The Red Harvest explores the darker sides of humanity that I've studied over the years. I felt compelled to write this story now, as the world seems to be in chaos.
If you're sensitive to dark themes or religious topics, this story may not be for you; it contains disturbing content. Those who have experienced abuse might find it triggering due to the intense elements in the narrative. I drew inspiration from an episode of Supernatural (Season 1, Episode 11), and the song "Unnatural Selection" by Muse will accompany the next few chapters.
I'll be adding tags on AO3, and the story will transition from Mature to Explicit content. The original version will be on AO3, possibly with a toned-down version, but that's still undecided. Just remember: "Once something is read, it can't be unseen."
October 2024 UPDATE: I know it's been two years since I last updated this story, and I apologize for the long delay—it wasn't intentional. These past two years have been incredibly challenging on a personal level, marked by a great deal of loss and pain. I've learned to channel my grief into this story, believing that the darkness it brings will enhance its overall depth and beauty. To expedite the process, I'll be running my rough chapters through AI, as I currently lack a beta reader to proofread my work. Additionally, editing can be time-consuming, and I simply don't have the luxury of time. I've also revisited and refined the previous chapters to ensure a consistent tone throughout the story. I hope you enjoy this new chapter of The Red Harvest.
FIVE
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There had been plans—grand plans—for Edward and Winry's honeymoon. Wine tastings in the rolling hills of Benévolo, long hikes through sun-dappled vineyards, lazy afternoons spent sunbathing on the beaches, and perhaps even more wine tastings to punctuate their time together. Their top priority had been each other, savoring quiet, stolen hours in bed, tucked away in their villa, far from the world's troubles. Edward didn't mind the thought of Winry bringing home an unexpected "souvenir" from their honeymoon—he had always dreamed of having a big family. But never in their wildest dreams had they imagined ending up here—stranded in a nameless village, lost somewhere far from home. Hell, Edward wasn't even sure if they were still in Aurego at all.
The situation wasn't dire—yet. But there was something tightening around them, something unseen. The elders, Edgar and Noelle, reassured them that the village was safe, that they were protected, but Edward wasn't convinced. It wasn't the presence of chains or walls—it was subtler than that. The careful way the villagers interacted with him, the unspoken restrictions—they were free, but only as free as the village allowed.
The days here slipped into a dull routine, with little for Edward or Winry to do but wait. The villagers moved like automatons through their tasks—farming, gathering water from the distant river, tending fires that seemed more ritualistic than necessary. Edward had offered to help early on, but after his frantic search for Winry upon their arrival—half-cocked and full of senseless rage—many of the villagers were clearly uncomfortable around him. He had startled them.
More suspiciously, no one had asked him to stand guard. Edward wasn't naive; it was a deliberate exclusion. They were keeping him away from any semblance of power or responsibility, content to let him linger on the fringes.
Ten days had passed, and while Edward struggled to keep busy, Winry had seamlessly integrated herself into village life. She worked in the communal kitchens, preparing stews from whatever roots and game were scavenged, or she tended to the toddlers, who clung to her like she'd been part of their lives for years. And she smiled—more than Edward thought possible, given their predicament. It was unsettling. She almost looked content, as if the village's slow, simple rhythms suited her. When Edward watched her laugh with a child in her arms or sit by the fire, speaking softly with an elder, it gnawed at him. How could she seem so at peace in a place that felt so wrong?
"I'm not at ease, Ed," she told him one evening after he'd voiced his concerns for the third or fourth time. "I'm just passing the time, and while we wait, I help. It's no different than Asbec."
Edward had grunted in response. Alphonse had told him about their time in the Ishvallan slum—how Winry had pitched in, how they'd worked alongside the Ishvallans as they waited for the right moment to leave. But Asbec had been different. Thanks to Scar, they had allies there. Here, these people were strangers, no matter how kind or well-meaning they seemed. Edward couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. His time on the run with Ling, Darius, and Heinkel had taught him one undeniable truth: trust was dangerous. Especially in places like this.
There was something deeply unsettling about this place too, something that gnawed at the back of Edward's mind. It wasn't just the identical homes that lined the village, constructed with the same alchemical precision. It wasn't even the eerie silence of the villagers, who spoke only when necessary. It was the absence. The missing faces.
The village was filled with small children—toddlers who giggled as they chased each other through the dusty streets, their laughter muffled by the ever-present wind. There were elders too, their faces worn by decades of hardship, and adults in their thirties and forties, weathered but still able-bodied. But where were the teenagers? The young adults? Edward had noticed it immediately—the unsettling void between the ages. No one between early childhood and their twenties. It gnawed at him, that absence. A whole generation missing, like they had vanished into thin air.
And yet, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, distractions found him.
Luke had taken it upon himself to befriend Edward. At first, Edward had dismissed him—Luke was meddlesome, too eager, his constant chatter grating on Edward's already frayed nerves. But as time wore on, Edward realized there might be value in keeping him close. Luke talked—a lot—and sometimes people like that let things slip.
So far, Edward had learned that Edgar and Noelle, the village elders, were once part of the king's inner circle. Rebels, Luke had called them. Though the details remained vague, it was clear there had been a fall from grace. From his own observations, he suspected both elders were highly trained alchemists. What surprised him most was when Luke had casually mentioned that Noelle had seen Truth. And it looked like blood alchemy was a rare and dangerous form of alchemy that allowed her to bypass the rules of Equivalent Exchange.
Luke had filled in some gaps, but he became suspiciously evasive when it came to his own family. He liked to boast that he and John were two of seven brothers, all men. Edward had only met Luke and John. The other brothers, Luke claimed, were away on scouting missions. Tim and James, Luke had mentioned offhandedly, had been part of the group that had first captured Edward and Winry when they wandered into the jungle. They kept to themselves, seldom speaking to Edward, and even less to Winry.
The brothers were an enigma. Luke seemed to talk simply to hear his own voice, while John remained a silent shadow, watching everything and everyone. There was a hierarchy among them—Edward could sense it—but he hadn't yet figured out who truly held the reins.
Edward felt like he was circling something, a hidden truth buried beneath layers of secrecy. The more he learned, the more the knot in his gut tightened. He didn't trust these people—not yet. And Winry's calm acceptance of their situation only deepened his unease. She was too trusting, she always had been—
"Darn it. Something should've bitten by now," Edgar muttered, breaking the silence and pulling Edward from his thoughts.
Edward glanced at him. "I guess," he said with a shrug. "Then again, I don't know much about fishing." A small lie—Edward had fished plenty before—but Edgar didn't need to know that.
"Probably because of this giant brute scaring them off," Luke chimed in from across the pond, casting a sideways glance at his brother, who sat perched on a rock with his fishing rod in hand, silently minding his own business.
John's eyes flicked toward Luke, narrowing. "Or maybe it's your constant babbling that's keeping the fish away," he countered, his voice calm but with a subtle edge.
"Settle down, both of you," Edgar admonished lightly, though his tone lacked any real force. His lips curled slightly at the corners, betraying amusement.
Under different circumstances, Edward might have enjoyed the camaraderie. The banter between the brothers felt almost... normal. He might've allowed himself to relax, maybe even laugh. But this wasn't a normal situation. Edward wasn't here to make friends. As far as he was concerned, he was still a prisoner. No amount of fishing or casual conversation could change that. He knew they were playing at being friendly, but he wasn't buying it.
And that's why this trip felt so deliberate.
It had taken hours to reach this secluded pond. They'd followed a narrow creek winding through the woods until it opened into a beautiful natural pool, fed by a cascading waterfall. The scene was picturesque—too perfect. Edward couldn't help but think it would've been a great place to bring Winry, if things were different. But Luke and John had made sure he never left their sight.
The playful banter died down, and the air grew heavier, more charged. Edward's instincts prickled, sensing that something was about to shift.
"Hey, Ed," Luke said, his tone casual, though there was a sharp edge beneath it. "How many Xersians live in Amestris?"
Edward's thoughts stalled. So, this was the real reason for the fishing trip.
His expression remained neutral, though his mind raced. "I don't know," he said, shrugging. "Why would I?"
Luke leaned back slightly, watching Edward with a focused intensity that made Edward uneasy. "C'mon, it's a simple question. Equivalent Exchange: I've been feeding you information... isn't it only fair that you do the same?"
Edward felt the tension rise inside him, like a coiling spring. Luke's tone was pushing, testing him, trying to prod at something Edward wasn't willing to reveal.
He snorted. "You just babbled about your brothers. That's hardly 'valuable information.'"
Luke pressed a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "Ouch," he said, though the smile pulling at his lips was anything but sincere.
Edward tightened his grip on the fishing rod. The atmosphere around the pond was thick with tension now, charged like the air before a storm. He could feel their eyes on him—Edgar's measured, John's calculating, and Luke's playful, though with something darker lurking beneath. They weren't just making conversation. They were probing him, digging for something.
He stared at the water, watching the gentle ripples as the line floated lazily on the surface. The sound of the waterfall in the distance wasn't enough to drown out the tension simmering beneath their words.
Suddenly, Edward shifted tactics. "How about you, Edgar?" he asked, turning away from Luke and directing his focus on the old man. "How did your people escape extinction?"
Luke's expression soured immediately, displeased at losing control of the conversation. Before he could speak, Edgar raised a hand, stopping him. Luke huffed, crossing his arms and pouting like a petulant child.
"The answer is simple, Ed. We were cast out of Xerxes before its fall," Edgar said, his voice calm but weighted with something deeper.
The way he spoke made Edward pause. Edgar wasn't recounting history—he was speaking as if he had been there.
"You were there?" Edward asked, his eyes narrowing. Suspicion crawled up his spine.
Edgar's gaze met his, sharp and unflinching. "Yes. Noelle and I were present when Xerxes fell."
Edward's stomach dropped. These people were like his father?
"I would be shocked too," Edgar said, reading Edward's thoughts with unnerving accuracy. "To learn that some have walked this world for centuries."
Edward clenched his jaw, not responding. His mind was spinning.
Edgar continued, his voice growing more somber. "King Xerxes had a younger brother, Samael. Ambitious, ruthless. He sought the throne, promising immortality to his followers to gain their loyalty. Noelle and I... we were drawn to his vision, believing in what he promised."
Edward scoffed. "History says that King Xerxes sought immortality, not some brother."
Edgar smiled faintly, without humor. "History is written by the victors, Ed. Samael was erased from the records, wiped from time itself. But he is real, I assure you."
Edward's mind raced. Why hadn't his father mentioned this? Hohenheim had told him about King Xerxes, about the Dwarf in the Flask—but not about this brother, Samael.
"Samael offered immortality to the King's most loyal alchemists," Edgar said, his tone darkening. "He wanted the Dwarf in the Flask for himself, to harness its power."
Edward's pulse quickened. The parallels to his father's story were too close for comfort.
"The two master alchemists told King Xerxes of Prince Samael's plan," Edgar said. "Xerxes was a ruthless man. He would crush anyone who got in his way, like a bug. So, naturally, everyone who had sided with the prince was captured and slated for execution." Edgar's voice suddenly grew quieter. Edward noticed a darkness lingering in the old man's eyes, as if the weight of the memories was too much to bear. "We were condemned as traitors—until one of Xerxes' masters intervened."
Edgar fixed his gaze on Edward, eyes sharp. "You resemble that master."
Edward tensed, knowing exactly who Edgar was referring to.
"Master alchemist Van Hohenheim convinced King Xerxes to spare us," Edgar continued, his voice trailing off for a moment, lost in thought. Then, with a hint of something unspoken, he added, "Even to this day, I believe he did it more for Noelle than for anyone else."
What? Edward's thoughts slammed to a halt. His father and Noelle? The idea was disturbing, and Edward quickly pushed it aside. Some things were better left unknown.
"We were exiled," John interjected, his tone matter-of-fact. "We roamed the lands until they found this place, what we considered a paradise."
Luke, as usual, couldn't resist adding his own dismissive commentary. "Yeah, yeah, and here we are today, living our shittiest, most oppressed lives." He glanced sharply at Edward, his golden eyes narrowing as he continued, "But the real question is: is it actually possible that this guy is related to the traitor?"
The way Luke said it, the disdain dripping from his voice, made Edward's muscles coil. The accusation hung in the air like a poisonous cloud.
Edgar cleared his throat loudly, reminding them all of their stations. John looked away, chastised, while Luke managed a sheepish grin.
"My apologies, your lordship," Luke said, mockingly dipping his head. "I just had to know if he's really related to that traitor, especially since you've never mentioned it before."
"I only made the connection just now, my child," Edgar replied calmly, his gaze steady.
Luke's attention snapped back to Edward. "So, Ed, are you related to Van Hohenheim?" His smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but there was nothing friendly in it.
Edward's eyes hardened as he felt the weight of the question. There was danger in how casually Luke asked. This wasn't curiosity. It was a test, and Edward could feel the threat looming beneath it.
"Ah, Ed, c'mon, just answer the question!" Luke grinned, his voice now carrying a menacing edge. "Do I have to remind you that we shared information with you? Seems only fair you return the favor."
"He's not denying it," John added quietly, as if siding with his brother. "So I take it he's related to the traitor."
Edward's fists clenched instinctively. He was tempted—so tempted—to drive his fist into Luke's smug face, then follow it up with his automail into John's ribs. They had it coming, and part of him would've found the release satisfying. But he wasn't in a position to fight back. It wasn't just about his own safety—it was about Winry's. They were both captives, and they had to be smart about how they handled this. Their survival depended on it.
"One quick look at you, and King Samael will think the same thing I do," Edgar said in a calm, almost detached tone. "And given how much hatred the King harbors for Van Hohenheim, it would be... unfortunate if you ended up in his hands."
Edward's heartbeat quickened. Things were spiraling south quickly, and the threat hanging over him was becoming more real with each passing second. He shot to his feet, eyes blazing. "Was that a threat, old man?" he growled, his teeth bared, muscles taut as if preparing for a fight.
Luke sneered. "Are you serious?" He stood as well, rolling his shoulders as if ready to face Edward. "It's three against one. You have no chance—"
"Try me, asshole!" Edward roared, his body now fully primed for action. He wasn't about to let these people hand him and Winry over to a mad king.
Luke's expression darkened. His contempt was palpable as he spat on the ground, took a step forward, and said, "Don't mind if I—"
"You two, stop it this instant!" Edgar's voice cut through the air like a whip. His authority silenced them immediately. He turned to the older brother. "John, restrain that hot-headed brother of yours."
John hesitated for only a second before bowing slightly. "Yes, your lordship." With a firm grip, he pulled Luke back by the arm, and to Edward's surprise, Luke didn't resist. He grumbled under his breath but stayed quiet.
Edgar stood slowly, his expression unreadable as he approached Edward. "It's just as John mentioned—your refusal to answer speaks volumes, boy," Edgar said, his voice quiet but firm as he closed the distance between them.
Edward's jaw tightened. He hated this—hated feeling like a cornered animal.
Several tense moments passed before Edgar finally spoke again. "Relax, Edward. We have no intention of handing you over to the King or anyone else," he said, his voice more measured now, as though he sensed Edward's wariness. "We mean what we say when we tell you that we want to keep you and your wife safe."
But Edward wasn't budging. His instincts told him to keep his defenses up. Edgar sighed softly, shaking his head. "Believe what you want. But you have my word," he continued, nodding toward both Luke and John. "And whether you trust it or not, those two will have your back as well."
Edward's gaze flickered between the three of them, his thoughts racing. "You suspect me of being related to this supposed traitor. So why aren't you using that to your advantage?"
Edgar gave a small, tired smile. "Correction: Van Hohenheim is considered a traitor according to King Samael. But over time, I've come to understand that Van had his heart in the right place." Edgar stepped even closer, placing a hand on Edward's shoulder with a surprising gentleness. "Besides, the King and I haven't seen eye to eye for decades."
Edward jerked back from the touch, his eyes narrowing as he met Edgar's gaze. The old man seemed sincere enough, but Edward couldn't shake the deep-rooted distrust gnawing at him. Could he really trust these people?
Before he could process any further, Luke's voice cut in, grating against Edward's nerves. "Wait a minute," Luke said, smirking. "Does that mean Ed's an alchemist too?"
Edward's fists clenched again. Damn it, Luke.
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Alphonse hurried down the main corridor of Grand Central Station, the echoes of announcements and rushing footsteps ricocheting off the high, arched ceilings. The station was a cathedral of motion, its great hall illuminated by sunlight streaming through towering windows, casting long beams across the polished marble floors. The hum of life was constant—a low, ever-present drone that filled the space like static. Conversations blurred into each other, and the sound of train whistles drifted through the air like distant calls from another world. The crowd thickened around him, a swirling mass of faces and hurried voices, but Alphonse kept his eyes locked forward, cutting through the chaos as he made his way toward Platform 14.
He was late, but not through any fault of his own. The interview with Mr. and Mrs. Graham had dragged on far longer than expected. Time seemed to stretch in their small, dimly lit apartment, where the air felt thick with grief, stagnant, as though it hadn't moved in years. The scent of old books and stale tea lingered in every corner, clinging to the walls like memories that wouldn't fade.
Sixteen years. That's how long it had been since the Grahams' son and daughter-in-law had left for The Red Harvest, disappearing into a void that had swallowed so many. When Alphonse sat across from the aging couple in their cluttered living room—a room where the walls had become a shrine to the ones they had lost—he felt the weight of those years pressing down on him. The photographs were yellowed at the edges, but the faces within them still shone with youthful hope, forever frozen in a time before everything had fallen apart.
But that weight was nothing compared to what he saw in their eyes. Alphonse had seen it—a flicker of hope, fragile but unmistakable, lighting up their tired, weathered faces. In the dim light, Mrs. Graham's hands trembled as she reached for a framed photo, her fingers brushing over the glass as though she could touch the people inside it. She didn't cry. Neither of them did. They had moved beyond tears years ago, but there was something worse in their quiet, steady gaze.
And in that moment, Alphonse knew he shouldn't have been the one asking questions. This was Team Mustang's job. Breda's job, specifically. But the team was stretched thin, forced to operate in shadows far from prying eyes—especially the eyes of the higher-ups. Breda had wanted to follow up with a few contacts in the travel agency's ledgers, people he hadn't been able to reach the first time around. But Team Mustang didn't have enough people to help. So, Alphonse had volunteered, thinking it was better than sitting idly by, torturing himself with thoughts of Edward and Winry in Aurego. He needed a distraction, something to occupy his mind while Mei was still en route from Xing to Central. He had thought he could handle the task, thought he could manage a few simple interviews.
He was wrong.
The Grahams weren't just another interview. Their grief was suffocating, and Alphonse had been woefully unprepared to face it. They had hung on his every word, searching for something—anything—that might lead them closer to the truth about their son and daughter-in-law. And somehow, in the spaces between his words, they had found it: hope. A cruel and fragile hope that had clung to Alphonse like a heavy chain, dragging him down with every step. It wasn't just the weight of their hope that burdened him—it was the lies he had told himself. He had thought he could stay emotionally detached, thought he could remain objective. But in the end, he had stirred something in the Grahams, something he had no right to stir.
He knew, deep down, that after sixteen years, their son and daughter-in-law were almost certainly dead. And the Grahams knew it too. But still, that flicker of hope had clung to them, lighting up their tired faces like a dying ember. And now it clung to Alphonse, reminding him of something he had been avoiding for weeks.
It wasn't just the Grahams' son and daughter-in-law anymore.
Are Edward and Winry alive?
The thought of them hit Alphonse like a punch to the chest. His breath caught, and for a moment, the bustling station seemed to narrow, the sounds dimming around him. He could still hear Mrs. Graham's soft, trembling voice as she recounted how happy the young couple had been, so full of life after tying the knot, clinging to that memory as if it were all she had left. Mr. Graham had sat beside her, hands folded, his eyes glassy but fixed on Alphonse, watching every movement, every breath, as though he were trying to extract some unspoken truth. Alphonse didn't need to hear their question. He could feel it hanging in the air: Are they alive?
He had done everything in his power not to go there—not in front of the Grahams, and certainly not in front of Mei. He had shoved the thought down, burying it deep inside. But it lingered, creeping in around the edges, no matter how hard he fought to push it away. Because it wasn't just the Grahams' son and daughter-in-law anymore. It was Edward and Winry. The same terrifying possibility, the same gut-wrenching fear, haunted him.
He shoved his way through the crowd, dodging between two large families with children laughing and their luggage spilling across the station's cold, hard floor. He sidestepped a stroller with a sleeping infant, the sight of the peaceful child stirring a pang of something darker inside him. These people, oblivious and carefree, could have been headed off on family vacations, their biggest concern whether or not they would catch their train. But sixteen years ago, the Grahams' son and daughter-in-law had been just like them—bright-eyed, hopeful, looking forward to a future that had never come.
Just like Edward and Winry.
He felt the knot tighten in his throat, the pressure building behind his eyes as he walked. The world around him blurred into the background, the crowd thinning and expanding like a tide of faceless bodies. He had promised Mei he wouldn't let himself fall into despair. "Edward is a survivor," Mei had reminded him during their last phone call, her voice steady but warm. "And Winry too." Alphonse had smiled at the memory, at her comforting words. It wasn't much, but it was something—his own fragile version of hope, a hope he barely dared to touch.
But that hope was fragile, hanging by a thread. Just like the Grahams, he was clinging to it because the alternative was too unbearable. He hadn't allowed himself to think too deeply about the worst-case scenario, but that fear gnawed at him, lingering just beneath the surface.
Platform 14 loomed ahead, the crowd thinning as the gate came into view. The gleaming metal barrier felt more like a boundary between worlds—one that today seemed darker, more ominous. The bright lights overhead flickered slightly, casting eerie shadows across the tiled floor. Mei would be waiting for him. She always was. He longed to see her, to pull her into an intense hug, to feel her warmth and maybe, just maybe, steal a kiss if she wished it. He needed that moment—needed her—to ground him, to keep him from sinking under the weight of it all.
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Alphonse tugged at the stiff collar of his suit again, hoping to ease the constant discomfort. The tailored fabric scratched at his neck, too formal, too confining, and utterly unlike anything he usually wore. But it was the fake mustache that truly bothered him. Breda had insisted on it. Alphonse still wasn't sure how a strip of itchy, fake hair glued to his upper lip would make him seem older, but Breda had been adamant, and Mustang—amused as always—had gone along with it.
Fuery entered the room, wheeling in a tall mirror that belonged to Private Daniels. Daniels had eagerly offered to help with preparations once Mustang realized that Major Hawkeye had been summoned to accompany Führer Grumman on a personal matter. Being the Führer's granddaughter, Riza simply couldn't escape her grandfather's wishes, no matter how inconvenient they were. With Hawkeye out of commission and no one else available, Mustang had reluctantly allowed Private Daniels to assist, but not without making her swear absolute secrecy about the operation, which Mustang referred to as a "fishing expedition." Daniels had taken her role seriously, even lending Mei one of her own dresses—and shoes, once she'd realized they wore the same size.
Alphonse stepped in front of the standing mirror, and frowned at his reflection. The face staring back at him didn't feel like his own—slicked-back hair, serious expression, and that ridiculous mustache that somehow made everything feel more absurd.
"How do I look?" he asked, giving the mustache another tug. "Convincing?"
Mustang and Breda shared a glance, the slightest twitch of Mustang's eyebrow betraying his amusement. Alphonse didn't bother looking at Mustang's expression—it would probably just make him feel more ridiculous. Fuery, standing off to the side, seemed intent on inspecting the floor, his shoulders stiff as if holding back laughter.
Great. Even they didn't buy it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mei adjusting her dress.
"You'll pass," she said finally, her voice carrying a teasing lilt as she met his eyes. "Just don't smile too wide."
Alphonse rolled his eyes, feeling a little better despite himself. "Right, wouldn't want to ruin the illusion," he muttered.
His cover was simple, if not entirely ridiculous: he was to pose as a young, eccentric heir to a mining family from the Youswell area. The story was that he had plenty of money to throw around and a penchant for luxury. Mei's role was equally outlandish—she was to play his future trophy wife, an innocent-looking girl too young to be marrying for anything other than money. It was a shallow cover, but Mustang and Breda had reasoned that the persona would make them seem frivolous and harmless to the travel agents, ensuring that their inquiries about the Red Harvest Hotel wouldn't raise any suspicion.
Alphonse had sighed when he first heard the plan, thinking how absurd the whole thing sounded. But Mei—she had been thrilled by the prospect of playing secret agents. The sparkle in her eyes when Mustang had briefed them said it all. She didn't mind the charade one bit. In fact, she was excited about the mission.
Mei walked to Alphonse, and he stepped aside so Mei could look at her image in the mirror. The baby pink with black polka dots dress was light and cottony, but Mei still shifted awkwardly in it. She wasn't used to Amestrian fashion. Her Xinguese clothes were practical—free-flowing and suited for both leisure and combat. And don't even get her started on the shoes. The black narrow heels pinched her feet, and her usual Xinguese sandals were infinitely more comfortable. Still, she wore the outfit with grace, her face betraying none of her discomfort.
"Sit down, I'll help with your makeup," Private Daniels called, holding up a small brush as she motioned to the chair.
Mei huffed. She wasn't particularly fond of makeup, either. Back home, she rarely wore any, and when she did, it was only for formal occasions as part of her noble upbringing. Still, she nodded and took a seat, knowing it was all part of the mission. She had been trained to adapt to her surroundings, and this was no different.
Alphonse glanced at Mei as Daniels worked on her makeup, his mind wandering to the mission ahead. The plan was straightforward—pose as an engaged couple excited about planning their future. They'd visit the travel agency, ask about various wedding packages, but focus especially on the newlywed deal at The Red Harvest, where suspicious disappearances had occurred. Their job was to gather as much intel as possible without drawing any attention to themselves. Once they had what they needed, they'd head back to Madame Christmas's bar to debrief with the rest of the team.
Alphonse felt the familiar knot tighten in his stomach as he went over the mission details in his head. It all seemed simple enough on the surface, but he couldn't shake the tension building inside him. This wasn't just a routine operation—there were deeper stakes involved, and the thought of what might be happening to Edward and Winry lingered at the back of his mind like a persistent shadow. Every move they made here could potentially affect his loved one's fates.
He was pulled back to the present when Private Daniels stepped back, appraising Mei's appearance with a satisfied nod. "You'd look the part even more if you let your hair down," Daniels suggested, glancing at Mei's elaborate braids.
Mei hesitated for a moment, her fingers touching her hair. She didn't like wearing it down; it got in the way, especially in combat. But she nodded in agreement, understanding the importance of the disguise. Daniels quickly set to work undoing her braids, letting Mei's long, silky hair fall loose behind her back, cascading in smooth waves until the tresses formed a dark, shimmering curtain that draped over the back of the chair she was sitting on.
Alphonse watched, and for a moment, he forgot all about the mission. Mei rarely wore her hair down, and seeing it like this, free and flowing, was a rare treat. She always looked beautiful to him, but now there was something different, something softer. He found himself staring a little longer than he should have, completely entranced. Mei caught him gawking, and when she smiled at him—just a small, teasing curl of her lips—he felt his cheeks warm.
"Alphonse, you're staring," she said, amused.
He blinked and quickly tried to play it cool, clearing his throat and adjusting his collar again. But he didn't miss the quiet sniggering from Mustang and Breda, who had been observing from the sidelines.
"Are you ready?" he asked, trying to regain his composure.
Mei stood up and twirled in her dress, the soft fabric swirling around her as her long hair fanned out in a graceful arc. "Ready as I'll ever be," she replied, her voice light and teasing again.
Alphonse glanced at the clock on the wall. The late afternoon sun was already casting long shadows across the floor. If they didn't leave now, the travel agency would be closing soon.
"We should go," he said, checking the time once more.
Mei nodded, gathering her composure as they both turned toward the door. Together, they stepped out of Mustang's office, leaving behind the safety of Central HQ and entering the bustling streets of the city. The warm evening air hit Alphonse's face as they walked into the fading daylight. The streets buzzed with activity—street vendors, cars, and the chatter of people going about their lives, completely unaware of the dangerous web Alphonse and Mei were about to walk into.
He adjusted his mustache one last time, the absurdity of his disguise feeling heavier with every step. He glanced over at Mei, who was walking calmly beside him despite the high heels that she clearly wasn't used to. Her eyes were sharp, scanning the street ahead with the precision of someone always ready for danger.
There was no turning back now. The mission had begun.
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Alphonse stood at the curb, the neon sign of Heavenly Destinations Travel flickering weakly in the late afternoon light. The agency was set to close in an hour—just enough time to pull off their mission. The sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the quiet street, the soft hum of the evening settling in. But Alphonse didn't feel calm. The evening chill was a stark contrast to the burning heat inside him. The anger. The dread.
It wasn't fear that kept him standing there, staring at the agency's glass door. He wasn't afraid of walking in, of acting the part, of getting the cursed Red Harvest honeymoon package. No. It wasn't fear that made his stomach churn.
It was heartbreak.
His eyes fixed on the door, his fists clenched at his sides, and the memory of the Grahams flashed before him. The old couple had spent years waiting for news of their son and daughter-in-law, who had disappeared after booking the same package from this same agency. They had waited in agony for a return that never came. And now, he and Mei were following the same grim path, stepping into the same trap.
The thought sickened him, made his skin crawl. It disturbed him to his core.
Alphonse's hands trembled as he tried to push away the dark thoughts pressing down on him. Focus, Al. You have to focus. He reminded himself that Havoc had handled the reservations for Edward and Winry—at least his brother and Winry had been spared the eerie step of actually walking into this place. But still, it haunted him. Edward and Winry were somewhere out there, tangled in this nightmare, in the hands of human traffickers. And with each passing day, his hope—once so strong, so certain—was fading.
He couldn't help but think about the Grahams again, couldn't shake the image of them standing by their door, looking out at every passing car, wondering if their son and daughter-in-law would ever return. Is that what will happen to me and Granny? Would they spend the rest of their lives waiting for news that might never come, for a knock on the door that would only bring silence?
The idea hollowed him out.
Alphonse's thoughts spiraled further. How did the traffickers pick their victims? Was there a clear method, or was it random? He supposed his theory was right—that they targeted virgins. It made sense, given the twisted way traffickers worked, and it fit the pattern of the couples who had gone missing. But was there something more to it? What if they had gotten the details wrong? Could there be something they were missing about how the traffickers chose their targets?
He clenched his fists. He was almost certain they had the virginity part right—it matched too well with the way these rings operated—but still, the nagging doubt lingered. Was that all there was to it? Or was there another, more sinister detail they hadn't yet uncovered? If they were missing even one critical piece, this entire mission could be a gamble.
That thought made his stomach turn. Human trafficking, Alphonse thought, the words sinking like a stone. One of the most vile things people had created. It was something he'd come to understand all too well, long before Edward and Winry disappeared. He had learned about its horrors, its unimaginable cruelty, and the way it reduced human lives to commodities. The knowledge had eaten away at him, something he carried silently—a truth too dark to share.
He hadn't told Mustang or the others, though he was certain they had seen similar atrocities in their military careers. They were older, more experienced with the world's evils. But still, Alphonse kept Ling's story to himself, hidden like a wound he refused to expose. The thought of speaking it aloud was too unbearable, too close to the nightmare they were facing now.
The memory of Ling's words weighed heavily in his chest. Ling had spoken of how human trafficking had spiraled out of control in Xing, despite his best efforts as emperor. Alphonse remembered the haunted look in his friend's eyes—the frustration, the helplessness. Human trafficking is the nastiest business there is, Ling had said, his voice laced with regret. It's like a disease. No matter how many times you cut it out, it finds a way to grow back. It grinds people down to nothing.
Alphonse hated thinking about what those words meant for Edward and Winry. Hated imagining the kind of horrors they might already be suffering. Winry... His heart twisted painfully. She was strong, resilient, but that wouldn't be enough to protect her from the reality of being sold into a brothel. That was the cruel truth. And Edward… Alphonse shuddered. His brother, with his defiance and strength, would likely be sent to do hard labor, but—Alphonse couldn't forget what Ling had told him.
Edward was a handsome man. And in the world of human trafficking, good-looking men weren't spared the horrors women faced. They were treated like pieces of meat, too.
The thought made Alphonse feel physically ill. No one deserved this, least of all Edward and Winry. The idea of them being reduced to nothing, to something less than human, made Alphonse's blood boil. But it also made him feel helpless. The thought of what they might be going through kept him awake at night, haunted him during the day, gnawing at his sanity like a festering wound.
His fists clenched tighter, his knuckles white. He had to stay focused. There was no room for despair now. If he lost focus, if he let the dread overtake him, he'd never get them back. They would end up like the Grahams' son and daughter-in-law—lost forever.
"Al?"
Mei's voice broke through the haze of his thoughts, her hand resting gently on his arm. He hadn't even realized how hard he was trembling until her touch steadied him, grounding him.
He turned to look at her, and for a moment, the weight of everything lifted just a little. Mei stood beside him, her presence solid and warm. Private Daniels' dress, she wore it like it had always belonged to her, like it had been made for her. The fabric swayed gently in the cool breeze, the polka dots dancing as her hair, usually pulled up in intricate styles, hung loose down her back, flowing in the wind, touching her lower back. Her hair framed her face perfectly, like something out of a romance novel.
Alphonse's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't help but stare, caught off guard by how beautiful she looked. He hadn't noticed before, but her makeup was subtle, enhancing her features in ways that made him see the small details he usually missed—the gentle curve of her lips, the way her freckles, faint and soft, seemed to glow in the fading light. And those dark eyes, deep and knowing, met his with quiet concern.
"You okay?" she asked softly, her voice gentle but firm, like she already knew the answer.
Alphonse swallowed hard, trying to force a laugh, but it came out weak and hollow. "Yes, I'm fine," he said, though even he could hear the strain in his voice.
Mei wasn't fooled. Her eyes softened, and she smiled—a small, understanding smile that made something inside him ache. She stepped a little closer, her hand still resting on his arm, and though she had complained earlier about the high heels, they brought her almost to his height, making it easier for him to see her face, to really take in how beautiful she was.
"Al," she said quietly, her voice full of reassurance, "it's okay to be worried. I'm worried too. But we have to stay focused. We'll get through this. And we'll get them back." She gave his arm a gentle squeeze, her words full of quiet strength. "You're not alone in this."
Alphonse's chest tightened, but this time it wasn't with fear or dread. It was something warmer. Something steadier. Mei's presence grounded him, pulled him out of the dark thoughts that had been consuming him. She was right. They had each other's backs. They always had.
"Thanks, Mei," he whispered, his voice barely audible. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering longer than they should have. Her dark eyes held his, unwavering, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away. The agency. The mission. The fear. It was just them, standing there, together.
Mei smiled again, this time wider, her eyes crinkling at the edges in that way he loved. "Anytime, Al," she said softly, her hand giving his arm one last reassuring squeeze before she stepped back.
For the first time in days, Alphonse allowed himself to feel a flicker of hope. Despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him, he decided to fully embrace it. Edward was strong. Winry was resilient. They had faced impossible situations before, and they had always found a way to survive. This time would be no different.
Alphonse straightened his posture, the weight of doubt momentarily lifting from his shoulders. They would survive this. They had to. And he would find them, no matter what it took. The uncertainty still loomed, but for now, hope was enough to push him forward—hope and the promise that he wouldn't stop until Edward and Winry were safe again.
He adjusted his collar, taking a deep breath as he glanced back at the travel agency. The flickering neon sign above them glowed in the dim evening light, casting an eerie, pale glow across the pavement. "Ready?" Mei asked, stepping back slightly, her hand slipping into her pocket as they prepared to move.
Alphonse nodded, his resolve solidifying like steel. "Yeah. Let's go."
Together, they stepped off the curb and began walking toward the agency, the weight of the mission settling on their shoulders. The air felt thick with anticipation, the world around them dimming as the noise of the city faded into the background. But with Mei beside him, Alphonse felt a quiet strength—an unspoken understanding that they would face whatever came next, side by side.
He wouldn't stop. Not until he found his brother and Winry. Not until they were all safe.
And he would bring them back. No matter what.
A/N 1: Human trafficking is just one dark thread woven into the fabric of "The Red Harvest". This story explores deeper themes of power, survival, and the indomitable human spirit. Please tread carefully going forward, as the subject matter may be triggering for some.
A/N 2: I'm busy, so new chapters will be uploaded slowly but steadily.
Check out my Tumblr page: hirstories dot tumblr dot com for artwork and other stories.