications of earlier statements, and grabbed the old man's hand and forcing it off his head.
"Oh, it's alchemy? Yea, that actually might be bad." The cleric said, saddened still by the lack of his own hair, "Though don't think of it as killing people, think of it as cleansing the earth, like a strong bowel movement!"
And Scar shuddered, as it hit him that he just came to the underworld with a lunatic. "The Teachings say the afterlife for sinners is surrounded by sorrowful limbo, so where's that?" He asked, and the crazy old man motioned to the ground like he just realized he wasn't falling from the sky.
"This is limbo, Scar!" He announced, and pointed around them. "There are some Amestrians who never accepted Ishvala over there, see?"
"Couldn't that be because we just fought a war with them over it?" Scar questioned, and the Cleric shook his head.
"Impossible, any reasonable person would recognize Ishvala as the truth of truths, the prognosticator of prognosticators, and not at all a glorified rodent." He said with a smile like a banana split, and Scar noticed the Cleric was bleeding from the lip, and the Cleric noticed Scar notice, and said "Charon didn't like me throwing his chairs in the river, so he threw one at me." And Scar smiled like a banana cream pie.
They walked further in, past all the Amestrians, and Drachmans, and Xingese, and Aerugonians, and so on, until finally they reached what seemed to be a wall, which glittered in the light of their lanterns.
Scar put his hand out against it, and found it adhesive and it made his skin crawl. "What is this?" He asked as he pulled away his arm, and found the wall bent somewhat before letting go of his hand, reminding him of flypaper.
"A spider web, of course." The Grand Cleric of legend said, lighting a cigar. And sure enough, a spider crawled down it soon after. Scar stepped back at the sight of it, shocked- It had the face of a man, and seemed to walk with dozens of legs, moving as swiftly as a taser. A beard dribbled down to the ground, and seemed to curl around Scar's feet like a ferret.
"Who dare to interrupt my scheming and works?" The arachnid demanded, and the Cleric stepped back one, puffing his cigar, leaving Scar to stand trial alone.
"I need to get to Ishval before the sun sets tomorrow!" He announced, and was peered at through nineteen eyes.
"Then, you're living?" The giant spider inquired, and Scar nodded. "I see. My job is to judge those sent here in death, and determine where they shall be punished. If you're living, though, there's nothing I can do but lend my hand in assistance." And he lifted the bottom corners of his web, to reveal a manhole cover sized gouge in the ground. "Use my web to shimmy down, like a firefighter, if you plan to continue. I warn you, however- It is wisest to remain here for eternity, than to head for certain death."
"One might say, 'abandon all hope', eh?" The Cleric said, but the other two just looked at him with pity.
Scar thanked him for the warning and help, and the two contradictorily slid down the sticky silk for several minutes, before finally reaching the bottom, a hot pit of death.
Their lanterns had gone out, but the light of the inferno itself continued to light their path. Up ahead Scar could hear the sounds of gambling. "Raise." "I fold." Coins sliding into a pot, jingling like Santa's sleigh.
"Ah, we're nearing the sins themselves." The Cleric said, and Scar could make out the silhouettes of a table and players. "It's best not to bother them, just keep walking. Pretend they're homeless."
But Scar couldn't continue past as though nothing was there, for he saw his nemesis sitting at the table. Greed dealt Lust two cards, and Gluttony called Wrath's raise. As he walked towards the table, Wrath noticed that his killer was there, and got up so quickly he spilt his drink.
"So, this is where you were sent in death, then?" He said with a smirk, and Scar laughed like a drunken apricot.
"I came here because I'm a bad enough dude to handle it, without dying!" He roared, before popping an ice breaker mint, which he grew up calling a 'chill pill'. "Anyway, I'm not here to kill you again, so sit back down."
"Listen to the 'valan, Wrath." Greed said, thinking only of the money he'd lose out on the chance to win if his brother left the game. "You've committed to this game, and now you've got ta' finish it."
Wrath reluctantly sat back down, but was dragged out of his seat by a giant lava-worm, which leapt out of the nearby magma stream and pulled him back in with it.
Greed got up, but wasn't quick enough to save him, and ended up just reaching across with table longingly, before getting back to the game to win Lust and Gluttony's wallets.
"Let's go on." The Grand Cleric of yore said, putting a hand on Scar's shoulder to calm him. Scar nodded, before lifting up the old man's hand, which had not only remained there for a time, but had begun rubbing him. "The city of Dat is up ahead- Even worse sins are punished there, so be prepared, like a Shakespearean lion." He continued, looking hurt. Scar nodded, and they went on.
The city of Dat was walled, but that fact was no problem for Scar, who just blew a hole in it, while Cleric Lofte clapped. To call it a city is an overstatement, though- Mud hovels are the best anyone living there can call shelter. Scar coughed in the dust from his partial transmutation, but once it cleared, he saw a fire up ahead, moving from side to side, and he heard a pained scream.
"Is that a demon?" He asked the old dude.
"I'd normally tell you to avoid it and move on, but I like drama, so…" The Cleric motioned towards the dancing flame, and Scar went to it with a sigh.
As he got closer, and his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he began to make out the shape of a man hidden in the fire. "I, I can't believe it." He said as he moved to take off his sunglasses, before remembering he wasn't wearing any. "Brother? Is that you?" He asked. Other than the continued screaming, no call replied.
"This is where heretics and those who commit heresy come to 'rest'." The Cleric told Scar, whom was immobilized. "Your brother Asafum did the taboo, and paid the price."
"No, he was just trying to help our people! Why should he be brought here, but not me?"
But the elder didn't respond to this, as the environment itself did, nightmarishly. Out of the ground came little hands attached to flat, infinite arms. The black hands, which were on fire, reached out from all directions to grab Scar, who dodged to the side of every last one. He turned his head to the side, to see if there were any that way, and his eyes widened at the sight of one coming straight for his face, as though it were preparing to say 'Got your nose!'.
The flame captured his entire conscious, and he stood there, unable to move, when it suddenly stopped before falling to the ground, like a bird with heart burn. He looked up, and saw Wrath with his sword out.
"It took awhile to kill that sea monster," He said, "But I finally got out of that magma stream. The least you could do is stay alive until I've had a chance to kill you myself, scarred man!"
With that, he lunged at Scar, who took refuge in a nearby house of mirrors, in which every reflection of you is terrifying and distorted supernaturally. For example, one mirror changed his reflection to make it out that he was bleeding ink from the eyes, while another made it look like he was eating a Hot Pocket. He kept his wits though, led Wrath through it, coming out the other side and perching himself above the door like a seagull.
It's lucky as a clover he did that, for as soon as he looked up to see where he was, he saw a massive chimera had just woken up, and was looking around as though he were wasted. He stood up on two legs, and Scar deduced from it's appearance that it was a human and bull combination. Wrath was not warned of it, and didn't think to jump up like Scar did, and so only just barely managed to avoid piercing the beast's leathery skin when he came charging out the door. It kicked him with a hind leg, and sent him crashing into a stone wall, and he stayed in it.
"I can smell your sins, homunculus." It calmly declared, and before noticing Scar and adding "But I'll deal with you later. You, Ishvalan human, you've sinned as well. You're also living. This has never happened before." He sat down, seemingly to think. "What is your name, Ishvalan human?"
"I don't have a name, just call me Scar. Tell me, is this a dead end?"
"Hmm, a human with no name?" The monster scraped it's head against a rock wall as it said this, "Then I must smell wrong- All living beings have a name, so you're either lying, or dead. Either way, I must drown you in lava, for that is my duty. Come down from that ledge, catman."
Scar obeyed, but when the chimera charged at him, he stepped to the side like a matador, and pushed it into the magma stream instead. "Sorry," He said, "but there's somewhere I need to go." He turned to Wrath and asked "Are you still planning to kill me?"
"Of course- There's an area up ahead which will do perfectly for our match, if you wish to be chivalrous about it."
Scar nodded, and was trying to remember what 'chivalrous' meant when he saw the Grand Cleric Lofte come through the exit of the building. "If I'm to be your guide, Scar, you'll need to avoid running off like that!" He snapped like a rubber band.
"Sorry, I was busy avoiding death. Which way goes forward, now?" He asked Wrath, who pointed to the wall.
"They put that in only a few days ago. I helped raise it myself." He said proudly, before remembering his name and repeating himself angrily.
"Alright, stand back." Scar put his hand against the wall, and after a breath, blew a hole the size of a truck into it. Light streamed in, and through the hole they saw a homunculus sitting on a lonely tree stump.
"Envy, what are you doing there?" Wrath asked, and he looked up at the group.
"Oh, hello Scar, Wrath. I'm just sittin' here. That's all."
"Alright. We're going to duel each other, you want to come spectate?" The former Fuhrer asked, and Envy rose from his seat and said "sure" before sitting back down and getting up tulip for good measure.
The four walked through the poorly lit tunnel for about as long as several shoestrings lined up one after the other, before coming across a foot in a boot lying in the path.
"Is this supposed to be here?" Wrath asked no one in particular, and the Cleric nodded.
"This is where the alchemist's Scar assassinated have come to remain. Their blasphemy couldn't be tolerated in any other location, so they suffer here." He said, and watched as Wrath threw the boot into the magma stream.
"Then, that was one of my state alchemists? I wonder which one." He said, but they didn't wonder very long, as an arm rolled towards them, and the hand on it's end pointed towards the darkness it came from.
"Come… Fuhrer." A whisper said, and Wrath obliged. "I've lost… My stitching." The homunculus recoiled in disgust as he beheld the jumbled mess which was once Shou Tucker, the Sewing Life alchemist. His body was all taken apart, with more than half of the major joints disconnected and the cloth torn.
"So their punishment is intended to be ironic…" He mused, and began to grow nervous and anxious, like a teenager asking another out on a date, as he considered those which lay ahead of them.
They quickly moved on, and passed a living corpse, which appeared to be rusting, as well as a silver statue at the end of a swinging pendulum, and was scratched by silver swords like a cat's claws each time it passed the center.
A vast emptiness seemed to consume the path, as it reached a cliff. The wall below was sheer, without any ledges one might use to climb down, and the drop so far one couldn't make out the bottom. It was pretty much the side of a box.
Envy sighed, but recognized his usefulness to the others, and transformed into his true form, but slightly smaller, and used the extra mass to create massive wings. "Get on." He hissed, "Ignore the moaning faces on my skin, they're just decor down here." And he sucked the faces on his back into his skin to prove it.
Reluctantly, knowing it was the only way forward, the three clambered onto his backside and held tight. As soon as they had, he jumped down, gliding at a sharp angle for most of the descent before flapping his wings to hover as soon as the ground came into view. This acted like a brake, and they managed to hit the stone ground without much issue, aside from Wrath nearly losing a spur on his cowboy boots, and the elder losing his cigar.
"Something of a design problem, I'd say." The Cleric said, "I'll have to ask the manager to fix that- Once you've gotten out of course, Scar."
"Are you ready, scarred man?" Wrath asked him, and the Ishvalan nodded. The path ahead of them was a series of bridges connected to monoliths of stone reaching up from the void below, where cries of torture could be heard, and heat felt. No railing protected against carelessness. Wrath ripped off and threw his eyepatch so hard it landed in the fifth void.
Wrath walked to the bridge over sixth void, while Scar stopped at the bridge over the fourth. They faced each other a moment, then rushed at once, meeting on the fifth.
"This is most certainly the greatest test he will ever face." The Grand Cleric declared to Envy, who stared at him a moment before asking "Who are you again?"
"I'm the Grand Cleric of Ishvala, Alim Lofte, scribe of the Teachings. Bow before my glory."
"Alim?"
"Yes."
Envy pointed to the voids before them, and told the elder "Alim Lofte lives in the fourth void. I visit him sometimes, whenever I feel like improving my penmanship."
"Oh. He's in the Inferno?"
"Yes."
The elder's face was easily read to Envy as 'I've made a huge mistake', and since the old man seemed somewhat shell shocked at the bombs he'd been dropping, he turned his attention back to the fight.
Scar had by now destroyed both of Wrath's swords, but was bleeding, so some hits must've landed better than most paper planes. The two were over bridge seven, and backing up towards eight, when Wrath punched Scar in the stomach so hard they both went back a bridge. He'd broken his wrist, however, and Scar was able to rush back up before him, deconstructing the air in front of him so hard it blew back Wrath, who hit his back and head on a wall before falling into the ninth void, cursing Scar and his ancestors and his descendants the entire way down.
"I won't tell him, because I'm no better," Envy said, thinking of when he killed Hughes, "But if you don't let him know soon, you'll lose the chance to control the circumstances under which he learns."
"You're surprisingly wise, homunculus. May we never meet again." The elder told him while bowing, and went out on the bridges to meet Scar. "Let's continue on," He said, putting one of Scar's arms around his neck to help the victor with walking, "Envy is staying behind, to help any future travelers down that cliff."
As they passed the tenth void, Scar noticed a light which seemed to be blue, repeatedly going on and off from the bottom of the pit. "What's that light, Cleric Alim?" He asked the crazy old man, forgetting in his daze his companion was insane.
"Alchemy- Alchemists who died anyway other than yours are sent down there. They're trying to escape, perpetually, but they never will, rest at ease. They're trapped so perfectly Fred Jones feels like touching himself."
They walked for nineteen minutes before reaching another obstacle, another drop off, but no clownfish tank. Standing next to the edge was Sloth, who was peering over the side to the bottom. "Big hole." He said.
"Should we engage him in conversation?" Scar asked the cleric, who considered it, before accepting it was the only way forward, so they did.
"I think I know how to talk with youngsters, so let me handle it." The elder told Scar, before walking up to the befuddled homunculus. "Ahem… Yo dawg, you hangin' up 'round here?"
"Teenagers," Sloth moaned, "such a pain."
"Ah, so would you rather prefer a more stately address, my good man?" The elder asked him in a Cretan accent.
"British people are such a pain." He said.
"I don't think it's working, just let me-" Scar said, but the cleric shook his head ferociously.
"I'll figure it out. Ahem, bize yardım edecek misin, yoksa dün gece annenle ne yaptığımı bahsetmeliyiz?"
At this Sloth laughed, because he has no mother, and then punched the elder, knocking him off of the cliff. "Me waiting for Pride. Go away, peace." He told Scar, who managed to restrain himself long enough to walk away.
Alone for the first time since the forest, he was able to think clearly, and used his deconstruction alchemy to dig a tunnel like a glorified rodent, and let himself out at the bottom of the cliff, tumbling onto sand.
"How nice of you to join us." Kimblee said when he popped out, and Scar saw the Grand Cleric sitting with his feet in a lake.
"Ah, Scar, I was wondering when you'd get down here, and how, but that's less important. Mr. Crimson here just told me that the exit is at the center of this lake, and there's a row boat over there." The elder said, and motioned towards the boat. "We can take a bit of a rest for now, though, there's no rush."
"I'm sorry, Cleric, but there is a rush- I must return to Ishval before nightfall tomorrow, or perhap today, depending on the time. We'll have to shove off immediately, so shut up and pack your sandals." Scar said, and turned to Kimblee, "Are you staying here?"
"Yes, yes I am. Pride will be coming here, eventually, and I want revenge, so I can't leave my post. Just so you know how to get out, though," Kimblee told him, "There's a person at the center of the lake. Kill him, and you can leave."
"I thought everyone here was dead already." Scar said, and Kimblee just handed him his shaving mirror before sitting down to carve another torture device out of stone for use on Pride.
The two got in the boat and Scar rowed it 'till they came to what seemed to be ground, but when they got on it, they learnt it was ice. Together they slid to the center of it, where a lone figure knelt facing the ceiling. Scar recognized the robes, and approached the figure.
"So, this is where you went after that day." He said, and Father turned around.
"Ah, the scarred man, what a pleasant surprise. Would you be interested in some tea?" The homunculus asked, holding up a small saucer to reveal what he'd been doing. "Don't look so shocked, Ishvalan- This may be ice you're standing on, but the water directly below is more than boiling. I don't know why it doesn't melt, but it's perfect for having a nice and relaxing drink, don't you agree?"
Scar nodded slowly, and approached him cautiously. "Why are you being so cordial, Homunculus? It doesn't suit you anymore than a suit."
"Oh, is that so?" Father chuckled, and poured him a cup, "Well, I'll try to kill you in a few minutes, if that would please you. Would it?" Scar nodded. "Alright, I've a little power left. Just barely enough to live for a few years, drinking tea, but going out with a bang's not so bad either."
"If you keep talking so kindly, I'm liable to find you difficult to harm." Scar said, sipping his tea with a pinkie out. "I'd prefer if you'd act naturally."
The cleric watched them talk for awhile, occasionally checking his watch. "It's been a quarter of an hour, you two," He said finally, "If you wish to do battle, there's no better time."
"Just one more thing." Father said, "Why do you wish to kill me, Ishvalan? Revenge? Or perhaps just simple bloodlust?"
"I need to return home, quickly, and the only thing in my way so far as I can see is you. Don't take it so personally, you're no different from a locked door at the moment."
Father stood up, bowed to Scar, and created a sword from the iron in his blood. Scar jumped up and landed his hand on Father's face, and unleashed the power of his brother's research, killing the homunculus. The power of his deconstruction cracked the ice, and it separated from itself, forming a small platform of ice which the three, no, two were standing on, while the rest floated away. Father's lifeless body rolled into the boiling deep, where it was deep fried in the oil which floated at the bottom of the lake. To this day no one knows why the oil's at the bottom, but the corpse, and the sea creatures which feasted on it, found the oddity very convenient.
The bubbling water, finally free after so much time, released pent up energy like a geyser, shooting the platform of ice up through the rock ceiling, and filled the area with water, forming a small lake, the draining of which was prevented by rocks which had resettled after being jostled by the geyser.
The two Ishvalans, once the piece of ice floated to the edge of the lake, got back onto solid ground, and looked around themselves, and enjoyed the cool breeze.
"It took longer than it should have, but we seem to be back on track." Scar said, just before a sudden crack broke the peace. He looked to the side and saw the elder fall to the ground, dead, and from the trees came Miles, reloading his gun.
"I don't know what happened to you, Scar, but you should know better than trusting anyone just because they're Ishvalan." He held up a wanted poster, which had a sketch of the dead man's face in the center, and continued "This man has killed at least three, and robbed countless travelers passing through the woods we just came through. Be more careful from now on."
Scar stared in shock, first at the body, then Miles, then the poster, then the body again, before collecting himself. "Sorry, he must've caught me in a moment of weakness. It won't happen again."
"Good. It's over that mountain, right?" Miles asked, and Scar nodded. They looked at the mountain together, and saw what appeared to be a procession line of climbers, going all the way from the bottom to the top, not moving, but singing loudly and in an inspiring fashion. Scar recognized it from when he slept on Charon's boat. He wondered what had happened over the past few hours, but decided it was best not to dwell on it, and looked up just a bit higher, at their stellar view of the sky, filled with stars.