*click*

"Bugger," Harrier swore, and glared down at the broken half of the nail file as if it had insulted his mother.

He picked it up and tried to resume the task at hand, but with another *click* it snapped again. He rolled his eyes, gave up and slapped the broken file into a draw that he'd had built into his desk specifically for broken nail files.

It had turned out to be far more difficult than he had expected, as he had found since his manicurist had quit last week. She'd made quite a point of it too; while supposedly coating his nails in clear protective coating, she had in fact been writing "I QUIT" in brilliant cherry-red letters that still hadn't come off. Supposedly she'd moved to Saharr and become a hair stylist.

Fantastic. He was so fed up that he had started brooding over his manicurist.

Still, it wasn't like he had many more interesting things to think about. Training and manoeuvres were finished for the day, he didn't have any more appointments to see to and now that he had finished with the reams of paperwork which he certainly had not been expecting when he took up the role of Sky Knight, there was nothing left. The only noise in the room aside from his own breathing was the overloud ticking of the clock.

He was, quite frankly, bored out of his skull.

If he'd been in the mood, he may have noted that the clear afternoon sky was quite pretty or that the birds were particularly quiet today, but he didn't much care.

He pulled out yet another nail file and tried again. It was better than chewing them off (he'd left that habit behind over a decade ago, thankfully).

But before he could start, there was a ringing noise from the speaking tube next to his desk that made him jump. With a half-grateful half-frustrated sigh, he flipped down the lid.

"Yes," he said, "what is it…" He trailed off, having forgotten the receptionist's name yet again.

"Egret," she said. "You have an Amestrian soldier here to see you, sir."

*click* The nail file broke again.

"What?!" Harrier demanded.

"It's true, sir," said… Egret, that was it. "He claims to know you and referred to you as 'Harry'."

Harrier frowned. As far as he knew, there had only ever been one person strange enough to refer to him with that ridiculous name.

"What exactly does this person look like?" he asked.

There was a pause from the other end of the line. Harrier started tapping the broken nail file on his desk in impatience.

"He's… he doesn't want me to say," Egret replied.

"Whyever not?"

"He says that… that it should become clear once he has the opportunity to speak with you. In person."

Harrier pursed his lips in annoyance.

"Has he given a reason?" he asked.

"No sir," Egret responded. "He's… he's refusing, sir."

The Rex Guardian wanted to refuse and say that the intruder should be removed from the premises immediately, but the truth was that he didn't have anything better to do that day and this newcomer was sounding disturbingly familiar.

"Very well," he said. "Send him up."

"Yes sir."

With that done, he quickly dumped the broken file in the drawer with its fellows and tried to compose himself.

In the entirety of his career, there had only been two people with the gall to call him Harry without the slightest hint of irony, and they had been father and son. It hadn't surprised him much that the younger of the two would pick up on the elder's habit, but as far as he knew the elder had been dead for upwards of a decade.

Well, that was what he had assumed. He hadn't exactly seen Lightning Strike perish. He'd been too focused on trying to keep himself alive.

And the rest of his squadron at that time.

And he'd failed.

Damn. He'd told himself he'd have to stop thinking like this, hadn't he?

How long was the typical journey to his office? About thirty seconds? Enough time to compose himself. He checked that he didn't have any hairs out of place, straightened up his collar-

There was a knock at the door.

Harrier quickly straightened a stack of papers.

"Enter," he said.

The door slowly opened with a deafening squeal screaming out from its elderly hinges.

"Wow. When was the last time you oiled these hinges, Harry?"

Messy red hair.

Greenish eyes.

And, somehow, a near-impeccable Amestrian military uniform.

"Didn't you live here?" asked Lightning Strike as he looked around the room. "Wasn't this place your house? Since when was it your office? Since when did you even have any need for an office?"

Harrier stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, at the apparent phantom that had just entered the room. It was only when the newcomer seemed to realise this that he noticed how out-of-place he must have seemed.

"Ah," he said awkwardly. "Yes. Me. Well, I guess it would make things easier if I started from the beginning-"

"You tit."

Lightning Strike stopped trying to make up excuses.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"You total, abject, complete and utter TIT!" Harrier slammed his fists on the desk and stood up so fast that his chair fell over.

"I won't deny that," said the ex-Storm Hawk.

"What sort of time do you call this?" Harrier marched over to the redhead, seething with fury. "Do you really think you can just show up, over a decade after every single person in the world presumed you were dead as dead can be, and greet me as if we were just down at the pub?!"

"No," Lightning Strike agreed, "you're right, Harry, that was stupid-"

"And what in the wide world of Atmosia is this?!" Harrier flicked the collar on the royal-blue uniform. "Do you mean to tell me that you have been in Amestris, alive and well, this whole time?! That you've been happily residing there ever since that nightmarish horror of a battle where I got the pleasure of a front row seat to watching you fall screaming to the Wastelands?!"

"Well-"

"I held a memorial service for you, you bastard! Everybody in Atmos was in mourning for your squadron for months! I suppose they're downstairs in the lobby, are they? Just swanning about, pretending like nothing ever happened-"

"It wasn't my choice!" Lightning Strike had to restrain himself from bellowing. "I had a beautiful wife and a perfect four-year-old son. Do you think I would willingly leave them to a world to be conquered by Cyclonia? That I would miss out on Aerrow growing up? Do you think I would happily have sat back and watched as the world I had sworn myself to protect was annihilated before me? Why do you think I recruited your squadron to our cause in the first place?"

Harrier stopped ranting, momentarily stunned, but quickly came to his senses. He crossed his arms and frowned at the soldier who now stood before him.

"So then," he said, calmer but still more enraged than he had ever been in his entire life, "I don't suppose you'd be kind enough to possibly consider explaining-"

"I'll tell you everything," Lightning Strike interjected. "Just so long as you can let me get a word in edgewise. I owe you that much."

Harrier sighed and rolled his eyes.

"What am I going to do with you, Light?" he asked, rubbing his by-now-rather-sore head.

Somehow the glare from his brilliant blue eyes was simultaneously fiery and icy. Lightning Strike managed, somehow, to restrain himself from shrinking under the glare.

"And that's everything, is it?" asked the Sky Knight.

"Yes," the major replied. "More or less."

It had taken hours to explain absolutely everything the Rex Guardian had wanted to know, as evidenced by the bright orange and pink sunset outside the window. The only noise in the room now was the ticking of the clock, which seemed rather loud and out of place in such a quiet environment.

"So I was correct," Harrier said slowly. "I've spent eleven years believing you'd perished in that awful battle when, in fact, you were alive and well in Amestris this whole time."

"I was alive, yes," Lightning Strike confirmed, "but I wouldn't call it 'well' considering how I was more-or-less homeless for a majority of that time."

"Yet you still managed to master alchemy," Harrier pointed out. "To the degree that you were accepted into that nation's military as a State Alchemist. Somehow the name 'Dust Storm' seems oddly fitting for you."

He sighed heavily.

"And who else knows about this, hmm?" he asked.

"Only the current Storm Hawks and the Elrics," replied Lightning Strike. "I'm not an idiot, Harry; I wouldn't just go around telling everybody that I'm the long-lost presumed-dead leader of the previous generation of Storm Hawks. As far as they know, I'm Wilhelm Blitz. And I figured that since travel between these two worlds recently became possible, I'd stop by and tell and old friend that I hadn't died after all. That's not a crime, is it?"

Harrier scoffed.

"I'd hardly call us 'old friends'," he said. "'Colleagues' would be more appropriate."

"What happened to you, Harry?" asked Lightning Strike. "You were uptight and pompous long before I left, but you never used to be… this."

"You'd be surprised what war can do to a man," said Harrier, raising an eyebrow to convey his annoyance. "You of all people should understand that, Light. You must have seen what's become of your precious son by now, haven't you? Or at least heard about the things he's done now that he's stepped into your shoes."

Lightning Strike frowned.

"Yes," he said. "Of course I know."

He raised in eyebrow in his comrade's direction.

"But what about you?" he asked. "Have you got any stories? What's your kid done that mine hasn't?"

Harrier glared at him with a combination of sourness and fury.

"Oh," Lightning Strike said. "Like that, is it?"

The blond sighed again.

"It's enough that I now know you're alive," he said bitterly. "I'm not about to dish out details on my personal life, much less spill the beans on that subject. I know it may not seem that way, Light, but it is a relief to see you."

"I could say the same to you," Lightning Strike responded. "I was worried you'd be a washed-up drunk by now, but it looks like you're doing better than ever."

Harrier smiled, mostly to himself.

"Yes," he said. "I suppose I am."

Lightning Strike glanced at the clock, then looked out the window at the setting sun.

"Wow, it's getting late," he said, and he got to his feet. "I should be heading back. I borrowed the skimmer I came here on and I don't want to keep its owner waiting for longer than I need to. Don't worry, I can see myself out."

"But I'd feel better knowing you can at least make it to the front door without getting yourself murdered," Harrier told him as he too stood up.

The redhead sniggered, and together they walked out of the office.

"If I remember correctly," Lightning Strike said as they moved down the corridor, "that room used to be used for an entirely different purpose, right? What happened to-?"

"I said I wasn't going to tell you about that," Harrier snapped.

"Fine, fine."

They walked in silence until they reached the head of the stairs, at which point Lightning Strike paused, prompting Harrier to do the same.

"Listen, Harry," said the ex-Sky Knight. "I know I haven't been back for a very long time-"

"-as evidenced by you only now deciding to inform me that you still live," Harrier interjected.

"-but there's something I need to know."

He looked at his old comrade with almost as much ferocity as he had received in their initial reunion, his eyes appearing a steely grey in this dull lighting.

"If you had to," he said, "if you didn't have any other options, would you be able to fight as you did all those years ago?"

Harrier wasn't sure how to reply.

"I get the feeling it might be necessary," Lightning Strike explained. "Something awful is coming. Call it a gut instinct if you want, but Cyclonia is planning something big. Bigger than they did last time. If it comes to it, could you fight against them?"

One only had to look into his eyes just to see how serious he truly was.

"You know," said Harrier, "I had been considering retirement. These old bones won't be able to guard the skies forever, after all. I already have an adequate replacement in mind for when I finally take my leave. But now…"

He smiled, a wild glint in his eyes.

"…seeing you again has reminded me just how fiercely my blood can boil," he said proudly. "Naturally I do hope it doesn't come to it, but if it does, I'll gladly give those Cyclonian wazzocks what for!"

Lightning Strike smiled in return.

"That's good to know," he said. "Because if we ever have to fight, it'll be good to know you'll have my back again. Just so long as you do a better job of that than you did last time."

Harrier frowned at him again.

"Just go," he said. "Get out of this building before I throw you out by your ear."

Satisfied, Lightning Strike descended the stairs.

That had gone better than he had expected. He wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been punched in the face or thrown out the very moment he arrived. He wouldn't have put it past Harrier to have fainted at the sight of him. But while they were far from being classified as old war buddies, it seemed that there wouldn't be any bad blood between them as of his return.

But as he stepped outside into the cool evening air, he suddenly got a strange, unpleasant feeling somewhere in the pit of his stomach. An unmistakeable sense of dread, the likes of which he recalled feeling a little over six weeks ago when…

…oh god, what had happened now?

He leapt onto the skimmer that he had parked nearby and it wasn't long before he was airborne and soaring at top speed in the direction of Terra Atmosia. He got the feeling, somehow, that he had to get there before the sun disappeared below the cloud layer.

Something had happened to his son. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what it was.

Cold.

Goosebumps had sprung up all over his limbs. He could feel his sleeves pressing against them uncomfortably.

Draught.

Wherever the faint wind was coming from, it was fast, sharp and chilling on his face, tickling his cold eyelids and bringing forth painful complaints from his automail and its socket.

Pain.

The back of his neck felt sore, as if somebody had hit it harder than necessary.

He tried to remember what had happened. He'd been walking towards the woods of Terra Atmosia, hugging his coat around his body in an attempt to keep warm, searching for his lost friend, and then…

…something had hit him and he'd blacked out…

Aerrow struggled to sit up. The ground he was on felt rough and uncomfortable, like the floor of a forest, and… and something was wrong with his arms.

Once he'd found something to prop himself up on, he looked down at his left hand. When he tried to twitch his fingers, they thankfully responded, but when he tried to flex his shoulder and elbow, he got nothing. A dislocated shoulder? Piper would not be happy about that.

Maybe if he could get a closer look-

-but even though he could feel his right arm perfectly well, he couldn't move it. Something was holding it in place behind his back, and touching the solid surface behind him, he felt that it was rough and scratchy but slightly crumbly to touch.

He could also feel something thin pressing into his abdomen and when he looked down, he saw a steel cable tied around his waist. Rusty. Obviously old. Would probably break if enough force was applied in the right place, but unless he could figure out a way to get that force, it had him trapped.

He forced himself not to panic. It was dark, but the sun's light wasn't completely gone yet, so he couldn't have left Atmosia, right? Trees… there were trees on that terra, it was true, he knew that since he'd been making a beeline for them, and it made sense that someone would want to keep him out of sight if he'd been-

"So you're awake!"

Aerrow's attention was caught by a sharp blade on his left cheek that forced him to look to the right, and he was met by the hooded, maniacally grinning face of the Merb who had claimed to be Finn's abductor several days ago. It was obviously the same person. The scar over one eye gave it away.

"I was afraid I wouldn't get to see those pretty eyes of yours when they're open," he said. "Now we can get started!"

The blade slashed across his cheek and Aerrow yelped in shock as the scar he had pondered about earlier was suddenly reopened, and spilled blood down to his chin. As the stranger stepped away, he tried to catch his breath. He couldn't afford a panic attack. Not here. Not now.

"What do you want with me?" he demanded.

"See," the Merb said, "I have a bit of a problem."

He grabbed something behind a nearby tree and dragged it into view, and Aerrow gasped in horror at the sight of his oldest friend, bleeding from the right side of his face and too terrified to try to free his bound hands.

"Finn," the Sky Knight muttered weakly.

"I already took one of his eyes," said the Merb, and he pressed the blood-covered side of Finn's face into a tree, where the marksman could only force himself not to cry. "His other one that's left is still so pretty. Like the sky after a storm. A perfect blue."

He shoved Finn roughly to the ground and the blond didn't move, and he leapt over to Aerrow and stared him straight in the face.

"But I think your eyes might actually be much prettier," he said, holding the blade dangerously close to the redhead's cheek. "Green is one of the rarest eye colours, see. The rarest of them all. And even in all of them, I've never seen any as green as yours. They're so bright and beautiful. I can't decide if I should take his other eye or take one of yours. I'd love to have one."

"Why?" asked Aerrow.

As the Merb froze, pondering the question, the Sky Knight started prodding and pulling at the bark behind his back.

"Why do you have to take our eyes?" Aerrow clarified. "Couldn't you just take a picture? A picture of our eyes? Then we'd still be able to see with them, wouldn't we?" It had to be circular, so as to ensure the circulation of power…

"It's not the same!" cried the Merb. "My eye doesn't work properly! Why should everybody else's? It's not fair!"

"But you don't have to do that!" Aerrow responded. The symbol for wood was a trio of circles, grouped together at the bottom of a staff, and if he carved it with his thumbnail…

"It's my own fault, really," said the Merb, whose eyes seemed to dart all over the place and didn't notice how he was edging the blade closer and closer to Aerrow's eye. "I should've listened. I should've listened to him. He told me it was a bad idea. He told me it wasn't going to work properly. He told me I had to be careful. He told me-"

"Who?" Aerrow asked. "Who told you?" If he could just keep him talking for long enough…

"He said 'Heron, be careful with that cable' and 'Heron, don't sit so close' but I didn't listen-"

"Heron?" Aerrow said. "I-is that your name? Heron?"

He glanced at Finn, who hadn't moved at all during this exchange. Secretly and silently, he prayed for him to get up and run.

He was forced to look away when Heron, if that really was his name, seized his jaw and twisted his face to look up at him. His thumbs were tight on Aerrow's cheeks, but the Sky Knight still managed to wrestle his face free.

"Don't you call me that anymore," he snarled. "Heron wasn't loyal to Cyclonia. Heron tried to fight back and that's why they had to hurt him. I'm not Heron anymore. Heron's a good boy. And now I know better than to think I can give up!"

"O-okay," said Aerrow, "well, if you really don't want to give up…"

He pressed his hand against the circle he had carved into the tree.

"…perhaps we can play a game of tag."

As he had hoped, a solid spike of wood shot out of the tree and cut through the cable, and he head-butted the Merb, scrambled to his feet and started to run.

He had to find a way back to the town. The sun had gone down by now, but it wasn't too late in the evening. There would still be citizens out and about. There always were. Once he was there, people could help him. They could catch that freak and save Finn. Aerrow knew he wasn't able to fight when he only had one arm in working condition.

Finn…

Aerrow skidded to a halt.

"Oh god, no…" he muttered.

He turned and started to run back.

He'd left Finn on his own. How? How could he have been so thoughtless? He shouldn't have done that. For all he knew, Heron or whatever his name was would just decide that since he didn't have Aerrow's eye available anymore, he'd just take Finn's. And Aerrow couldn't let his friend go blind. Not when he was only starting to recover from losing one eye. He couldn't let him lose the other one too.

When Aerrow found him, he was still lying in the same spot, unmoving save for his breath. Their attacker was nowhere to be seen, but the Sky Knight didn't stop to think about this as he jumped down next to his wingman.

"Finn," he said desperately. "Finn, are you alright?"

"Aerrow," Finn gasped, his left eye closed but still obviously intact. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't think about that right now," Aerrow said, and he tried to untie the rusty cables that bound the blond's wrists. "We have to get you-"

Something struck him upside the face and he fell, dazed, away from Finn. A brief, frightened cry of his name was all he heard from the marksman as he was seized by the collar and thrown against a nearby tree.

He didn't know how he avoided blacking out, but his sight was the first sense to return to fully working order and as he watched, the Merb pressed Finn against a tree trunk with a single hand around his neck and tightened his grip around the blood-stained knife.

"No…" Aerrow gasped.

He curled in his automail fingers, took hold of his metal elbow and stumbled forwards and, as Heron raised the knife to strike down, he hit him across the face with his artificial fist.

With a roar of rage, the Merb leapt upon him, forcing him down and pinning him to the ground with a foot on his right wrist and a knee on his chest. Aerrow could only stare up, eyes wide with terror, as the knife was raised above him.

"Forget the eye," he snarled, "I'll just take your throat!"

Aerrow closed his eyes and waited to feel the hot, sharp pain of the knife in his throat.

But then he heard a crackling sound. Through his closed eyelids, an electric blue light glowed. And then the weight of the Merb was suddenly removed from his body.

There was the steady sound of thumping. Approaching footsteps. They walked right past the Sky Knight.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a figure transmuting the ground under Heron, which sprang up and wrapped around his arms, pinning him to the forest floor. He saw others over near Finn, pulling at the bindings around his wrists and talking to him.

They were wearing uniforms which, in the light of their lanterns, were clearly deep blue.

"Aerrow, are you alright?"

The figure over the Merb straightened up and looked round at him, and in this dimness, his eyes looked brown. They took on a more greenish hue as they were caught by the light of a lantern.

"I ran into your Wallop friend not long after I got back to this terra," he explained. "He said you were heading for the woods to look for Finn, but it was getting late and he didn't know where you were. I wanted to make sure you were okay. So I brought a few reinforcements just in case."

Aerrow found himself shuffling backwards, away from the soldier.

"You are," he found himself muttering as someone gently helped him to his feet. "You really are an alchemist. I mean, I knew you were, but…"

Lightning Strike smiled softly.

"Yes," he said. "Yes I am."

Piper squinted into her telescope and focused it more to make out a clearer picture.

"They're okay!" she reported. "I can see them! They're coming out and neither of them's lost an eye!"

The rest of the squadron collectively sighed in relief.

"Unbelievable," said Stork, and he sank to his knees with a hand over the left side of his chest. "You kids, you're killing me."

"Can I have a look?" asked Junko.

Piper nodded and passed him the telescope, and Junko's ears perked up as he caught sight of the trio, as well as the group that was with them.

"Wow," the Wallop muttered. "Aerrow and his dad look really alike."

"One's a Sky Knight and the other's a State Alchemist," murmured Stork. "I guess death wishes run in the family."

There was, suddenly, a squawk from Radarr that would likely have been "Hey!" if he'd been able to talk. In any case it got their attention, and with an expression of awkward nervousness, he pointed over one shoulder at the door.

None of them had noticed it opening.

So none of them had noticed the new arrival who stood there, holding his suitcase in one hand and scowling in annoyance at all of them.

"Why do I feel as if I've missed something?" demanded Ed.