It was not until months later that he had seen her. She was sitting around a fire with a group of haggard comrades, eating silently from her canteen. He did not approach her. He did not want to look at her through the eyes of a murderer or touch her with hands that had robbed so many lives yet again. He too, did not want to see those hazel eyes burdened with grief and agony. It would hurt him to no end if he had to see with his own eyes the pain that she was going through. The war from seven years ago had affected her as deeply as it had impacted him. To relive those atrocious days again is to re-experience hell itself.

Though he had tried to track her down in the battlefield and had wanted to make sure that she was within close proximity to him, the ways of war made it nearly impossible to do so. Albeit the two of them were both placed in the front lines, one was to charge headfirst, while the other was stationed as a support for those with direct contact with the enemies. He burns enemies head-on, whilst she shoots down any dangers inching towards him. How ridiculous. Even now, she was still the one that was protecting him from the shadows.

With every passing day, Roy slowly lost a part of himself. He had forgotten how it feels to be human again. In order to remain sane, he had to remove any signs of emotions, ridding him of what makes one truly human, what makes him the man he was but months ago. He was no longer a man, but a tool― a tool used only for killing. It was all too similar. The war from seven years ago and the war this very day were beginning to overlap in his mind. The smell of burnt human flesh and the stench of rotting corpses were gradually dulling his senses and his rationality. At night, he would be unable to fall asleep, and on those days that he did manage to drift away from the living hell, he would awake with a fright that sends him gasping for breath. Just how much longer would the war last? Seconds felt like days, and weeks felt like years.

"Thank god we have the Flame Alchemist with us—without him, we wouldn't be alive at all," he would hear a soldier comment by the campfire.

Alive? They call this living? Roy would scoff bitterly and mockingly at the comment to his heroic deeds. He was no longer the young soldier he was back in the days. He cared no longer for ranks nor promotions. He simply wanted to stay alive—and to protect—but who exactly did he want to protect? The citizens of Amestris? The soldiers who battles alongside him? Or her?