~chapter 12~

Date: 1/6/2019

Special thanks to: Giuly de Giuseppe, Quiet Leaf, GunsAndMagic, Rercho, aGreatLoudThump, alightintheshadows, and hailyweston90

Guest: OMG you're so sweet to me ;-; and you shouldn't do that I don't update often enough for that. I'm glad that everyone seems to be in character! Thanks for reviewing!

tallerthanu: HA you're my favorite I love you. hope to hear from you in like half a year LOL

A/N: that was only like a MONTH I'm proud of me. HOPEFULLY I'll be able to keep up so the next chapter will be up by February! I'm not going to school this semester so only my job should get in the way.

It wasn't much longer after that that they were met by another small group of Askians, who reported seeing the scouts of the Southern Guard come storming into camp with terrible news on their lips. They didn't hear what was being said, but it wasn't hard to make a guess.

Only a short while after that, a sound like a foghorn pierced through the camp, and dread filled the faces of the Ishvalans. The little ones stopped in their games, and anyone sitting stood. Tyesha glanced back at Roy and jerked her head back toward the square. She put out both of her hands, and Ed and Al instantly zipped to her side, hooking their hands in hers.

Whatever that sound was for, it was nothing good.

The Ishvalans chattered as they went quietly and nervously toward the square. They all seemed to know that something was very wrong, and Roy couldn't fight back the feeling in his gut that that was true.

Once they breached the square, everyone gathered around the elders' tent, where Elders Sonra and Jihora stood on a soapbox, standing tall despite their old age and frail stature. Ishvalans were gathering from all around Askia, all hailed by the sound.

Once they were gathered, Elder Sonra held up his hand and the crowd quickly hushed.

"We have terrible news," he said, quickly followed by the woman nearby speaking in Ishvalan.

The low murmur permeated the crowd, sick and afraid. When Sonra put his hand back up, the crowd fell silent, shifting with unease.

"The Amestrians are in Askia," Sonra went on, head high, eyes nervous. "They've made it to the Sanctuary between our towns. Not only that, they're coming at us from Harar to the north and Optomolus' Dune to the west. There are forces marching from the east as well. They have us surrounded."

Loud gasps echoed, frightened cries shot up. Mothers clung to their children, husbands to their wives, all wanting to protect them from the merciless monster that was the Amestrian soldiers.

"What's worse," Elder Jihora went on, "they've brought State Alchemists. They intend to execute us."

"Do they have the Flame?!" called one ignorant woman on the opposite side of the crowd, who didn't know who their visitor was. The fear thick in her voice turned Roy's stomach.

Much to his relief, no one who had seen him spoke up. They all stayed strangely quiet. Maybe they had forgotten about him. Or maybe they didn't want to make their people more afraid than they already were.

"...No," Elder Sonra said after a beat. "We cannot tell, but they don't appear to. But they brought the Hell Demon—the Crimson."

An uneasy shifting moved the crowd. The Crimson was undoubtedly worse than the Flame was—but somehow, that wasn't much of a comfort. "Better than Kimblee" wasn't exactly a difficult thing to be.

"...So what do we do?" someone asked, a few bodies over from Roy. He glanced over, but couldn't see their face. "How do we stop this?"

Elder Sonra opened his mouth to respond, but didn't seem to know what to say. He paused and looked all around at his people, took a few deep breaths, then said, "we're about to try to think up a plan. Warriors and priests, with me. Ishvala may have an answer."

The crowd murmured nervously, glancing between one another as some stepped forward to think up a plan. It was painfully few people who did step forward, so few that Roy's stomach knotted. Most of the warriors had already gone off to the battlefield to be killed. Though there seemed to be at least many priests stepping forward, most of them looked like their position—should it come down to it, and their people needed to be protected, they would not do well.

Not that Roy doubted that they would fight, but warriors and priests were trained in different things, and fight or a tactical retreat was not one of the things that priests would be skilled in.

Not like Roy, who had taken multiple classes on such subjects.

His mouth went dry as the crowd thinned out. Elders Sonra and Jihora were stepping back into their tent, followed by their warriors and priests. Someone pushed past him, most gave him a wide berth. Tyesha didn't leave him alone, but that was to be expected. She stood, watching him, looking nervous, anxious, and frightened with her children at her sides.

"Come on, Amestrian," she finally said after a moment. "We should probably… pack something." Like she didn't know what else to do, like she had to keep herself busy or she didn't know what she'd do.

His heart clenched again, glancing back to the tent. These people may not know how to save their own people. He didn't doubt that they knew the area and their own people, but that could only get them so far. He could help.

"...I need to get in there."

"What?" Tyesha looked absolutely appalled, dropping her sons' hands to storm forward. "What in Ishvala's name would you have to do in there?"

"I graduated top of my class in the Academy. It's not… encouraging, I'm sure, but I can help."

"Help! If you honestly think I'll let you in there to help, you're mad as a—"

He looked her right in the eyes, ignoring everyone else. She came to a pause, sucking in a breath between her teeth. "I need you to trust me. I brought Ed here, safe and sound."

Her eyebrows met in the middle, glancing between him and the tent behind him. "...If you try anything—"

"All I want to do is help."

There was silence for a moment. Tyesha squeezed her eyes shut and waited, thinking, then opened red eyes and glanced to the sand. Her fists clenched hard, then she lifted her eyes and glared at him hard. "I know you don't believe, but Ishvala curse you if you try anything unsightly. Let alone the force of my foot."

Roy forced back an amused smile, knowing the threat—both halves—was completely serious. "I know."

Tyesha sighed and pushed a breath out of her nose. She muttered something under her breath that, from the sound of it, was colored with disbelief, then she turned to the tent and said, "if you go, I go."

Roy nodded and turned to follow.

As did two sets of steps.

Tyesha and Roy both paused, glancing down to the boys behind them who were fully intent on following. Roy had forgotten that they were there, honestly.

"We'll help too!" Ed chirped, hand wrapped in Al's sleeve. "We're smart."

"I—no, boys. You can't come in."

"But why not," Ed demanded. "Al's gonna be a priest!"

Roy pitched his brows and glanced to Tyesha. Al was nodding furiously, while Tyesha rolled her eyes.

"Maybe," Tyesha said, crouching. "And maybe, Ed, you're going to be some sort of scholar like your uncle. But neither of you are yet. This is an adult conversation."

"I'm practically all grown up! I was in the desert for three whole days, just me and Roy!"

"It's not the—"

"Mama, we wanna help," Al begged, red eyes taking on a misty quality that Roy was pretty sure was almost entirely faked.

Tyesha sighed, well aware that her children were a pair of stubborn brats. She glanced up to Roy, as if saying you were with him, what do we do with them?

Roy wasn't really a 'kids' kinda person. He wasn't that good with them; it was a miracle that he and Ed had gotten along most of the time, and Roy figured that was mostly from desperation. How would he know? He only had three days' worth of knowledge of Ed, anyway. That he was a big brother and liked to help, that he liked being the one 'in charge' of the kids. That he hated being called short…

"I have an idea."

Tyesha cocked a brow and stayed silent.

"You know what would be really helpful, boys?" Roy said. "We're gonna have a lot of scared moms and dads around here, who are going to be trying to get ready to handle something they're not prepared for. They really don't need all those kids to trip over. Do you think you could help out, and keep an eye on all those little kids? You did say you were a great babysitter."

"And I am!" Ed agreed, flashing Tyesha big eyes.

Tyesha tapped her chin animatedly as if in thought, pursed her lips, and slowly started to nod. "You know, I think that's a great idea. Those kids are going to be very scared too, so don't leave their side, okay? They'll need both of you to help them. Can you do that for us?"

"Yes, Mama!" Ed and Al chirped. They turned around, waved goodbye, and darted off the way they had come.

Tyesha stood and dusted off her knees, splitting a brief look with Roy before quickly turning away. "Let's do this, then." She strode quickly toward the noisy tent and pushed her way in, leading the way.

You'd have thought that Roy had threatened to kill them all right then, with how quickly all of the Ishvalans reacted. The warriors pulled out pistols that Roy hadn't even known they had, while a few priests extended knives or grabbed hold of an idol. Roy put his hands up to show he had no weapons, while Tyesha went about hushing them.

The elders, near the head of the tent where he had first met them, just eyed him cautiously, waiting on something that Roy wasn't sure he could provide. Roy glanced to them, then turned his eyes to the cautious crowd.

Then, Elder Jihora cleared her throat loudly and a little obnoxiously. The Ishvalans all fell still, but they did not lower their weapons and they did not turn away.

"Let the man enter," said Elder Sonra, voice loud over the silence. "He's come to us for a reason."

"Yeah, Flame," spat one of the priests, a young woman holding a dagger. "Here to kill us all, aye? Defend your country against the 'evil' of our existence?"

"Reyona," Elder Jihora scolded. But there was a look in her eye—one that said she was curious about his answer. Like she had scolded Reyona through force of habit and still wanted to know what he was thinking—probably prepared to judge his character against it.

"...I want to help."

"Yeah," spat a warrior with huge shoulders who definitely looked like he would strangle Roy without a second thought. "Help yourself, and your people, win this war. Why else would you be here?"

Roy didn't know how many times he had to explain 'bringing one of your own people home', although he figured it was a fair question. He hated to call it annoying, because he was their sworn enemy and had killed hundreds of their own people, but it was a tad obnoxious.

He shook himself out mentally. That wasn't fair. Considering all he had done, he deserved to have to explain himself a hundred thousand times. More, in fact. He should.

"Because none of this is right."

It had worked on Tyesha so maybe—just maybe—it would work on these war-torn people, too.

Another of the priests, an older fellow whose chin was framed with thick wrinkles, snorted so hard it sounded like it hurt. "If only you had realized that a few months ago." He turned his head away, looking to his elders, and said "he's Amestrian, he cannot be trusted. We should throw him out as bait!"

"They won't stop for one traitor," Tyesha suddenly interjected. The scowls suddenly sent her way startled Roy, and Tyesha as well.

"Traitor," said another priest, small and fresh. "He came here to spy, and that's that."

"I'm not here to spy, I just wanted to bring Ed—"

"An excuse! Thought up by the Amestrians!"

The tent was soon lit up with angry eyes and loud voices, everyone talking over one another. Roy and Tyesha shared a nervous glance; they seemed to be thinking along the same line. These people were all afraid and just wanted their voices heard in case their thought, their idea was the one to save them. They had every chance of being true.

The problem was, they didn't have time. Roughly three o'clock in the afternoon, if Roy was to guess, and dawn tomorrow did not leave much time to make a plan and then safely execute said plan. Especially when the tactic of the other side was to squash any possibility of escape. Their plan had to be perfect, or it would risk the lives of hundreds of Askians and Aishoans. So the more time they spent working on this plan, the better chance they had of seeing it safely through.

Elders Sonra and Jihora seemed aware of that, the way their eyebrows pierced their hairlines and their aged eyes searched the crowd. For the first time that Roy had seen, they looked uncertain. They were faced with the imminent destruction of their closest friends and neighbors, and the way it was going, there wasn't a solution.

Roy didn't have one, not yet, but if they worked together instead of arguing between one another over who was and was not a traitor, then they stood a better chance of thinking one up.

You're going to regret this.

Like a cadet fresh out of the academy, having just had drills and formations drilled into his head and, above all else, respect respect respect, he snapped to attention, opened his mouth, and snapped, "ATTEN-HUT!"

It was definitely the last thing that any of the Ishvalans were expecting to hear, and he was probably the last person they expected to hear it from. Poor Tyesha, not even a whole step away from him and so getting his loud military voice right in her ear, started hard. Everyone else silenced like a wave, fanning out. Some weapons turned on him, but all heads did in the meantime. When he made no move, the weapons lowered. They were curious.

"Listen!" he said. Ishvalan faces blurred to pale Amestrian, and suddenly he wasn't a prisoner of war, he was a major speaking to his company. "We've got a lot of people to move and not a lot of time to do it, and infighting is only going to slow us down! Regardless of who's Amestrian and who's Ishvalan, we all share the same goal, so let's make up a plan so you have the breath to kick my ass later!"

The silence was deafening. No one knew quite what to say. One older woman opened her mouth with protest in her eyes, so he shot her a hard look and the fight quickly fled. She thought better of her words, and lowered her hand and eyes.

Elder Jihora glanced around, then nodded at him her vague appreciation. "Thank you, Mr Mustang of the 414th. Much as we may not like it, the Amestrian has a point. We'll be sharing our plan with the Aishoan elders, and we'll try to move them, too. Which means we don't have much time. We need our thoughts put to ideas—not to petty arguments. Now, Mr Mustang, since you're here, maybe we can use you—"

Roy nodded; that was what he was here for.

"Do you know what they're doing?"

Roy nodded again, sharp, hard. But he didn't even have the chance to open his mouth before the Ishvalans burst into protests. They argued again—this time, they all snarled that he was a liar and whatever he said could not be trusted. Whatever he said was a trap—and that he would lead them right to their graves, but he himself would walk away. One snarled that she hoped his conscience was easy on him because this would ruin him otherwise. Another snarled that he hoped his conscience was brutal because he wanted to see him worse than ruined.

Elder Jihora cleared her throat again, but the noise went unheard. After a moment of looking increasingly frustrated, she opened her mouth and yelled, "ishbalotes!" Which effectively silenced the crowd. "Silence, please."

There was an uncertain air around the tent, but the silence stayed. Roy wasn't certain, but he thought she had said something formal—something more like "followers of Ishvala" to address the crowd.

Then, Jihora turned back to him, her eyes heavy. "My people fear you, Flame Alchemist. Perhaps you can tell us, and help us to soothe our fears and decide what should be done with you. You say you are here to help us, yes? What will you do with us once you have helped us?"

"N-nothing, I—"

"You'd just let us go free? Your people wouldn't know of us?"

Oh. They were essentially asking if they should let him go. From a war's standpoint, he would say no in a split second, but these people were not Amestrian and did not deal in the same beliefs and understandings of fairness as he and his people.

"...No. They wouldn't. I'll… I'll tell them that you've gone east, toward Xing. There are sympathizers there, they'll believe it, and there's enough ground to cover that it would take weeks to get far enough for them to realize you didn't go that way."

"Where else would we go?" wondered Sonra. "If we escaped the Amestrians instead of fought, where would you have us go, if not Xing?"

"You won't win if you fight," Roy said, shaking his head. "There aren't warriors, here."

A few haughty scouts and warriors made noises of protests, so Roy quickly continued, "there aren't enough, I mean. Not enough to take on State Alchemists. Certainly no one who could take on the Hell Demon."

"You—" said a young man not far from the elders. He looked to be of high status around here—perhaps an advisor, or perhaps next in line for the seat of elder. Far as Roy knew, Ishvalans didn't have to be impossibly old to be the village Elder. "You're the Flame Alchemist. You could take on the Hell Demon. You could take on any of them."

Roy's stomach suddenly turned to knots. Fight his own people?—isn't that what you've been doing all along?—he couldn't do that. "I can't… I can't fight for you. They'd execute me as soon as I stepped foot in camp."

"So, what? We should die so you don't have to?" said a faceless voice. Roy's stomach knotted again, a little harder. That wasn't what—

"N-no, I'm just saying you can't—" fight them anyway, but none of them were listening to him. Didn't they understand how little time they had? They didn't have the time for these little arguments! He knew that they knew—they had to understand—but their fear was making them more susceptible to panic. Roy couldn't fault them for that, but if they didn't get started with a plan soon, they would fall prey to the Amestrians' attack.

"What, Amestrian," said a voice over the crowd, and when Roy whipped his head toward it, he found Elder Sonra had located another soapbox—had probably dragged it in from outside. He was looking down on the crowd, but his eyes trained on Roy harshly. The crowd again fell silent at his powerful voice. The elders here clearly had a lot of respect from their people, the way all stirring emotion vanished at their command. Sonra continued with a flash around at his people, as if daring them to speak up, "would you have us do? Xing is a very long way, and I wouldn't like the Amestrians on my tail. You say that you'll tell them that is where we have gone, but what safe place is there for an Ishvalan but Xing?"

Roy stopped, feeling himself grow hot as the crowd turned on him. He wanted to say Aerugo, since Aerugo was funding much of Ishval's fight, but he also knew from reports in recent months from Amestrian embassies in Aerugo, that the Aerugans were doubling their efforts and patrols along their borders—not just the Amestrian one, but the one bordering the Great Desert and, more importantly, Ishval. Much as Aerugo funded their efforts, it was not because Ishval was an ally. It was likely because they wanted to see Amestris weakened, like any other of the Amestris-bordered nations. Sending the Ishvalans to Aerugo may not be a death sentence, but it wasn't likely that the Askians would be met with open arms.

So really, there was one other viable option.

"The East Area."

Elder Sonra cocked a thick brow at him and frowned deeply. Roy knew what he was thinking—sending the Ishvalans back into Amestris was sure to be a death sentence.

"I know, it sounds crazy. But the East Area has already been cleared of Ishvalans—" And if that wasn't a terrible thing to say to a bunch of Ishvalans— "so the military's efforts there are minimal. Towns in the east are few and far between, so it would be easy to hide groups of you. Maybe not for an extended period of time, and it may mean splitting up into groups, but it could save you."

Beside him, Tyesha's breath hitched like it was coated with fear. Looking around, they all looked afraid. And Roy thought they had every right to be.

"How do we get past the border?" Elder Jihora asked, stepping up beside her husband. "There will be troops."

"We can get disguises—I can make them for you. Refugees are escaping this war, going back into Amestris—not just Ishvalans, but many from the East Area itself, or living just outside of the old border. You won't be the first dark-skinned folks either, I'm sure of it. If we can get you into average Amestrian clothes, and maybe touch up a couple things—get sunglasses to cover your eyes and hats for your hair—" which would be easily passable in such a sun-drenched area as the East— "then getting you past the border shouldn't be hard at all."

"Great," a voice spoke up, one that Roy recognized. When he glanced over, he saw Mikahal looking him down, challenging him. "So we have a way to get out of the desert. How do we get out of the city? We're surrounded on all sides, and I'll be damned if they let us slip out between Harar and Optomolus' Dune. All the planning in the world will do us nothing if we're too dead to execute it!"

There was a sharp wince from everyone in the crowd. Roy included. Mikahal had a point—more than a point. He had a damned sword.

"...Right," he said, and several pairs of curious, anxious red eyes turned on him. "Obviously. There are, um…" Four different units in the four cardinal directions. There would be guards to watch between them—at least, Roy had to assume there would be, for their own safety. Going between them wasn't an option. They had few warriors—and even if Roy could fight with them, it wouldn't be enough. Going through them wasn't an option. If he, somehow, managed to get two hundred or more Ishvalans over the troops and headed northwest… well, there was no safe landing, and he had no clue how the hell he'd manage that anyway. Going above them wasn't an option.

But going below… below them could be an option.

"There are…" Mikahal said impatiently. "What, Flame?"

"Hang on!" he snapped, because he always forgot his place when he was thinking. There was a surge from the nearby crowd as they stepped away from him. He always thought better, faster, and more concisely when he was moving his feet—it was why he liked to walk and talk. He started pacing in small circles, thoughts racing, plans playing and replaying in his head, skin hot and mouth dry but all physical ailments chased away.

He…

He had a plan.

Or, something of one, anyway. Sand was malleable, perhaps a little too malleable, but with its properties, he might be able to turn it into stone. With twenty or more miles between them and the Amestrians, they had plenty of space to work with—plenty of sand to work with.

They couldn't go around, they couldn't go through, and they couldn't go above. But… if he could somehow alchemize a tunnel… he might be able to get the Ishvalans on the other side of the Amestrian soldiers before they even breached Askia, and with the Amestrians none the wiser.

This wasn't just some half-baked plan; not really, anyway. If everything worked right, it was a good one. He would have to find a good location, and get a couple depths tested, but he could make this work. He could save the Ishvalans from their fate.

"Amestrian?" Tyesha's soft voice pierced his hearing; he'd stopped pacing by then, and the sudden halt had them a little unnerved.

"What if we built a tunnel?"

A titter passed through the crowd—a nervous whisper, like gossip, sliding in and out of each and every mouth.

"We won't build it in time," Elder Sonra said, eyes alighting on him. He looked unsure, afraid for his people.

"I know—with manual labor, we wouldn't. But I'm an alchemist, and I—"

"No!" cried more than a few Ishvalan voices. Ishvala and her teachings spoke negatively of alchemy, and the way it changed and shaped her gift, so Roy wasn't surprised.

"I won't go!" called a young woman with new fear alight on her face.

"Building a tunnel out of sand is suicide!" agreed a young man, younger than Roy.

"The Amestrian will drop it all on us!"

"Ishvala's creation!"

"Won't—"

"Can you do it?" asked Elder Jihora above all the panic. Her red eyes said more than her words—will you do it safely, can we trust you, or do you intend to kill us all?

He turned from the frightened citizens to look right at her and hope she could see his emotions from his black black eyes. "I'm an exceptionally skilled alchemist, even from youth. I haven't worked much with sand, but I should be able to change its properties just a little, and make a tunnel that will stand long enough to get through." I will see this through—see you through—to the end.

"You can do it in time?"

Roy dipped his head. "I may need some help, but yes, I think so."

"...You will have guards on you at all times."

"I understand."

"You can't be serious!" snapped one voice from the crowd, that Roy hadn't heard much from. "You'll let the Amestrian lead us?! He'll take us all straight to our death!"

"What choice do we have?" Elder Sonra piped up. "The Amestrian wants to help, so we'll let him help. If we find out he's wrong, or he's leading us astray, we kill him."

The warriors in the crowd shifted, and Roy was pretty sure the muzzle to a rifle lined with him, but he couldn't see from where, and he wondered if it was his imagination.

"You can't expect us to trust an Amestrian State Alchemist! The Killer of Hundreds, no less," an older woman crowed. She couldn't look at him, had her head turned away. Afraid. Roy couldn't blame her.

"I don't—" Elder Sonra said softly, then cleared his throat and said, "I don't expect you to trust him, but can I expect you to trust me?"

Another titter passed through the crowd, this time nervous. As if trusting the Flame Alchemist was asking too much of them, to put enough trust in their elder.

For several moments, quiet settled. No one said a word; no one really knew what they were meant to be saying one way or the other. The wind blew against the tent flaps—if Roy had looked, he may have seen a few ears listening in from outside—but that was the only sound.

"I don't," Roy said slowly, to fill the gap. "I don't expect you to trust me. And I don't expect you to follow me—into a tunnel, into Amestris, whatever. I'll take whatever you all are willing to give me. We won't—we can't—force anyone to come with us if they don't want to, but I can say that the Amestrians are coming, and… and it won't be good. It won't be good. It is one hundred percent up to you, and I can… I can try to build you a structure, or something, to protect you or hide you, but if they have Kimblee—if they have the Hell Demon, they'll be able to blow through it, I'm sorry."

Another soft murmur sounded throughout the tent. Not satisfied, especially not with the idea of Roy building them any sort of structure, but not disappointed. Like they were waiting for it all to sink in.

"If you can do it," Elder Jihora finally said when no noises of protest sounded, this time. "Then yes. Please. Save my people."

Roy felt both the weight of the world lift off of him, and subsequently fall right back on. He could save them. He could right his own wrongs—nothing would—and put these innocent people back on the path to a bright future. It was probably his one chance—as if—at redemption.

"Then I'm going to need as many clothes as you can manage. And… and someone should contact the Aishoan elders, soon. The more people we know of coming, the better prepared we can be."

Mikahal nodded quietly. He glanced to the people around him, pointed out three of them, and spoke quietly in Ishvalan. The three of them nodded, and Mikahal led them out.

"We'll want to gather supplies," Roy said to the elders. "It took Ed and I three days to get here. The way that we go should be mostly clear of troops, but it'll still be a long trek regardless."

"Right," Elder Sonra said, passing along the information to his people. Another group of them shot nervous glances at Roy, but did as asked and left the tent.

"I need to survey the surrounding area," Roy said again, glancing to Tyesha. "If we're headed northwest towards the East Area, I still need to figure out where exactly to build the tunnel."

"I can show you the surrounding area. Come on, Flame Alchemist," Tyesha offered quietly. She turned her head, and Roy noticed that someone nearby tapped her arm and handed her a pistol—just to be safe.

"Thanks." He turned to the flaps of the tent when no one else had a word for him, and Tyesha followed quietly on his heel.

As soon as he stepped out of the tent though, with barely enough room for Tyesha to get out without ducking her head much, Roy came to a halt to avoid tripping.

A small group of children were crowded around the flaps, staring up at him. Their eyes were all lit up with fear—and even though they had all seen him before, or most of them had, there was more fear in their eyes now than there ever had been. A few of them had backed out of his way when he stepped out.

And there… near the back of the small pack…

Roy saw each and every last on of his sins, as he looked long into this big crimson eyes. Every single one, and each one felt like a separate slap in the face. His stomach bottomed out and hit the sand.

Ed stared up at him, more fear in his eyes than Roy saw in any of the other children. Ed's mouth was fallen open. He swallowed a couple times, then the next words that he let out stopped Roy's heart right in its tracks.

"You're the Flame Alchemist?"

:)

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