The tremor that rippled through Central was felt by more than just stone and steel.
It whispered through the cracks.
Through circuits and scars.
Through blood.
Alphonse Elric turned sharply in the corridor, pausing mid-step as the tremor rolled beneath his armored feet. It was subtle—just a flicker of imbalance, like something had shifted far beneath the city. But he felt it all the same.
"Did you feel that?" he asked.
Behind him, Edward paused, glancing around the marble hallway. "Yeah," he said, narrowing his eyes. "That wasn't structural. That was…"
He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to.
They both knew the rhythm of alchemy well enough to recognize when something unnatural stirred.
Alphonse turned his head slightly toward the distant western stairwell. The pulse had come from that direction—or deeper.
Much deeper.
"Central Command said there was a collapsed sub-level last week," Edward muttered, already moving again. "I didn't buy it then. I buy it less now."
They moved fast, weaving through the upper corridors with practiced steps. They weren't alone—soldiers were on edge, orders being passed quietly, nervous glances cast down every hallway.
Something was wrong.
Something big.
In the shadowed service levels below, Aeon moved quickly but without panic.
Greed walked beside him, his long coat flaring slightly as he kept pace.
"You think they'll see you coming?" Greed asked.
"They already do," Aeon said.
He glanced toward the direction of the first tremor—the site of the technician's possession. He could feel it. Not just the shift in the flow of the alchemical lattice, but something deeper. Like the subtle change in temperature before a storm breaks.
He slowed near a junction where three corridors met. Behind a sealed maintenance door, faint voices echoed.
One of them was no longer human.
Aeon nodded to Greed, who cracked his neck.
"Let's see what we're dealing with."
Edward and Alphonse reached the stairwell leading into Central's older infrastructure. Guards had been posted—but not to keep people out.
To keep something in.
"What's this?" Edward asked.
One of the officers stepped forward, eyes wide. "Orders from above. We've had… anomalies. Civilian reports of disappearances. Screaming. But by the time patrols arrive, there's nothing left."
"Let us through," Edward said. "We know what we're doing."
The officer hesitated.
Then stepped aside.
They descended into the lower levels, the air thickening with each flight.
Alphonse slowed halfway down.
His voice came soft. "Brother…"
Edward stopped. Turned.
Alphonse stood still on the stair, one hand on the wall. "I feel… something."
Edward's brows drew together. "Like what?"
"I don't know," Alphonse said. "It's like… I'm being watched. Not from outside. From inside."
A beat of silence.
Edward reached up and gripped his brother's shoulder. The cold steel of Alphonse's armor didn't shiver, but the soul within it did.
"You've felt things before," Edward said gently. "But this—this is different?"
Alphonse nodded.
It wasn't pain.
It wasn't fear.
It was like standing beside something he'd buried long ago—and hearing it breathe again.
Elsewhere, the possessed technician moved through the lower halls with eerie calm.
His eyes no longer belonged to him.
His steps weren't hurried, but each one cracked faint sparks against the tile, a slow corrosion spreading beneath his feet. As he passed a wall, the metal rusted. As he blinked, the lights above flickered.
He turned a corner.
And stopped.
Aeon was waiting.
So was Greed.
The corridor went silent.
Then the technician tilted his head.
"Found you," he said again—but the voice was doubled now. The man's tone overlapped with something deeper, rasping like dry leaves dragged over stone.
Aeon stepped forward, slowly. "You don't belong here."
"No," the voice agreed. "But I was invited."
The man's eyes burned dark red, veins spiderwebbing down his neck.
Greed muttered, "Tell me I get to punch something."
"Not yet," Aeon said. He raised his hand.
The possessed man twitched, once. His head jerked sharply left—then right—then forward again, cracking with the motion.
"I remember you," the voice hissed. "You turned your back. You locked the door."
"I had to," Aeon said softly.
"You ran."
"I was afraid."
"You still are."
Silence.
Then Aeon spoke again.
"But I'm here now."
From the stairwell, Edward and Alphonse rounded the last corner—and stopped short.
They saw the man in the corridor. His body flickered like a faulty projection. Alchemical runes burned in the air around him, untethered and bleeding into one another.
Edward's eyes widened. "What the hell…"
Then he saw the two figures facing him.
One, unfamiliar.
The other—
"Greed?"
Greed turned slightly, smirking. "Hey, tin can. Blondie."
"You're supposed to be dead."
"Yeah. Been working on that."
Edward drew closer. "What's going on?"
Alphonse didn't answer.
He was staring at Aeon.
Not in suspicion.
In recognition.
"Brother," he whispered. "That's the one from East City."
Edward narrowed his eyes.
Aeon said nothing.
But the possessed man screamed.
The Shadow recoiled—not from Aeon's face.
From the memory in Alphonse.
"Do you feel it?" the voice shrieked. "He cut you loose. He abandoned all of us!"
Alphonse gasped.
His chest—his soul—ached.
And something inside him whispered, yes.
Then Aeon stepped forward.
He placed his hand on the possessed man's shoulder.
And for a moment, the corridor fell silent.
The Shadow screamed.
The technician collapsed.
And Aeon staggered back.
Greed caught him by the shoulder. "What the hell was that?"
Aeon didn't answer right away.
He looked at Alphonse.
"Be careful," he said softly. "It knows you. And it wants you."
Edward stepped in front of his brother.
"Who are you?"
Aeon's eyes reflected something deeper than starlight. Something older.
"I'm someone who remembers what it's like to forget."
Far above, Father stirred.
And far below, the anchor began to crack.
Not from decay.
But from within.
To be continued….