Ed is a scientist. He does not believe in the afterlife. But as a seeker of truth, he cannot allow himself to run from the facts.
He turns to face the wreckage of his house again, only partly because he can't look Winry in the eye. He's not sure how long they've been standing here - minutes, days, years - but the blaze has already ravaged his childhood home into something charred and unrecognizable. (Like Mom, bleeding and gasping for breath, straining towards him. Asking for answers, asking for punishment. Why did you do this to me-?) If he squints, he can make himself believe that through the haze of heat and crumbling support beams, he can see everything they'd left behind to burn. The kitchen table covered in dents and marks from amateurish transmutations. The collection of stories Mom had read to them when they couldn't sleep - gathering dust in the same drawer it had been tucked into for the last decade. The books in Hohenheim's study over which they'd whiled away countless (pointless) afternoons, searching for the secrets to the ultimate taboo. Family photos, belongings, keepsakes.
Innocence. Childhood. The beautiful, terrible dreams of an arrogant fool.
It will only take a few hours for all those memories to be reduced to dust in the wind, for better or for worse. Whatever happiness had remained in this house, after Mom's death had left it a hollow shell, will be destroyed along with the evidence of their sin. And then it will all be over.
But that won't be the end.
Because this... it's only the beginning. It's the birth, or maybe rebirth, of something new and terrifying, leading him to some uncertain destination - but wherever that destination may be, the path there is sure to be long and winding.
Edward doesn't want to admit how much that scares him, how much of his life he has lived in fear. Scared to live without his mother. Scared to live without his brother. Scared to damn himself alone. He's always been such a coward.
That's why he cannot allow himself any means of escape.
No salvation. No easy way out. No being let off the hook to run into mother dearest's arms, where everything could be solved with a hug and a warm smile. It's too late for second thoughts. The spark has already been lit; the wounds from his last mistake are still fresh, and he's back the same path of arrogance and sin that had led him to ruin in the first place. But the wool has been ripped away from his eyes this time. Terrified as he is, he cannot hide from the Truth: he had broken the alchemist's creed, be thou for the people, the moment he'd suggested he unthinkable before his mother's grave.
He cannot to pretend to have any sort of moral high ground, to be doing this with innocent or selfless intentions. He'd sold his soul a long time ago. The only difference is now he has a military watch to prove it. That, and he can no longer claim childish ignorance as an excuse.
So, he thinks through smoke-filled lungs. So. There's nowhere left to go now.
Nowhere left to go but forward.
(The pocket watch feels heavier than ever now. What's the added weight of a memory, compared to it all?)
(Edward is a scientist. He does not operate in guesswork or pointless musings. So if he wants to know, there's only one way to find out.)
His fist closes around silver. Raised hexagram, silver dragon, empty front cover.
And he knows what he has to do.
In honor of a journey begun to reclaim what was lost, and ended with so much more than anyone had dared to hope for.
Don't forget. 3. Oct. 11.