Eiliar first met his future beloved the day he turned sixteen.

While birthdays usually weren't a particularly celebrated occasion in Xerxes, even among the nobility, there were three instances in a young man's life when they had significance. First, there was "elevation" – when a boy turned twelve. If a crime, for example theft, was committed by a child before elevation, then his parents were responsible for settling debts. Elevation meant a boy was no longer a child, but an adolescent – and in the eyes of the law, he was old enough to be held accountable for his actions. Also, while parents usually taught family craft to their children since early childhood, only after elevation were boys officially apprenticed to either their fathers or other assigned mentors, usually relatives. Elevation mattered greatly in slave trade as well – there was a huge difference in prices between children before and after their elevation.

...For the slaves themselves however, the milestones didn't really matter. After all, they were given work the moment they learned to walk. No one cared if they were of age.

But it should be noted that "elevation" was not the same thing as "coming of age" – which was when an adolescent turned sixteen. Coming of age meant adulthood in the most conventional sense: that a young man was ready to marry. Although that differed between men and women – the latter didn't have an elevation. The female equivalent of coming of age happened when girls turned fourteen, marking both their accountability by law, and the generally approved age of consent.

However, even though sixteen technically marked the day when boys became men – able to start their own families and financially support them – in practice it rarely meant complete independence. Why? Because the rocky period between twelve and twenty was what elders succinctly called, "the age of madness". Simply put: teenagers were thought to be too rowdy, rebellious, but most importantly distracted by the opposite sex and thus deprived of any common sense. To avoid having such volatile individuals occupy respectable positions, the elders of the royal council declared that no man should be allowed to have full control over their inheritance – be it position, land, servants or other possessions – before reaching the age of twenty. Traditionally, Xerxesians called that milestone "crowning": because it was the minimal age for a royal to take over the throne of Xerxes (unlike in their neighbor countries, like Xing for example, where that bar had always been much lower).

And so, there were only three birthdays which mattered to a young man in Xerxes: elevation at twelve, coming of age at sixteen, and crowning of adulthood at twenty. And the fact that Eiliar met Ava the day they both came of age? It was no coincidence.

Eiliar had, unfortunately, lost his father before his elevation. Before the man could teach him anything about his future responsibilities. Since that time, he apprenticed under Councilman Rayan – his uncle on his mother's side, as well as his father's.

Their family tree was... well, kind of convoluted. Not through inbreeding – incest had been a huge cultural taboo for centuries, not even the royal family could get away with it... at least without a humiliating scandal. Eiliar's situation was uncommon, but still within honorable customs. The gist of it was this: Eiliar's grandfather, Kata, and Rayan were first cousins through their fathers. Rayan's father, Artaphernes, died when his wife was young, so she later remarried and had a daughter named Maya, Rayan's half-sister, unrelated to Kata by blood. Kata's only son, Alexandrius, eventually married Maya – who was close to him in age, despite being one generation older – and together they had Eiliar.

Tragically, Rayan lost his own family around the time Eiliar was born. As a man racked with grief and loneliness, to avoid giving into despair completely, Rayan took up the responsibility of personally mentoring his nephew. Being one of the few relatives Eiliar had left, he was the only one who was able to teach him what he needed to know, in order for young Eiliar to one day take over the position in the royal court left empty after Alexandrius' death.

As a young boy, Eiliar had always been an eager and idealistic, almost to a fault. He loved and admired his father greatly, and he kept the man's principles close to his heart for many years. He valued Xerxesian laws and traditions highly, wishing to go beyond simply obeying them: he aimed to be a model citizen. Eiliar made sure to do right by his late father's servants and workers, he studied as hard as he could, and like his ancestors before him, he dedicated all of his work to Mithra, the patron god of rising sun, lawfulness, covenants and leadership. And to honor his devotion to Mithra, at the sunrise of his coming of age, Eiliar made a vow of chastity. Suffice to say, it was an unusual choice for someone of his standing, especially for a man in the midst of his "age of madness".

Uncle Rayan had been aware of Eiliar's intent. Eiliar made it perfectly clear to his uncle that he would not only wait for marriage, but probably delay finding a wife as well – he had a lot of work planned for the next decade, and he didn't wish to neglect his future family because of it. So imagine his surprise when uncle Rayan showed up at his doorstep with a young female slave accompanying him, the councilman cheerfully declaring:

"I brought a gift for you, my boy! Isn't she lovely?"

"Uncle Rayan!" Eiliar loudly exclaimed in protest. Then he remembered himself, and bowed his head. "Forgive me for raising my voice, Uncle. But tell me, what is the meaning of this?"

"You still lack a personal servant, dear nephew," Rayan explained with a humorous gleam in his eyes. "There haven't been any additions to your household since your father's passing, am I correct? They're all at least twice your age. So I thought you would like to have a younger servant to keep you company."

"But, but..." Eiliar stuttered helplessly. "Why a girl, Uncle?" he asked, glancing at the tiny slave, bowing to him respectfully. He had no idea what to do with her. He'd never been in charge of a new servant before, let alone one so young – and a girl on top of everything!

"For you to have a lovely face to look upon, of course!"

Eiliar looked at him in disbelief. "Surely you jest, Uncle Rayan. That cannot be the only reason."

Councilman Rayan sighed, his voice taking a more serious tone. "No, it is not. There are several reasons, actually. But," he began smiling again. "It doesn't make that argument any less valid. You need to spend more time with people your age, my boy."

"I suppose..." Eiliar said, reluctantly. He could admit, he wasn't a very social man; generally, he preferred the company of books over the company of people. But, he understood that being involved in politics meant being involved socially – as much as he didn't like it, he couldn't avoid it forever. "I am grateful for you gift, Uncle Rayan," he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "But please, share your wisdom with me, for I fail to understand your reasoning."

Rayan hummed, like he always did when he expected him to figure something out for himself. Eiliar looked upon the girl thoughtfully.

"She appears quite young," he observed. "She's a virgin, isn't she?" A very expensive gift: virgin women where one of the highest bidding slaves on the market.

"Indeed. She came of age today, just like you."

Eiliar frowned heavily at his Uncle. "Yet you've known that I would declare a vow of chastity on this very day."

In the corner of his eye, he saw the girl look up in surprise. Did she understand what that such vows meant?

Uncle Rayan laughed, deeply amused by something. "My boy, that is exactly why you need someone like her around!"

"What do you mean?" Eiliar blinked in confusion.

"My poor, naive nephew." Uncle Rayan shook his head in slight disbelief. "Surely you realize your vows would have little substance, if you spent most of your time locked away in your chambers? True resilience," he looks at him meaningfully. "Grows through trial and perseverance. In the near future, how many ladies do you expect to try and tempt you into breaking your vows, hmmm?"

Eiliar flushed pink in embarrassment. He could see what Uncle Rayan was getting at. Now that he came of age, someone of his standing would no doubt soon become a common target for seduction, from both noble and common families.

"You mean, her role is to..." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Test me for... untoward advances?"

Once again, Uncle Rayan laughed at his naivety. "Dear boy! I thought I taught you to be observant? Take another look at her."

Eiliar blinked, and turned to the slave in question. Only then did he notice that her hands were shaking.

"What's wrong-? Um, what is your current number?"

"Five, Master Eiliar. Forgive me, Master," she responded, bowing her head lowly. "I am simply... nervous."

"You have nothing to fear, Five," Eiliar reassured her. "I treat all my servants fairly, as long as they do honest work."

"I know, Master," Five replied, her voice so timid it was nearly a whisper. "I believe you, Master. Please forgive your servant. I shall serve with everything I have." Despite her words, her hands were still trembling.

"Have you ever seen such a fragile blossom?" Rayan said with a surprisingly soft expression. "Can you even imagine her attempting to seduce you?"

The girl turned red and swallowed nervously, making the answer obvious. She was only fourteen after all, and obviously very intimidated by both of them.

"No, Uncle. But you intend for me to get used to the company of women, correct?"

"Now that you're of age, it's not unusual for a young man such as yourself to have a personal servant, especially a pretty young lady. It will make you less of a target for, as you put it, untoward advances. And I trust you to treat any gift from me with utmost care?"

"Of course!" Eiliar was nearly offended that it was even a question.

"I thought so." Rayan smiled in relief, then began explaining. "I noticed this lovely girl yesterday on the slave market. My cleaning staff is getting old, you see, and I needed to purchase an extra pair of hands. When I came across her, she was shaking like a leaf in the storm."

"Please forgive me for disturbing you, Master Rayan," the girl spoke up so softly it was barely audible, bowing even lower to the Councilman.

"I told you it was alright, Five. As it happened, Cadmael was there as well, and he seemed interested in making a purchase of her."

"Councilman Cadmael?"

"The very same." Rayan had a dark look in his eyes. "That man has a... reputation, for what he does to his servants. Especially virgins." He shook his head with a deep sigh and continued: "I felt pity for her, so I managed to get in line before he did. However, putting her among my cleaning staff felt like a waste. And then I thought to myself: who would treat such a fragile flower better than my own nephew, one of the most honorable young men I've ever seen?"

Eiliar blushed from the praise. "Thank you, Uncle. I see now. You are a kind man, Uncle Rayan."

The man waved his hand. "I was just in the right place at the right time. In any case, I think this arrangement can work out nicely, don't you think?"

"Yes, I think so." His previous reluctance was gone. If there was anything that motivated the teen, it was a challenge to upkeep his duty. "I understand your wisdom now. I shall keep my vow in spite of trials, and I will treat my new personal servant with the same kindness you showed her."

"Good." Rayan put a hand on Eiliar's shoulder. "You make your father's memory proud," he told him, solemnly. Eiliar beamed at him with happiness.

"Thank you, Uncle Rayan."

And so, from that moment on, Five was Eiliar's personal servant. Though the number didn't stick around for long.

"Oh, I almost forgot. You have to be given a new name," he informed Five later, after she was settled in.

"...A name, Master?" she asked shyly.

She was adjusting quickly, showing that there was more to her than just fear. But while she no longer shook at the sight of her master, she was still very timid and soft spoken, more than any person he had ever met before. Eiliar understood well why his Uncle had felt compelled to help her. She was such an innocent little thing. Harming someone so delicate would be against any decent man's instincts.

"I know it's unconventional. It was my father who started the tradition years ago. He wasn't very fond of numbers," Eiliar smiled, recalling one of Uncle Rayan's stories. Apparently in his youth, Alexandrius hated algebra with a passion, so one day he permanently 'banished' it from his home by giving all his numbered servants actual names. It became a popular tale among the court, often mentioned for the sheer amusement of it. "It shall officially mark you as a member of this household."

"Master." As always, Five spoke up so quietly he almost didn't pick it up. "I live to serve you. So I beg you to forgive your servant, if she steps out of line to ask..."

Eiliar looked at her in curiosity. "Do you have a request in mind?"

"Yes, Master Eiliar." She reached beneath her tunic, and pulled out a small wooden necklace. "I was told this has a name written on it: Ava."

"Does it?" Eiliar blinked in surprise. Now, that was interesting. "May I see?"

Hesitant, she took it off and handed it to him, as if afraid she wouldn't get it back. Eiliar saw that she was correct: the name carved on the smooth piece of wood indeed spelled out 'Ava'.

"Where did you get this?"

"It's been in my possession for as long as I can remember. I don't know why, but I was allowed to keep it."

It was most unusual for slaves to be allowed a childhood possessions – even more than a slave having a name.

"Perhaps you were sold young under the condition that you would be allowed to keep your name?" Eiliar wondered aloud, though that wouldn't make much sense. Slavery usually meant giving up all independence. Letting a child keep a memento with a name implied some sort of favoritism, but a favored child wouldn't normally end up sold.

"I wouldn't know, Master."

What an intriguing mystery.

"Well, I don't see any reason to take it away," he said as gave the accessory back. " And if this is the name you wish to claim in my household, it is henceforth accepted. You are no longer to be called Number Five, Ava."

She bowed deeply, thankful. "Thank you, Master Eiliar. You are most gracious."

"Your gratitude is well received, maidservant Ava."

It was truly no hardship for Eiliar, to keep Ava as his personal servant. As she grew more confident and secure in her position, she became a pleasant presence to have around. Truly, Uncle Rayan had known what he was doing, Eiliar thought to himself on numerous occasions. And over time, he began to appreciate her for far more than just her hard work and loyalty.

It all culminated when one evening, Eiliar was struck by a revelation, no less shocking than a bolt of lightning from a clear sky – yet as soft and soothing as a partridge feather caress.

"Master. It is late," Ava spoke to him with concern. "Will you retire for the night?"

"Just a moment, Ava. I have to finish this," Eiliar replied without turning his eyes from the parchment, frustration and exhaustion apparent in his voice. His father had been right all along, algebra was the worst kind of evil.

"Please, Master. You shall have a clearer mind in the morning," she told him gently, yet firmly. It was surprising how far she had come, from the slave too afraid to look him in the eye, to someone bold enough to argue with him, for the sake of his well-being.

"I only have one equation left."

"You've been at it for the past half an hour, Master Eiliar."

"I'm almost done."

Ava sighed deeply. Then she told him:

"...It's 726, Master."

Eiliar froze, shocked. "What?"

"The answer is 726, Master Eiliar."

"How do you know that?"

"You forgot to square the eleven, Master."

Eiliar read the whole equation from the beginning. Ava... appeared to be correct.

"Ava," he said slowly. "Since when can you read?"

The servant girl hesitated.

"I... have been able to read since before I came here," she admitted a little fearfully.

"Why did you not tell me?"

"I thought... I wasn't allowed to," she said, bowing her head. "I learned by watching the overseer at the slave market, back when I was a little girl. He always spoke to himself while he was writing."

Eiliar couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You learned to read... just by watching?"

"Yes, Master."

This was unbelievable. Ava... a slave girl, younger than him by two years, with no education whatsoever... was literate. And she learned entirely on her own.

"What about algebra?" he asked. "How did you learn that?"

"By watching you, Master. And..." She quickly lowered her head and confessed: "Forgive me, Master Eiliar, I swear I never touched any of your books. I just... looked at them whenever they were open. That is all."

By now, Eiliar was openly gaping at her.

"Ava. You are speaking the truth?"

"Of course, Master. I would never lie to you."

"You must be a prodigy!"

The servant blushed, bashful. "I am no prodigy, Master."

"What are you talking about? You learned reading and algebra without any tutor! That's incredible! I don't think I ever could have done something like that."

"You think too highly of me, Master Eiliar. I am but an ordinary slave."

Except she wasn't, as Eiliar realized. Not in the slightest. And that discovery... not unlike a tiny pebble thrown into a pond, causing ripples to spread on its steady surface... slowly started to turn the cogs in his brain, and before he knew it, Eiliar's perspective on the world shifted to such degree it became almost unrecognizable.

The young nobleman who had devoted himself to uphold the laws and tradition since early childhood, the one who had wholeheartedly believed that the social order was righteous, that the gods themselves put it in place for a reason... Eiliar began to doubt.

Because what was the difference between a noble and a slave, exactly? What made the former better than the other other than the circumstances of birth? Why was the latter considered inferior? Who judged them so? Eiliar wondered.

For in a world where people where people were rewarded by their true merit... perhaps a person born among commoners could rise above the richest of nobles, thanks to nothing but the strength of their mind.

Whoever said that it was easy to be a teacher was either lying, an idiot, or a combination of both, Edward Elric decided.

Because he had never been so frustrated in his life as he was right now, trying to explain a single, simple, two-syllable word to his brand new student.

"Sensei," Ed spoke as slowly and clearly as possible for umpteenth time. Hohenheim just stared at him with blank incomprehension.

"Sa...ey…?" he tried.

Ed prayed for patience. "Again."

"Seney."

How? He wondered in despair.

"No. Sensei."

"Sen-sen?"

Just, how?

"Sen. Sei."

"Sa Say?"

And Ed finally lost it.

"AAAAAARGH! How hard can it be to pronounce one simple word, you colossal idiot?!" he blew up, throwing his hands in the air.

Van puffed up like a very offended bird. "Who are you calling an idiot, shorty?!"

Ed responded appropriately: "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A PATHETIC LITTLE RUNT SMALLER THAN A GRAIN OF SAND DIVIDED BY A THOUSAND?!"

"I give up." Hohenheim mimicked Ed, putting his arms up in the exact same way. Edward inwardly wondered if the other teen would begin noticing the similarities between anytime them soon. "I'm just going to call you 'Master'."

Ed refused, annoyed and disgusted in equal measure. Van asked him why.

Why? Because it's creepy? "Because I don't like it!" he replied instead.

"Why is that, Master?" Van grinned like the cheeky brat that he actually was, under all of his innocent-puppy guise. It reminded Ed of Al so much it was almost scary.

Ed tried to focus on their nonsensical argument to avoid that train of thought. "Stop calling me that, my name is Ed!"

"Alright, why is that, Master Ed?"

"Quit it!"

Van just laughed, as if there was anything even remotely funny about the implication of slavery, and repeated the question.

But, how could Ed even begin to explain it? To Van, who was still someone's property less than 24 hours ago? Who considered slavery a completely normal thing?

"I feels wrong, alright?"

"Why?" the cheeky brat kept asking.

"Because, you're not a slave, got it? And I definitely do not owe you."

I don't want you to serve me, Ed wanted to say. I don't want you to bow and cower in fear that I would hurt you. I don't want you to consider me the kind of person who would treat you like that.

(I don't want you to stay just out of obligation, was the quietest thought he immediately squashed down.)

Van seemed under the impression that Teacher and Master meant the same thing. Ed tried to explain. That respect towards a teacher and obedience towards a master were two different things.

"That's not true! All slaves respect their Masters," Van protested, as if offended on behalf of his fellow servants. Ed couldn't believe his ears.

"Did you?" he asked in disbelief.

"Well, of course I did!"

Ed's heart sank as he stared at Van's bandaged arm. "You respected Roshan even after what he did to you?"Did you think you... deserved it?

"Um… well, yes..." Van hesitated.

"How can you?"

Why didn't Van hate his old Master? Ed spent a single afternoon in the man's presence, and he could already tell he was sleazy and corrupted as nobles can come. Roshan was a greedy, self-absorbed prick with no empathy or respect for others – not to mention he was a murderer. He reminded Edward of General Raven that way. The Royal Alchemist was just as bad as Central higher-ups. Ed had been tempted to clock him over the head at least several times during a single conversation.

But, it appeared Van didn't see the man like that. Ed had no idea how that was possible. It's not as if Roshan acted benevolent to his subordinates, if his treatment of Van and his assistants was any indication.

"It wasn't a big deal…" Van said, and rage boiled under Edward's skin. "Just a cut."

Ed tried to make him see reason as tactfully as possible: "He hurt you for a selfish reason and didn't ask you for permission."

"Permission?" Van repeated the word as if it was a completely foreign concept. "He was my Master."

"See? This is exactly what I'm talking about!" Ed furiously exclaimed. Then sighed as he realized the root of the problem. "Such blind obedience."

Hohenheim fell silent, looking at Edward as if he was speaking a whole other language. Ed tried to get through to him with utmost earnestness:

"Do you truly believe he had any right to do that to you, Van? Do you really think that you deserve such treatment? That anyone does? Do you think people should treat each other like objects?"

Van didn't respond, but Ed didn't expect him to.

"I think I'm starting to understand," Ed said to himself thoughtfully. "It seems freedom is something I cannot give to you, not by myself…"

I'm going about this all wrong, aren't I.

He couldn't just tell Van that he was a human being who deserved respect and make him believe it. It didn't work like around here. This wasn't Amestris. This wasn't Ed's home.

Edward could preach human rights till his throat got sore, but it wouldn't change a damn thing. In Xerxes, slavery was the norm. Van had been raised to believe he was a tool to be used by other people. And while Ed's intentions might have been noble on the surface, he was hardly any better, because he was using Van too. Not like Roshan or the Homunculus did, but it didn't make it any less true.

Because Ed was selfish and lonely. Because he basically forced Van into a situation where the only reasonable option was staying. Ed might have given him the illusion of freedom, but did someone like Van was even capable of making a use of it? He might have jumped at the idea of learning alchemy from Ed, but if he did it under the assumption that they were going to have a slave-master dynamic again...

Ed wasn't qualified for this. He was the worst person in the world to try and fix this.

Al would have been so much better at this.

But Al's no longer here, isn't he? A dark voice hissed in the back of his mind. And whose fault is that?

Van said something, but Ed could no longer hear him. As if in trance, Ed stood up and turned to the window.

The stars were visible and bright that night. Sometimes when staying in big cities, Ed had missed the sight of stars above him, the quiet of the countryside. But right now, he missed the overwhelming glow a modern street filled with electrical lamps. He missed the roar of car engines, the smell of gasoline. He missed crammed city blocks and restaurants with greasy fast-food. He missed the obnoxious automail shops of Rush Valley, the disgusting public restrooms of Central City, claustrophobia-inducing military offices at the Eastern Command, and all the things which used to annoy him to no end. He missed Amestris so much his chest ached with it. But most of all, he missed his brother.

His brother, whom Ed as good as murdered today... because his actions erased his existence.

"Um, Ed?" Van spoke up. Ed looked at him without seeing, his mind far away.

"It's late. You must be tired. You should go to bed."

I need to be alone right now.

"What about you?"

"I have more important things to do." Ed said blankly. You're dismissed, Van. Please, just go.

Without any further delay, Van stood up and left the room. Ed listened until his footsteps faded away completely, waited a minute… two... and then he crumbled to the ground, falling on his knees.

Blindly, he started tearing off the bandages wrapped around his automail. It didn't matter how badly he ripped them, he always transmuted them to fit tightly around his arm, kind of like an irremovable glove. When he finally got rid of them all, he stared at his metal hand – at Winry's very own craftsmanship.

I loved her, Ed admitted to himself for the first time and his throat tightened as if he was being strangled. I loved her and I promised her I would make her cry tears of joy...

But Winry would never cry for him again, not for joy, and not for any other reason. Because Winry was gone, too. She died on the Promised Day.

"We're gonna stop them, Winry. Al and I are gonna be home, before you know it. Have an apple pie waiting for us, okay?"

He lost her.

"I'm not running away! You cant just send us off like that! I know you want to protect us, but you need to try and save everyone!"

"I'm going to do everything I can do to stop it, but there's a chance it might not work!"

"I don't want to hear any doubts from you! ...Please, Ed. Just tell me you're going to stop them and save the country..."

He failed her.

Everyone was dead. Except for him.

I shouldn't be here.

Distantly, he realized he was shaking. Ed pressed his limps so his automail hand, muffing a pained whimper which somehow managed to escape him in spite of his efforts to keep quiet.

I shouldn't be here.

Suddenly, he remembered a conversation he had with Al, after they decoded Dr Marcoh notes about the Philosopher's Stone.

"You know... We try so hard to grasp the truth, but it always slips away. And now that we have actually have caught it, turns out the truth is too dangerous to hold. I'm starting to think this is God's special way of torturing people who committed taboos.

I wonder... if it will be like this all our lives."

It was getting difficult to breathe.

Edward frantically opened the hidden trapdoor to the basement. He rushed down, stumbling like a drunk. He pulled out his silver watch, clapped and transmuted it open, staring at the inscription.

Don't Forget
3. Oct. 11

And then, at the recent addition – smaller and barely squished below it.

Remember
27 July 00

His flesh hand tightened around the watch so hard it began to hurt. Another choked sound escaped his throat.

What have I done, Alphonse?

So much was lost. So much time, so many precious moments, all wasted. Thrown away. Erased.

Reduced to nothing.

"What do I do?" He heard his own voice asking without realizing he was about to speak aloud. "Al, what the hell do I do?"

He shouldn't be here. Someone else, anyone else should have taken his place. Edward should have joined his brother in oblivion.

He couldn't help but think he would have been grateful if that were the case.

Was this how he felt? He wondered, his fingers pulling painfully at the hair on his scalp. Was this how Hohenheim felt in that moment, when all of Xerxes disappeared in a single night?

Ed wanted to howl. He wanted to rage and scream in pain for the world to hear. He wanted to quietly wail and weep his heart out. He wanted to hide even deeper in the ground, he wanted to bury himself miles below the surface where he would never have to see the light of day. He wanted to stop existing, like he deserved.

He wanted his brother.

"No one else remembers you," Ed whispered in horrified realization. "No one will even remember you."

That couldn't happen.

His eyes stinging like crazy, Ed grabbed a stack of blank pages he kept around for research, and started writing.

Xerxes, July 11th, year 1476

My name is Edward Elric. I am 16 years old and I was born in Resembool, Amestris, on February 2nd, year 1899. None of which has happened yet, and never will after this.

I don't belong in this time. In fact I shouldn't exist anymore, because it's certain that my parents will never meet now, no matter how things turn out. I'm not sure what will become of me. But from what I know, I don't think that I'll disappear in the future even though it's already been altered.

I have no intention of making excuses for myself: I know the past shouldn't be meddled with. I have no right to play God with the fate of the world. I know that what I've done can be considered unforgivable. It's not even the first time I committed a taboo. Although after we committed human transmutation, I fully believed it had cost me and my brother everything. But I'm starting to realize that Truth always finds a way to make the toll higher: because this time I lost so much I honestly don't know how I could possibly lose anything else.

Today, I had to make a decision and choose the lesser of two evils – I ultimately decided to try and change what once was, and now that I have done it, I have no power to make it undone.

What did I do? I single-handedly erased over 400 years of history and an entire nation of over 50 million people, that's what. Now, I am the only thing left from a future that will never happen.

I guess I should start from the beginning...

He wasn't even sure who he was writing this for. Van, maybe? But, it hardly mattered. He just knew he had to write everything down, to document all that happened in the previous timeline.

"You were hiding the memory."

Because right now, the only place where Al still existed was his head. His memories. One day when he was no longer around, there would be nothing left of him. And his brother shouldn't be forgotten. None of them should be. Not Al, not Winry, not Mustang and Teacher and everyone else... The people of Amestris should have a chance to survive in at least one way: a way which Xerxes had been denied, when Hohenheim ran away and left behind nothing but a ghost story.

"You didn't want to be reminded of what you've done…"

In a way, Ed could understand. But at the same time, the mere thought of letting them fade away to nothing like that was unforgivable – even more so than tampering with time.

"...you thought you could erase the memory by destroying the evidence."

Hohenheim's words at the graveyard echoed painfully in his head.

This was his punishment, wasn't it? Fitting. His life had been nothing but a long series of punishments for his arrogance.

First for playing God and attempting Human Transmutation. Then for trapping his brother in a cold, metal prison, and giving him false hope that the two of them could become whole again. Then for seeking out the Philosopher's Stone, thinking it would magically solve all of their problems. Then for joining the military for his own purposes, entangling them both in a conspiracy that would ultimately lead to Alphonse's murder and the destruction of Amestris.

"You ran away, and you know it."

And lastly, for thinking he could fix the past without paying a steep price.

"I'm sorry, Al," he choked out, finally giving in to the tears he shouldn't be shedding, the tears he didn't have the right to be crying but in that moment, that one moment of weakness, he couldn't help it. Because Al was gone, and his absence left a gaping, bleeding hole in Ed's heart. In a way, it was more painful that all of his automail surgeries and being impaled combined. "I'm so sorry, brother. If you can-" He sobbed roughly, rubbing his eyes. "If there's a chance you still exist somewhere, if you can hear me somehow… Please, please forgive me..."

After he finished the letter, damp and smeared with regret, he started writing down names. First, all the people from his hometown. Then the officers at the Eastern Command. Then the people at Central. And in the South. And West. And North. And from Xing.

Time flew by as Ed wrote down the names of every single person he could remember, but it still wasn't enough. He knew it would never be enough…

...Because the list was missing over 49 million people.

So he started writing down people he didn't know by name, but still recalled, however vaguely. Their jobs, physical descriptions. Random vendors, drivers. Soldiers he never spoke to but saw around the Eastern Command. Librarians. Mechanics from Rush Valley. Teacher's shop customers. That one girl Mustang took on a date. That old lady with the really weird cat which looked a lot like May's pet.

Hours later he still wasn't satisfied, but he knew he still had to make notes of all the events that took place the previous day and encode them in his travelogue. He might have taken Hohenheim from the Homunculus' reach, but it was only the half of the success. He had to get to work, no matter how torn he felt.

He broke down in tears a couple more times, and each time he felt worse, but there was nothing he could do about it. The morning was coming soon, and he had to get over himself by the time Van woke up. The thought that he could try getting some rest didn't even cross his mind. After all, he knew that only nightmares would await him.

Honestly, someone like him deserved nothing less.

My mother's name was Trisha Elric. She was born in 1878. My younger brother's name (crossed out "is") was Alphonse Elric. He was born in 1900. My father's name is Van Hohenheim. I don't know when he was born. I'm guessing late 1450s. His age is related to the reason why everything happened this way.

Originally, Van Hohenheim was a slave and worked for Xerxes' royal alchemist, Roshan. I still don't know the details, but the bastard played around with human transmutation and by having his assistants perform it to keep himself from harm, he somehow managed to create an artificial being called a Homunculus – using Hohenheim's blood. The Homunculus possesses knowledge from the Gate of Truth, a dimension you can only access when you commit the taboo. I know the Gate exists because Alphonse and I tried to bring our mother back to life. Suffice to say, we failed.

If anyone ever reads this, you should know this: do not EVER attempt human transmutation, under any circumstances. It cannot be done. The dead cannot be brought back, there is no price for a soul that had passed away. And even if there were... the price of even a failed attempt is too high. Believe me, I would know.

When the silver watch showed it was almost five in the morning, Edward finally crawled out of his cave to start getting ready for the new day. Putting his Amestrian clothes away, he dressed in his proper Xerxesian attire. Then he reapplied the bandages on his artificial limbs, carefully making sure no metal showed. He would have to pay special attention to that, now that he had Van living with him. One slip-up and there would be a lot of questions to answer to, and Ed really wasn't ready to explain. He didn't know if he would ever be ready.

It wasn't like he planned to conceal the truth from Van forever. Just… for now. The whole story was honestly too crazy to be believed from a stranger. And there wasn't exactly a sure way Ed could prove himself to be Hohenheim's son. Sure, he could show off his automail as evidence, but… for crying out loud, Van didn't even understand the basics of alchemy yet, how was he to recognize future tech? He was more likely to accuse Ed of being a demon again than believe that he was from the future.

He needed to show he was reliable, first. Ed and his stupid issues could be addressed later. What Van needed right now was a mentor, not a messed up future son, with a ton of emotional baggage and sins crawling on his back. Despite hellish upbringing, Van still seemed so damn innocent. He shouldn't have to be burdened by Edward's problems. He deserved to know the pressing part, about the Homunculus created from his stolen blood, but… the rest could wait.

By the time Van showed up at eight, Ed managed to regain his composure and was ready to face the new day, wearing a smile that almost felt sincere.

Andal felt... bitter.

One would think that he'd feel happy, now that Twenty Three was gone. The other teen had always annoyed him. But Andal got Twenty Three's share of chores since his absence, and he was far from happy about it. Not only did that smug bastard got singled out by some arrogant noble (why Twenty Three? What was so special about him?), now Andal had to clean up after him. Man, he hated him so, so much.

And yet…

There was a small, tiny part of him that also felt… mildly concerned. What would happen to Twenty Three now? Andal overheard some of the conversation between Master Roshan and his guest, and it was… a bit unsettling.

"I've been experimenting with blood lately... Would you mind selling me that slave? I was thinking about getting my own anyway... I'm sure he's strong enough to be useful to me."

Would Twenty Three be… alright? Master had already taken blood from him, recently. What if Twenty Three's new Master took too much?

No, Twenty Three was a stubborn piece of work. He wouldn't die from something so small as some occasional bloodletting. Right? He seemed perfectly fine before.

(Andal carefully avoided thinking about how with Twenty Three gone, Master Roshan's attention might be directed elsewhere soon. He hoped not.)

Andal finished sweeping Master's laboratory, unaware of something silently observing him through glass. As he exited the room, he passed Seven in the hallway. He was about to continue on with his own work as usual, when suddenly, the old woman swayed and collapsed.

Andal stopped in surprise, staring for a moment. She tripped? He never paid her much attention before, and Seven might have been a mute, but she usually wasn't clumsy. She had more experience than most servants in the mansion. She shouldn't have fallen for no reason.

Then Andal noticed that she wasn't getting up.

He ran towards her, calling guards for help.

The Dwarf in the Flask watched.

In the past – timeline, I suppose – the Homunculus was made by the order of the king of Xerxes, who wanted to achieve immortality. So he told the king; hey, want to live forever? No problem, all you have to do is to sacrifice your country's whole population and create a Philosopher's Stone! Sounds completely REASONABLE, right?! And of course, like an idiot, the king decided – why the hell not? Let's trust this totally NOT shady creature with this totally sane plan and sacrifice the ENTIRE KINGDOM I'm supposed to rule over! It's not like my subjects are feeling, living HUMAN BEINGS worth anything! What a brilliant plan, absolutely nothing can go wrong!

Unfortunately for that sucker – and everyone else – the Homunculus had his own plans. He never intended to make the king immortal. He made it so when the Stone was being created, he and Hohenheim were the ones standing in the middle of the circle, not the king. From what he told me, Hohenheim knew nothing about either of the plans. He was horrified when he realized he had the souls of half the country trapped inside of him – the souls were split evenly between them. The Homunculus did that supposedly out of "gratitude" for his blood. I will never understand the twisted kind of thinking you need to consider something like that a gift.

So, Hohenheim became immortal. He ran away from Xerxes and went to Xing to the east, becoming a so-called "Western Sage" and inventing alkahestry - an art of transmutation through something called Chi, used mainly for healing purposes. Meanwhile, the Homunculus went west, becoming "the Eastern Sage" and spreading the art of alchemy, originally from Xerxes. He made seven more Homunculi, each named after a deadly sin – his "children". They called him "Father", which was the name I knew him by when I first met him. He also created an entirely new country by the name of Amestris. My homeland.

Spending the first whole day with Hohenheim – with Van – felt surreal. Especially after last night's… episode.

Van was so different from what Ed would have imagined his father at this age. He was so bright, so enthusiastic about ordinary things. He paid such close attention to everything Edward was saying, and showed so many emotions he might have as well been an open book. He was lively, snappish and sarcastic at times, but so very young and full of wonder.

Van Hohenheim was still a child, in a way Ed wasn't since his mother died. And the realization shook him.

Even so, the day they had together was… fun. They tried food neither of them had before, and just like yesterday's soup, Ed discovered that meals shared with Van didn't taste like ash and guilt, like whenever he ate alone. They were definitely going to share as many meals as possible.

They exchanged some friendly banter – mostly centered about their smarts and their height – and Ed told Van some things about his journey to Xerxes, and the bandits he encountered on the way. Van expressed doubts about his fighting prowess, and Ed proved him wrong by handing his butt to him. He also won a bet and Van had to admit that Ed wasn't short.

It was awesome.

As hours passed, Ed realized he hadn't been this relaxed in a long time. It almost felt like… like a something familiar had been returned to him. Not a lot of it, a small, tiny sliver at best, but still. The feeling reminded him of being back in Resembool. It reminded him of being at Teacher's house. It reminded him of being with Al.

It didn't connect until the evening was setting, but that feeling… it was the feeling of being home.

And just like that, the guilt returned in full force.

What the hell was he even thinking? He and Van weren't family. Not really. They were roommates. Barely acquaintances. Not even friends yet. Van didn't know the truth about who Edward really was. If he did, their relationship certainly wouldn't be so light and easy as it was.

With a sudden clarity, Ed realized that if Van knew the truth, he would hate him.

He wasn't even able to explain to himself why he was so sure of it. It just made sense. Ed failed everyone who had ever relied on him. He caused 50 million people to have their souls ripped out of their bodies, and them erased them from existence. He let his own brother die. His hands were stained with blood – even if he never intended to kill anyone, it was true.

But despite all of that… Right now, Van needed him. To teach him about alchemy, and about the world. And Ed needed Van, too. He was his only anchor in this place. And even though he probably should, Edward wasn't ready to let him go. Not yet, at least.

Eventually, Van would learn everything he needed from him. He would become strong and independent. And when that day came, Edward would tell him everything… and Van would leave him behind, without looking back.

It might have been selfish of him, but Ed hoped that day wouldn't come too soon.

In year 1915, there was an eclipse directly above the center of Amestris. The Homunculus used it to finish what he started, once again sacrificing an entire nation, only this time on a much larger scale. His plan was to use the energy to open the planet's Gate, gain "powers of a god", and rip the fabric of time, so he could travel back to the beginning of the world and rule over everything. And I was there, right in the middle when it all went down.

There were five "sacrifices" needed for the plan to work – each an alchemist who had seen the Gate of Truth at some point. Two of the sacrifices were myself and my brother Al. The third was Hohenheim, who had his Gate opened on that day in Xerxes. Another was our Teacher, Izumi Curtis. She tried to bring back her baby after having a miscarriage. She was like a second mother to us. The last was Colonel Roy Mustang, who was (crossed out line) one of the only people in the military whom I trusted. He was forced through the Gate of Truth by one of the Homunculi – Pride.

After Father's transmutation was complete, Pride (crossed out section) murdered my brother in front of me. And I didn't do anything. I was just standing there. It happened so fast. I think I was in shock. Now I keep dreaming about it, about that moment. I should have been the one to die there, not him. It's my fault he's gone. I'm sorry Al

(section too blurred to read)

That night, Ed tried to get some sleep. The exhaustion was starting to get o him and he hoped he could at least get a couple hours before inevitably waking up from nightmares.

He did get sleep. Almost three hours of it.

His dreams changed. Instead of Alphonse's death playing on loop in his brain, it was like getting tossed into the Gate again: memories flashing one after another, all involving Al in some way. From his childhood to getting his watch to the Promised Day. That time they were attacked by Scar for the first time, that time they got beat up by Teacher, that time they met Ling, that time they fought the Freezing Alchemist, that time they showed mom their alchemy…

...and of course, Al being killed by Pride was the memory that snapped him out of sleep again.

Ed breathed deeply to calm himself, grateful more than ever that he almost never screamed while having nightmares. Al could always tell when he was dreaming, because he didn't sleep himself and looking at his brother's face was enough. But Ed, he rarely made so much as a peep no matter what.

It was a good thing. He wouldn't wake Van.

Left with many hours until dawn, Ed went down into the basement and continued his project.

I'll just finish this up quickly.

When Father was about to travel back, I would have fallen from the blast of it if someone hadn't grabbed me. I should mention that one of the Homunculi, Greeling (a convoluted mix-up of an idiot Xingnese prince named Ling Yao and Homunculus Greed), was our ally against Father. He grabbed me and pushed me into the middle of the reaction. I found myself back at the Gate. I didn't see anything, but I heard the Homunculus... being stripped off of his powers, I guess. Then Truth showed up and told me since the toll for time travel was already paid and all my existences guaranteed, I could choose to go to any time I wanted. But only once.

I didn't plan on coming HERE. To 1476. I said, "I want to go to a time and place where the Homunculus can still be beaten". I meant sometime before the eclipse in 1915. But I guess Truth always screws you over no matter what your intentions are.

I could have just let history repeat. I could have let Hohenheim stay a slave at Roshan's mansion. I could have let the Homunculus kill everyone again. But... what good would that even do? It wouldn't save my country anyway. Amestris is GONE. Everyone I know and love is dead. Everyone.

I couldn't let it happen again. I can't watch another country die like this. I can't.

The next day, Ed was going to visit Roshan again. He felt the familiar mix of tension and anticipation, like he felt before going on a particularly dangerous mission.

Operation Homunculus had began.

"Ah, Edward! Come in, come in," Roshan greeted him with his false, benign smile.

Ed artfully hid his distaste and schooled his features into a calm, confident expression.

"Good to see you again, Roshan. I hope your business went well?" he went ahead and stole that line straight from Mustang's book. He had never sincerely inquired about someone's business in his life.

"Everything went perfectly smoothly," Roshan lied blatantly, and that actually got Edward interested. Too bad it was the noble's way of politely saying: None of your damn business.

"I see. Any progress with the Homunculus?" Ed asked, taking a seat.

Roshan sighed. "Not just yet. It's certainly alive and healthy from what I can tell, but haven't shown any signs of consciousness."

That didn't mean there weren't any, Ed silently observed. The Homunculus he heard about was a master manipulator since the very beginning. He could certainly fake sleep if he wanted to.

The question was, why would he fake it?

"May I observe it in person, anyway?" Ed said carefully, inserting just enough curiosity to seem perfectly innocent. "This is the first artificial life-form in history. Even unconscious, it will be fascinating to see with my own eyes."

"Why, of course! It's located in my lab. Perhaps we will be able to witness its awakening."

Ed followed Roshan to his lab – the fake official one, no doubt. There wasn't enough room on the floor to make a Human Transmutation circle, and he couldn't see any traces of chalk… or blood. This might be the room where Roshan kept most of his research materials, but it couldn't be the one where he did his experiments.

He nearly stopped when he saw a round flask on the desk, with two symmetrical tubes and something still and black inside it.

This is it. It's him!

He was… small. Man, when he was called the Dwarf in the Flask, apparently it wasn't a hyperbole.

For a split-second, Edward was tempted. To just go to hell with it and smash that flask, right then and there. For what the Homunculus had done to him. To Xerxes. To Al and Hohenheim and all of Amestris.

But he couldn't. Not just because Roshan was there… but because Ed still valued life above anything else. He couldn't be careless with it, and he didn't have the right. No matter how he felt, he had a plan, and the Homunculus' death was not an option if he wanted it to succeed.

He kept his steps steady as he came closer.

"Amazing," he spoke in the most bland, fake tone ever, but somehow it slipped past Roshan who was too absorbed by his own observations:

"Yes, the shape might be simplistic, but any more complicated designs all failed miserably. A sphere is a much easier shape to sustain with regular maintenance. For that reason it has a single eye as well."

Ed kept asking questions about the Homunculus and his anatomy, making notes to show he was invested. But in truth, there was only one thought occupying his mind: How is he still alive like this without a Philosopher's Stone?

It made no sense. By all accounts, an artificial life-form shouldn't be able to survive like this, even with the maintenance Roshan was describing. It should have starved by now, or poisoned itself with toxic substances in its blood it had no way of expelling.

Unless…

"Our bodies might be connected somehow, even though I'm here, and your body is over there..."

Roshan was a moron, Ed realized in disbelief.

Sure, he had known that before, but… this was sheer stupidity. How did this man not realize it?

It wasn't the fresh blood that made the experiment successful. It was the fact that the source of it was alive and well. The Homunculus was literally only alive because Hohenheim was acting as his life support. If Van were to die, so would the Dwarf in the Flask.

And Roshan obviously had no idea, because if he did, he would have never given up Van, no matter how much gold Ed offered.

This was the greatest alchemist in Xerxes? Are you serious?

Ed's expectations might have been a bit unfair, this country was over 400 years behind Amestris in terms of scientific discoveries, but Ed had known more than this guy about alchemy and biology when he was ten.

And somehow, by some crazy stroke of luck, this utter idiot managed to create the very first Homunculus in history.

"...but as a source of knowledge, it will be the most useful tool for further discoveries about the nature of life…" Roshan senselessly babbled on in the background.

Edward wanted to bang his head against the wall. How was this his life, again?

Just, why?

"If you don't mind," Ed finally interrupted, utterly done with everything and especially Roshan "Would you permit me to stay and observe it for an extended period of time? You can go through the project I brought you in the meantime. I'd like to make some sketches, and I think complete silence will be highly beneficial for my concentration."

Roshan paused, apparently uncertain if he was being insulted or not, being dismissed from his own lab by his own assistant. Ed kept his expression perfectly polite and innocent the whole time. Finally, Roshan must have decided Ed didn't mean offense (even though he totally did), since he accepted the offer.

"Very well… What kind of project is it?"

"Theory for cotton transmutation," he replied smoothly.

Roshan blinked in surprise, visibly impressed. "Indeed?"

It was, and it wasn't at the same time. Cotton transmutation was complicated enough to be considered advanced alchemy by the State's standards. It wasn't anything unheard of, only uncommon. Ed had practice with it by constantly fixing his coat on the road, but most people would prefer to either stitch holes by hand, or just buy a new coat. There weren't enough military applications for it to be a popular practice, even though it was a handy skill to have.

While Edward could have just handed Roshan a paper explaining cotton transmutation in perfect detail, he decided to instead write it down in a complex structure that would not only confuse him, but also take him a lot of time to understand, but in a way that would make Roshan to embarrassed to ask for clarification. The theory was also ever so slightly incomplete, so Roshan wouldn't get much out of it without his help anyway.

In other words, the project was designed not only to buy Ed time, but also flex his skills and subtly humiliate Roshan's.

Ed resisted the temptation to grin.

Roshan skimmed over the first paragraph. "Interesting," he muttered, nodding to himself as if he understood it with perfect clarity. Faker.

He took the papers with him, presumably to his office where he had that fancy upholstered chair to sit on, exactly as Ed has hoped… leaving him alone with the Homunculus.

This time Edward did nothing to hide his savage grin.

"Rise and shine, asshole." He spoke to the Dwarf in the Flask in a low voice, his eyes glinting with danger. "I know you're awake, Homunculus."

The Dwarf in the Flask was intrigued from the moment he laid an eye on him.

The assistant who entered the lab with the old fool was someone he was unfamiliar with, someone new. He must have been hired recently. But that wasn't what piqued his interest.

It was his face.

It was so close, and yet… it was not him. This was not the face of the man who gave him blood. But he was very similar in appearance. Perhaps a brother, or a cousin?

Did that make the two of them related, he wondered?

While the old alchemist bragged about his "achievement" – as if the cretin had even the slightest idea what the Dwarf in the Flask actually was – the assistant was silent. Focused entirely on him.

There was something… slightly unnerving about the stare. The Homunculus didn't know why. It wasn't fear, and it wasn't fascination, either. It was as if the young man knew exactly what he was looking at and wasn't impressed in the slightest, yet still paid him utmost attention, completely ignoring his mentor's lecture.

It was the first time anyone ever looked at him like that.

The Homunculus was officially interested.

Then something even more unusual occurred. The assistant practically ordered the man out of the room, claiming he wanted to sketch the Homunculus in silence. There was effortless authority surrounding him, and despite being the one in power, Roshan actually listened. And as if that wasn't surprising enough…

"Rise and shine, asshole. I know you're awake, Homunculus."

...the assistant saw right through his act.

Oh. Oh, this man was interesting.

The Dwarf in the Flask opened his eye wide, meeting the golden irises.

"Hello," he purred in amusement.

For a second, the expression in the young man's eyes changed. There was a flash of shock, and… anger?

Hm. How curious.

"So you were faking sleep," the assistant said flatly, unsurprised.

"So I was," the Homunculus admitted with no shame. "But I wonder how you could have known that."

"I didn't. I guessed."

"Huh."

A bold one, wasn't he?

He liked it.

"And yet, you sent your mentor away instead of telling him…" The Dwarf in the Flask twirled around playfully. Finally, someone interesting to have a conversation with! "You wished to speak with me in private, am I right?"

"Brilliant deduction," the assistant told him in a dry voice.

"Then introductions are in order, yes? What's your name?"

The young man closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

"My name is Edward Elric," he said slowly, with utter seriousness and a certain grimness the Homunculus couldn't make sense of. "The Fullmetal Alchemist."

"Fullmetal? Like, made entirely of metal?" he asked curiously.

"Yes, that is what fullmetal means," Edward responded with sarcasm.

"Why call yourself 'fullmetal' then?"

"I'm not telling you."

Ooooh, a challenge!

"Alright," he tells him with a tint of amusement suggesting he would figure it out eventually. "I am the Dwarf in the Flask, Homunculus."

Edward opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then stopped, as another thought occurred to him.

"...Are you really going with that? That's all you'll ever call yourself?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"Well…" There was a deep frown on his face as he considered something he apparently didn't like. "'Homunculus' is just what you are. It isn't a name."

"So?"

"Don't you want one? A name, I mean?"

The Homunculus paused.

"Why would I want one?"

"All humans-" Edward cut himself off with a flinch and corrected himself: "Most humans have one. And those who don't… well, it's mostly for a really crappy reason."

The Homunculus heard the implication loud and clear:

Those who don't have names are slaves.

For some reason, it really offended him.

"I am not human," he replied, audibly irritated. That doesn't apply to me.

The Fullmetal Alchemist raised an eyebrow in skepticism. He disagreed?

"You have a soul, don't you?"

"What kind of question is that? Of course I do."

"If it's not a human soul, then what kind of soul is it, then? A 'Homunculus' soul?" He put his chin on bandaged fist, the other hand waving at the side of emphasize his point. "How's that different from a human one, exactly? As far as I'm concerned, it's the soul that determines identity, not the body. Otherwise I could make a puppet and call it human, but it won't do any alchemy for me, now will it?"

The Dwarf in the Flask paused, honestly stumped.

In therms of power and structure, his soul wasn't really all that different from an average human soul. Yes, its origins were unique, and his knowledge was above that of any man, but it was still strictly based on the soul of the assistant who died in the transmutation to create him. A human assistant.

So, in conclusion, since his soul was of human origin… it was basically the equivalent of a human soul.

Was he… was he just proven wrong about something?

Did Edward just outsmart him?

A small giggle escaped him. Then another. And suddenly, he was laughing.

Edward blinked at him with confusion.

"You… you really are something, Edward Elric!" The Homunculus exclaimed with glee as he laughed for the first time in his existence. "I never thought I'd get to meet someone as interesting as you!"

For some reason, Edward didn't seem to take is as a compliment.

"What, is that why you pretend to sleep around Roshan?" he asked with irritation. "Because he's boring? Or because he's stupid as a rock?"

The Homunculus hummed thoughtfully.

"Well, you are correct about that. But mostly, I was waiting."

"For what?"

"I'm glad you asked! Do you perhaps know someone who bears a striking resemblance to you? I hoped he lived in this building, but he doesn't seem to be here anymore. Do you know what happened to him?"

And just like that, Edward's posture was tight like a string, all traces of banter gone.

He seemed almost… protective.

Hmmm… Definitely related, then.

The Dwarf in the Flask felt smug, his theory proven right. Edward Elric was his relative through the young man who gave him blood.

He didn't mind. No, he didn't mind at all.

"So you do know him. Would you mind telling me his name?"

Edward stared at him for a long moment, silent and intense. The Homunculus had no clue what he was thinking.

"...How badly do you want to know?" he asked, finally.

He narrowed his eye at him. "Oh, I see. You want to make a bargain?"

The Fullmetal Alchemist nodded, putting his fingers together. "Yes. I do."

"I am listening, Edward Elric."

Ed exited the lab, heart still pounding from the confrontation between himself and person responsible for the complete genocide of his people, twice over.

The Homunculus had been too agreeable. It put Edward on edge. A monster like him shouldn't be capable of being so genuinely friendly. Not if he was willing to sacrifice a million people without a second thought. Ed thought that he would try to charm him, to deceive him right away. When he spoke to the Dwarf in the Flask, he expected a liar, a manipulator. But that wasn't what he found.

Oh, the charm had been there, alright. And should Ed have been gullible, he would have tried to trick him without a doubt. But his motives were so terribly, incredibly transparent, he could hardly call them manipulative. The Homunculus wanted someone interesting to challenge his intellect, and he wanted to meet his "blood brother".

He also wanted to get out of his glass prison.

"Why?! I just wanted to be free! Free to know!"

Lust for power was hardly the core motivation here. I was more of a side effect to the pursuit for freedom and understanding of the world.

Ed hardly failed to notice the irony of encountering yet another soul stuck in a body he didn't want to be in.

He couldn't promise all of that to the Homunculus. But unlike Roshan, he could offer most of it. And he took full advantage of it.

Operation Homunculus was in progress at full speed.

As he entered the same office he had his job interview in two days ago, he saw several people enter at the same – accompanied by guards, just like he had been. Was Roshan having another meeting?

But then he noticed just who they were, and Edward froze in surprise.

"Master Roshan," the eldest of the group spoke with a short bow, respectful but with dignity. "Blessings upon your household."

They were Ishvalan.

What were Ishvalans doing in the house of the freaking Royal Alchemist? Didn't Ishvalan people hate alchemy?

Roshan hadn't seen him yet, so Ed stood back, too curious to interrupt.

"What is your business here?" the alchemist asked with thinly-veiled contempt in his voice.

Oh. Roshan was racist. Well… it wasn't like Ed hadn't hated the man already, so he was hardly shocked by the information.

"We have a request to make, Master Roshan, but we promise to make it worth your time."

Roshan sighed as if the fact he was listening to them at all was already too big of a concession from him. "Very well. What is your request?"

"Over a year ago, you bought a mute female slave from the household of the late Councilman Farhad, is that true?"

Roshan straightened up in attention. "What is it to you lot? You Ishvalans seem opposed to the practice of slave trade."

Hold on, Ishvalans were abolitionists? And so far back? Alright, Ed hadn't known that. That was definitely a huge plus in his book.

"You see, Master, this woman is a faithful practitioner of our religion. She has belonged in our community for over thirty years."

Roshan lifted an eyebrow in something between amusement and disbelief. "Even if that were true, what of it? She is my property now."

"For the past thirty years, we gradually collected offerings from everyone in our community. Last week, we finally gathered the number of darics equal to a talent's weight of gold, the established price for a young slave in Xerxesian market. Master, please have mercy. The woman is old. She won't be able to work for you for much longer. If you allow us to purchase her, you can replace her with a new, younger servant in your household. And we will spread the word of your graciousness, praying for your providence."

Edward was stunned by what he was hearing.

The old lady – the one who warned him of Roshan killing his assistant. They were talking about her. She was of Ishvalan religion. He hadn't even known Ishvalans accepted outsiders into their faith. She had been a member of the Ishvalan community for over thirty years. And they cared about her so much, they had been collecting donations for all that time, just to set her free.

There were… some really amazing people in this world. He had forgotten, that people like that were around – had always been around, apparently, even so long ago in the past.

Just as he was about to feel happy for her, Roshan ruined it all:

"That is of no concern to me. I don't care about your prayers, or your pathetic money. Number Seven is my property and you have no right to her, regardless of religious practice... if she's even capable of it, which I very much doubt."

Okay, now? Ed was pissed. His automail fist creaked as he clenched it in anger.

"Besides, I don't think your Ishvala cares very much for cause. After all, number Seven fell gravely ill this very morning. Suspicious timing, no?"

Wait a second, what did he just say?

"She's ill?" another man from the group spoke with worry and dread.

"Indeed," Roshan's voice was filled with malicious satisfaction. "Deadly fever, I'm afraid. Why, I'll be surprised if she lasts a week. So you can keep your money, and use it for a better investment."

Fever. The woman was sick, and- what? He was just going to let it kill her on purpose? Why would he- wait.

Mute slave. Human experiments. The final, successful experiment, and an old slave who had outlived her usefulness.

Ed processed it all in a second and decided that no, despite suspicious timing, he probably hadn't poisoned the woman or anything… because if he wanted to execute her, he could have just done it for an imaginary crime and be done with it. But the illness probably wasn't a complete coincidence, either. Roshan probably overworked her on purpose, hoping it would happen sooner or later.

Oh, that son of a…!

There was no way Edward was going to stand by and just let this happen. Especially not to the first person in Xerxes who showed him kindness.

(Not to the same kind of illness that took his mother-)

Having made up his mind, the Fullmetal Alchemist stepped in, just as the Ishvalans were about to argue and probably doom all the chances of saving miss number Seven.

"Master Roshan, if I may interrupt?" he said with forced calmness, adding up the 'Master' to soften him up.

Roshan blinked in surprise at the sight of him. "What is it, Assistant Edward?"

Okay, so that was how they were supposed to address each other in front of other people. He hadn't known that. Lucky shot, then? If he had called him 'Roshan' in front of people he didn't like, he probably could have kissed his plan goodbye.

"If you could send them out for a moment, I have a proposition you might like."

Roshan seemed intrigued at Ed's sly tone.

"Is that so? Guards, escort the Ishvalans outside."

Yeah, definitely racist. He was going to use that.

"If I heard correctly, they want to... purchase a mute slave from you, right?" Ed barely forced himself to speak the phrase, but managed not to stutter, leaving nothing more than a slight pause between words. (He still felt slimy just for saying it.)

"Yes, you got the gist of it."

"But you have no intention of letting that slave live. You wanted her to get sick, right?"

Roshan's eyes and mouth widened in shock. "How did you-?"

"Please," Edward rolled his eyes. "It was easy to figure out. An old, mute slave working for an alchemist? She probably saw the final stages of the Homunculus project. She knows too much to let her live, even for a mute. And overworking a slave until they get sick and die of natural causes is a lot less suspicious than simply executing her, and it leaves your reputation spotless."

There was apprehensiveness entering Roshan's expression, and while it was satisfying to see, it was not beneficial to his current plan, so he quickly tackled on:

"I understand completely. I would have done the same thing, after all," Ed lied so hard it was a miracle his pants didn't violently catch on fire.

At that, Roshan relaxed again – just as intended. "...I see great minds think alike, then."

"Of course," he said with a straight face, as if he hadn't just called the man stupid as a rock in a previous conversation. "So, here is my proposition. Those idiots are willing to pay you solid money – for a slave that is probably going to die soon anyway."

The Royal Alchemist frowns. "You aren't suggesting I actually accept their offer?"

"Kind of," Edward grins his most evil, cunning grin (entirely inspired by the image of beating the man in front of him into a bloody pulp). "You see, when your kind, compassionate assistant heard their plea," he said in a tone that implied exactly the opposite "He decided to help them to the best of his abilities. He is a talented alchemist who can create experimental substances, after all, and he might just come up with a cure for this poor, ill woman."

Roshan's eyes gleamed with understanding. "Oh, I see… you want to experiment?"

"I literally just got myself a new servant. I expect him to be of use for a long time – of course I'm not going to try anything risky on him... yet. I can't just test everything I want on a single person."

"Why would you want to use a sick person, though?" Roshan asked casually, as if they were discussing the weather and not human lives. Sick bastard. "Won't the end results be skewed by the illness?"

Crap. He hadn't thought of that.

His mind buzzed in searched for a believable excuse.

"Of course, it has to be an ill person!" He bluffed. "That's the whole point."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going to test actual medicine."

Roshan was once again shocked. "You've been trying to invent a medicine?"

...Well, well!

Once again, Edward stumbled across something exploitable by complete accident.

"Not just one medicine, Roshan. I have several in mind, all alchemically produced. If I test them all, I can see which one works, but an overdose will definitely kill her. Then I can tell them I've done all I can do," he rolled his eyes theatrically. "And if we're lucky, there will be another benefit."

The old bastard, who seemed to like Ed's 'plan' already, tilted his head. "What other benefit?"

"Well..." Ed inserted all the fake racist contempt he could muster into his next words: "You do not believe Ishvalans know how to take care of the diseased properly, do you? They are dirty, stupid desert people who think prayer can solve anything."

Roshan nodded, as if Edward just described them perfectly.

(Ed couldn't believe the man was buying all of his bull-crap. He was really speaking from the top of his head. Either his acting skills were that phenomenal, or the man was really that much of an idiot. He'd bet it was the latter.)

"With luck, they will catch the disease themselves and spread it among them. I can misdirect them to some extent. They're really bringing it onto themselves, after all." He shrugs with a smirk.

"Hm…" Roshan thought for a moment. "There is still one problem. I already refused them, quite strongly. They will be suspicious if I suddenly change my mind for no apparent reason."

Bastard. Ed almost gritted his teeth in frustration, but stopped himself at the last moment. He was so close...

"I suppose I would go along with it, if I were given some additional financial compensation..."

Greedy bastard. But good enough.

"Tell them I offered another talent of gold. I'll pay you a fifth."

"Half."

Ed narrowed his eyes in a show of reluctance. "Fourth. No more."

"Third, then. I am being extremely generous, Edward."

"Fine, then."

"We have a deal."

A deal to save a kind woman's life, from a terrible death she did nothing to deserve. Yes, Edward would have taken it, even if he were to pay ten times more.

But from now on, he had a role to play. At the start, he portrayed himself to Roshan as an ambitious, selfish, bastard genius who perhaps thought too highly of himself. Now, he was playing an ambitious, ruthless, racist bastard genius, who was willing to experiment on sick elderly and wished innocent people death. He couldn't afford to ever slip up after this, because even a glimpse of actual human decency could destroy Roshan's trust in his character. Ed should probably feel disgusted with himself, but after everything else he went through, this almost felt too easy.

After he was through with Roshan though, he was going to ruin him. How, he hadn't decided yet, but Edward would make sure of it. This man would pay for everything he had done, and everything he was willing to do for his sick games.

Once they invited the Ishvalans back in and 'explained' the 'deal' between the two of them (which was actually much closer to the truth than Roshan believed), the men began profusely thank Ed. This had to be the worst part, because he could tell their gratitude was heartfelt and genuine, but with Roshan watching his every move he couldn't even receive it properly, and instead of acting like someone trying to do a good deed, he had to act like a bastard pretending to be doing a good deed, who was on top of it all, racist and supposedly hated these poor people's guts for no reason. Just how twisted was that?

Wanting nothing more than to leave this awful place, went with the Ishvalans right away to see miss number Seven. What Edward saw next, would haunt him for weeks.

Apparently, since sick people were not allowed in the so-called servants' sleeping quarters (which, from what Van told him, was nothing more but a cold, empty room with a bunch of hay on the floor) she had been moved… to the stables.

And no, not some nice, clean corner with a bed made of hay and a wet compress – like, you know, decent people would do. She was half-covered by manure, flies covering her body, her breath so weak she almost seemed like a half-rotted corpse dumped in garbage.

Ed nearly threw up when he saw her.

But the Ishvalans were slightly more resilient, and despite their broken hearts and distress brought on by the terrible sight, they dug her up with barely any disgust. Later, Ed would think back on it with admiration and consider it a kind of strength to admire.

As soon as they were done, he knelt by her side and touched her forehead to check the temperature. She was burning.

This was bad. So much worse than he feared.

"She needs a bath," he said with a tremble in his voice he couldn't quite get rid of. "We have to clean her up and lower her temperature... If she's been like that since morning, this could be very, very bad."

The group exchanged worried glances. "We can make a stop at the river."

"Okay," Ed whispered, taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "Okay, okay."

Suddenly, something was lightly touching his left hand.

He looked down, and much to his shock it was Seven, reaching out to him. She was conscious, even though just barely it seemed. With the tips of her fingers, she managed to touch his hand twice, despite the awful tremble in her arm.

Ed ward struck by the memory of her patting his hand in comfort, and his face twisted in pain for a second as he realized: she was trying to comfort him.

He had to save her. He had to.

"You will be okay," he told her, and he forced a smile on his face. "We will take care of you, alright? You won't return here ever again. You're free now." He grasped her hand gently, ignoring the filth it was covered in. "You're free."

And in spite of her fever she must have understood, because here eyes filled with tears, and for a short moment before she lost consciousness again… she smiled.

There were four men in the group. While the eldest Ishvalan was probably too old to join and help carry Seven to the river, they had more than enough people to split tasks among them. Ed sent the self-proclaimed fastest runner to the market to buy some things. Then he transmuted (out of the sight of the others) a stretcher out of an old bag and a couple of sticks, and two of the strongest carried Seven, while Ed explained to the eldest one – who claimed to have a good memory – what they needed to do to prevent the disease from spreading. In contrast to what Roshan believed in his racist bigotry, the Ishvalans had a fairly good grasp of hygiene and basic requirements of preventing illness for this century. Ed was far from a doctor, but apparently what had become common knowledge by nineteenth century wasn't so common right now, so he explained a bit more with a scientific approach (how diseases spread through coughing, fluids and et cetera), and promised to teach them more some other time, since apparently there had been times when they had sick people in their temple, but they didn't always have the knowledge or the resources to help them properly.

When they reached the river, Ed used a stick to draw a circle in the ground and transmuted a bathtub with clean, cool water (which gathered some pretty weird looks, but thankfully the Ishvalans had bigger problems on their heads at the moment). The one which Ed had sent to the market returned, and Ed was able to transmute some soap (which got him even more weird looks, but Ed was becoming a pro at ignoring them). After that, they got Seven clean in record speed and immediately headed to the temple of Ishvala, located at the outskirts of the city.

The temple was a modest building built of stone, similar to what Ed had seen in the capital city of Xerxes, yet there was something uniquely different in the architecture he suspected was entirely Ishvalan. Unfortunately, since he'd never been to Ishval, he had no way to compare. There were about twenty people inside, most of them women, and when they heard the story of what happened from the men, they all became very concerned. Immediately someone ran to get a healer (or something like that, they had their own language so Ed couldn't be sure), a couple of children started gathering blankets and wood for a fire, and some women brought wine and dishes they cooked earlier that day. In a single hour, everyone was involved and joined in effort to help Seven recover.

Meanwhile, Ed sat in the corner, consulting his journal about possible drugs he could try to create to combat the fever. To the contrary of what he said to Roshan, Ed actually wasn't confident in his ability to make a safe medicine with alchemy, and there was a valid reason for that.

In Amestris, medicine was almost never made by alchemists. Sure, in theory, you could transmute various drugs using nothing but wood. The problem was, medicine was meant to be ingested, and even the smallest error could lead an ordinary painkiller to become something deadly. There had been numerous incidents when apothecaries sold 'well-tested' drugs manufactured by alchemists, and later it turned out they had harmful side-effects. Medicines made in a lab were much safer and easier to mass-produce, so eventually, alchemical drugs were all labeled as 'risky' and 'unrecommended'.

Teacher shared that belief, and she hammered into his and Al's heads that they should always get medicine from a store, and never try to make it by themselves.

Unluckily for Ed, who was now stuck in an era without such stores available, that did very little to help him with creating life-saving medicine for someone who was dying from an unspecified fever.

(Just like mom-)

Ed loudly snapped his notebook closed with a sigh. Should he really try it? He had no proof it was a similar thing. The likelihood of his mom and Seven having the same disease was slim, especially since Trisha had died from a pandemic, and Seven's illness seemed like an isolated incident.

Still, the hemorrhagic fever seemed similar, so there was a chance it might help. It was the one medicine Edward was the most familiar with, and had the best chances of making without error.

After their mother's death, Ed and Al had been obsessed with 'what-ifs' for a while. Because the cure for the pandemic had been discovered and delivered to Resembool a bit too late, they had studied both the disease and the cure extensively, to the point they could have recited encyclopedic details in their sleep. Back then, they excused the obsession to themselves by saying that 'they would know what to do, if mom got sick again after they brought her back'. Now he could admit to himself that it came from a subconscious fear that the disease could take them one day, too.

It was a risk. There was a life of a person involved. If he was wrong, someone was going to die because of him.

(Again, his mind darkly reminded of the moment he idly stood by and watched as his brother was murdered-)

But if he didn't try at all, she was going to die for certain. So it wasn't really a choice, was it?

"I'm going to need chalk, some water, sand and wood," he told the nearest person. She nodded and ran to get others.

Ed hadn't done alchemy in front of a crowd in a long time, but he didn't put much thought into it. He ignored the gasps and stares and whispers of awe as he created some clean glass dishes, purified the water, separated the necessary components from wood, and then combined them back together with utmost precision – all in less than fifteen minutes. By the time he was done, he had a full bottle of white ribavirin pills.

He gave them to the healer and told him:

"Give her two pills today, three if her fever doesn't drop."

"Right away?" The man stared at Ed with some unidentified emotion.

"Yes, one right away. Another in a couple more hours, I guess. I will come back tomorrow to check and see. If it doesn't help, we'll try something else."

"Master Edward?" someone said tentatively.

Ed sighed, turning around. "Just Edward, please. None of that Master crap."

The young Ishvalan girl smiled at him, softly.

"Thank you, for saving Amestris."

Edward froze.

For a long moment, he tried to process it, and failed. Did I just hear that correctly?

"I'm sorry, w-what?"

"Thank you for saving her," she told him, giving him a low bow. "Our Brothers told us what you did to help us set her free from that evil man. We can never thank you enough for your generosity."

Wait a minute, she wasn't talking about-?!

"You don't mean… miss Seven?" he choked out. "Her name… is Amestris?"

Did I do the right thing? I just erased history. I got Van away from Roshan. He's not his slave anymore, and he will never become immortal. He won't live to see the 20th century. He will never meet my mother. My brother will never be born.

I've destroyed my brother's ENTIRE existence. And not just him: Teacher, Mustang, Greed... All the Amestrians who won't exist because there won't be any Amestris. In exchange, I'm saving Xerxes, a country I know nothing about. But what if saving it only makes things worse?

I don't know. I'm not sure of anything anymore.

I'm the one who shouldn't be here.

-Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist

Author's Note:

Belated Happy New Year to everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I worked really hard on it. Sorry I took so long, I meant to post it in early January, but then suddenly, I got a job! I was so happy. It's so hard to find a quick job when you're just a college student, you know? Hopefully I can write more, soon.

Yup, Edward is saving Amestris after all… just not in a way he could have ever predicted.

Best wishes to you all, stay safe and strong! Read, review, follow and favorite the story is you can, but most importantly – read on and enjoy :)