See prologue for disclaimer, summary, and warnings.
Ch. 1
New Horizons
I wanna feel things again!
Its strange…We've been right beside each other all this time…and yet I can't remember what your skin feels like, or how you smell.
-Alphonse Elric, episode 6
They created a striking group, the four of them. Four years and new authority had little changed General Mustang's appearance. The man was still as handsome as ever with his midnight hair and fathomless black eyes. Though he was only the upper end of medium height and sleek rather than bulky with muscle, he exuded an air of power that made him seem a giant. The man had presence. Of course, he had exuded the same air for as long as Ed had known him. His navy uniform, cut a little fancier to display his higher rank, was set off by his familiar white gloves. The three attractive blondes that followed close behind him contrasted his dark looks nicely. One of those blondes was, of course, Lieutenant Colonel Liza Hawkeye. As a Lieutenant Colonel she technically should no longer be Mustang's aide, but no one had the courage (or stupidity) to tell her she had to quit the job she'd been doing so well for so long. She was as beautiful now as she had been four years ago and, like Mustang, had changed little. When let down, her straw-colored hair was a bit longer. But one never saw it let down when she was on duty, for it remained in the same business-like bun it always had. Her uniform was fancier, too, but she was essentially the same eye-catching yet restrained beauty she had always been. The two young men next to her, however, had changed much more noticeably.
Alphonse Elric, now eighteen, was a tall young man. His hair was the color of bronze when it has been polished and shined and his skin carried a healthy tan. His face was handsome, but kept boyish by his large, soft, round eyes the color of milk chocolate. When he was a suit of armor, though his body language had been amazingly expressive, he had been incapable of showing much facial expression. The gentle look he usually carried on his face these days surprised no one who had known him as armor, however—it was the look they had always imagined on the soft-spoken boy. It softened his handsome features making him approachable and friendly looking. The broad shoulders that evened out his tall frame flowed down to narrow hips above long legs. It was no surprise that young women swooned over him—it broke their hearts to find out he was already taken by a young country mechanic with an acerbic wit and a dangerous wrench.
With beautiful Hawkeye behind Mustang to the right and handsome Al behind him to the left, Mustang found that it was the person in the middle who was the most striking. Edward Elric at nineteen had grown four inches taller than the five feet even he had despised at fifteen. He was still sensitive about his abnormally short height, but controlled his irritation much better. If he hadn't grown much, his hair had. It now reached his waist, though it was currently tied back in the business-like braid that he used when accompanying Mustang on official business. His bangs were the same old mess, antenna poking up in his part. His hair retained its bright gold color, a few shades lighter than Al's hair. His hair was the first thing most people noticed about him (after his height, anyway), whether in its tight braid, the loose, sexy ponytail he used when researching, or when, on rare occasion, he let it hang free, startling in its beauty. His eyes were the next, the same gold color as his hair, large and catlike, dominating his face. His perfectly oval face, thinned from it childlike roundness, was finely featured, delicate even—though wise men would avoid the d-word within his hearing…as well as the
word (pretty), the f-word (fragile), the g-word (girly), any number of s-words (short, shrimp)…you get my drift. He was as slender at nineteen as he had been at fifteen—he had not, in fact, gained a pound, and his body resisted adding muscle. This, along with his lack of height, was very likely as much related to his weakened condition, his sacrifice to restore Al, as to any genetics. So his build was lithe and small. If Hawkeye's feminine beauty attracted the eye of nearly every man and Al's boyish handsomeness had women of all ages swooning, Ed's lithe, unusual beauty attracted admirers of both sexes.
Ironically enough, none of the three was aware of the effects of their good looks. Hawkeye was aware that she was good looking (she'd been hit on too often not to know), but was more concerned with her duty than with her looks. Al and Ed were truly clueless as to how attractive they were. They blamed any and all attention they achieved to their fame, and so scorned it. Neither would date someone who wanted to hang off of their celebrity. Al could honestly accept Winry's attentions because they had known her long enough to know she really cared about them, and wasn't the type of girl to lie about such things anyway. But Winry's assurances that they were indeed very attractive were considered biased. And so the three walked behind Mustang, unaware of the pretty picture they presented, or of the nicknames they garnered, such as Mustang's "bevy of blondes" or "the harem". Those who had not seen the three in action assumed that the three aides, one military and two alchemical, were chosen because of their looks. Mustang's reputation as a seducer of all things pretty supported this foolish view. He was aware of the rumors and nicknames, but wisely kept such knowledge to himself. He actually didn't think it was a bad thing that the three of the sharpest people he knew, his three greatest assets, were so underestimated. They were also eye-catching enough to distract from other things, such his other aides who always followed closely—Lieutenant Colonels Havoc, Breda, Falman, and Fury. These three didn't mind staying in the background. Havoc (another handsome blonde, but he could usually manage to avoid the spotlight), very aware the rumors, found it all very amusing. Like Mustang, he would go to his grave before admitting it to the three blondes—admitting it would be a death sentence, anyway.
And so Mustang and his followers and friends marched towards the new council building the nerve center of the new government, presenting a picture which was becoming Mustang's signature—the dashing General-Councilman followed by the three blonde aides surrounded surreptitiously by thefour lieutenant colonels. The building was in the very center of Central City—it was all very symbolic. Mustang had received a call early that morning, calling for an emergency meeting of the council to deal with the new threat of the gates.
A week earlier, strange phenomena had begun to appear all over the country, with no apparent rhyme or reason. These phenomena, quickly coined gates, were like holes that opened into a whole other world. Surrounded by glowing blue electricity much like an alchemical reaction, the landscape on the other side of the vaguely circular gates rarely corresponded even remotely to the landscape surrounding it. In the middle of a desert a gate appeared that showed a thickly grown primordial forest. A gate in the grasslands, conversely, showed a desert. Just outside of central city a gate had appeared that showed a similar desert fading into grasslands. In the distance were the unmistakable signs of a city. As if the gates weren't enough, things had begun to come through the gates.
At first glance the creatures appeared human. But a closer look found long, pointy ears, long sharp claws, and fangs. Those unfortunate enough to get an even closer look found superhuman strength and speed, as well as an insane fury and hunger for human flesh. Too many people had died before the creatures were stopped by the military. It appeared that the new government must take action soon.
As the council members filed in and took their placed, Mustang thought of what he was going to say. He'd had the Elric brothers study the gate outside of the city, and what they had found was disturbing to say the least. It was alchemy, at least partly, keeping the gates open. And they showed no sign of closing anytime soon, if ever. They could not be shut from one side alone, but must be closed from both sides. In other words, in other to shut these gates and keep the creatures out, someone over there would have to help them. And someone from over here would have to go over there. And, for some reason, he was going to volunteer. All right, not just some reason, a very good reason. His people were the best equipped to figure out how to close the gates and why it opened in the first place, and he had the governmental power to back up any deals made with the government of the land through the gate. Still, it was a trip he faced with almost as much dread as the daunting task of convincing the council to let him go.
Once again alone in the privacy of his office, Mustang looked at his employees closely. Liza was as stoic as always, but Ed was beginning to show the signs of wear that few could see—the paler skin and tiny stress lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows. Al was the most obvious sign, of course—he was always the first to realize when Ed tired himself out and his worry was palpable. Of course Ed must be exhausted, Mustang himself was tired. The council meeting had been long and arduous, full of pompous old menand overly-idealistic young men arguing, but had ended as he intended. In only a few days he and his handpicked team would be crossing the gate outside the city in an attempt to find some resolution to the country's problem. Now to pick the team. If willing, all of his people would be going.
"Well, is there anyone who doesn't wish to go? If there is speak now, there is no shame in not going. We need people here, too, you know. In fact, Ed…"started Mustang.
"I'm going," interrupted Ed, his husky tenor only slightly more tense than usual—whether from exhaustion or suppressed anger was hard to say. Oh well, at least he was bothering to suppress his anger these days.
Mustang sighed. He had suspected that Ed would not be left behind, but had hoped otherwise. Oh, well. He caught the look Al gave him, but didn't press Ed. Al should know by now that where Ed wanted to go, he went. The rest of Mustang's staff also showed no interest in backing out. Their loyalty was heartwarming, but it also sent a chill down Mustang's spine. Just that many more friends he could lose. Still, his team worked well together.
"In that case, everyone be packed and ready to go in three days. We'll be given a small honor guard, but that's no reason for us to not be prepared to fight if necessary, so come armed. But not obviously so, since we are going into the territories of others. Edward, bring medical provisions," said Mustang, getting down to business.
In the years since their restoration, the two brothers had taken to separate specialties in alchemy. Ironically, it was the gentle younger brother who was the fighter and the feisty elder brother who was a healer. Those who had fallen victim to Ed's legendary temper would be absolutely shocked at how gentle and efficient he could be when treating wounds or illness. Part of his interest in medicine stemmed from years of looking into human alchemy, which included some types of healing alchemy, and part from his time spent studying with the alchemists of Xing, where alchemy was used primarily for healing. But the truth was that Ed had been as close to death as he ever wanted to be. Healing others answered something in him, healed wounds inside of Ed that couldn't be seen. Not that he had any problem beating down those who deserved it (such as those poor souls foolish enough to call him short), but those were not real battles, not life-or-death. As for gentle Al, he had always been a surprisingly ruthless and capable fighter when need be. It was best, really, that one who fought so well was one so full of compassion. He was never unnecessarily violent, but instead used his abilities to be a protector of those who could not protect themselves. Of all of the criminals he had apprehended since becoming a state alchemist (and there had been quite a few in the tumultuous results of a restructured government), not one had been killed. He captured them all alive and relatively unharmed. Those few he had had to harm had been patched up by a bitching but efficient Ed. His title was the Shieldknight Alchemist, in respect to his job as a protector of the public. Given their specialties, it was expected that Ed would be the healer on this trip.
"All right everyone, we have a lot of preparing to do! I suggest you get started now—Edward, not you. I want to talk to you privately. Al, you stay too," said Mustang, dismissing the majority of his staff.
Edward knew what to expect. It was the same "don't overdo it" speech he heard before every dangerous mission he had been on the last four years. Dammit! He knew he was weaker, but he could handle himself! He ground his teeth in anticipation of the lecture to come.
"I'm not going to lecture you this time. I know that you think I'm overprotective and annoying, and maybe you're right. But the truth is that you are one of my most valued employees. Hell, Ed, you can do alchemy without a circle, and that's as impressive as hell. I know I don't say this a lot…" Mustang began, smirking as he saw the utterly shocked look on Ed's face "but its true. Its also true that, despite the fact that you have matured, you are one of the most temperamental people I have ever known. So try not to start any fights, please," finished the general, smirk growing as he saw Ed's face redden with the realization that what started out as a compliment ended up as a rather insulting lecture.
"WHAT THE HELL…" started Ed, but he abruptly shut up as Mustang chuckled. His reaction only proved Mustang's words. So Ed swallowed his anger, ignoring both Mustang's amusement and Al's worry.
"Oh, and while the two of you are here, I have something to add. The three of us, along with General Armstrong (yes, he's going too), will be the only alchemists on this trip, and we have no idea how the people on the other side of that gate will react to alchemy…so don't use it unless you have to and try not to be seen using it, at least for now," said Mustang, idly fiddling with his gloves. He looked up to see Ed's grudging nod and Al's expected agreement.
"Okay boys, go get packed. Bring at least one nice outfit, we may get lucky and be feted upon our arrival. Oh, and Ed? Way to swallow that anger," the general said with a smug smirk.
"Grrrr…"
Three days later the company stood before the gate outside of Central City and prepared to venture into an unknown world.
