Two years had passed since the day Edward Elric disappeared, his footsteps wiped off the map as if he had never walked the earth. Try as she might, his long-time childhood friend was unable to track where he had gone off to, even going as far as confronting the military with the matter. The only person who could come up with a figment of reason was none other than the Flame Alchemist, and Ed's superior.
"Fullmetal's off on an important mission up north, regarding official business," Roy Mustang had told the young mechanic, toying with a pen that he insisted to roll across his desk while he spoke.
"And what about his brother? What about Al, where's he?" The woman demanded to know, voice raising an octave in exasperation with the lack of answers she was receiving. "I haven't heard from either of them in two years; I think I deserve to know at least what they're doing!"
"I can't tell you what Edward's up to," came the cool remark. "But as for his younger brother...his soul finally rejected the armor. I'm sorry the news didn't get to you sooner."
An idle gaze wandered over the rolling hills of Risembool, catching the sway of high cotton in a distant field, and the ever present bleats of sheep. It was a beautiful country, but in the weeks that had come since Winry Rockbell's visit to Central, she had been busy brooding, rather than acknowledging the splendor of an early autumn's afternoon. With Alphonse lost somewhere in the abyss that was the Gate, and Edward doing who knew what in the frigid reaches of the northern territory, the blonde's mind was occupied with thoughts other that didn't relate to mechanics for the first time in a long while. Instead, they were filled with guilt, anxiety, and in a dust-coated corner of her mind, there was a microscopic sliver of hope.
The remnant of feeling that told her he would come back, someday, if only because he needed repairs after such a long time, poked and prodded, attempting to get some attention paid. A flicker of movement followed and a hand quickly laid the picture frame that stood on the desk down flat, the pane of glass kissing the wood. The sight of his goofy, smiling face as he sat with his still-human brother was one Winry couldn't bear to see when a rainstorm was pouring down solely on her shoulders, a chill creeping down her spine.
dispertio
The wind picked up, kicking icy shards of snow into the air, turning them into projectiles that bit into the skin and made it raw. Stray hairs whipped around the alchemist's face, but brushing them back in annoyance did nothing. After a while, he made no attempt to even lift his arms. One foot in front of the other, imprints in the white blanket vanishing as the gale streaming across the land shifted the snow in its wake. Breath itself didn't have time to condense before it was stolen soon after leaving bloodied lips.
Edward didn't particularly like the cold, after his first experience obtaining frostbite due to automail not fit for the near-fatal conditions of the area. This time, he was prepared with limbs that could withstand the negative temperatures, but his flesh suffered with the relentless weather. New scars had formed across his cheeks and throat; he didn't give much thought into protecting himself, when little emotion was to be felt. Moping around Briggs, volunteering to go out on guard duty, was how he decided to cope with the death of his younger sibling. As long as he did his job and didn't endanger the lives of anyone else, the woman in charge of the facility couldn't care less as to what he did.
The post where soldiers exchanged shifts to rest when on duty was still a few hundred yards away, across the brutal terrain. Shuffling through the knee-deep snow, the Fullmetal Alchemist huffed, ready to reach the small building and pass out on the couch, like he typically did. Sleeping was another way of coping, though it was often unsatisfying and difficult to lapse into. Since getting enough rest for two people was no longer a weight on his back, insomnia was a common theme in his life now—the only times sleep was reached, was when he had succeeded in pushing his body to the limit and had no other choice but to give up his consciousness.
"They work a guy to death around here," he complained lowly, voice nearly lost to the wind. Despite these words, Ed didn't give much thought to death. To end his own life would be utterly selfish and cowardly—besides, they all knew the soul would reject its armored host at one point or another...He was just shamed that they hadn't been able to restore their bodies sooner. Now that Al had gone, the elder sibling had given up the quest for the Philosopher's Stone, seeing no need to chase after a fairy-tale that although had been in reach, always seemed to crash into ruin. Huffing a few times, face numb, he continued to trudge on, mindlessly mulling over the reasons he was still living. Though it was just a vague thought, a barely formed reason, Edward Elric came to a single conclusion. It was because someone was waiting for him, and he was certain of it.
Crack!
The grate of metal on metal overshadowed the howl of the wind, followed by a startled yelp. The young man windmilled his arms, trying to maintain some form of balance as his deteriorating leg sunk into an ice-covered creek, overlooked by mere carelessness on the alchemist's part. Placing weight on the frozen liquid with his automail leg broke the thin coating, and in turn, the frigid water shattered the calf of the prosthetic. It had already been damaged, due to lack of proper oiling and had begun to rust in places. Covered with gouges and overall scratches of wear-and-tear, the limb had nothing more to give after being mistreated for two years in brutal conditions, and finally gave in.
Finding himself half submerged in bone chilling water, Edward scrambled toward shore, grabbing at fistfuls of loose snow, sputtering as he began to sink into the depths, his iron limbs pulling him under. Fear welled in his stomach as the mechanism of survival kicked into high gear, forcing Ed to tread with his good leg through the chilling water as he tried to lever himself upwards, causing only more ice to crack and shatter beneath his mass. Within precious seconds, his sopping wet clothes pressed him further down and a last gulp of air was issued before a mess of blond sunk below the surface, its owner struggling frantically, writhing, feeling his own heartbeat thunder against his chest and in his ears. The only thing driving him was primal fear and instinct, telling him over and over, "Fight. Fight. Live. Fight."
Shit. I'm going to drown.
No hope of reaching land was given as bleak, golden eyes watched as the light above began to fade, his lungs burning from lack of oxygen. A final lunge toward air was attempted before Ed was forced to gulp into a mouthful of water, struggling ceasing, as he drifted toward the murky bottom.