I watched him from a distance, trying to keep as much in the shadows as I could. Van Hohenheim, the man whose name sounded like a haunting melody in my shattered mind, walked from one corpse to the next, shouting names in a voice hoarse with grief. Each name had meaning, it was connected to the bodies that now lined the once busy streets of Xerxes. His steps were slow, uncertain, as if he was searching for something - someone - whom he already knew he would not find among the dead. His sadness was palpable. It hung in the air like the dust that covered the ruins of a city. I could see the regret reflected on his face, the anguish of a man who had suffered a catastrophe he could not prevent. His fingers trembled as he knelt before the corpses, his voice breaking with each whispered name spoken.
This tragedy had already played out, its roots deep in the soil of this ruined country. I could feel its weight weighing on my own thoughts, reminding me that I, too, was part of something much bigger and more complex than I could yet comprehend.
But for now, I stayed in the shadows, not wanting to give away my presence. I didn't trust this world. It was unfamiliar to me, though fragments of it resonated in my mind. I had knowledge - fragments of memories that didn't belong to me - but that didn't mean I understood this place. And it certainly didn't mean I trusted its inhabitants, however familiar they seemed. So I watched silently and surreptitiously as Hohenheim approached the railing of the palace's observation deck. The city stretched out before him like a graveyard, once majestic but now decayed. Xerxes had been a beautiful city. I could see it even now, by the elegance of its buildings, the wide splendor of its streets. It was a city of scholars and architects, a place where alchemy flourished, where the pursuit of knowledge had once been paramount.
But now it was nothing more than a tomb, a city of the dead.
Hohenheim stood motionless, staring at what had once been his home. His shoulders were slumped, his whole posture betraying a man carrying the weight of the world's grief. His lips moved as he mumbled something to himself-what it was I couldn't hear, but I could tell from the tone. It was the voice of a man lamenting his past, his friends, his failures.
And then, just when I thought he was going to collapse under the weight of his grief, a new figure appeared.
He appeared almost without warning, coming into view as if he had been there all along, just waiting for the right moment to show himself. He was dressed in an elaborate toga, his regal appearance yet at the same time frighteningly careless. At first glance, he looked like Hohenheim - almost a mirror image - but there were differences. Elusive, yes, but obvious enough to notice. He was slightly larger, his facial features sharper and more angular. His hair, though still long, lacked its former vitality. It was more dull, as if the life had been siphoned out of him, quite like the city around him.
But the most striking feature was his aura. There was something unnatural and malevolent about it, something ancient and all-consuming. I felt it before I saw it-the heaviness of his power, the darkness that seemed to envelop him like a living thing.
And then the realization hit me like a blow to the chest. It was him. The creature born from the test tube, the one who orchestrated the destruction of Xerxes. The first homunculus. The very creature who had deceived the king of this city, who had woven a grand lie in pursuit of absolute power. The one who turned an entire civilization into nothing more than fuel for his alchemical ambitions. He had devoured the souls of Xerxes' subjects, sacrificing their lives to create the Philosopher's Stone and his freedom from the confinement of the flask.
And now he stood before Hohenheim, his own distorted reflection. The Homunculus, the embodiment of greed and ambition, no longer lurked in the shadows. He had surfaced from the depths, his gaze fixed on the man who had once been his unwitting pawn. I remained in place, hidden but wary, my body tense as I watched from afar. The homunculus
didn't say anything at first, just watched Hohenheim as if studying him, waiting for some sort of reaction. There was no need for words - yet. The air between them was saturated with history, the weight of all that had happened. And then, finally, the homunculus spoke.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" His voice was even, deceptively calm. There was a sort of grim mirth in it, as if this moment was nothing more than a long-awaited reunion. "You survived, after all. I wasn't sure you'd agree."
Hohenheim didn't answer immediately. His hands gripped the railing so that his knuckles turned white from the effort of holding himself together. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and low. "Why... why did you do it?" His words were filled with a kind of desperation, a desperate need for answers.
The homunculus tilted his head slightly, as if pondering the question. "Why? I thought you should have realized by now. All this... it was necessary."
"Necessary?" - Hohenheim spat out the word, turning to face the creature that had once been his creation. His eyes burned with rage, guilt, emotions that were impossible to untangle. - You killed them all! You used me! You used this entire city for your... your madness!
A smile slid across the homunculus' face, devoid of any warmth. "Madness? No, Hohenheim. Perfection and for the sake of Freedom."
I watched what was happening, and my thoughts became confused. This was the moment Hohenheim had come face to face with the source of its suffering-the homunculus, the creature that had turned this city into ruins. And yet, as I stood in the shadows, some part of me wondered why I felt such a deep connection to it. Why did their struggle, their pain echo so deeply in me? What was my role in this story?
The homunculus seemed almost... cheerful, like a child amused by a new discovery. His smile stretched unnaturally, and satisfaction flashed in his eyes as he looked at Hohenheim. The joy he felt at the destruction, at the suffering he had caused, was palpable. It seemed that everything had happened exactly as he had intended. His newfound freedom pleased him, and I could feel the weight of his power permeating the air.
Hohenheim, however, was still immersed in his grief. His shoulders slumped under the burden of immortality, of being one of the few survivors. He was a man who had been dragged into a nightmare from which he could not escape. Every word he spoke was heavy and the emotion behind it was unconcealed.
And yet I remained hidden, watching their conversation from the shadows, trying to catch every word. There was no need to reveal myself. Not yet. I had no idea how they might react to my presence, and something told me the homunculus wasn't the kind of creature you could just walk up to. In fact, it was odd that he hadn't noticed me until now. I was standing close enough for someone like him to sense an intruder. But there was no indication that he was aware of my presence. Not a single glance in my direction. Not a single pause in his conversation with Hohenheim. It was as if I were a mere insect to him, insignificant in the general scheme of things. I should have felt uncomfortable about this, but strangely enough, I felt relieved. If I could slip in unnoticed, I could continue to observe, learn, and eventually think through my next move. For the moment, being invisible suited me fine.
When Hohenheim's voice shook under the weight of his grief, I realized I had procrastinated long enough. This was not my battle, and I had no intention of interfering in the intractable struggle that was being waged between them. Not now, not when so much remained unclear.
I turned silently and slipped back into the shadows, heading for the outskirts of the city. Here I could still find something useful that might help me leave Xerxes behind. Whatever happened here, whatever the Homunculus let loose, it was none of my concern. I needed to forge my own path, find my own answers. As I made my way through the deserted streets, the weight of the city's silence came over me again. It was a beautiful place, at least it had been before what had happened.
And yet, as I walked, something drew me in. A long-standing feeling of something familiar. Like I knew this place. Like I'd been here before. But how? That question echoed in my head, tearing at the recesses of my memory. I reached the outskirts, the city behind me now seeming nothing more than a monument to death. I looked back at the jagged skyline and the palace looming in the distance, where Hohenheim and Homunculus continued their silent battle of character. Then, sighing one last time, I turned away.
I wandered the empty streets of Xerxes, digging through the remnants of other people's lives. The city was dead, but its ghosts remained, not in the form of spirits, but in the objects left behind - tools, clothes, forgotten family heirlooms. I searched with purpose. I needed supplies for the road. Anything that could help me get out of this abandoned place. There had to be something: a map, if I could find one, a bag to carry my belongings, perhaps even weapons - swords, daggers - left behind by guards or soldiers who had suffered the same horrible fate as everyone else. What struck me, however, was how little I cared about the morality of it all. After all, I was looting the dead. But as I went through their belongings, I felt no guilt. No remorse. It seemed that their deaths had severed the connection between their belongings and any feelings associated with them. What mattered now was survival, not principles.
Despite the lack of urgency, I found myself acting with mechanical precision. One house after another, one corpse after another. Taking off what I needed, discarding what I wouldn't. Clothes weren't hard to find - simple tunics and pants that I could move freely in. I dressed myself, moving from place to place, and found a long tattered cloak that must have belonged to a merchant, and sturdy boots taken off a dead guard. There were swords, too, though many of them looked bad, as if the world in this place had been around too long and the weapons had been neglected.
I tried a few, weighing them in the palm of my hand before choosing one that seemed balanced and sharp enough to be useful. It was soon joined by a dagger, which I attached to my belt with a belt I found. As I walked through the city, however, something kept me uneasy. I felt no hunger or thirst, not even the dull ache of fatigue. It seemed that my body was in a state where the basic necessities of life were no longer being met. I could go on indefinitely, without food, without rest. And yet, despite this strange immunity, I took a burden of water and some food - dried meat, stale bread - more out of habit than necessity. Perhaps the process of cooking, of carrying provisions, had somehow strengthened me, reminding me that I still had some connection to the physical world, even if I was not bound by its laws.
Gradually, the bag I'd found filled with essentials, and I slung it over my shoulder, about to leave town. But then something clicked in my mind, a thought that had been dormant until now: money. If I leave Xerxes, who knows where I'll end up? The outside world might be as unforgiving as this place was, and gold, however irrelevant it might seem here, would have value elsewhere. I began rummaging through pockets, overturned drawers, and broken lockers in search of coins. It wasn't long before I found what I was looking for - a small purse bag, half hidden under a fallen chair, heavy with gold coins. The feel of them in my hand was strange. Gold, however valuable, meant nothing to the dead. But I took it anyway, dropping each coin into the wallet until it was full. Who knows what lies ahead? Better to be prepared for any outcome. With my bag full of essentials, my sword at my side, and my wallet jingling with gold, I looked toward the horizon. It was time to leave Xerxes and find answers.
It was time to leave.
It was time to find out who I really was and why this world seemed both foreign and so familiar at the same time. Xerxes was only the beginning.