Ed's body pitched forward and was jerked back. His head thumped against something hard and unyielding. Firecrackers of pain burst on impact.

He shook his head and tried to orient himself.

Where was he?

Where was Al?

Panic slammed into him as his memory slowly returned, flashing across his eyes and rocketing his heart.

Ling. Envy. The Stone. Al's father.

"Al," he tried, but it was little more than a weak croak. "Al."

Al needed him.

Ed moved to clap his hands on instinct, but something stopped him. He turned his foggy eyes downward, and ice filled his stomach.

Ropes circled him. His wrists, his chest, his legs.

He was bound to some kind of chair—hands tied to slats of wood on either side of his body. His torso was bound to a hard back behind him, and his feet to the floor.

His seat dipped beneath him sickeningly. The slosh of water helped his realization that he was on a boat.

He was tied to a boat. Hands bound to prevent him from doing alchemy.

A boat that had just bumped into a pier of the royal city—where two guards stood watch.

"Hey, you."

"Al," he groaned. He strained against his bonds.

The guards came closer, leveling their spears cautiously. "You there!"

"Help," he rasped.

"What is that—some kind of gemstone? A ruby?"

"Al," Ed repeated. Ling and Envy. They were going to take Al back to his father. Who knew what they'd done to him in the meantime.

What would his father do to him?

"Wait, I know you. You're—you're the Fullmetal Alchemist!"

"No," Ed tried. He'd disguised himself. Hadn't been recognized once yet.

Wait—he was back in his signature red coat. The brown loaner was gone.

If he strained, he could see a note pinned to the lapel of his coat. There was no signature, but Ed recognized Envy's handiwork: "to Fuhrer Bradley. ️"

Shit.

The guards advanced.

"Wait," Ed tried. "I have to—"

"You're under arrest."

"No, he—Al—he's in trouble—"

Where would Al think he'd gone? Would Envy be so cruel as to tell Al he'd run off?

Envy's smirk loomed in Ed's memory. Of course not. You'll be the one doing the hurting.

Yes. Yes, they would be that cruel.

Have to get away. Have to get to Al.

More guards came, clapping on iron manacles that held Ed's wrists apart.

No alchemy for you.

"Please!" Ed had never pleaded with soldiers before. It was always either taunts or small acts of violence. "Please, I have to—Al! Al!"

.

Morning dawned gray and humorless.

The trip back to the tower had taken hours. Once they were there, after Al had created a way up for them, Father had permitted Al to sleep a few hours without the armor, even though he wasn't alone.

Just this once, he'd cautioned. Lest Al grow complacent.

When he woke, Al's legs still shook. He could scarcely stand without fear of falling over.

Father had come, unnaturally concerned, and inspected Al for damage.

Al had tried not to cry as Father ran his fingers over the tender skin.

"You don't seem to be hurt, aside from a few superficial grazes. You'll be perfectly fine."

"Father, I—I—I'm sor—"

"Hush, Alphonse. You are my child, and I can forgive your trespasses. As long as you've learned your lesson."

"I…I have."

"I warned you, and still you disobeyed my orders. You brought on these consequences."

"I know."

"I'll leave you now, to put your armor back on. I've reassembled it while you slept."

Al put on his armor piece by piece. His pace was much slower than normal—his body ached and throbbed from the injuries his brief captivity had yielded.

His ribs were bruised from Envy's punches, his wrists chafed. The corners of his mouth were tender, scraped up by the harsh gag.

The screaming in his head hadn't faded.

Numbly, Al assembled the armor. Putting himself back together. Tightening the straps to ensure nothing would come off.

He watched his reflection in the mirror. His body was encased in dull silver, except for his head.

His hair was jagged and uneven now, the longest part reaching just past his shoulders. There was a thin scratch on his cheek where Envy had shoved him to the ground.

A single tear ran down his cheek, stinging as it pooled in his sliver of a wound.

Selim curled around his mirror, reaching one black tendril to Al's reflection—his version of a comforting touch.

Al couldn't even bring himself to smile. Not even his oldest friend could make him feel better today. Not after Edw—

No. Al skated away from the thought. The memories. The kiss.

He fitted his helmet over his head, hiding his face, his expression, his hair. His pain.

He was a suit of armor once more.

Nothing could hurt him. If he'd only stayed in the armor, he would never have gotten hurt.

He never would've known Edward.

Never seen the look in his eyes as he brushed the hair from Al's face.

Never felt Ed's hand, warm and ungloved, in his own.

Never been betrayed by him.

He tried to imagine Ed telling his cronies. He pasted that wicked smile from the Wanted poster back on Ed's face.

You want power? I'll give you power. And this kid's a daisy. He'll be an easy target.

No. Nope. It didn't fit. It didn't sound like Edward.

You'll have to tie his hands to keep him from doing alchemy. Yeah, so they don't touch. Without that, he's helpless.

Al clenched his gloved hands to his helmet as if to block out the noise.

But there was no noise. It was all in his head.

The Edward he knew—thought he knew—was all in his head.

He'd trusted someone, and created a false story in his mind—Edward was different, he was kind, he was trustworthy. He wasn't a greedy thief; he was selfless and noble. And he liked Al.

Lies. All lies he'd made up. Ed had probably seen his eagerness, his desperation to be loved, and acted accordingly. Holding his hand. Caring for him.

Kissing him.

Then he'd sold Al at the first opportunity.

Al gulped down more tears. Crying in the armor was not an ordeal he needed to go through today.

On his bed was the single keepsake from his trip—a small metal disc with the royal crest embossed on one side.

Al remembered his surprise when Edward had bought it—bought it!—from a street vendor and pressed it into Al's palm. So you belong, he'd said with a grin.

He hadn't minded that Al couldn't pay him back. In fact, he'd waved away Al's offer.

The royal crest had been everywhere in the city. Al had gotten used to seeing its familiar design. It felt friendly in a way that nothing else still did.

At least he'd had fun at the festival. Everyone had been so kind to him. The shopkeepers, the townspeople, even Mustang's soldiers.

Surely everyone there couldn't be bad. They wouldn't have all betrayed him, would they?

He'd keep the disc. Painful memory or not.

Al turned it in his palm, thumbing the edge. Then he gasped as it flicked open without warning.

He hadn't seen it open before. He didn't know it could open.

Inside was an image—a portrait. A smaller, cleaner version of the mural he'd seen yesterday in the city.

The royal family. Lost, scattered. Just like him.

He ran his thumb over the faces, their happiness captured and frozen and unreachable.

Wait.

Al held the disc closer to his helmet.

Unlike the mural, the king's face wasn't obscured here. And he knew that face.

Father.

The hair, the face, the beard—they were identical to the man in the other room.

But it wasn't Father. He wasn't as pale, as washed out. His eyes and skin and hair shone gold. Thin rimmed spectacles sat on his nose. His expression was solemn, but not stern.

They could be minor differences, true. Artistic liberties. But Al knew in his heart: This wasn't Father.

But if it wasn't Father…

Al rushed to his desk, struck by an insane thought. He pulled aside the wall curtain that hid his many, clumsy attempts at transmutation circles.

A familiar design stared back at him.

The dragon of the royal crest. The crisscrossing lines framing it.

How had he drawn this, if he'd never seen the royal crest before yesterday?

It wasn't just once. The design appeared over and over again. In the lumpy, disfigured drawings of his child's hands, in the careful stenciling of his adolescent self, dreaming, dreaming of alchemy and the circles it would take to perform it properly.

Where had he gotten it? What had inspired his child's mind to draw the royal crest of a kingdom he had never seen?

Al's eyes fell back on the portrait in the disc. Of the two babies staring back with round, golden eyes.

Like a mirror.

One of those could be you.

No, it's definitely you.

There were two princes. Two golden-eyed, golden haired princes.

Colonel Mustang believes that Edward here is the lost heir.

Two princes. Lost, but not dead.

Ed is a prince.

And so am I.

That means…

The room spun.

Al stumbled against the desk and fell. His helmet clattered to the floor.

He couldn't move. He was too stunned.

Selim crawled onto his armored chest on four legs, eyes wide and concerned.

"Alphonse." Footsteps sounded in the next room. "Are you all right?"

Al's heart pounded. What did it mean. What did it mean?

Ed, sailing away. No goodbye.

Ling. Envy.

They'd taken him prisoner, but Father had been right there to incapacitate them.

Someone had told them of Al's power. What if it hadn't been Ed?

"Alphonse, your face."

Father had appeared in the curtained doorway.

Alarm tore through Al. He scuttled backward on all fours.

This wasn't his father.

"Your helmet."

"You…" Al rasped. "You stole me."

Father stopped moving. "What." His voice was flat, the word less a question than a statement.

"When I was a baby. After I saw the truth. You didn't save me. You stole me."

"Alphonse, that is ridiculous."

Al got carefully to his feet. Looked Father—for what else was there to call him? He'd never known any other name—straight in the eyes.

"You hid me here. I have stayed here my entire life, hiding, terrified of people using me. But you—you're the one who took me and made me afraid."

The realizations came tumbling, one by one, like an avalanche.

"You made me think I was hated, and feared, and you were the only one who loved me. That's not true."

"No, Alphonse."

Al glared at Father with all the fiery anger he'd seen in Ed. It was his fire too, after all. "I should have been hiding from you."

Every lie, every manipulation Father had ever enacted. Telling Al he was a sinner, how others would hate and reject him. How he was the only one enlightened enough to see past Al's sins and truly love him.

All mind games to bind Al to the tower, to Father.

"Come now. You know what happened. Everything I did was to protect you."

"What you did?" Al snapped. "You followed me, didn't you? Everything that went wrong—that was you. You tricked those thieves into sending Ed away—Ed, my brother!"

As soon as he said it, Al knew it to be true.

He wanted to sob with relief. Ed hadn't betrayed him. Hadn't tricked him.

"That boy is none of your concern. He's a criminal."

"So are you. Last I checked, it was against the law to take children from their families."

He shoved past Father, into the belly of the tower. The morning light through the window didn't seem too terrible or hopeless now.

Al loosened his gloves, the gauntlets around his forearms. There was no reason to wear this armor. It was just another of Father's cages.

"I wanted to stay with him. He wanted the same, I know it." Al whirled on Father and threw his gloves and gauntlets to the floor. He glared, unflinching. "I'm not unlovable! Ed is proof."

He could be loved. Ed had loved him. Or, was on the way to loving him.

Father pushed the curtains aside. "Alphonse, put your armor back on. Stop this nonsense."

"No." Al clapped his hands and slammed them to the floor. A wall of stone rose in the doorway between him and Father.

Now Father couldn't follow. At least, not quickly enough.

Al began loosening his armored breastplate

He couldn't believe he'd wanted to return here. Father had never been kind to him. Never really loved him.

Now that he'd had a taste of the real thing, Father's false love would never satisfy him again.

"Alphonse." Father's voice was muffled behind the wall. "Alphonse."

Al wanted to tear the wall down. Assault Father with a barrage of punches and kicks and possibly some alchemic combat Ed had shown him.

But that wasn't the most important thing.

His freedom mattered more. Getting to Ed mattered more.

"I'm leaving," he announced, resolute. "I'm going to find my brother. And my father, if he'll have me. My real father. Selim, let's go."

He waited, but there was no response.

"Selim, where are you? It's time to leave."

There was no sign of his friend.

"Selim?"

There was a flash of red, and the wall Al had erected sank back into the floor, revealing Father.

"You aren't leaving, Alphonse. And neither is he. I need you, you see."

"How—?"

Father advanced, cool and calm.

Al stumbled back, the remaining armor making his steps heavy and slow. Too slow.

Alchemy. Father had performed alchemy. With the same red light as—

"If the Fullmetal Alchemist truly is your brother, then I need him as well."

No. Ed.

Al had to get away.

He turned to run, toward the window, where there was a chance—

Father caught his arm.

Al pulled, his skin lighting up with screams where Father touched him.

Get away. Get away!

Red light sparked from his arm where Father held him, trying to shake him loose.

Father caught his hair, locking his head in place.

The red light died.

Run!

Al was drowning in a sea of screams. They echoed in his head, overlapping and blurring together.

"We'll have to do something about all that power. Clearly you can't be trusted with it."

A mass of dark shadows rushed toward him, and his vision went black.