Man's Road

[Shula Brighton]

It was as if time had stood still in Central, so much rubble and debris still needing to be cleared away like a bad dream that left you feeling ill and cold in the morning. People were working on it as best they could, but in the chaos most working forces were volunteer, and there just wasn't enough manpower to clear and rebuild all four cities, even where the damage had been most minimal. South was being built the fastest as so many had fled there, and Shula had made sure that the gardens she'd helped start would at least provide enough food for everyone while they settled in. But that did nothing for Central. There was still no money and so little food or resources in some areas, the city she'd come to love now seeming so much darker and more dangerous. Looking at the remains of the house that her grandfather had so carefully picked just for her, even though it was too big, was just a sad thing. That house and the ones on that block that had been so close to HQ had been standing for over a hundred years and seen so much of the world change. Shula had even found small snippets of frozen time hidden in that little tin box in her bathroom's wall in the form of a few photos, a pair of glasses and some tiny toys. Those things had stood the test of time and humanity for so long until just recently...

Shula sighed heavily with a small wince, pulling the small bag off the ground. The things she'd abandoned in her house had been pretty-well picked through by those who stayed to pick Central's corpse to survive and left very little. She'd managed to find her pointe slippers and was quite pleased that the shanks weren't so broken she couldn't use them, and though she'd already taken her antique books and notes with her to South, she did manage to find something she'd forgotten: her journal. A large shoebox full of sealed, unstamped letters. Letters to Gustav. Letters to Aaron. Letters written to pour out her heart that were never meant to be sent or read by anyone. Maybe someday she'd give the letters to Aaron if he came back from wherever he was hiding. Someday when he came back, she would tell her beloved brother all the secrets she'd been hiding from him and the world and finally feel clean, even if those secrets would cast her from Ishvalla's eyes forever. Even if their creator stopped loving her, even if Hild, and everyone in the whole of humanity turned away from her.... Aaron would always love her. That was something she would never doubt.

Her left hand gripped at the inside of her coat's deep red breast, holding it shut as she walked away, three blocks down and two blocks over. Back to the scattered remains of Central HQ. She'd been told that there was pretty much nothing left since that's where the bombs had been set, even through they ripped through the whole area. It's like this all just never ends, she thought morosely, her tiny black boots making the only noise she could hear around her. Hell erupted here, so we ran south. It erupted in Drachma so we ran north and were nearly consumed by it... I'm starting to wonder who's chasing whom, here. She needed a break. Beyond words she could convey in any language, Shula needed a break and needed life to stop happening for just ten minutes so she could catch her breath! Coming back to Central for a day was the best she could think of... She just wasn't ready to face everyone yet. So many losses. Such a devastating defeat, and she was only so lucky that people weren't out head-hunting by now.... but on the off-chance they were, Shula was wearing anything but her uniform. The dark, knee-length red wool coat had been so like the one her papa had made for her when she'd first moved to Central in February, though this one held more colours, its cuffs and collar a darker red that verged on purple, and the edges all ornately embroidered with bright gold. It was like the last warm sunset of summer, and Shula would cling to that last trace of light if it killed her. Her jeans covered her boots, which honestly being so small hardly resembled uniform boots anyway, and the perfect night-sky deep blue of her shirt was only interrupted under the coat by the gem that hung from the little gold chain. Even with what little reputation she had, Shula looked nothing like a soldier and doubted anyone would recognize her as such; sometimes there were advantages to being half-Ishvallan and looking thirteen. When she wanted to she could vanish in a crowd pretty easily and be someone that nobody noticed.

I'm starting to wonder if life is nothing but starting over repeatedly... I give up my home in Meissan for my independence in South. I lose South and all my friends and family there, come to Central. Lose Central and more friends. Aaron vanishes... Lose even MORE in Drachma and restart back in South... Is life really just nothing more than a series of back and forths of loss and rebuild? Shula sighed as she walked quietly down the street toward the crumbled remains of where she'd worked so dedicatedly and given so much of herself, become so much of who she was now in such a short time... Seeing it like this was rather heartbreaking and made the tissue under the scars on her ribs hurt with memory. As she approached the rotting corpse of what she had loved so dearly Shula shut her eyes tightly for a moment, pushing away all the thoughts of Hild and all the unpleasantness that came with those thoughts.

That doesn't really matter anymore, though, does it? I've survived what Hild did... TWICE. Survived her, survived RIOTE, Drachma... And yet I”m still terrified I'll run out of time. I've had so little time to get any research done... and if I don't soon, I know Raistlin will have my head for it. Shula walked around to the side of the building to where she knew the archives and research library had been, cringing at the disaster. So much had burnt to the ground. The tiny girl stepped onto the rubble and sat her little green bag down, certain nobody would take it from her. After all, what could they want with dance shoes and photos? Those were her memories and of no value to anyone but her. Her right hand reached out, grabbing a small bit of rubble and tossing it aside. Her left arm ached and throbbed but remained under her coat and curled to her chest, held firmly in place by the sling. Maybe if she was very, very lucky, not everything would be burnt and gone. She would find the entrance to the cellar of the archives room, and crates of forgotten research would be hers to pull up and transfer to South. She'd have them all copied into the computer system for all of the bases to use... and she could have a look and see what they knew. Raistlin said Amestris had used a philosopher's stone in the past and might have records of several, and at this point a little useless information to deliver was better than none at all.

Chunks of brick and stone moved, handful by handful, the action slow from only using her right arm. She stopped to grope her pocket. ….Damn. She hadn't brought her mp3 player. Oh well... Nobody was around to bother her, so what did it really matter? She drew in a breath as she resumed moving the mess.

“Time renews tomorrow when we've used today.
It will find the sorrow and wash it all away.
Love can play a new tune on this carousel;
It may be tomorrow,
But only time will tell.”

The song was the same one she'd sung to Spade as they fled Central on the train a month ago. The lullaby was Ishvallan, and very old, hardly a popular tune. It came about in the days of her grandmother's mother and grandmother, when Amestris' military alchemists waged a war that nearly slaughtered all of her people. The song was a protest against the carnage. It was a prayer for peace. It was a handful of terrified people begging the world to let the next day be better for them all. And right now it was a song for Amestris as a whole.

“Somewhere in the darkness there must be a light,
Leading us together through the misty night.
And maybe in the new dawn we can break this spell.
Tomorrow holds the secret,
But only time will tell...”

[Guest]

There was a cyclical nature to life, a balancing act of give and take, life for death, good for evil, law for chaos. Where one flourished, the other would implant itself like a seed, burrowing to its core and sprouting creeping kudzu-vines; spreading and consuming until it had created the new status quo. The world was once more in that liminal state, that point of transition where the balance teeters upon collapse and either point may claim it as their own. Central City was the fulcrum from where change was occurring, it was the stage upon which the powers acted, the board upon which they played....

The day before, a certain old man had met with a a certain mad Colonel. The ensuing chaos attracted the attention of Central's remaining journalists and soon the headlines were flying. "Von Koenig Saved By Colonel Stuka," "Central to be Rebuilt by Resource Tycoon Koenig," "Brighter Future Promised," "Rebuild Central Project Gain Momentum," and so forth. The details were shady and the old man had not been spotted since his public appearance beside Colonel Stuka, but the headlines ran nonetheless. Rumor and hypotheses floated through the city, what did Aldrich von Koenig have in mind for Central City? Was this mere philanthropy? Was the man dying? Was he attempting to sway the public and move against the military in its time of weakness? Since RIOTE, the conspiracy theorists were out in droves and with them came every dunderheaded plot, but even they could not quite point out what the old man was up to.

He was, in fact, up to breakfast. Aldrich had roamed the city late into the night, appraising the damages of each of the city's wards in detail, not worrying about roving gangs of the destitute while his Nurse had his back. The damages were not worse than Aldrich thought but it was far worse that the damages wrought by the Mustang Coup so many years before. It almost amused the old man that very few civilians in the entire country knew that it was indeed a coup against inhuman forces that lurked below the streets of Central. What would the world do when the last dregs of truth died with him? Probably go on its ignorant way without a tear shed.... thought the old man sourly.

The boiled egg cracked easily in Aldrich's automail fist as he and his Nurse strode out of one of the few standing hotels in the city. It always amazed him the way the egg both represented an omnidirectional shield and yet every inch of it was a weak spot. If attacked from all sides at once, the shell would disperse the force and it would keep whole. But just the right amount of pressure at any point would break it. It took finesse not force to crack the egg, strategy no strength...

As he powdered the egg in salt, Aldrich directed his nurse towards the remains of Central Library, one of the last stops on his appraisal work and probably one of the most work intensive. How does one appraise the importance of all that lost research? Of archives almost as old as Aldrich and of books even older? Twice now he's experienced this destruction and it was a mournful event in both cases. But this was not the time for trivial musings, it was time for business.

However as Aldrich approached, the egg almost to his mouth, the light tones and hard consonants of Ishvallan floated to his ears. The words came readily, translated in his head and remembered with ease. He knew this song though he had not heard it in over a hundred years, not since the civil war that he had partaken in. A lullaby, a song that Ishavallan mothers whispered to their infants to silence their cries and hide away from Amestrian soldiers. A rallying cry sung by Ishvallan monks, calling their brothers to make change in the harsh and damaged world in which they lived. A dirge sung by families as they lay to rest more and more of Ishval's children. It was a song that haunted Aldrich’s every night during the war and for many years since. He had not thought of it for decades but now…now it was flooding back to him.

They approached quietly and slowly as not to disturb the quiet voice singing that tune. Soon he saw her, a young Ishavallan woman digging amongst the gravel of Central Library, singing that old lullaby. It was like a terrifying flashback, images of children singing while trying to dig their mothers from collapsed buildings, their sobs punctuating the lyrics….

Gruff and cracked, but sure and strong, he responded aloud in the Ishvallan tongue as he and his Nurse approached the young woman.

There can be a new dream,
One for us to hold,
Made with peace and hope
And built upon the old.

No one has the answer
To give away or sell.
Tomorrow holds the secret,
But only time will tell.

The irony of the lyrics was not lost on the old man, the irony of what he now represented. But….it would take more than a few sad memories to move him from his path…

[Shula Brighton]

Slowly rocks and rubble were moved, chunk by chunk, all of this reminding her far too much of that horrible night that it exploded. How only blocks from here the building next to the medical tent had collapsed and nearly crushed she and Spade, how she'd nearly bled to death while chanting a mantra trying to keep her beloved boss from bleeding to death as well. It was a night that seemed to invoke the full wrath Ishvalla down on top of everyone, and yet it was as though it had only been a test of her resolve. Shula couldn't help but wonder if all her life He had planned for this in her life. If her life in the military was to lead up to Central and what she would learn about humans and about herself. All the exchanges she had made with the universe up until this point... surely they were all leading to something, right?

Hopefully Ishvalla's hand would guide her now, and help her clear a path to the library's cellar and that something would be left to help save her life. Surely she could be victorious in this challenge that seemed to be the whole of her life; why would He have set her up to have been taken by Raistlin and cured by him with this as an exchange if it wasn't something she could win? Raistlin was like something from ancient lore, like a ruler of a dark underworld, but.... there was no way the darkness could be stronger. It couldn't be, even now as she sat in the ruins of the world that were the result of that darkness rising. Even if in the end it consumed the last of her light, she would do all within her power to fight it and not let everything she knew slip away to be destroyed by it. There would always be light somewhere to offset the dark.

Ashes and burnt, crumbled stone. That's all she was finding so far, but Shula would not give in. After she had found what she could here, she would walk to where Mr. Waters' store had been and see if any of the old man's beloved bookshop hadn't been destroyed or ruined by now. Even though he and his wife didn't survive, they had both known and liked the little Ishvallan alchemist that seemed to never leave their shop or raid them of all their good books. Hopefully their spirits would not become vengeful if she went to a place they'd all loved so well to salvage what she would remember them for, and hope that it might help save her life.

As Shula's mouth opened to continue the song that she'd always known, the sound instead nearly came out as a surprised squeak. Someone else knew this song? Shula paused in her work as she looked up to the source of the singing that came in response to her own, the voice heavy and cracked and honestly sounding as ancient as the earth itself. It was an old man being pushed in a wheelchair. While he honestly looked as old as time itself, what surprised Shula was that this old man knew her lullaby and wasn't detectably Ishvallan. Was he a scholar or done a lot or cultural study in his time? That certainly wasn't a song many outsiders would know offhand... Curiosity won over the girl's initial shyness as she remained still as the withered old man and his caregiver approached, Shula taking a moment to look him over.

He was certainly nicely dressed, though he seemed to be out of place in the ruins and certainly out of times with his attire. What really seemed to catch her interested were the harsh features of the man's face. His eyes were hard. His nose, cheeks and chin were hard. Even the pointed widow's peak of his hair was jutting. Looking at his face, the lines so deeply set from time, it almost looked like the man had never smiled. Then again, most days I'm amazed anyone can smile looking around us... As his voice grew quiet once more. Shula slowly stood, watching him as a small animal watching another. Her hand brushed the dust from her coat as she rose and stepped a little closer, movements quiet and oddly graceful until she raised her hand and bent it at the wrist, fingers pointed upward. Were her other hand not held under the coat in its sling, both hands would have pressed together as though in prayer. Her head nodded forward gently, blood-coloured eyes never straying from the old man, her smile shy but warm.
”Namaste,” Shula said gently. The greeting was traditional, and literally meant that she was bowing to the divinity within the other person; she'd been raised to revere the elderly as sources of great wisdom and experience, and from the looks of the man, he probably had enough experience to fill volumes. Truly there was some divinity in that. ”Good morning, Sir.” Was he here to pick through the mess, too? Or just take a look at it and say goodbye to something that had been truly wonderful? Central wasn't exactly a tourist hotspot at the moment, and he certainly didn't look like he'd been tenting it. Shula glanced to the small area she'd cleared and the small pile of debris from it and then back to Aldrich, shyness beginning to bubble back upward before she was able to look back to him fully and push it down. “It's really a shame about the Library, isn't it? And they'd just added to the periodicals, too...”

[Guest]

Though he did not smile, his face seemingly incapable of something so softening, he did nod his head lightly in response to her greeting and clasped his hands together, “As-Salāmu `Alaykum, or should I simply say peace be with you, although I’m afraid peace is a rather limited resource for this country…” His words were calm but sharp, as if he were forcing himself to keep his voice control. The overall effect detracted little from his speech but gave a feeling of a mild disconnect between the man himself and his words.

It took the old man a moment to realize that he had dropped the hardboiled egg into his lap when he greeted the young woman, giving it a despairing glare when he did. A flick of his hand signaled his Nurse to take the ruined egg and sweep the salt from the old man’s lap, both acting silently and with as much dignity one could in the given situation. He sighed quietly as he looked back up at the young woman, giving himself a moment to analyze her more closely and reestablish his composure. She was dissimilar to the images that had passed before his eyes, not a mere child raking through ruins but instead a young woman just coming into her own. The two of them were a perfect foil, opposites in so many ways. Her skin was like light raw umber, earthy and warm as freshly baked clay, yet her face and form was soft and kind, bereft of any rigidity despite her perfect posture. He was as white as a bloated corpse and as drawn as a mummy, a bent and ragged creature whom lived perhaps only via sheer will and spite. Even their eyes opposed each other, a bright living mahogany against venom green.

What a world this is that allows me to exist beside such life… Was it cruel or just unfair? And to whom? Aldrich, despite his years, could not know, but it really didn’t matter did it? Life simply was, even if Aldrich refused to accept that. He knew that Truth was unkind, that it punished one for wanting more than he could gasp, but the old man refused to accept that punishment yet…

He sighed with a long low breath, the sigh of someone escaping their thoughts and coming back into reality. His eyes gazed over the debris of the library for moments before he returned his gaze to the shy young woman. Who was she and why was she here? One of the myriad of scavengers here to find some hope amongst the ruins? No, her clothing was in quite good condition, obviously someone who had not been slumming in these ruins. From out of town or perhaps one of the lucky few to still live under an unbombed roof? And was what she searched for mere fond memories of summer days spent reading, or did she search for forbidden knowledge left unscathed by the fires?

“ I wouldn’t know about the periodicals, I am fearfully unread in most recent news. But, I must agree that this is a dreadful sight for my old eyes. Twice now, twice I have seen this Library burn and twice now I mourn the loss. What is the equivalent exchange for such a sacrifice? What is gained from such a loss? I, in all my years, have yet to figure it out.”

He still remembered the last time he had accessed that Library, so many years before. Denied access from his own research, denied the only thing he had left. He knew what his research could be and would be used for, the senseless cruelties that could be spread across the world with it. The first fire had occurred mere days after he had tried to gain access, supposedly destroying all that were within. He couldn’t know what to feel when that fire broke out, he didn’t know whether to feel sorrow and rage for what he had lost or to feel joy in what the State had lost. Some years later, during the Mustang Rebellion, he learned that it was agents of the State itself, homunculi, which burnt the library, undoubtedly to give trouble to the young upstarts called the Elric Brothers. With that knowledge, fear and hope once again wormed its way inside of Aldrich, perhaps his research was still out there, perhaps it was still within his reach….but perhaps it was being used for what he had feared most…

“But don’t mind an old man and his sorrows, what, pray tell, is a young woman such as yourself doing dirtying herself with ashes and char?”

[Shula Brighton]

The tiny patch she'd managed to clear had given Shu a small glimpse of what she was most likely to find; rocks and burnt plaster, ashes washed away from the passing rains and any bits of paper burnt down to scrap. Even though they had rebuilt their computer system to connect the headquarters to each other and roster the soldiers active, missing, and dead (something she had been checking every day since it started working again before the war), the more detailed systems like their archives and databases were long gone. When those systems were destroyed with the buildings, the whole thing went with it since nobdoy really had time or warning to run and grab backups. Nobody'd really had time for anything.

Shula's eyes followed Aldrich's silent movements as she realized he'd dropped his breakfast to greet her. She'd been so impressed that he knew Ishvallan language and culture that she hadn't noticed the egg he'd been holding until now. Oops. Shula's hand reached into the deep pocket of her sunset coat and pulled out a package of peanut butter crackers that hadn't been opened and hadn't been squashed into crumbs, her hand extending to offer the snack. It wasn't much, but it was a polite gesture to the gentleman, and she hadn't really felt like eating much since she got back from Drachma. As longa sI don't let myself go under ninety pounds, I should be fine...

She looked back around her at the rubblie, listening carefully. Central's Library had always been such an important thing to her, even when she was a child; it's where all alchemists' research went to so it could be used for the good of the country. Though there seemed to be a serious disconnect between the State Alchemists actually being for the people in more than word and how the country as a whole was feeling towards the military, the research that had been there was still important and could be used to rebuild what was lost... couldn't it? It could be so many things. Though as she looked around at the mess Shula sighed inwardly; Fate had a warped sense of irony and humour. She'd put research of her own into the library, as had her brother and grandfather, and great-grand father before them. All the months she'd still been sick and trying to find a way to cure herself with human transmutation, she was denied access to more sensitive files due to her rank, even as a major and then after her promotion. Some things she could go through, but they were never anything useful. Now she was finally a Brigadier General and could go through just about anything she wanted.... and the library was toast. I would ask waht I did wrong lately to warrant this, but I think I answered my own question, there.

...Wait, [/i]twice[/i]? Shula's gaze moved back to Aldrich in surprise. How had he seen the Library burn twice? This was the first time it had burnt in-- "--nearly a century, Shula murmured in amazement. Was this man really implying he was old enough to have seen it the first time? If he was, surely he'd only been a child then. Surely. But still... That kind of longevity and memory were amazing, and certainly a thing to be revered. Her smile dampened slightly with a soft sigh. "I honestly wish I knew, sir. I can't think of any good to coming out of ruining our greatest resources... But I'm still trying to make sense of so much and not getting anywhere."

The tiny Ishvallan stepped away from the old man and his silent companion, moving back a few feet to near where she had cleared. This used to be the reference area; while she'd been cramming for her State Exams, she practically lived here. Shula knelt back down, gently moving a few rocks asode and reached into the gap, only to pull out a bit of burnt leather scrap, probably from their old chairs. "I was hoping there might be something left to save. The small things I contributed are gone, but at least they're being put to good use in the south." Yes, she'd probably just outed herself as a State Alchemist, but honestly at this point? If someone killed her for it they'd be doing her a favour. Her hand moved upward, tucking a little fringe behind her ear.

"All the books and research that were on every floor from the ground up are toast... but I was thinking if I got to where the basement is there might still be old crates of archived research that hadn't been touched in ages and survived the fire. Stuff over fifty years old that nobody'd bothered with since. Stuff my grandfather and his father before him put into this library in hopes of it being mildly useful somewhere."

[Guest]

So she is a State Alchemist…and apparently from a long line of them… He gestured slightly to deny the prepackaged crackers but thank Shula anyways for them, it might have been a kind offering but the old man still had a certain level of personal pride that he couldn’t swallow. Anyways by this point in his life pangs of hunger were the least of his physical troubles. Furthermore while the young woman did not appear yet to be a threat, there were certain precautions that Aldrich felt necessary to partake in nearly every situation of this sort.

He smiled slightly despite himself when the young alchemist came realized the extent of his longevity. There was, in a way, an amount of satisfaction to be gleaned from such moments but more so it meant the girl was not immediately aware of whom he was either due to her own youth or his relative disappearance from the public eye. Either of these put the both of them on an even playing field when it came to personal information. This, however, could easily be circumnavigated on Shula’s part as there were few men out there at his age while his likelihood of knowing one young alchemist out of a myriad of young alchemists was much less so. She knew he was old and he knew she was an alchemist, information for information, the only choice here was to give a little be more to get a little bit more.

“Ah, the pain of losing your original notes is a great agony is it not? You must consider yourself lucky that your alchemy must be practical enough to be put to practice beyond the scope of these lost notes. “ Aldrich sighed, partially out of memory and partially out of effect. “I was unfortunate enough to have lost everything in that first fire, almost every scrape and scrap lost and never to return. I knew too many who gave up after that, we didn’t have your computers or photocopiers, in there were books who were one of a kind or rare enough to be considered so, books that were the basis of vast alchemic theories that could not hold or develop without them.” He nodded slightly to himself, as he lectured, as a gesture of sad understanding.

“However it sounds as though enough survived to allow such a long line of alchemists as your family to rise from its ashes, eh? Well it makes no sense for old men like me to have hogged up all the knowledge, someone had to start anew, hm? The Elrics, the Hartmans, the Swartz’s, the Brightons etcetera, they came after and I still see bits of them today. Perhaps, my young friend, perhaps this old man has it in him to till these ashes and help another phoenix rise. For, you see, I was not one to have given up.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, the old man produced a sharp antique letter opener, a silver artifact laced in gold work. However instead of opening a letter, Aldrich spun the blade momentarily in his automail fingers and brought it down in a quick stab to mount of Jupiter on his hand of flesh. The quick stab brought up a welling of blood but was not so deep to cause serious harm. Closing his eyes, Aldrich pushed his hands together so the blood would touch the circles on his gloves then leaned to the ground to touch the dusty earth.

A bright pulse of alchemical light flashed from his transmutation and the ground beside the three figures shook and ripped asunder as it rose into a growing humanoid figure. Within moments the still rising sun was eclipsed by three meter tall man-like bulwark of earth and stone, its rough quartz eyes flaring with the alchemical energies that Aldrich still poured into it. Through somewhat great effort, Aldrich gave Shula a slight grin, though was obvious his concentration to keep the beast stable was immense. “Now….shall we till these ashes…and find these old seeds for a new beginning?”

[Shula Brighton]

While Shula had been told from many different sources that human transmutation was the greatest sin an alchemist could comprehend as it was a crime against humanity and God, Shula felt that the destruction of knowledge might had been equal in rank to it (then again, even though she was researching one, one would not be possible without the other and thereby made them relatively equal). The little packet of crackers were slipped back into the deep pocket of the dress coat to be nibbled on later. Shula sat on her haunches, idly brushing away some of the mess with her fingertips as she nodded in agreement.

"I know I can sit down and rewrite everything if I have to, but at this point I've covered a lot of experiments to get them all right. My laptop was destroyed from the bombs... I lived around the corner, on the block with the really old townhouses. Part of what I studied is helping keep South from having a massive food shortage and I was hoping to implement it here in Central, but without the notes to show it makes it hard since I can't be in two places at once." While her research for her fire alchemy had been her primary focus since before she had even started at the academy, the failed experiments in celluar reversion and progression had led to her plant alchemy. Until the cities were destroyed, Shula had only thought of it as something pretty for her own enjoyment, being able to speed up plants and flowers' growth. But now? Now they were what was helping South to become strong by filling the fields with ripe food infinitely sooner than would have happened on its own, especially in the arid climate and ruined landscape that it had been.

The old man restated that he'd lost his work in the first destruction, making her wonder just who this man was. She'd initially thought he'd been a child when the fire had happened, but if he was old enough to have been a State Alchemist and lose his research, that would have put him at least in his late teens or early twenties like her. Was this man secretly Chronos himself, and this withered husk merely the exterior to Father Time in a physical incarnation? Or at least damn near to it. And the loss of those rare books... Shula's heart immediately tugged at the thought. She'd pick over whatever might have been left of Mr. Waters' store, and she knew she had a fair collection of antique books on alchemy and other subjects thanks to him. But she'd need to copy and break down each and every one of them, and dear lord that could take her a lifetime. She still had that coded book in Ishvallan, written back when Ishval was still a functioning country. An Observation On Alchemy No other title, and no author, heavily diagrammed and coded. She'd had to beg and fork over a rather weighty check to take it from its protective glass case and call it her own.

He spoke, and Shula listened as though he were a venerable teacher. Since she was a child she'd been tuaght to listen to her elders and learn what they had to teach. Her grandfather had once been a very important man and still was in some circles, and Ulrich's father before him had as well. Their knowledge was written in published and private books, in the library at home, and perhaps lost under the rubble. A phoenix rising... Shula liked the sound of that. If Amestris could rise through this crisis, they would be more like a phoenix reborn than the dragon making grabby, demanding claw gestures that was emblazoned on their flags and crests. She herself was kind of like a phoenix, too; she'd died once and come back, and then had her body restored and recreated into something totally new. But then something Aldrich said caught her attention more than anything else. He knw her family. Wait.... He knows us?? He was willing to help clear the mess and help everyone start anew; old as he was, he was not giving up on the country. Shula smiled warmly. Neither was she, nor would she ever.

"Thank you, sir... I'm glad you haven't given up on us. I speak for myself, my grandfather and great-grandfather here, but to whatever end, the Brightons don't give up, either."

She blinked as he took out an ornate knife and stabbed at his palm, eliciting a small gasp and a rather bewildered look. The blood met his hand and his hand met earth, earth which now rose and grew tall, taking the shape of something like a man. Shule let out a small, surprised yelp at the sight of the giant thing, falling back from her haunches onto her rear, red eyes wide. What.... was THAT?! It wasn't alive, no, it was made of earth and stone... But... "A.... a golem..?" It was awe-inspiring and a little terrifying to behold in person. She'd heard of golems being made and used by very few people long ago. Heard of them, seen a sketch in a book. But never fathomed she'd see one in person. Such strong alchemy commanded by such an old man... The universe was truly a wonder. Her smile returned, curiosity and wonder filling her eyes as the initial fear quickly subsided in lieu of the inquisitive nature that got her into this whole mess when she was a child. "That's incredible! I heard about them in a history lecture from my grandfather, he said they hadn't been in use since the Ishval civil wars..." Shula blinked, putting two and possibly two together. She looked back to Aldrich in pure awe. "You aren't... You're not.... The Puppeteer Alchemist..... Are you?" He couldn't be. That man had to have been dead by now, unless he was the oldest man in the world.

[Guest]

The old man had listened as the young woman told him her woes. A philanthropic goal for one so young and agricultural alchemy was sadly understudied as was any other alchemy whose express purposes didn’t seem destructive. He had not, however, expected her to actually be one of the Brightons, his use of such an example merely being pulling names off of the top of his head. Could she really be descended from that line?

As his golem rose, he saw the fear in her eyes quickly become replaced with curiosity, a sign that she was truly an alchemist of merit, one unwilling to let fear consume them when there was something to be learned.

There was, however, an ever so slight twitch upon the old man’s face as he heard that old name. The Puppeteer Alchemist…yes, that had been him, many years ago. The histories left rom that time were few and far between, many important figures were downplayed and a vast sum of minor players were simply erased. In the era of rebellion and reconstruction after the Ishavallen War, much of the truth was hidden intestinally, for purposed both gracious and sinister. To history, Aldrich’s role in the military and the war in general is barely a footnote, a passing mention of a wealthy heir hone to war. However, the truths were far more horrid. The death toll in Ishval was so incredibly high that some later generations often felt these statistics were being overplayed. Aldrich wished that they were right. But history as it was known now could not change what the old man had experienced himself. The butchery of Kimblee and Basque Gran was great and appalling, but events similarly terrible yet hidden events were occurring alongside them. Dr. Marco was forced to drain myriads of Ishavallen lives to create philosopher’s stones. Brutal experiments were performed on living subjects to create chimeric monstrosities, many of whom were used once and cast aside like trash. And Aldrich von Koenig created vast engines of death and destruction whose human toll were incalculable. But this role was hushed by the highest military officials, the histories remodeled and his research spirited away…

The only public knowledge of those creations was passed down by those who knew him then and those who were his victims. This unfortunate young alchemist before him was a descendent of both perhaps…

I’ve made my peace with that… thought the old man who knew he had not. When was it in this past century that he had not had nightmares of that war? When was it that he didn’t damn himself and all that he had created?

The old man nodded slowly while still holding his concentration on his Golem. “Yes, I am indeed he…or so I was, I have not been a part of the military for a long…long time. Mr. Koenig or Aldrich will do nicely.” Not wanting, however, to stray into darker business, however, the old man twitched his fingers and bade the massive Golem to move forward and start to clear away vast swaths of debris from the former library with its massive stone paws.

“If you truly are of your professed lineage, my young friend, than even your most praising words could ever give full justice to your line. I do hope you’ve had the chance to study their works fully, I must admit I count myself lucky to have personal copies of some of their research from before both of these fires. Perhaps…” he mused slightly, still in the attempt here to move conversation away from his past, “ Perhaps, they can be among my donations once I’ve rebuilt…”

[Shula Brighton]

Stone and earth moved upward and forward together, lifeless energy shining in its stone eyes and powered by the withered remains of the old man in the chair. Commanded by the force of his blood and will and puppeted by the slight manipulations of his fingers, the hulking colossus trudged forward and began to obediently clear the way. Truth be told, Shula knew precious little about the golems; there had been a rough sketch of one in one of her great-grandfather's study journals. He had noted that they were no longer in service and that the old man before her was the one who had brought them to light. But that journal had noted the observations of the Ishval war from one who came a generation after and wasn't involved to see it, which always ended up in a history lesson from her mother, which always made for somewhat tense dinners that night in the mixed household.

This man, though. This man predated that journal. He was there, he was a part of it. Aldrich was living history, and Shula looked at him in a way that would have brought down the wrath of her mother and maternal grandparents. She didn't look at the old man as a monster or something to fear, even though that little bell went off in the back of her head that due to how she'd been raised and what she'd been taught, she should have been afraid of him. Nor did she look at him like a golden opportunity sent to her by Ishvalla himself for her to use and benefit from. ”Sacred Spirits...” Shula's eyes watched the soulless stone beast in awe, something quiet moving past her lips that he might not have expected from an Ishvallan. ”It's.... wonderful.” Slowly she turned her gaze back to Aldrich, most of the shyness ebbing from her features slowly. ”It's an honour to meet you, Mr. Koenig. I'm Shula Brighton; Eyes High is my grandfather.”

Professed lineage... The words made her cheeks warm and threaten to dust a brighter colour. So many expectations had been placed on the children of her family for years with at least one child becoming and maintaining their State Alchemy license their whole lives; something that had started with her great-grandfather, Landslide. It was his earth-based alchemy that was taught to Aaron to teach him patience and to control his temper, and in those journals describing elemental alchemy that she'd seen the sketches of the golem she saw before her now. Up until Ulrich, the Brightons had been building a solid reputation as alchemical thoroughbreds. Heh, leave it to Papa to do his own thing and break all traditions and conventions. Become a tailor and marry an Ishvallan. But then again, Brightons aren't known for sticking to the rules or thinking inside the box, are we?

”I studied a lot of them growing up, but I wasn't able to read or break down all of them. Some of Landslide's early and more complex work is pretty heavily coded; I was lucky my grandfather could help me break down enough of it for myself that I could get the fundamentals for my fire alchemy.” Copies of those original publications might be down there somewhere, and works of other alchemists from long ago that might have been forgotten by time. Then were were still the family's copies in her grandfather's private library, but Ulrich would never part with his father's research. But maybe-- Shula blinked. Mr. Koenig had copies of some of their works? And he might donate them? Shula let out a faint, surprised and genuinely thrilled laugh, her hand moving up to tuck a bit of loose fringe away from her eyes. ”Really? Mr. Koenig, you'd do that? Even if you only lent them out long enough for us to have copies made and scanned, you'd be a lifesaver! With so much lost that can't be replaced, any copies of most anything will help get Central and South up and running again.”

[Guest]

Sweat beaded on the old man's forehead as his great beast of burden continued its task in its slow methodical movements. Its great paws swept aside masses of debris in easy movements and fallen rafters of iron were of no hindrance to its great power. One could look upon a beast such as this an be in awe of what it represented, of the power that it held and of the potentials it possessed. But the world knew so little, this creature before them was a wretch, a castoff's castoff, barely worth the ground from which it was called. It was the simplest and yet seemingly the most profound display of the old man's power, and although he could manage five of the great beasts at once, one could never seemingly get over that first sight.

The true masterpiece silently pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped Aldrich's brow, an act not directly asked for but intrinsic to her most fundamental programing: to protect him. Few guessed that there was anything truly inhuman about the Nurse, most saw her as a background object in the presence of the towering persona of the old man. However, at the base of it all, she was barely different from the beast trudging through the debris before them. A little smaller, faster, and one could argue smarter, but in the end, and much to Aldrich's chagrin, she was still the same.

Aldrich bowed his head very lightly in a combination of thanks and respect, though his eyes stayed intensely direct upon the golem. "Wonderful might be one of the last words I'd use to describe such a Wahash but I appreciate you sentiment in any case. Especially, that is, coming from both the heir to the Brighton name and a General. I would guess it would be proper for me to salute, but as one can see I am both a little tied up and am an old man set in his rebellious ways." He barked a small laugh to indicate the last bit was his attempt at humor, though then again he hadn't saluted since he was in his teens.

Eyes High and Landside, alchemists of great renown in their own time and still mentioned occasionally today. When did he last peruse those old tomes, those cryptic recipes written in the language of birds? These two were masters of their own arts, individuals whose narrow field and focus allowed them to obtain heights most unique. He had to pull a few favors and make some rather sketchy business deals to obtain those copies, seeing as how his access to the Library was long since disallowed, but he was a man both willing and able....

"Coded? Ha, I'd say damn near unreadable! Do you know how long it took me to translate Ulrich's flowery script and his nonsense about radishes? And Landslide was just as bad! Two years, Ms. Brighton, two years that were absolutely worth it. He grinned mildly, directing the beast to remove the charred remains of a spiraling iron staircase. "And the Brightons finally produced a good old fashioned pyromancer eh? I'll be the judge of that, my dear, and you'd fine me a rather strict judge, having known Mr. Mustang himself.

His grin continued and widened slightly as his great beast plowed across and revealed the metal doors of the protected achieves below. The bombs had turned the door into a twisted wreck, partially melted from the intense heat. Whatever that was below could have not been in perfect condition, but it was something. "If what we find here isn't enough, then we'll see about having you visit the Estate, perhaps you'll find some more items of interest."

[Shula Brighton]

Stone and ireon were moved effortlessly away, the ancient old man controlling it steadily. His silent companion attended to him but said nothing, her actions as quiet and subtle as she herself was. Shula glanced between the old man and his creation. Wahash, indeed! It might have been a stone beast, bust still such a wonder to behold. This was an earth alchemy unlike anything she had ever seen before, and she'd seen her brother's earth-based alchemy and the lessons of their great-grandfather his was derived from as well. The old man's demeanor seemed to be shifting slightly as well, the scowl that dripped with scorn and bitterness from decades moving aside to allow him to grin slightly, either amused at her reactions to his creations, or to the ironies that seemed to be sprinkled around and between them like garnish on a plate.

Lineage was a funny thing. Many knew of her grandfather during his time at South, and of the reputation her great-grandfather had left behind them all. Shula had worked very hard to build her reputation on her own achievements rather than riding the shoulders of her family before her, and even through she was well-known in some circles, in others she was still far too new to the scene. Her rise in rank was still too new, even to her; unlike Spade whom everyone in Amestris seemed to know, when it was mentioned that Brigadier General Brighton was heading South, many people who were familiar with that name automatically bubbled it in that Ulrich was returning from retirement to tend to South as a guiding hand of reason until things were rebuilt and stable. It made more sense than the shy little girl that they were typically greeted by. Shula blushed as Aldrich pointed out that he was well-aware of her rank now that he had a face to put to it.

"I'm actually glad you didn't," Shula admitted with a soft laugh. Much to the frustration of some of the people now working with her, Shula had a strict no-saluting policy taped to her office door. She valued her rank and her work, but hardly felt that she was above anyone or had done anything that warranted that much respect. To her she was equal to everyone else, and that was all she had wanted. She watched as the Golem obediently cleared the way, armful by armful, faster than a work crew with construction equipment and infinitely safer. Who knew such things could work? Hell, if Golems weren't such a secret just think of all the good they could do! They needed alchemists to power them, but with them doing the labor it meant that much more could be done without potential human injury. This was Aldrich's specialty, and it wasn't widely known; while Shula wasn't sure about the how or why behind things, she was trapped in wonderment at what she was seeing.

They had been described in one of Landslide's books from long, long ago when he himself was a young alchemist. His books and her grandfather's lined the shelaves in Ulrich's private library. Thick, hand-written books with carefully penned out drawings and descriptions. Some were more ogranized than others, some being carefully thought-out before being written down, others being written and then having small snatches of notes stuffed all over the pages. Shula's laugh warmed, Aldrich all too familiar with how difficult they were to understand. TWo years to understand what her grandfather had been on about, and this man was old as time itself. But Ulrich was a complex man, so that made sense to her.

"Ugh, don't remind me!" Shula groaned lightly as she laughed. "I found one small book when i was young, and the title translated to The Meaning. "Come down sparrow/ Sing me Good Morning/ Rise up Sun like the arch of the sky/ Living River turn Light to Diamonds/ When I look in my true Love's eyes./" It was a poem wedged in the middle of a whole book of alchemical formulas he'd written as poems. I think I broke my brain trying to pick it out.... It was a love poem he wrote and used to propose to my grandmother." Her eyes closed, smiling as she shook her head. True, the poem had been powerful and important, just not what she was expecting. But, that's Grandfather for you, isn't it?

Shula turned her gaze away from the golem back to Aldrich. "Though if nothing else at least he's consistent. The books and notes he still writes are just as flowery and strange and headache-inducing. Heh... I wouldn't dare compare myself to revolutionaries in the field, but I'd be happy to give you a demonstration of what I have learned from my kin and the fire alchemists who set the standards." Though she wondered that some of the more famous fire alchemists in history wouldn't smack her; such a destructive alchemy being piloted by a pacifist made no sense to most anyone who knew her, and the fact that even during the last two wars she refused to use her fire to kill. She looked back to the Golem as he cleared away the great twisted remnants of the door at last, her hand clutching the breast of her coat in excitement and hope.

"...Your Estate's library, sir? Oh, I can only imagine what kinds of books you've collected over the years... That would be wonderful! You really are very kind, Mr. Koenig." Warmth radiated from Shula's voice as she stood up, brushing the dust from her coat and jeans as she prepared to step closer to the great stone beast to see what remained beneath the library.

[Reila Tsukino]

[BUMP]

[Guest]

Lineage really was a funny thing, or perhaps a seriously unfunny thing. The von Konigs were as old as Amestris itself, reaching back across the generations to its earliest forefathers, whom according to family legend was taught the alchemic art by the original Western Sage. While this could be nothing but genealogical fluff, the Konig clan had documents and evidence of their family’s long standing alchemical tradition. It had only been in the last two centuries or so that the Konig name had become identified with wealth, monopoly, and mundane prestige, and this was mostly under the guidance of Aldrich alone. Before, the Konigs were known greatly for their nationalism and alchemical prowess, every son of the family (and more than enough daughters) had been a revolutionary figure in the alchemic field and every last one of them was a state or at least state sponsored alchemist. Bernard the Fury Alchemist, Adler the Noble-Fire Alchemist, Englebert the Prismic Alchemist, Lazarus the Enduring Moment Alchemist, Dietmar the Fulminating Alchemist, Chlothar the Sublimated Alchemist, Ebbe of Putrefied Cleansing, Korbinian of the White Harrowing, Jorgen of the Silted Dawn, and pnwards to the start of things. Each father passed down the burden of their alchemical genius and of the name Konig…

Now, at the very end of the Konig line, sat Aldrich, straining under the load of his ancestors. No child or apprentice was there to take on neither his name nor his tradition; he was the last of a line that should have died years ago. There was no rebirth through fire, no grand awakening from which his line could return, they were a weight on the world and Aldrich was the last remaining plug holding it all back. The hate and spite that dwelled within the old man refused to let him die quite yet, there were goals to accomplish before he could do the world the favor of seeing him gone…

With a last strained grimace, Aldrich commanded his golem to rip the fused metal doors asunder. A lash of the beast’s great arms and the metal door flew and skittered across the ruins of the library’s floor. The old man sighed as he squeezed his bloodied palm and the great beast melted into the debris and earth from which it came, the Truth that powered it ebbing away into its Death. As it sunk into the earth, it released a slow groan, a tectonic sound that rumbled from its innermost core.

“I am getting much too old for those sorts of shenanigans…Lisa, “ the old man turned to his nurse, speaking to her instead of using any hand motions for the first time before Shula, “Stand watch here while me and the young lady explore these vaults. You know what to do about any trespassers.”

The nurse nodded her head in a manner either highly disciplined or somewhat robotic before she turned face and stood towards the street, her eyes immobile and her body seemingly poised on action. The old man then returned his gaze to Shula as he started to wheel himself towards the entrance to the underground book vault. It was hard to know whether it was his wheelchair or his ancient prosthesis which made the creaking noise as he moved the scraping sound of metal that resulted from constant use rather than seer neglect. “Sometimes a Poem is just a Poem, but when is anything truly just anything. You of all people I am sure know that words have power far beyond even the truth within the truth. Somewhere beneath and between all words is the Truth itself, the reflections of Man or perhaps even God. I would say we alchemists with our jargon and our cryptic ways sometimes move ourselves a little further from the truth sometimes…But enough of an old man’s philosophical ramblings hmm? Let us venture into the trove of lost knowledge shall we, perhaps we shall find us both a few memories, further demonstrations and investigations can be held for afterward eh?”

The old man perched his wheelchair upon the first step down and nodded to Shula as he began his halting descent.

[Sponsored content]