There were rumors but no one was for certain, there were whispers but everyone figured they had misheard, and then there were increasingly significant signs that no one dared to acknowledge.

Signs that he himself should have recognized.

Roy Mustang sat at his desk with a heavy conscience. His head throbbed dully and he blinked his tired, red-rimmed eyes-he was exhausted from his everything but ordinary birthday surprise and was in no mood to deal with the news he'd just received. Although somewhere in the back of his mind he had known that war was inevitable in a country with a Fürer who lacked proper-or even basic leadership skills.

He half listened to the clicking of heels against the polished floor of Central City Headquarters.

The clicking stopped and he looked up from the opened envelops that were spread across his desk.

In the doorway stood a tall, beautiful blonde with her hair twisted back into a loose bun.

"Something wrong?" Riza Hawkeye asked casually.

He sat there, frozen, contemplating whether to tell his wife or keep it from her until it spread throughout the entire military. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the silver wedding band that rested on his left hand.

It's the right thing to do…he thought while turning his gaze back to her.

With a heavy sigh he stood up from his desk to announce,

"I just got a call from Northern Headquarters…Drachma's soldiers breached Briggs yesterday. The Fürer has just declared war."

I glanced out the window, frowning at the thick cloud cover that had rested over the city.

"It looks like my frizz isn't going to get any better..." I sighed as I ran my fingers through my unruly hair, trying to force it to lay flat.

"Skyla are you ready yet?"

I jumped and turned to see Rolland standing in the door way with one hand over his mouth to cover the lazy yawn that he was letting out.

"Yeah, give me a second," I tied my hair back in a quick ponytail to hide its frizziness and grabbed the closest pair of shoes.

"Holy crap we're late…my father's going to kill us," Rolland muttered, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as we rushed out the front door.

"Oh no," I corrected him, closing the door behind me, "he's going to kill you."

Central City's Headquarters seemed unusually busy. Handfuls of soldiers clad in the standard military uniform marched through the hallways with their guns perched loyally by their sides.

The sound of their heavy footsteps echoed throughout the hallway as I struggled to keep my balance in the thin pair of heels I'd unfortunately grabbed at the last moment.

We slipped into the Lt. Colonel's office and stood quietly by the door.

I recognized Kain Fuery and Jean Havoc standing to the left of Mustang, who sat solemnly at his desk, delivering orders as if he already were the President Fürer. The other men and women that occupied the room were strangers clad in military uniform, looking as though they held some pretty hefty titles beneath their belts. "You're late," Mustang announced in a flat tone, not even bothering to look up from the file that sat on his desk.

Rolland hesitantly opened his mouth to speak but then quickly shut it when his father's piercingly dark eyes turned on him, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce the commanding officer of section Eleven-V," he paused and then casually flitted his gaze in my direction before adding, "Elric leave."

I raised my eyebrows skeptically, a bit shocked from what I'd just heard, "Excuse me, sir?"

Mustang straightened in his seat, "You heard me correctly. You are neither a member of the military nor are you authorized to hear what I am about to say so get out of my office."

I stood my ground for a brief second, staring stubbornly into his dark, cold eyes. As I looked closer I could see the deep-set shadows that lied beneath his firm yet tired eyes and the wrinkles of exhaustion that framed his handsome, in an older man sort of way, face.

No more than a foot or two away from him stood Riza Hawkeye, her hands lying stiffly by her sides while her vigilant auburn eyes scanned the faces of the other officers that littered the room. I exhaled deeply before turning around and in a very professional and hopefully graceful manner I left his office and turned the corner, my heels clicking softly all the way down the hall.

"Don't eat that."

I suspiciously eyed the yellow ooze that bubbled toxically on Mischa's cafeteria tray.

She wrinkled her fair nose and pushed back the steel tray, "You're right, the food doesn't look quite right today…that's weird, Chef usually whips up something good."

I glanced back at the foreign man who was serving the assembly line, dressed in a white apron and wielding a dented silver ladle, "I think they got a replacement, this guy doesn't look to happy about serving food."

"That's 'cause he's an inmate."

Both Mischa and I turned in our seats to face the newcomer who had decided to join our conversation. He looked like an ordinary soldier dressed in dark navy blue pants and black leather boots. A simple white T-shirt clung to his tanned chest, showing off his scarred, well-muscled arms. He was an older man of forty, or even perhaps fifty.

"Oh yeah?" Mischa leaned in towards the center of the table, intrigue sparking in her opal-colored eyes.

I sighed and rested my elbows against the table as I joined Mischa in leaning towards him. The man nodded, "You girls heard 'bout the war no doubt, hasn't you?"

We both nodded in return. After I'd been subtly-not to mention rudely kicked out of Mustang's office I had wandered down to the common area in search of Mischa, which was when she'd informed me of the hot and current news that buzzed around the entire building. Drachma had finally breached the military's fortress up north.

"Well now all the military leaders are rounding up their troops, preparin' to fight so all of the jobs that had been occupied by soldiers have been handed down to ex-convicts on parole," the man paused and casually pointed to Mischa's abandoned tray of unidentified goo, "You gonna eat that little lady?"

"Help yourself," she shook her head and nudged the tray in his direction.

"Oh! I forgot to tell you, for the minute I actually was in the big boss man's office I overheard him call Rolland a commanding officer," I nibbled numbly on a cracker that Mischa had stealthily handed me under the table-one that she had pulled out from her pockets, no doubt.

"Commanding officer of what-that box of free kittens on the corner?" she asked incredulously.

I smirked and nudged her lightly between the ribs, "No of a military section…Eleven-V, I think he called it."

The man that sat across from us burst out laughing, nearly spraying chewed up yellow wads all over the table, "How old's this kid?"

"Eighteen," I replied slowly, curious as to what had caused his bizarre reaction.

"Damn, these bastards don't show no mercy, do they? Eleven-V is a pack of hard ass, good-for-nothing veterans who only get called back into service during emergencies. They gonna tear that boy to shreds."

A sickly sweet smile spread across Mischa's round, pretty face, "You really think so?"

The man chuckled again, "you sure are enthusiastic girlie, I don't suppose you're goin' out on the battle field too…not a sweet lil' thing like you."

"Mmm hmm," Mischa replied simply, the rain had caused her hair to curl and it fell to her shoulders in delicate brown ringlets, the way it framed her face made her appear even more innocent, if that were even possible.

The man slapped his knee in disbelief, "Well I'll be. This country really is run by a crop of devils…sending out young girls to a war zone-but you," he pointed a wrinkled finger in my direction, "You aint a soldier."

"How do you know?" I hadn't intended to sound so surprised.

The man shrugged, "I can sense it. You don't have the personality about you."

"Oh, really?" I raised my eyebrows in disbelief, and Mischa shot me a worried look-a silent plea to drop the conversation.

"No, no. I know a soldier from a mile away. You're something else," he stopped and chewed a forkful of food while looking me over once and then again. I squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze while waiting for him to finish.

"An alchemist! That's what we have here."

"Wow," Mischa's ecstatic blue eyes widened in amusement, "you're good."

The man wrapped his arms across his chest and smiled smugly, "When you been around as long as I have you pick up on things-are you a state alchemist?"

I nodded, biting my lip as I fibbed. He seemed satisfied with that alone and didn't bother to question me on why I wasn't sporting a glimmering silver pocket watch like the other state-certified alchemists.

Suddenly the old, out-dated speakers that were attached to the outer walls of the building emitted a high, squeaking noise followed by the rusty voice of an old woman, "Brigadier General Coleman and Major General Mustang please report to the conference hall."

"Major General Mustang?" I echoed, amused by the announcer's clerical error. That was two ranks higher than his current position.

"He must have been promoted, I hear everyone is being boosted up a rank or two now due to lack of commanding officers," Mischa shrugged, looking unimpressed.

"Well then ladies, I best be going-duty calls," the man stood up with a kind smile on his face.

Mischa and I stood up as well. I shook his leather-thick hand politely, "It was nice meeting you sir."

"The pleasure was all mine," he replied formally before turning away from us.

Mischa linked her arms through mine and led me away from our table, "Do you know what I think?"

"Hmm?" I replied, only half-listening.

"I think that was Ruther Coleman."

I cocked my head slightly to the side in confusion, beckoning for her to elaborate. She nodded furiously, causing her dainty curls to quiver, "he's the Brigadier General."

I narrowed my eyes and glanced back at the man who had accompanied us just moments ago. He had pulled a formal blue jacket over his T-shirt and sure enough, it was embroidered with a great amount of stripes and medals, indicating a more prominent rank. He caught my gaze and winked good-naturedly before pushing past a rowdy bunch of soldiers.

"Hey, Sky, he was poking around a lot about our ages…sort of. It got me thinking," Mischa began, snapping me back to the reality which I had wandered away from, "you haven't turned eighteen yet."

"And?"

"Well legally you can't fight or enlist in the military."

I shrugged it off as we pushed our way out of the cafeteria and into the gloomy court yard. While the rain had ceased the sky was still plastered with overbearing gray clouds.

"I'll find some way around it, but don't worry, it's not like I'm going to let you go out and fight alone. We're in this together-you, me…and maybe even Rolland."

"So you aren't afraid of the war?"

I glanced over at Mischa; she looked so small in her uniform and big black boots. Worry danced on the edges of the youthful face. I shook my head and forced a false, reassuring smile upon my face, "It's going to get bad, and I mean really bad at times. There's no doubt about it, but we're going to make it through this. We all are-as a country. Don't worry. I promise."

Don't make promises that you can't keep.

Mischa smiled back at me and then pointed excitedly at a pale pink rose bud that was weakly trying to crawl away from the soil and bloom. I nodded happily although I was no longer paying any attention.

Where had that voice come from? It had popped into my head as if it had always been there…or maybe the thought was simply a fragment torn from a faded dream, one that had long been forgotten by subconscious. I pushed the strange voice and even stranger thought out of my mind and went back to focusing on the world that surrounded me.

Although the sky's smoky black clouds showed promise of a great storm and the country was running around in a state of panic while trying to assemble troops to go to war a small notion of hope tugged at the farthest corns of my heart. And I felt as if everything would truly be okay.

Then again…I could be wrong.