Roy is reminded, more than anything, of his early days with Berthold Hawkeye while he stays at the Alcott house. He is an apprentice to de Havilland much like he was to Berthold, as their interviews with the alchemists of Mebdo seem like lessons just as much as they are work. He learns about the town, its way of life, and about the unique ways its residents study and use alchemy. On his own time, he preoccupies himself with studying, bent on learning some other advanced form of alchemy from the books he had brought with him.

He also finds that he and Riza have gone back to regarding each other as they did when they had just met and were barely acquainted. Since that night in the kitchen, they've become overly polite with each other in the few times that they've had to interact, and they have seen each other so much less that he believes Riza is deliberately avoiding him. Roy finds few chances to apologize; he is overwhelmed by his guilt each time.

It had been much easier to get to know each other out of nothing, even though she was rightfully apprehensive of him, a newcomer at her home. They were so young then, yet already facing incredible changes in their lives. Roy knew no one when he came to Cameron; Riza had just lost her mother. Friendliness came naturally after some time of living together with no one else but her perpetually preoccupied father. He could not call it a friendship, but in time, having each other around became something that Roy considered just as precious.

It was a companionship. It is what Roy misses now more than anything.

This new tension between himself and Riza has made it difficult for Roy to concentrate as he practices his alchemy. One afternoon has been particularly frustrating, with Roy having stood for hours outside the Alcott house attempting flame alchemy on two piles of chopped wood and one of charcoal briquettes. The briquettes quickly burned out after taking the better part of two hours to ignite, but neither the damp nor the dry wood has given off so much as a spark. Roy clicks his tongue in frustration.

He looks up and finds that he isn't alone. Some meters away, at the cliff behind the house, de Havilland and Alcott chat delightedly as they have several times since Roy first arrived with the general in Mebdo. He can't imagine a greater disappointment than this, that the one person who seems to be the missing piece of Berthold's murder is well within the general's good graces, while he is left with his own suspicions, without an ally or a friend.

de Havilland doesn't see what he does. Roy realizes this as the general looks over and acknowledges him with a nod. He waits—sure enough, de Havilland and Alcott quickly end their conversation after that. Roy watches the madame retreat into the house, then turn to him with a knowing, falsely warm smile.

"I see you have had little luck here, Lieutenant."

The general says this by way of greeting as he approaches. Roy releases a tense breath with a bit of a self-effacing sneer. "That, I have." With his foot, he erases the transmutation circle that he had drawn in the soft soil. "I managed to trigger a reaction in the briquettes, but only because of their more combustible components. The wood has been harder to get burning on its own. I'd hardly consider this flame alchemy."

"Well, as long as you aren't burning down Miss Alcott's house, I would consider any progress you make today to be positive."

Roy laughs. "General de Havilland, I don't think I'd—"

There isn't a hint of irony or humor in de Havilland's face. Roy frowns.

"Let us be perfectly plain about it, Lieutenant," de Havilland says. "You have made no secret of your disdain for our gracious host. I can only assume it is due to her critical opinion of Berthold Hawkeye. And while I understand that you are navigating through complicated emotions at this time, prejudice will not lead you to a resolution. I'm afraid it is clouding your mind."

"Sir," Roy asserts, "I know it may seem that way, but this has nothing to do with how I personally feel about Madame Alcott. I believe there's enough reason to see her as a suspect in Master Hawkeye's murder."

de Havilland appears unsurprised, and yet he nods slowly as if he were deep in thought. "That is a serious accusation. I do see why you would come to believe this, but I would also advise you to be prudent with your assumptions. We are as yet in the preliminary stages of identifying persons of interest, with little to go by outside of a few peculiar coincidences."

"But if we could conduct further questioning—"

"I would prefer to think of Miss Alcott as a valuable, trustworthy asset at this time. Lieutenant Mustang, allow me to remind you that our priority in this assignment is the welfare and security of all alchemists in this country. We cannot allow other objectives to take precedence over this, lest we falter in our devotion to the people."

With the firm tone of finality in de Havilland's voice, Roy doesn't dare press on further. His earlier certainty and determination have withered, not because he now believes his claims to be groundless, but because of the insinuation that he has been self-centered. Worse still, he cannot disagree, not when Riza had accused him of the same thing for the same reasons. Shame isn't quite enough of a name for how he feels.

de Havilland grips Roy's shoulder in sympathy, his voice kinder when he speaks this time. "No doubt your journey has been difficult. But you will find its end to be rewarding if you place your faith in that which matters. I am sure you can start again on the right footing."

Roy is alone once again after de Havilland leaves. It takes him a moment to realize what has changed in front of him, having missed the flash of light in the moment it happened. The charcoal briquettes have been restored to their original unburnt state, ready to be ignited again. Even without having seen de Havilland perform alchemy before, Roy recognizes it at once as his work, and beyond Roy's awe for the things that become possible through alchemy, the general's message is clear:

There is not just one way to move forward.

The sky is now a warm color, and Roy turns to watch the sunset. Now more than he ever has since coming to Mebdo, he thinks of home many miles away, how he must be facing the door of his childhood home in Central if he has gotten the angle just right. Although he visited home between his graduation from the military academy and his return to the Hawkeye house, his time away for the past few months has felt longer than his stay at the academy ever did.

Roy misses them all terribly. His aunt Madame Christmas, who tirelessly raised him following his parents' untimely deaths and never treated him as any less than her own. The girls of Madame Christmas' bar, whom he grew up with and loved like sisters, whose dreams of better lives inspired him to dream for them as well. He wants nothing more than to be home with them again. But they have put their faith in him to serve a greater purpose, and he could never turn his back on this.

If Berthold were still alive, would he have faith in Roy?

Does Riza?

The madame's stares linger upon Roy throughout the evening. Something has changed in the way she looks at him. The silent contempt she has held for him since learning of his connection to Berthold is now something more thoughtful, almost kind. It leaves him uncomfortable, perhaps more than any other time she has looked at him throughout his stay in Mebdo, but Roy doesn't ask about it.

After dinner, as Roy returns to his room, Alcott silently follows him up the stairs. He stops halfway and turns to her, unsure of what to make of the act. Neither has tried to speak to the other privately before, or for any purpose other than the interviews being conducted in the house. Neither speaks immediately now. Roy waits, wondering if she hopes to hear an apology or an explanation from him.

And then Alcott approaches him, surprising him when she touches the side of his face. Roy doesn't flinch. He had thought she would have a strong hand, but her touch is gentle and motherly. He feels warmth and forgiveness and even pity, and for a moment it seems impossible that Alcott is capable of any anger or hatred. For a moment, Roy sees the woman whom her friends and former students admire.

It feels like being welcomed home. He wonders if this is the exact way Riza felt when she began to live with the madame following her father's death.

"Such a great young man you could be," Alcott whispers, "if you were not to be like him."

A small, quiet part of him readily believes her.

The mornings of the past few days have been kinder to Riza. She doesn't know how or when it began, but she finds comfort in the change. There is less fire in her dreams now, and quieter cries, and her palpitations and many body aches are becoming less painful and jarring. Waking up is easier than it has been for a long time.

Because of this, Riza has a newfound appreciation for her already enjoyable routine trips to the town proper. The long walk down from the village takes her mind off things, reminds her of what she likes best about living in a town like Mebdo. She likes the green views that stretch on for as far as the eye can see. She likes the locals, who are warm and friendly to her, perhaps more than anyone in Cameron ever was. Although she has lived in Mebdo for only a few months, Riza is treated as if she had grown up there and known her neighbors all her life. There is always a cup of coffee being offered to her "before you go on your way!" or some freshly picked fruit "for you and dear Beatrice!"

But Riza's troubles stay with her beneath these little joys. One morning, she leaves for town earlier than usual, just as the sun peeks over the horizon, but before the stars of the previous night have completely disappeared from the sky. The light breeze is pleasantly cool, the birdsong gentle. None of these are enough to distract Riza from pressing matters.

The first has to do with the encoded notes on flame alchemy that she made a few days prior, which sit precariously beneath the few belongings in her luggage, which in turn she keeps under her bed. She hasn't had a second chance to burn them since failing to do so the first time, nor has she been able to even think of starting another fire. Avoiding suspicion is yet another concern. Riza wishes she had thought of these things before allowing anxiety to drive her into making the notes—she hadn't even made a plan for what to do with the flame alchemy array on her back, were she to keep the notes.

The second, more complicated matter takes shape behind her a little farther down the slope from Madame Alcott's house.

"Miss Hawkeye!"

Riza continues walking without looking back. Roy, too, continues to follow her. "Are you headed to town?" he asks.

"I am."

"I was hoping I could go with you. I've been meaning to make a phone call to Central."

Riza takes a moment to respond. "Sure."

She could never admit how much she has thought of Roy since the night of their argument. Once her initial feelings of shock and distress had dissipated, Riza realized how comforting it has been just to have a familiar, friendly presence in her new home. The years she had spent with a younger Roy seem so much more meaningful now that she is looking back not only at that time, but also at the difficult, solitary years that followed his departure for the military academy. During those years, she dealt with her father's failing health and the burden of his secrets alone, and she recalls what she had hoped for then: that Roy would come back.

And then in the present, he walks around her and faces her, and Riza stops in her tracks. They exchange stares for a silent moment, which ends when Roy takes a deep breath and says, "I'm sorry."

Riza's face remains impassive. He continues slowly, almost hesitantly, "I'm sorry for the way I spoke about Madame Alcott the other night. I was inconsiderate and desperate for something to prove, and… I hurt you because of it. I could have hurt Madame Alcott. I could do better by my job, and by you. I hope you can forgive me."

In the morning light, Riza is able to get a good look at Roy for the first time since meeting him again. He seemed so different then, with his new military uniform and perfect, confident posture—handsome, impressive, but cold and unfamiliar. The Roy who stands before her now is preferable, as sincere as any friend she could want, perhaps still able to understand her better than anyone else can.

She nods once.

"I forgive you, Roy."

The entire air about him changes. Roy's shoulders relax, his face brightens, and he seems like a different person all over again, his past and present selves bridged in just the perfect way. Riza feels a weight being lifted from her chest, and she cannot help but smile a little. She resumes walking, Roy matching her pace with light steps and his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

"So, Riza," he begins after a while, her name still foreign in his voice, "how have you been?"

"What do you want to know about?"

"Anything. What you do here, who your friends are. Do you still take care of injured birds?"

Riza laughs at the sudden remembrance of this particular memory, not having expected it to come up now of all things. She looks back on it fondly; Roy had been living with them for barely a year when he noticed her penchant for tending to birds that had injured themselves around their house. He became a curious observer, helping Riza whenever he could by buying supplies in town or checking on her when the birds would keep her up late into the night. These instances were few and far between, but Roy and Riza formed a tentative bond over them. It makes sense that he would remember her best for those times. Riza sighs.

"Not anymore," she says wistfully. "I actually haven't seen a lot of them. I like to think they're not as prone to injury around here. But I haven't had much time to do things outside of my work for the madame. It keeps me busy."

"What's it like being Madame Alcott's assistant?"

"There's a lot of paperwork. She keeps a lot of material from her teaching days. Research, files on her old students, writings about the places she's been to. I don't help much with house chores, she prefers to do them herself. But she doesn't have the energy to go into town, so I take care of all the errands there. In some ways, it's like..."

She trails off just short of mentioning Berthold.

"I see," says Roy. "Do you go into town often?"

"Only as often as I need to. It's mostly to buy food for the madame and myself. What did you say you needed to go to town for?"

Roy's expression turns somber. "I haven't exactly called home in a while, you see. To tell you the truth, I haven't seen my family since… well, since I returned to Cameron. That was almost four months ago."

Riza quickly realizes what this means, what Roy has devoted himself to from then until now. There is something lonely about the way death takes time away from being in the warm company of the living, especially considering the fact that Roy had spent that time on people who were not his own family. Riza nods in sympathy.

"I'm sure they miss you too. How were they when you talked to them last?"

"It's still business as usual at the bar. It's getting popular among high ranking officers—not my favorite patrons, but they pay well. It works out for my sisters."

"And Madame Christmas?"

"She's hoping I can spend some time back home before I get drafted. As I'm sure to be."

There is a sour note in Roy's voice, not because of the thought of the war, but at the mention of Madame Christmas' wish. Riza decides to try and cheer him up. "You picked the best day to be in town. It's usually livelier on Fridays, almost like Cameron. I think you'll like it."

"Lucky I have you to show me around, then. What's in town today? Are you meeting some friends?"

"... I don't exactly have friends here."

After a pause, Roy says, "You do now."

They turn to each other. A glance in one moment, then laughter in the next.

Riza learns much more about Roy during their walk into town than she ever did in their years of living together. She learns that he likes dogs, as she sees when they run into elderly Mrs. Brown and her hound in the next village—Roy allows it to sniff and playfully paw at him, and he rubs behind its ears before they continue their walk. He tells her about an early love for reading and literature that he shared with his adoptive sisters, beginning with poetry, which later led him to basic philosophy, and from there, to alchemy.

Roy's stories about his childhood take her to Central, and she imagines tasting its food, walking its busy streets, catching a whiff of its air. It's enough to see a different life for herself, even if only for a few moments. A life away from the home where she grieved the loss of her family, and away from this town where she has been hiding from her fears. Riza thinks of her dreams, and how it has been a long time since she has allowed herself to consider pursuing them beyond Cameron. She thinks of her mother, who grew up in Central before eloping to their small town in the East with her father, and how wonderful it would have been to see the city with her.

"I almost forgot," Roy suddenly says at some point. He stops walking and reaches for something inside his coat. "I hope you don't mind—I took this from your house so I could show this to people when I was looking for you. It's time you got it back."

Riza's heart swells with emotion at the sight of his gift. The old photograph, where she smiles with her mother, is the last one the two of them took together, if not the last happy memory Riza remembers having with her. Hardly any other possession has meant as much to her in the years that followed her mother's death. She takes it from Roy with trembling hands.

"Thank you."

Roy turns away, and Riza is grateful for the chance to wipe at the corners of her eyes.

The town square has never been so lively, or perhaps it seems that way to Riza because of all the little details that she is explaining to someone else only for the first time. She notes things that she didn't realize she has known for some time, like the taste of different cheeses made with different kinds of milk across town, the beautifully rustic homemade pottery, and the icy spring water that flows freely from public drinking fountains. Her newfound awe nearly rivals Roy's.

When he asks what she likes best about the town, Riza shrugs.

"I've thought of staying here for good."

Roy stops in his tracks by a fountain in the middle of the road. "Really?"

"It's a nice town," Riza sighs. She sits on the edge of the fountain. "Life is quiet and simple. It's not very different from what Cameron was like, but there's nothing left for me back home. There's not much that I need that I don't already have with the madame."

After a long silence, Roy says, "So, you're doing all right here?"

Riza smiles wryly. "I don't know. But I've been worse."

"That's good. That you're better somehow. I hope you truly find peace." There is a melancholy note in Roy's sincerity. He exhales, releasing some tension. "I should've done that by now. Everything seemed clear and well-planned until the day I got back from the academy. And now, I don't really know what's next for me."

"I was under the impression that the work you came here to do has been going well."

"We've been able to profile all these alchemists, yes, but I was supposed to do more than all of this. I hoped it would matter, that I was working with them, but it means so much less than everything I worked hard for. There has been nothing but dead ends for me from one town to the next. I just… I don't know if any of it will make this country a better place at all. And I'll never be happy if I can't do that."

"That's why you became a soldier." Riza pauses. "But I don't see why this doesn't matter, even to you."

Roy shakes his head and sits next to her, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "It's not enough. I'm not enough. It's as if I'm just watching through a window with my hands tied behind my back. All those years in Cameron, and not a single step forward…. This country has been in conflict for so long. As I am now, I can only do so much to make a difference."

And she peers into his face as he stares ahead, as if lost among the crowd in the marketplace, but with eyes that are filled with fire. It's a look that she has seen only a few times before, only whenever he tried to convince Berthold to teach him more than just the basics of alchemy, to trust him more than Berthold could afford to.

Riza whispers, as if to complete the thought, "So you've been looking for flame alchemy."

He doesn't respond. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly, not quite forming a smile, but enough to send uncomfortable pangs through Riza's back, as if the secrets she holds there were about to burn through her flesh. Her father's words ring in her head again:

"This alchemy must not end up in the hands of just anyone."

"Miss Hawkeye! Fancy seeing you here!"

Both startled, Roy and Riza turn to the direction of the familiar voice. Daniel Lawrence, Madame Alcott's student and one of the first alchemists they interviewed back at the house, comes up to them smiling amicably. There is a more relaxed air about him outdoors, from the wave of his hand to the sway of his chin-length hair in the breeze, and most especially in the way he eases up to Riza. She rises, and Roy follows suit.

"Good morning, Mr. Lawrence," says Riza.

"Beautiful day, isn't it? I'm sure you find it a nice change of scenery from Madame Alcott's."

"It's all right. Not much different from the other mornings I've been out."

Daniel Lawrence chuckles. "It's a shame we don't see much of each other in this part of town. Won't you join me for tea at the parlor around the block? Or perhaps we could have something small made for you at the Bartons' woodshop. I think it would suit you well."

He taps at the intricately carved wooden pendant that hangs from his neck, but Riza hardly notices the way it looks as she fights to hold back a laugh. She smiles, trying for polite regret, but sure that her amusement is showing through nonetheless.

"Thank you for the invitation, but I'd hate to leave Lieutenant Mustang in town all by himself. He might get lost."

Daniel Lawrence turns to Roy, taking a moment to recognize him. He looks from Roy to Riza and back, and then his charm wavers, masked behind a comically nervous laugh. "Oh, pardon me, Lieutenant Mustang. I didn't notice you there." Clearing his throat, he quickly adds, "A lovely day to both of you—excuse me."

They watch him as he hurriedly disappears into the crowd past them. Riza smirks. "He's acting odd."

"He's attracted to you."

She rolls her eyes at Roy.

Farther into the marketplace, Riza leads Roy to a one-story brick building that at first glance seems like an anomaly amid the town's charmingly quaint atmosphere. It nearly appears abandoned, with its front wall of worn old wood and grimy glass, the words MEBDO POST OFFICE emblazoned on its entrance in peeling paint. Inside, the establishment is dimly lit and rather musty. But even as it begins to fill with its early Friday morning patrons awaiting their mail and parcels, Roy quickly spots the row of payphones installed at the back of the room.

"I'll leave you here while you make your call," Riza tells Roy. "Meet me at the fountain when you're done."

Roy nods. "I won't be long."

It is Friday morning, and the marketplace is at its busiest, so Riza enumerates the day's errands as she navigates the stalls. She has just enough time to buy a week's worth of food supplies for herself, the madame, and their guests at the Alcott house, then browse through the special goods that have been shipped in from all over Amestris. In the afternoon, she will be visiting the last few of the madame's alchemist friends who haven't yet been invited over for their interviews, and she considers bringing Roy along to meet them in advance.

Suddenly, there is a violent interruption to her thoughts as the air is pierced with yells, and Riza is on the ground, her hands scraped and soiled from breaking her fall—wasn't she walking just now?—her chest pounding as though she had missed a step down a flight of stairs, her ankle stinging from stumbling and trying to remain on her feet. The townsfolk back away, sweeping up a confused Riza among them—

"Are you all right?"

"What was that?"

"Get back, get back!"

Riza sees a fissure splitting the ground open and the stone pavement crumbling below like sand, and then the next thing she knows is the crowd's panicked rush out of the marketplace. Here and there she finds familiar shopkeepers belatedly noticing the commotion around them, and she reflexively reaches for whoever she can and pulls them out of their stalls and into the crowd, just as the stalls begin to splinter and collapse as well. Goods spill to the ground and pieces of wood hurtle in every direction—there is no way to tell what anyone is running on, or who is running into whom, until someone crashes into Riza, and even as she falls face-first she clearly hears the low, awful groan that follows.

She turns around, and Daniel Lawrence is dead.

His hair is wet with what she can only assume is blood, his stare blank and glassy and he can't be dead, this isn't happening. A laceration has torn through the skin of his neck, and as if in slow motion, Riza follows the line of the cut down to the black thread that holds his wooden pendant, the same one he tried to show her not even thirty minutes ago, now dangling lamely just an inch off the ground. Amidst the panic around them, she recognizes this time the engraving that she had been quick to dismiss as insignificant earlier. A transmutation circle.

It isn't the shock and confusion from this discovery that keeps her frozen in place. It isn't the great, terrifying flame that has suddenly burst overhead from nothing, weaving through the air and quickly catching and consuming the marketplace. Though it had come quickly, like a spark, the invisible force lingers as if her entire body were burning along with everything else around her. It is a familiar fear, a once-apparent danger, a long-forgotten memory. A place she thought she had wholly escaped.

Once again, that night from months ago comes back to Riza in fragments, but the pitch black she knows so well by now gives way to clarity. It appears as a proper memory this time, so coherent that her body is filled with it and surrounded by it, the heat of a great and palpable flame, the smell of dust and old paper. Her father's study threatens to burn into nothing, but against her better judgment she doesn't run, desperate to keep what little is left of her old home, temporarily numb to the fear of what will come next.

Berthold appears in the flames, so horribly burned that he cannot be separated from it. Riza watches helplessly, her hands trembling. She hears a voice call her name, strangled and terrified, and she knows that it is her father's.

She knows everything now.

She knows, at last.

"Hello, you've reached Madame Christmas' Bar."

"It's good to hear from you, Vanessa."

"Oh my gosh—Roy! You haven't called in so long—Madame! Madame, it's Roy—"

His precious few minutes in conversation with his family are the happiest that Roy has had in a long time. He is unable to contain either his smile or the easy laughter that only his sisters are able to draw out from him as he listens to their stories of gleefully watching the military procession that have become a ritual in Central each morning, then their familiar teasing and bickering. In the latter half of the call comes Madame Christmas' firm but affectionate inquisition about his health and well-being and the assignment that he had been far too busy with to come and see them since the new year.

The call is cut short by the sudden commotion in the marketplace, which at first catches the patrons at the post office off guard, then sends them rushing out into the crowd as they scream and call out for their families. Some stop abruptly outside the post office, some collapse, some back away, and so Roy utters a hasty goodbye before dropping the phone to see what is happening.

He remains level-headed and quickly responds to the situation, assisting the townsfolk out of the marketplace with a full grasp on his authority even as he realizes the unsettling strangeness of it all. Anyone watching closely—certainly any alchemist—could easily spot the ridged patterns on the pavement, the scope and suddenness of the destruction, and conclude that neither an earthquake nor any kind of structural flaw has triggered it.

The question is not what, but who.

Roy impatiently abandons the thought, willing himself to stay where his feet pound against the ground, where his hands reach for and steer every screaming person towards a safe path, where his chest seizes up as the air quickly fills with dust and somehow simply begins to change. Eventually, with most of the townsfolk out of harm's way, he begins to look for Riza. He calls her name, but he hardly hears himself over the din. Out of nowhere, a blaze seems to light up the sky, in one moment blinding every person present then in the next circling over the marketplace and catching on to everything within its reach. His heart begins to pound.

"Riza!"

In his mind, he sees her as if she had joined his old nightmares about Berthold, in her own gruesome scene of dust and bones.

"Riza!"

In the chaos, the marketplace has been reduced to a horrifying sameness. It's as if he is running in circles in the same general area without quite finding his way elsewhere, one pile of rubble indistinguishable from the other. He doesn't know when or where he finds Riza, but then he does so at last. Something about the sight of her frightens him, perhaps the blood on her clothes or her indecipherable stare, but as soon as he reaches for her and touches her he knows she is safe, at least for now. Roy grasps her arms, and he is alarmed by the tension in them, so great that she might just suddenly fall apart.

"... Riza?"

When she still doesn't respond, he puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her up to her feet with great difficulty. Her apparent horror has nearly paralyzed her, and yet her disorientation allows her limbs some freedom as she shuffles into some measure of steadiness. He steers her forward, step by step—thankfully, she can at least manage that—and they trudge through the smoke, the debris, and whatever else is left of the formerly charming marketplace. Despite Riza's condition, Roy leads the way as quickly as he can manage, perhaps driven by adrenaline, because in his growing exhaustion he doesn't know how else he could still be on his feet.

They are nearly at the main road when they come upon what someone watching from afar might mistake for a miracle. The surroundings begin to turn clear and the harsh brightness seems to disappear, tongues of flame all but suddenly retreating or fading into nothing. Moment after swift moment, little is left other than disembodied traces of destruction, the greatest cause of it all, gone. It becomes easier to breathe, despite the lingering odors of burnt objects and structures—thankfully, very little of anything else. Then, it almost seems as if there had been no fire at all.

An astounded Roy nearly forgets the danger that they have just narrowly escaped from, eagerly searching for the alchemist who has come to their rescue. The dust and smoke settle to reveal de Havilland, displaying formidable concentration as he draws what is left of the fire towards himself, where—perhaps the most incredible thing about all this—it disappears without a trace. If it took him a tremendous effort to perform this kind of alchemy, it does not show on his face.

"General de Havilland!" A soldier runs into view and salutes. "We have completed evacuation throughout the marketplace. If there is anything else my men can assist you with—"

"Yes," says de Havilland. "This is no accident or natural occurrence. Find the perpetrator of this disaster, Lieutenant Colonel Bell, and bring them to me."

"All criminal activity in Mebdo is under my jurisdiction—"

"And my jurisdiction over the activity of all alchemists throughout Amestris supersedes yours. I will not ask a third time: find the perpetrator. I want them alive."

Lieutenant Colonel Bell does not object; he turns away and barks orders to his officers in the distance. Still having barely emerged from the stalls, holding Riza upright, Roy's awe for de Havilland and his alchemical skill begins to wane, replaced by unease towards the general's abnormal behavior. He has seen de Havilland assert his authority whenever it was needed, but Roy does not recognize... whatever this is. Not the obsessive fervor in his eyes, not the anticipatory quiver in his otherwise full voice. This is an entirely different side to de Havilland, and it is one that stirs Roy's suspicion.

Then, at last, he recognizes something in de Havilland as the general carefully drops his hand, the same one that had tamed the fire in the marketplace, and flexes his fingers as though disbelieving what he had just done, what he is capable of.

Roy knows it better than anyone: a hunger for flame alchemy to rival his own.