Name : Edward Elric Rank: Major Age : 15 Dislikes : Paperwork, that idiot Taisa, listening to Winry, being yelled at, milk, rulers Likes : Chocolate, big shoes, reading, sleeping, drawing, showing people up, pissing off Mustang Current Dreams: Create The Philosopher's Stone
i don't think i am strong enough to do this much longer god, i wish i was stronger this song could never be long enough to express every longing god, i wish it was longer...
I've come to understand why we do the things we do.
... I'm beginning to understand the cruciality of love and power.
Power is sought for a variety of reasons, and it's sometimes provoked by love.
Namely in the power to protect love.
We're all commoved by either one or both of these concepts.
Power for love... A love for power...
I love Al... so I want to harness the power it takes to clean up my mess restitute him. I want to make him happy.
The Colonel wants power, too... and I'd like to believe it's because there's someone he loves that he wants to protect too...
I've also slowly grown to respect Mustang as more than just a rank since the Ishbal Temple Incident (tm). I respect him as a man of tenacious honor and dignity... and it stings my tongue to utter such words, so don't expect to be hearing them again anytime soon.
I wonder what he saw in the war. I'll never understand how such a man can save face even when he's bed-ridden and knowing he must look like a travesty of his usual puffed-up pride.
I couldn't stand to see him look so vulnerable. Everything around me and in Ishbal seemed to tilt that morning I thought I'd we'd lost Mustang under the rubble. The light of the world seemed to alter and distort... and my world appeared as though covered in darkness.
And not the familiar kind of despair my eyes have adjusted to... although it's just as displacing and horrifying.
Ever since Ishbal -- and ever since I came so close to something transcendental in that array -- nothing has felt familiar.
Except Al. Al is perhaps the only constant variable in my life... because even my mind is yielding to change. I can't even trust myself right now.
The moment we arrived at Central (from a train I wished would derail and scream off into the nearest ravine... really...), I saw Al back to our dorm.
I hope he remembers to take Momo off Lieutenant Havok's hands. Hah. Who am I kidding? That's probably the first thing he'll do.
I have taken it upon myself to hole up in our room and fill my head with textbook knowledge and pick apart formulas for new equations in transmutation. If I dwell on all of this, I won't have to think about everything else that's going on in my mind. I can't even begin to sort out all of the confusing notions and face them for what they really are. Between Alphonse and Mustang, I...
I worry too much about my affairs with people. I'm losing focus.
... Al's been really compassionate as if he knows what I want without my articulating it. He moves around my form sprawled on the floor with an air too light for the cumbersome suit of armour that he is. And his all-knowing behavior as he sits and observes me sets off alarms in the back of my head. Around him, I sometimes feel stripped... and in my most doubtful moments, it scares the hell out of me.
He knows me better than I do.
I'll never see through his eyes, trapped in that prison he's in... but he can see right through me. And it doesn't even faze him.
I do the things I do because of love.
Love is the most important, dangerous, and invicible element.
I'll be sixteen sooner than I care to recognize, and yet my brother is frozen in time.
I just want my baby brother back.
More than anything, I want to wrap my arms around him and feel warmth and skin and see that daylight smile and peer into leaden eyes that remind me that even the smallest things can mean more than gold.
I can't believe I thought he was... dead.
Roy Mustang can't die, just like that (we couldn't be so lucky).
You can't imagine how silly I feel for foolishly thinking the self-important Colonel could bite it on my behalf.
Oh no. He has to be alive, or else he would have taken me down with him.
He knew I would want it that way anyway.
There will be plenty of opportunities for death later, after I recover my brother's body.
Sensei calls it getting back what we lost through a mistake by committing another mistake...
Sin for sin.
But what can we do?
... equivalent exchange isn't fair.
Mustang would not be without backup on this venture.
Surely Hughes-chuusa would be here for investigation... or maybe his First and Second Lieutenants...?
If only I could have been there I'd be a hand for the sinking If only I could have been there I'd be a prayer for the dying
Oh, I'm so sick and tired of --
... the taste of tears, the sting of pain, the smell of fear, ... the sounds of crying.
I'm stalling sending a report back to Headquarters.
I don't want to hear the Colonel's sardonic "I told you so"'s just yet.
We're not done here.
The people are suspicious, and they move among us with their terrific red eyes and holy loftiness...
What are they trying to defend by protecting this wasteland?
It's sad, but it's true; there's nothing left of Ishbal but a conglomerate of refugees.
This territory is no longer a sanctuary. It will soon be under fire by the military like it was years before.
... back when the Stone was supposedly manifested.
What are they trying to stand up for? Their virtue?
I hate this place.
These people will die... Our simple presence here is jeopardizing them.
But if the secret to the Stone lies in these sacred ruins, then... it's for their own good.
If I can manufacture the Stone the right way (and I refuse to believe the Philosopher's Stone can only be fabricated at the cost of several lives), then I will not only be saving them but I'll be preventing another war.
I've let everyone down so far.
I've become everything worthy of disdain in two words: "State Alchemist."
But I strongly feel my next encounter with Scar will be different.
Show me your god who will judge me...
Or does he speak through the arm that only destroys?
You may understand alchemy, but you're incapable of reconstructing what you've disassembled, aren't you?
These are my thoughts written down on paper It’s my only savior from not saying what I wanna say. These are the thoughts that are on my mind Moments that haven’t yet been defined And I don’t know if you will ever understand These are the things I can’t say when we’re alone.
We arrived in Ishbal two nights ago.
And I have written five unsent letters between cards and naps and stops.
Al has managed to confiscate one of them.
I'm not surprised that he's grinning from ear to ear.
It's nothing but jumbled, scattered thoughts addressed to no one... but it's easy enough to tell I had something to say to someone.
I think Al kno--
And now he's looking over my shoulder.
... speaking of Al, I'm undecided as to how to feel about his restoration.
I should be happy... but I can't be blindly happy.
I need to know why it happened -- or, more importantly, how it happened.
Alphonse has been leading me around the town... and the kids recognize him.
We've been staying with a group of them, and Al is the guest of honour.
Something's shady about all of this.
We're alchemists; we're atheists. Maybe this is some sort of set-up to disarm us?
What did Al trade in for his body?
What, what, what?
I'm starting to wonder if the flow of life is truly based on the principle of equivalent exchange.
Because sometimes when you give, it costs you nothing.
Sometimes it's rewarding; sometimes it doesn't give back.
And sometimes, things are taken from you... and you're left with nothing in recompense.
I don't know.
The Ishbalian kids believe in Karma here.
Their parents would probably punish them if they knew.
Karma's like equivalent trade in that I doubt its tenacity and verity as I see more and more inconsistency in both doctrines that blatantly negates them.
... I wonder where Mustang-no-taisa stands on these ideas.
Does anyone want to watch Momo while Al and I are gone?
Momo's our new pet cat.
I already can't bear to part with him, but... tomorrow we're setting out for Ishbal.
Al doesn't know this yet, either.
I can't ignore my intuition. I believe that if there's any hope in manifesting the Philosopher's Stone, then we'll find our lead in that city.
Intelligence has been much too mysterious about that war-torn town, and that only makes me that much more certain secrets are being withheld.
Damned military only gives up some slack when its own personal gain is in mind.
... Mustang asked me a curious question. Though I hate to recount our conversation, I can't help but remember when he asked me what I'd do with the completed Philosopher's Stone once I did succeed in restoring Alphonse...
I suppose I'd have no other choice than to release it to the military. I'd at least be observing the principle of equivalent trade.
... wouldn't I?
As a State Alchemist, I should.
But whose to say how long I will hold that title after the Stone's production.
Whose to say what will happen when it is created.
Chaos will break out among the alchemists.
But every alchemist knows that what can be made can also be unmade.
I'll destroy it once I've restituted my brother and kept my promise to not only him but myself.
They make you drink your milk and they yell at you when you don't take your shoes off at the door.
And they're clingy! They delight in playing mind games, and it seems like one week out of every month they get upset over everything and make me want to transmute a hole in the ground to hide in until the storm passes.
Winry's changing attitude has brought these realizations into focus.
She looks at me with bigger eyes, and I catch her staring at me. Me. Not my (her) automail.
Then when I ask her what the hell her problem is, she blushes and snaps at me for my latest bout of negligence.
"You've gone and wrecked yourself again, Edo! You don't appreciate my beautiful work because if you did, you wouldn't be so careless and nearly get yourself killed! I'm so worried about you! What will I do if you break more than just your automail...?"
I feel so powerless. Aren't I supposed to be a state alchemist?
I'm used to the feeling of being detested for who I am... for what I practice...
And I'm used to being spited.
But that man... his arm...
I've heard rumours. People have talked about him, the "Eye of God" passed fearfully between whispers.
Some Ishbal refugee.
That war is a frustrating mystery to me. I've only managed to gain tidbits of information from top-secret documents I'm not even supposed to have acquired and clipped, cagey snippits from those who'd lived to see the war or suffered the loss of their family or friends to its cause.
But every last one of them who speaks of Ishbal speaks with a faraway voice.
And their eyes look haunted.
I'd never seen Mustang look more haunted than that night.
I'd never seem him angrier. He was absolutely incensed...
He was fire himself.
... I can barely bring myself to come into his office, but I know that's not an option.
I have to see him. We've all got duties.
I was scared...
I was so scared.
It wasn't alchemy, and I don't understand it.
I don't understand God.
I... I wonder what Sensei would have done. I wonder what she'd say.
I know she doesn't approve of my allegiance to the military (well, as allegient as Edward Elric can be).
I feel like I've failed her miserably.
There are so many faces I can't bear to see right now... because I know they'll see the shame I'm wearing like it's pinned on my sleeve.
Winry might not notice, though. She's coming over today to make repairs on my arm. That run-in bent the joints, rendering me unabale to bend at the elbow for too long.