The capital of Amestris pulsed with the weight of secrets.
From the clock towers to the underground chambers, the streets of Central whispered of revolutions past and sins buried beneath stone. The city was alive with noise—marching boots, steam engines, vendors hawking food near the square—but Aeon heard none of it.
He listened deeper.
Below the sound, beneath the cobbled roads, the Shadow stirred.
Not as a voice now, but as pressure. A pulse. Like the heart of something ancient slowly remembering how to beat.
He walked among the crowds, unnoticed as ever, a figure of stillness in motion. To the average passerby, he was just another stranger—a traveler with unreadable eyes. But to those attuned to the currents of fate, he was a fracture in the pattern.
And that pattern was about to be tested.
Elsewhere in Central
Edward and Alphonse emerged from the First Branch Library, annoyed and paperless.
"Destroyed," Edward muttered, flipping through the ashes of what used to be classified State research. "Why is everything we need always on fire?"
Alphonse chuckled. "You've started a few fires yourself, you know."
"Yeah, but mine were productive."
They made their way toward the tram station, arguing about whether to visit a certain alchemist known for being eccentric and reclusive. Edward wanted results. Alphonse wanted caution.
Neither noticed the figure watching them from across the street.
Aeon remained still in the alley's mouth, veiled just beyond perception. Not invisible—only quiet enough to be missed. But Alphonse paused mid-step.
He turned slightly.
Ed stopped too. "What's wrong?"
Alphonse's head tilted. His helmeted gaze scanned the alley. Empty.
"I… thought someone was there," he said slowly. "Someone watching us."
Edward squinted. "Probably just some creep with a mustache."
"No," Al said. "It didn't feel like that."
He looked again—but Aeon was already gone.
An hour later — Fountain Plaza
Alphonse sat on the edge of the fountain while Edward bought food from a cart nearby. The plaza bustled with life—soldiers, travelers, couples, all woven into the city's pulse. Al stared into the water, trying to shake the strange feeling from earlier.
A shadow passed behind him.
"Mind if I sit?" a calm voice asked.
He turned slightly. A tall man, cloaked and silent-eyed, sat beside him.
"Sure," Alphonse said carefully.
The man didn't speak for a while. The fountain's water trickled steadily, and the crowd's noise became distant.
"You're quiet," Aeon said eventually.
"I'm thinking," Alphonse replied.
"About yourself?"
Alphonse flinched. "What makes you say that?"
"Because you're afraid," Aeon said softly. "Of what you might be. Or might not."
Al looked down. "Yeah. Sometimes I wonder if… I'm just something my brother created."
Aeon turned to him slowly. "You are not created. You are remembered."
Alphonse blinked, startled. But when he looked again, the bench beside him was empty.
He stood up quickly, searching the crowd. No trace.
Edward returned with two skewers. "You good?"
Al took the food silently, still staring after the vanished man. "I think I just… spoke to someone important."
Ed arched a brow. "What, like the military?"
"No," Al said. "Like… someone who knows."
Below the city
In the darkness beneath the palace, Father stirred from his false throne.
The Homunculi had gathered. Lust stood closest. Envy leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. Gluttony twitched in the corner, eyes wide.
"There is someone walking the city," Lust said quietly. "Someone not born of this world."
Father's golden eyes narrowed. "I have felt it too."
Envy spat. "A god? Here?"
"No," Father said. "Not anymore. But not yet mortal either."
He stood, the air growing heavy with pressure.
"He's hunting my Shadow," Father said. "And he'll come here next."
Gluttony whimpered. "He smells like the Gate…"
Elsewhere — Aeon
He stood beneath an iron archway, eyes fixed on the tallest tower in the city.
The shadows of the world shifted as he moved.
He was closer now—not just to the Elric brothers, but to the buried truth of this world. To the roots of the Homunculi. To the remnants of what he had once cast away.
The Shadow had nested here. In blood. In stone. In souls.
And the time to remain distant was nearly over.
The city changed at night.
Aeon moved through Central's underbelly, where cobbled alleys became stone tunnels and the stars gave way to lamps flickering on borrowed time. Beneath the palace, below the churches and banks and mansions, he walked where only rats and soldiers dared.
He wasn't following a person.
He was following a pressure.
The further down he went, the more distorted the alchemical lattice became. Normally it sang in chords—structure, balance, intention. But here, the weave was stretched, out of tune. It felt like metal warping under heat—on the verge of snapping.
And then he saw it: a crack in the wall, no wider than a breath, but leaking an impossible darkness. Not shadow, not absence of light—presence. A force.
He placed a hand against it.
The wall whispered.
"He remembers."
Aeon's hand tensed.
The voice wasn't from this world. It was older.
His own.
Or rather—the part he'd severed.
Elsewhere — The Homunculi
Envy staggered from a side corridor, shaking violently. Lust turned with a scowl.
"What now?" she snapped. "Another breakdown?"
Envy's grin twitched, too wide. "He's here," they hissed.
Lust narrowed her eyes. "Who?"
Envy tilted his head back and laughed. "The god-who-forgot. He's crawling through our bones. Didn't you feel it? He touched the lower chambers."
Gluttony whimpered.
From above, Father's voice echoed like stone cracking.
"Let him come."
To be continued….