Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.

Note: Well, next chapter done. No terrible poems this time, I swear, just some hints about how the story will advance here and there. Enjoy... if possible.

Part 10

Edward Elric was given a riddle, but not just any riddle. One that was meant only for him. One that only he could solve. The riddle was a poem. A poem that challenged him to oppose the God, to change his fate. Yet, if fate destined him to uncover the poem, then following the instructions would only mean fulfilling it completely. He resisted, he swore he would change it his own way, with his own methods, his own thinking. Or, was it so? Perhaps he misunderstood, perhaps he was actually destined to disobey from the very beginning. Let us see what the clash of wills shall bring about.

But, nothing happened. He kneeled there, palms forcefully pressed to the floor, teeth clenched in resolve and his mind set on nothing but his goal, his prediction. Yet, it did not seem to be enough. He failed. How could he have thought he would be able to use alchemy again just because he wished to, just because he needed? He was being naïve. There was no way to resist the God's bidding after all, was there? Everything in the world, every being, every phenomenon, every last bit of energy, circles, forming a giant cycle, a cycle that humans cannot see or comprehend. His loss of alchemy was part of that cycle. The only thing that matters in nature is balance, after all. Equivalent Exchange is the one and only rule of this world. One cannot alter the flow, no matter what he does or what he thinks. Fate wanted this to be the end of his journey, the end of his ideals, his naïve views. Fate did not let him go on. But, perhaps, there was still someone out there who did.

"No, this is not the end!" cried Edward. "C'mon, Truth, you jerk, let go!" He was not going to accept defeat. Never, not when lives of others depended on his success. He thought he could hear Truth's provocative laugh. "Now you're laughing at me, huh?! It's no use, you know? I'll stay here, I'll stay here for days, for years, for eternity; I'll stay here until you let go!" he kept shouting with his hands still touching the floor and his head turned upwards.

"Mr. Elric, look!" Yolkin beckoned to a point on the wall in front of Ed.

And there he saw it. The same shape as before, shining blue. It disappeared within two seconds and the wall began to decompose revealing another room right beyond. In the center of it was a small stone plinth. It was severely damaged and rotted with cracks all over. Upon it lied a pile of papers, old, yellowish and tattered papers held together by a single string. Ed's mouth smiled and his eyes sparkled in delight. He did it. He found what he had been looking for, something that would finally explain everything. He believed that was true. He rushed toward the plinth and having seized the papers, got down to browsing through them. It was all there – number of different geometrical figures along with indicators and descriptions. He was so excited he had not almost noticed the plinth moved a few feet away having unveiled a trapdoor underneath.

"Hey, Yolkin, let's…" he stopped in the middle of the sentence. He was going to say 'Let's go,' but then he realized Yolkin was not going anywhere in his state. Edward peered at him worriedly and questioningly as though he requested his advice about further course of action.

"It seems I'm not going anywhere, Mr. Elric. But, don't worry about me, I'll get out of this mess, somehow," he answered to his gaze.

"Yolkin…"

"You found what you were looking for, right? The answer is there, in those documents, I know it. Just go," said Yolkin encouragingly.

Edward shook his head. "I'm not leaving you behind! Many years ago I swore I'd never abandon anyone, that I'd never let anyone else die because of me!"

"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for the citizens of this country, for the very future of the Drachman nation," he stated, quite calmly. Then he took a small notebook out if his jacket's inner pocket and wrote something down.

Ed just stared at him and dreaded the decision he was about to be forced to make.

"Here," Yolkin handed over the notebook to him, "return to my mansion and give this to the servants," he had instructed Ed before he muffled his mouth with his hand and coughed repeatedly.

"Yolkin!" Ed cried and kneeled to help him. He supported him with his right hand while still holding the notebook in his left. However, a feeling of terror struck him the moment Yolkin stopped coughing and looked at his palm. It was bloody.

"It's severer than I thought," remarked Yolkin and started hacking again. He halted a few seconds later and turned his face to Ed. He told him, his voice hoarse: "As I said, give this to my servants. It's an order for them to help you. They'll give you everything you need. Food, clothes, transport… And one more thing. The documents are written in glyphs, right?" He pointed at the papers Ed was holding.

Ed just nodded.

"You'll need to search my library," Yolkin continued, "take as many books as you can carry about glyphs and ancient Drachman. You'll need to do the translation yourself this time. I don't think I'll be around to help." He forced blood out of his lungs.

Edward just watched him. He had no idea what to say. He knew Yolkin was eventually going to impel him to leave. He also knew, though he did not want to admit it, that it was impossible for the two of them to escape if Yolkin could not walk by himself. He was desperately for an alternative to arise, but his thoughts were abruptly ripped off him by Yolkin's yell.

"What're you waiting for? Go! Find Williams and escape!"

Edward did not move.

"Go!" Yolkin repeated and gave him a decisive look.

Ed started to tremble and hit the floor with his fist. "Dammit!" he shouted. "Why are bad choices always the only ones left?!" He stood up and pointed his index at Yolkin, acting as tough as he managed in such situation. "Fine, I'm leaving you here, then. Don't you dare die here or I'll find you on the other side and punch you super-hard, you understand?!" he shouted at Yolkin and sped toward the trapdoor giving him one last concerned gaze as he opened it and passed through.

When Yolkin was certain that Ed was gone, he smiled in utter content. Then he used all his remaining strength and hit the floor many times to catch the nearby soldiers' attention, while screaming: "Hey! I'm down here! Help me out!"

Edward could hear his shouts indistinctively as he was already deep in a narrow, round underground tunnel. It was straight and completely dark. The only light in it emitted the torch he brought along. He had to leave it behind him, though, as the path was getting narrower. Before long, he had to crawl to fit.

The farther he advanced, the more worried about Yolkin he became. He would never forgive himself if anything were to happen to him. It was he, Ed, who dragged him into all this, after all. He used him as a means to achieve his goal. He enlisted his aid, he used his resources, his knowledge, his kindness so as to lay his hands on the documents he so protectively held in his right hand, the documents he so desperately sought. The end justifies the means. Is that what he thought? Is that what he became? Did he become one of those who are willing to sacrifice others in order to achieve 'the greater good'? Is this what adulthood meant? Words that Maj. Miles said to him years ago resonated in his mind. 'It's easier to kill someone than keep them alive.' He was talking about an enemy back then, about Kimblee. But, was it not applicable to friends as well? Was it easier for him to leave Yolkin behind than try to save him? He could not believe what concepts his mind was creating as he crawled in the passage. He resisted the idea that his younger self would not have abandoned Yolkin, that he would have come up with a solution to the problem, that he would have somehow managed to escape and save Yolkin in the same time. He knew he was not able to think the same way as before. He could no longer think of an option which was not given to him. 'When there's no door, I'll make one.' This was no longer true, he thought. It was the first time in his life that he finally admitted how dependent on and useless without alchemy he actually was. 'The Truth truly is a fucking jerk,' he thought. He had accepted the exchange – Ed's alchemy for Alphonse, claiming he had defeated him. In fact, he was toying with him. He knew that Edward's alchemy was not enough to equilibrate the life of another person. 'That's correct, alchemist.' That was what he had replied to Ed when he had said he still had friends even though he had alchemy no more. Truth knew, though, that a moment would come when his friends would be taken from him as well. By having taken his alchemy, he robbed him off his way to protect what was dear to him, off his way to deal with critical situations. Yolkin was the first one he was unable to protect. More will come, though. Will he able to save Williams? Will he able to save Yolkin? Will he able to save anyone? With great power comes great responsibility. Yet, he, having lost his power, is no longer capable of bearing the responsibility. He now understood. He understood how foolish it was from him to ask for this mission, how foolish it was to think that he could help, that he could save lives. He was useless now. He had no power to do anything but run away. As he aged he lost a lot of things but few did he gain. He lost his power, his alchemy, the thing that accompanied him his whole life and as a result he will eventually lose his friends as well, his friends who are way more important to him than anything else in this world. But, what did he gain? He gained neither wisdom nor experience. He thought he had learnt his lesson. He thought he had endured the pain and walked away from it, but he was wrong. The pain that is about to come will be far greater than ever before. One cannot gain anything without losing something first. He just did not lose enough in return.

Yet, he still gained something, he realized. He gained a heart that can overcome any obstacle, a Fullmetal heart. Yes, he did not gain wisdom or experience, but he did gain his heart, his resolve to never give up, to succeed or die trying. And that is what he was going to do. He was not going to run away. He was going to come back for Yolkin and save him. He will stay arrogant. He will keep thinking that he can protect everyone. He was sure that if he acted otherwise he would never be able to face his family, or his brother. He could not look at the eyes of the people that care for him or accept their love and kindness again. He could no longer live if he gave up. He will come back; he will sure come back...

President Kuryavov's residence, Irkutsk

It was late at night when a phone rang in President Kuryavov's bedroom.

"Sir?" sounded the voice of the calling officer.

"Yes? What is it? Why're you waking me up?" answered Kuryavov, quite irritated by his officer's insolence.

"Sir, my uttermost apologies, but there are thirteen men in black cloaks standing in front of the main door, sir," officer reported.

"What?! How did they get past the gates?" enquired the president infuriatedly already planning to fire the gatekeepers.

"No idea, sir. They just appeared out of nowhere," replied the officer, already pretty nervous.

"Out of nowhere? What kind of stupid prank is this? I'm hanging up…"

"No, wait, sir! It's no prank, sir, they just…"

"Wait, did you say they were thirteen?" Kuryavov cut in, his face reflecting confusion and horror.

"Yes, sir, thirteen," the officer seconded.

"And did you say they wore black cloaks and hoods?"

"Yes, sir. Black cloaks and hoods."

"It can't be. They weren't to arrive for another twenty years," Kuryavov thought aloud.

"Ehm, sir, are you all right?" asked the officer, bewildered by that last statement.

"But, who else could that be? Cloaks and hoods, out of nowhere…"

The officer remained silent this time.

"Let them in," the president commanded.

"But, sir…" the officer started protesting although he did not understand the situation one bit.

"Are you deaf? I said let them in!" roared Kuryavov.

"Yes, sir!" The officer responded swiftly and blindly complied with the order.

Before long, the main door of the mansion opened and the thirteen men went in. Their pace was quick and their steps regular and unwavering. They ascended the stairs as Kuryavov put his official suit on and quickly scurried to his workroom. There already waited six soldiers with hands on holsters, ready to protect the president in case of emergency. The members of the Brotherhood of Creation entered and spread around the room, the Prior before them and facing the president directly. He did not lose a single bit of time and asked promptly: "Are the stones ready?"

"Can we speak in private?" the president asked him and gestured his soldiers to leave. They were unwilling to comply, so he shouted: "Leave!"

When all six soldiers left the room, the Prior waved his hand and his twelve brethren followed them immediately.

"Are the stones ready?" he asked again, his eyes – invisible through the hood – surveyed president's face thoroughly.

"The thing is, we didn't expect you to show up for at least two more decades, so…" replied Kuryavov, trying to hide his tremor.

"Hasten the production," the Prior ordered, his voice calm and indifferent as always.

"Well, we're quite short of resources, if you understand?"

"Hasten the production," the Prior repeated his last order, flawlessly imitating the same volume and intonation. When the president did not say anything, he started raising his hand.

"Okay, okay, fine, fine…" Kuryavov agreed quickly as he saw Prior's hand. "There's no need for violence," he added, not certain whether it had been a good thing to say.

The Prior turned around and made a step toward the door, but was stopped by the president.

"Wait!" he said in a too directive voice. The Prior swung to face him again and Kuryavov, realizing the previous tone of his voice, added politely: "…please."

One observed the another for merely one second.

"Perhaps… If you would… I just wanted to…" He cleared his throat. "Ehm, ehm, I would greatly appreciate if you were so unspeakably willing to unveil the reason for this unexpected haste," he asked as courteously as he possibly could.

"The Brotherhood of Preservation has set their plan in motion. They will succeed, should we not act without delay. Hence, hasten the production," Prior informed him. Then he left the workroom.

Once he was gone, the president exhaled deeply in relief. He rose his hand to his chin and began rubbing it, wondering about the future.