I used to think dying would feel poetic.
Like the movies—slow motion, dramatic music, everyone shouting your name as you fade into legend.
But in reality?
It was just a punch I never saw coming.
The arena was deafening. Thousands of voices screaming, chanting, roaring my name until it became a physical force pressing against my skull.
"JIN! JIN! JIN!"
I'd fought for years to hear that sound. Bled for it. Broke bones for it. Endured loneliness so sharp it felt like another opponent in the cage with me.
This was it. The championship. The pinnacle.
My opponent was good—damn good—but I was better. Faster. Sharper. I knew how to read a fighter's breathing, how to exploit the micro-hesitation before a strike, how to make a crowd lose their minds.
I slipped his hook, pivoted, and drove my elbow into his temple with surgical precision.
He dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
The referee grabbed my wrist, raised my arm high as the belt was fastened around my waist, and the world exploded.
I'd won.
I was the champion.
I looked out into the sea of faces, the cameras, the flashing lights—
—and felt nothing.
No triumph. No satisfaction.
Just… emptiness.
Is this it?
Then my chest tightened.
Not from exertion. Something else. Something wrong.
My heart clenched like a fist closing around itself.
Once.
Twice.
The arena lights blurred into smears of white and gold.
My knees buckled.
Hands grabbed me—panicked voices, someone screaming for a medic—but it all sounded distant, muffled, like I was underwater.
My vision tunneled.
The roar of the crowd faded.
And then—
Silence.
Not peaceful.
Just… gone.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in a hospital.
I was standing.
No—floating.
Weightless, suspended in an endless white void that stretched in every direction, infinite and suffocating in its emptiness.
Ahead of me stood a door.
Massive. Ancient. Covered in intricate carvings that seemed to shift and writhe when I looked at them too long. It radiated wrongness—like staring at something my brain wasn't meant to comprehend.
"Welcome, Jin."
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
I spun—and froze.
A figure stood before me. Humanoid, but blank. Smooth white skin, no features, no details—except for a wide, mocking grin stretched across where a face should be.
It tilted its head, and I felt its amusement like static across my skin.
"Truth," it said, voice layered and echoing. "God. The Universe. The World. The All. The One. Call me whatever comforts your fragile human mind."
My fists clenched instinctively. Fighter's reflex. "Am I dead?"
"You were," Truth said, that grin widening impossibly. "Your heart gave out. Quite ironic, really—a champion felled not by an opponent, but by his own body's betrayal."
I didn't respond. Couldn't. My mind was racing, trying to process, trying to understand—
"But your soul…" Truth leaned closer, inspecting me like a curious child examining an insect. "Fascinating. So heavy with unfulfilled desire. So hungry for meaning."
It circled me slowly, deliberately.
"You fought your entire life, yet never had anyone who truly cared whether you lived or died. You won glory, but died alone. You sought purpose, but found only emptiness."
Every word was a scalpel cutting into truths I'd never spoken aloud.
"Tell me, Jin—what is it you truly desire?"
I opened my mouth. Hesitated.
What did I want?
Not fame. I'd had that.
Not strength. I'd proven that.
"…A family," I said quietly. "Someone who'd care if I came home. A place where I mattered."
Truth's grin stretched wider, grotesque and delighted.
"How beautifully human. Very well—I shall grant you another life. A new beginning in a new world. You will have the family you crave, the bonds you've longed for."
Relief flooded through me—
"But," Truth continued, voice dripping with cruel amusement, "every gift has a price. Equivalent exchange, you see. You will gain what you seek…"
It leaned in close, that eyeless face inches from mine.
"…but you will lose what makes you, you."
"What does that—"
The world shattered into blinding white light.
And I was swallowed whole.
I woke up screaming.
Not from pain—from the wrongness of existing in a body that wasn't mine.
I was tiny. Weak. Cold.
A child.
Rough wooden walls surrounded me. The smell of earth and old blankets. Voices murmuring nearby—concerned, tired.
A woman appeared above me, silhouetted by lantern light. Soft brown hair, gentle eyes creased with exhaustion and kindness.
She scooped me up with careful hands, and I felt warmth radiate from her like sunlight.
"Shh, sweetheart, it's alright," she whispered, rocking me gently. "You're safe now."
I didn't understand her words—not yet—but I understood her tone.
Care. Concern. Love.
Something I'd never known in my previous life.
And despite everything—despite the confusion, the fear, the absolute insanity of what was happening—I felt tears streak down my tiny face.
She wiped them away with her thumb, smiling sadly.
"My name is Trisha," she said softly. "And you're not alone anymore."
I learned quickly that I was an orphan.
No family. No home. Found abandoned on the outskirts of Resembool as an infant.
The townspeople had done what they could, but resources were scarce. I'd been passed between homes, never staying long, never quite belonging.
Until Trisha Elric took me in.
She already had two sons—Edward and Alphonse—but she looked at me with the same love she showed them.
"You're part of this family now, Jin," she told me one evening as she tucked me into bed. "Always."
I didn't cry that time.
But I held onto her hand like it was the only real thing in the world.
Growing up with Ed and Al was… chaotic.
Ed was a firecracker—brilliant, stubborn, loud, and utterly fearless. He'd argue with adults twice his age, dive headfirst into danger, and drag us along for the ride.
Al was his opposite—gentle, thoughtful, kind to a fault. He'd apologize for Ed's behavior, patch up our scrapes, and somehow keep us from getting killed.
And me?
I was the one who encouraged Ed's insanity.
"Bet you can't climb that tree," I'd say with a grin.
"BET I CAN!" Ed would shout, already halfway up.
"Edward, no!" Al would cry, chasing after us.
I couldn't explain it, but I felt alive around them. My body moved with instincts I didn't remember learning—ducking, weaving, balance honed from years of training I couldn't recall.
When the local bully shoved Al, I didn't think.
I just moved.
A quick step, a sweep of his leg, and he was on the ground before he knew what happened.
Ed stared at me, eyes wide. "THAT WAS AWESOME! Teach me!"
And just like that, we became inseparable.
Three boys against the world.
Trisha watched us with warmth in her eyes and sadness buried beneath.
She cooked meals that filled the house with comfort. Sang lullabies that made the nights feel safe. Held us when we cried and laughed when we succeeded.
I loved her effortlessly.
Completely.
She was everything I'd never had.
And I would've done anything to keep her smiling.
I was eight years old when Trisha started coughing blood.
It started small—a tired smile, a hand pressed to her chest, a moment of weakness she tried to hide.
But we noticed.
"Mom?" Al's voice was small, scared.
"I'm fine, sweetheart," she said, forcing brightness into her tone.
She wasn't fine.
We took care of her as best we could—three boys trying to hold together a world that was falling apart.
Ed researched medicine.
Al cooked and cleaned.
I sat by her bedside and talked to her, telling her stories, making her laugh even when it hurt.
But she slipped away anyway.
Slowly.
Agonizingly.
And there was nothing I could do.
No strength. No skill. No power.
Just a boy watching the only person who ever loved him die.
When she finally stopped breathing, I didn't scream.
I didn't cry.
I just sat there, holding her cold hand, staring at her peaceful face.
Ed broke first—slamming his fists into the floor, sobbing like the world had ended.
Al cried silently, clinging to her blanket.
And I…
I felt something inside me crack.
Not again.
Not again.
Not her.
"We can bring her back."
Ed's voice was hoarse, raw, but filled with desperate conviction.
We stood in the Rockbell library, surrounded by alchemy texts we'd spent weeks devouring.
"Human transmutation," Ed continued, eyes wild. "It's theoretically possible. If we have the right components, the right circle—"
"Ed," Al whispered, voice shaking. "It's forbidden. Teacher said—"
"I don't care what Teacher said!" Ed slammed his hand on the table. "We can bring her back! We have to!"
I should've stopped him.
Should've been the voice of reason.
But I wasn't.
Because I wanted it too.
More than anything.
"Let's do it," I said quietly.
Ed looked at me, surprised.
Al's eyes widened. "Jin…"
"We bring her back," I said, voice steady despite the storm inside me. "Together."
The transmutation circle glowed blue in the dim light of our basement, alchemical symbols etched with painstaking precision into the stone floor.
The components were gathered—everything the texts said a human body needed.
Ed, Al, and I stood at three points of the circle, hands pressed to the ground.
"Ready?" Ed asked.
Al nodded, tears streaming down his face.
I met Ed's gaze and nodded once.
"Let's bring her home."
We activated the circle.
Light exploded.
Energy surged through the ground, crackling like lightning—my lightning—wild and uncontrolled.
The circle roared to life, brighter and brighter until I couldn't see—
And then the door opened.
Not a physical door.
The door.
The one I'd seen before, covered in writhing symbols and impossible truths.
It yawned open like a mouth, and I saw—
Everything.
Nothing.
Too much.
My mind screamed.
And then hands—white, countless, cold—reached out and grabbed me.
Pain.
Unbearable, searing, absolute pain.
Something was being taken.
Ripped away.
I tried to scream, but no sound came.
I tried to fight, but there was nothing to fight.
And then—
Silence.
I woke up on cold stone.
My body ached. My head pounded.
I blinked, vision blurry, and saw—
Ed.
Missing his leg, face twisted in agony.
Al.
Gone. Just an empty suit of armor, and Ed's blood smeared across a transmutation circle binding his soul.
And me…
I looked down at myself.
Arms. Legs. Whole.
But something was wrong.
I felt… empty.
Like something vital had been carved out.
"Ed?" My voice cracked. "Al?"
Ed looked at me, tears streaming down his face, eyes haunted.
"It didn't work," he whispered. "She's gone. And we—"
He broke down sobbing.
I crawled over to him, ignoring the pain, and pulled him close.
Al's hollow voice echoed from the armor. "Brother… Jin… what have we done?"
I didn't have an answer.
I couldn't remember why we'd done this.
Couldn't remember what we'd lost.
Couldn't remember—
…
Who was I trying to remember?
My head throbbed. Fragments. Flashes of something else—
A roaring crowd.
Fists striking flesh.
A white void.
A grinning figure.
"You will lose what makes you, you."
And then it was gone.
Slipping away like smoke.
"Jin?" Al asked quietly. "Are you okay?"
I looked at my hands—small, trembling, powerless.
"…I don't know."
We buried what the transmutation left behind.
Not our mother.
A thing. A mistake.
Pinako Rockbell found us hours later, screaming when she saw what we'd done.
She saved Ed's life. Gave Al a body of steel. And looked at me with something between pity and horror.
"What were you thinking?" she demanded.
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know.
All I knew was that something inside me was missing.
And I had no idea what it was.
Months passed.
Ed got automail. Al adjusted to his new body. And I…
I trained.
Every day. Every night.
My body moved with instincts I didn't understand—strikes, counters, footwork drilled into muscle memory I couldn't explain.
And I studied alchemy.
Lightning alchemy.
It came naturally, like my body remembered something my mind didn't.
I could feel it—crackling energy waiting to be unleashed, power that surged through me whenever I clapped my hands and struck the ground.
Ed noticed. "You're getting scary good at that."
I grinned—charismatic, confident, hiding the emptiness inside. "What can I say? I'm a natural."
But at night, when I was alone, I'd stare at my hands and wonder:
Who was I before this?
What did I lose?
And somewhere, deep in the void of my missing memories, a voice whispered:
"You'll remember, Jin. Piece by piece. And when you do… everything will change."