In order to obtain anything, mankind must first give up something in return. Even so, energy can never be created nor destroyed; it is merely displaced, oftentimes in unexpected ways. Thus every action must have both an equal and opposite reaction, even if said reaction is not immediately apparent.
The laws of alchemy, Ed mused, were not so different from the laws of physics in this world. Theoretically, both physics and alchemy could achieve the same ends, albeit through very different processes. It was this theory which gave Ed hope, which drove him to continue tirelessly in his research, and which made him decide to board the noisy steam engine which wove its way across the dark-green, southeastern European countryside.
Ed rode first class on this train, in part due to his father's position and in part for Ed's own prestige. He sat, leaning back against the faux-velvet seats of the front car, where the rattling of the locomotive's wheels was somewhat less apparent, and his passage through the hilly terrain less turbulent.
This region was full of hills, each rise a reminder of the high mountains which bore down from all sides. It was different from Munich, where Ed had held residence these past three years. Munich had mountains, yes, but they were blue-gray in the distance, like the jagged edge of a broken plate, and set against a wide, pale-green countryside over the edge of the city-scape. In contrast, the land here was dark, old, and enclosed- an unbroken blur of tall conifers racing by outside Ed's window.
Ed gazed vacantly at the green wall and swallowed with a dry throat. He adjusted his now-empty glass and uncorked the bottle of cider with his teeth. His automail arm had been of good quality- Ed remembered his mechanic's skill with a pang. Nonetheless, it had seen plenty of wear-and-tear since his last repair job and was now only marginally functional. Ed tried to conserve his right arm's remaining strength, relying upon his left as much as possible. Besides, technology here hadn't yet advanced so far as automail, despite its many other innovations. No, it was safer to pretend that the prosthetic was only for show, if only to avoid awkward questions.
A sudden change in the light made Ed glance up from his glass and back out the window of his compartment, through which the view had changed starkly. The wall of conifers had broken before a brighter landscape of rolling farmland, dotted with a smattering of modest buildings. The sky was gloaming, and by the meager yellow light, Ed watched a young boy stop and wave at the passing train. The grass around him rippled in a slight wind. It reminded Ed of Resembool. Then the conifers reappeared and he was back in the green wall.
Ed stood and stretched, shoulders and vertebrae popping, and opened the sliding wooden compartment door. Almost immediately, a green-clad attendant rushed to his side.
"Can I get you anything, sir?" He had a clean-shaven face with a rather weak chin, and spoke English with the harsh German accent to which Ed had grown accustomed.
"How long 'till we get there?"
"Another forty-five minutes, sir," He was taller than Ed, like everyone else in this damned world of giants. He also stood with his back absurdly straight, hands flat-palmed and stiff at his sides.
Ed smirked slightly at this. His status might not be quite as prestigious as Hohenheim's, but it was still enough to keep this guy on his toes. There were perks to being a scientific protégée, even in this world. Ed thanked the attendant and returned to his posh compartment.
Climbing onto his seat, Ed stood and grabbed one of his reports from the luggage rack. Might as well make use of the time.