Chapter 1

Awakenings

Solaris

Dappled sunlight drifted through the cracks in rubble surrounding the slums outside of Central. Young and old rose to the distant call of the rooster, signifying the start of another long day of begging, peddling, and stealing. Dressed in the rags of the rags of their parents, children meandered to stations throughout the city, set to beg for whatever small fortunes they could bring home. Fathers dressed and manned their stalls with various wares, ready to take whatever was offered for the already underpriced goods. Mothers attempted to silence crying children, while still trying to fulfill their own domestic duties. The feeling of hopelessness pervaded all who existed in the slums.

So when the ruins of the most aged structure in the area, a former research laboratory of an age past, collapsed into nothing, no one even noticed a limb dangling from between the cracks in the debris; no one except a small boy who had wandered far from his mother. Seeing the limp, dangling arm, he quickly hurried to report to his mother what he had seen. She spanked him for his trouble and told him to stop spouting nonsense; no one had been near there in the last 45 years. The few who had gotten near complained of senseless noises in the night and day, murmurings in a language no longer spoke. She was far too busy to go off and entertain the possibility of a survivor, anyway.

But that night, as her husband returned home, she believed. Her returning husband was carrying a small girl over his shoulder. He laid her down on a softer part of the dirt, spreading her arms and legs to increase circulation. She groaned softly at his touch, but did not awaken. The dumbfounded wife stood silently by, carefully observing the girl. She didn't appear to be any older than fourteen, any more than five and a half feet tall. Her long dark hair splayed out on the ground around her head like a pool of dark blood. She was pale from lack of sunlight, with short unpainted nails. Most interesting was her clothing, however. The wife had never seen such fine clothing, except on the rich trash that handed out money like they were gods. But it was not the same; the cloth was of a different material, shiny and lustrous and sleek, not the drab finery of the modern high class.

The man turned to his wife, and asked her, "Could you fetch a cloth with some cool water, please?"

The wife turned to obey, stunned. She'd never heard him speak so gently and kindly to her. He was not only sober for a change, but asking, rather than demanding that he obey her. She shook her head and moved to dip the cloth in a basin of relatively cool water. When she returned, she placed the cloth gently on the child's forehead, careful to avoid her hair. It was mesmerizing, really, how well the hair looked despite the condition of the child's body. And just as the cloth touched her forehead, she opened her eyes wide.

Startlingly pale blue eyes stared at the wife, who recoiled against the side of the tent. If the husband was startled, he did a very good job of hiding the fact. He held the child down as she tried to sit up, and held her firmly against the earth.

"No you don't, girl. You need to rest." When she continued to struggle, he asked her gently, "Where are you in such a hurry to be, anyway?" She stopped thrashing and looked at him, puzzled. Now that he mentioned it…

"I don't really know…" she replied. "Who are you, sir?" Looking around, she conceived a few more questions. "And where am I, for that matter?"

The man smiled gently and responded in a deep rumbling voice. "My name is Shavsta," he began. "And this is my humble abode, outside of Central, Amestris. Who might you be, miss?"

No immediate answer came to her. She tried to smile and say, "I can't remember. I seem to have lost my mind!" The smile, however, was less than convincing. Shavsta frowned deeply, troubled by the interesting turn of events.

"I hope for your sake that it returns soon, because it's dangerous to be a nobody around these parts. You might disappear. In the meantime, would you like to stay with us? You would have to earn your keep, but you are welcome here." Shavsta turned back to his wife and asked her, "You wouldn't mind having some help around the home, would you, Della?"

Della shook her head. "Not at all. Miss, how good are you with children?"

"I'm really not sure. I haven't spent much time around children, actually," she replied. At that moment, the children, curious about the girl their dad had brought home, burst into the chamber. The oldest, a young boy of about 13, stood next to his father. His mouth hung open in shock at her beauty. The younger two, both boys as well, hid behind their mothers skirts. The girl smiled at them.

"Hi," she said shyly. "Who are you?"

"My name is Junior!" squealed the youngest, who seemed more social. He toddled over to her and raised his arms. She instinctively picked him up and he giggled when she touched him. "That tickles!" he yelped.

The oldest finally seemed to regain control of his body, as he closed his mouth and stood up straight. "I'm Roran," he told her. "Welcome to our house." The girl nodded to him.

"A pleasure," she replied, and motioned to the boy who was still hiding. "And who might you be?"

The boy stood up stiffly and puffed out his chest. He looked ridiculous. "MY name is Terry Wayne Columbus, and you will address me as such!" The girl laughed and Shavsta and his wife both smacked Terry for his rudeness. They both apologized profusely, but the girl just shook her head.

"There's no need for that. A boy should have pride in himself." Terry beamed until she continued. "But I don't appreciate being looked down upon, if you don't mind." Terry seemed to deflate, but he sat down next to the girl.

"You're right, miss…you are much smarter than I thought!" The girl smiled at him. She poked him too, and told him:

"You better get used to it, 'cause it seems I will be staying awhile!"

Shavsta and his wife nodded. "You're free to stay as long as you want, dear."

Junior cheered and Roran smiled, until their mother spoke. "It's bedtime, boys," she told them. You've got a big day tomorrow, Roran!" Junior groaned and Roran sighed. Terry just stood up and scowled as he went to his shared room.

"Goodnight," Roran told the girl shyly, and entered the bedroom last.

When the boys were safely asleep, Shavsta and his wife sat at the kitchen table with the girl. She gradually told them everything she could remember about herself, but there was little she remembered. By the end of the conversation, the candle that lit the room had nearly burned itself out. Aside from that, only one thing had been revealed in the conversation: a name. The girl suddenly sat up stiffly, as if she had been shocked.

"I remembered!" she whispered urgently. "My name, it's Solaris!"

"What an odd name," Shavsta commented. "It sounds rather old-fashioned to me. It's pretty, though, and strangely fitting. What do you think, Rebecca?"

His wife nodded. "I like it a lot, actually. It's definitely an older name."

Shavsta stood up, and took Rebecca by the hand. "Perhaps we should get some rest, too. It's a long day for us tomorrow, too." He turned to Solaris. "Let's fashion you a bed, so you can be ready for tomorrows work."

Marianne

On the inside of Central, in the library, the work was just beginning for Marianne, the Homunculus of the mind. She slipped carefully between the gap in shelves as she evaded the guards for what she hoped was the last time.

"Stealing books should not be this hard," she muttered. She back flipped onto the top of the shelf behind her and ran across the tops until she reached the back. There was a single guard standing in front of an iron door, easily big enough for a tank to get through. A mess of complicated locks riddled the surface of the door, impeding all but the most accomplished safe crackers…and Marianne, who knew all about the door, down to who constructed it and how it was done.

Leaping down to the guard's level, she knocked him out with a swift kick to the head. Marianne laid him down comfortably, out of sight of the other guards. Then, setting herself to work, she carefully began to manipulate the locks.

The first sets of codes were easy to remember, only 10 digits long each. Then came a careful test of timing the proper input of codes into multiple places over the surface of the door. Immediately after, Marianne had to push, and then pull on the handle on the far side of the door. Finally, the door swung open on silent greased hinges. Marianne crept inside, sealing the door behind her. And she could not have been happier to be anywhere, for she was now trapped in a room with nothing but books, floor to ceiling, books large and small. There was no better place for her too be. She needed no food or water to survive, no sleep to stay conscience. She was quite literally in a personal heaven. Overcome with happiness, she grabbed the nearest book and sat down to read a historical account of the Ishbalan Civil War. The multi-volume account took her only a few hours to read, and she was soon reaching for another set of books, higher on the shelf. It would be weeks before she emerged from the room, tired but satisfied with all she had read.

Bruce

Bruce rolled over as the train screeched to a halt in the easternmost station. He sighed and stood up in the baggage car, looking sleepily at the door. A moment later, it opened, and the attendants began to carry the luggage out of the car.

"This is a heavy one! What the hell do you think is in here?" said one, picking up Bruce, who had condensed himself into a suitcase shape. "It's got to be over two hundred pounds!" They tossed Bruce nonchalantly into the baggage heap, and he grunted. The attendants looked at the heap for a moment, and then resumed working, unable to believe that a bag could speak or make that kind of noise. When they had turned away, Bruce resumed his human shape and walked away.

"I've had enough of this traveling business," he said as he stretched out his cramped limbs. "Marianne had better be right about there being good food in Xing, because I would hate to have wasted this trip!"

As Bruce stepped out of the station, he couldn't help but notice that he was being watched. "I should be used to this," he thought. At over 6 feet tall, with broad shoulders and a thick, muscular trunk, he was not of typical build, especially for these parts. The locals were all significantly smaller, and even the tall ones weren't as large as he was. Sighing heavily, he made his way towards the palace in the center of the town, knowing full well that convincing the emperor was a fool's errand.

What made Marianne think that such a powerful man would simply part with a text like this was anyone's guess, but he owed her a few favors, and he'd always wanted to try some of the famous Xingese cuisine. He'd heard wonderful stories of rare spices and intricate recipe's, and just thinking about them made his mouth water. Deciding the errand could wait, Bruce walked to the nearest street vendor and changed money with him for the proper currency of the region. Then, seeing an inviting restaurant, he strolled over to fill his stomach.

Inside, however, the eatery was less than pleasant. There were two parties facing off in the center of the room. Bruce recognized the leaders of both groups: a young alchemist who was making a name for himself back in Amestris, and a Xingese prince. The prince was flanked by his attendants, but the alchemist was almost completely alone. A dog growled angrily at the prince, poised to spring if the prince moved.

Sighing again, Bruce sat down at a table and waved a waiter over. The waiter looked furtively around, as if to make sure he was allowed to take his order in front of the prince. Glancing over the menu quickly, Bruce placed his order and stood up to take care of the people who were interrupting his meal. The prince looked up to take a look at his new disruption, only to be backhanded across the face by the alchemist. Pressing his advantage, the alchemist leaped onto the prince, only to be immediately hauled off of him by Bruce. Swinging wildly, he struck out at Bruce. There was a loud crack as the alchemists hand broke upon impact with Bruce's shell. Where there was usually pink skin, a patch of black carbon had formed where the alchemist had attempted to hit Bruce. The alchemist just stared, and then gasped.

"You're an alchemist, too!" he cried, shocked. "Then you should be helping me! This boy…"

"This boy, as you put it," Bruce rumbled, "Is a prince of Xing, so it would be helpful to stop you bickering and apologize to each other. You're interrupting my meal!" He set the alchemist down and returned to his table, where his food had recently been placed. Chowing down, Bruce ignored the murderous glares of the prince and the alchemist. Eventually, they turned on each other and left the restaurant, leaving Bruce in peace.