Another day had come. After haggling for a few coins, I managed to find a place in the caravan bound for Kreta. I said goodbye to the villagers, exchanging a few last words.
"I might come back, but the world is vast, and there is so much more to see," I said to the boy who often visited me. His face was serious, but I could see that understanding flashed in it.
The caravan, made up of traders, travelers, and guards, was bustling with activity. Along the way, I talked to many people. From each conversation I extracted a thread of knowledge, each thread weaving a tapestry of understanding of this strange world.
One evening by the campfire, I spoke with a man named Ulysses, an experienced merchant. "So, tell me," I asked, "what is really behind these wars brewing between city-states?
He took a large sip from his cup, mulling over the answer. - Greed, ambition... isn't that always the case? But there is talk of more than just power. Some say there is an alchemical secret at the heart of it all. A power that can tip the scales," he murmured.
- Alchemy? What kind of secret is that?
- They say," he looked around to make sure no one could hear him, "there is a Sage who teaches methods of manipulating life itself. Supernatural powers.
This conversation didn't leave my mind for days. I began acquiring scrolls, treatises, and even old books on alchemy. At night I read and experimented. One of the treatises described a method for creating an alchemical circle, and one night I found myself scratching out symbols on the ground.
"What are you doing there?" - Amara, a young woman from the caravan, asked.
"Testing something," I replied cryptically, not taking my eyes off the symbols. "Alchemy."
"Is it a form of magic?"
I shook my head, focusing on the process. - It's not magic. It's a science... sort of Manipulation of matter, that fits the description better.
I placed my hands on the circle and felt the energy flow through me. The ground around the circle trembled slightly, shifting. For the first time, I realized that I could create with the alchemical circle. A strange sense of power and purpose settled in me.
- Tell me," I asked, studying the scroll, "what do you know about the Sage who preaches alchemy?
The scholar squinted, looking at me. "Ah, the Sage of the Wastes. A hermit rumored to have found the key to eternal life. But his teachings are dangerous. Not everyone who seeks him returns with knowledge."
I pondered this for a few days as we continued on. What if this Sage had answers to questions about my own origins? Could his knowledge help me understand my infinite life, my limits?
More questions than answers crowded my mind, but the journey continued. I practiced every night, hoping for revelations.
Amara: "You seem to be obsessed with alchemy lately. What do you hope to find?"
"Answers. About myself. About the limits of what I can do. Maybe even... something else, something new to this world."
Ulysses: "Be careful, wanderer. Alchemy isn't just about power, it's about balance. And if you take too much, the world always demands something in return."
I realized that my curiosity was a two-pronged stick. Every time I learned something new, it only added to the mysteries surrounding my existence. Did my abilities really have a limit? Or was I destined to wander this world endlessly in search of knowledge but never find answers?
I began to become more familiar with alchemical transformations, gradually grasping the fundamental law: nothing comes from nothing. To create something, you must sacrifice something else - either the material itself or parts of what you want to create. The principle of equal exchange was at the heart of each of my experiments, and with each success I felt that I was getting closer to unlocking the secrets of alchemy.
After what seemed like an eternity on the road, we finally reached Kreta.
Kreta was a federation, a mosaic of nations united under one government. The central government gave each state autonomy, but kept a close eye on the balance of power. Each tribe had its own representative in the Central Government, reminiscent of pre-unification times when the tribes were little more than warring factions.
The decentralized nature of Kreta was both its strength and weakness. Over the years, this system had led to countless internal conflicts, many of which still smoldered beneath the surface.
Walking through the streets of Kreta, I could feel the tension in the air. The local tribes were culturally different and were not shy about their hostility. The central government had taken strong measures to establish controlled borders between the tribes that served as a buffer to prevent direct confrontation. But even these precautions were not reliable. Conflicts broke out regularly, the flames of old rivalries unwilling to die down.
One evening, as we sat in the tavern, Idris, the caravan leader, told us about Kreta's complicated politics.
- 'You see,' he said, finishing his drink, 'these tribes...they hate each other. But they hate it even more when they're ruled from the center. The government walks a tightrope, trying to keep everyone happy - or at least not at each other's throats.
"But how does the Central Government manage that?" I asked. - They seem to be putting out fires all the time.
"It is," he replied. "That's why they control the borders so strictly. They play peacekeepers, making sure none of the tribes spill blood in the wrong place. But the hostilities are still going on. You'll see when we get further along. The deeper you go, the more tension you feel."
As we delved deeper into the study of Kreta, I couldn't help but wonder how sustainable the equilibrium the Central Government was trying to maintain was. Every system had its limit, and Kreta felt like it was balancing on the edge.
We reached another city within Kreta, the name of which I never heard, but whose streets were bustling with life and energy. It was rumored to be the home of one of the followers of a famous sage of alchemy. The thought of meeting him, of learning from him, ignited a fire in me. His teachings were said to transform many things, literally and figuratively, and I was eager to deepen my knowledge of alchemy.
I spent the better part of two days wandering the city and asking almost everyone I met about this alchemist. To my surprise, not only did people know nothing about him, but many didn't understand anything about alchemy at all. In response, I received blank stares and a polite shrug of the shoulders. Alchemy seemed to be a foreign concept here - at least to the common people.
That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the chill of night wafted through the air, I was on the outskirts of the city, wandering the narrow streets. Just as I was beginning to lose hope, a sudden flash of light - bright and recognizable - caught my attention. It was the distinct glow of an alchemical transformation.
Curiosity pushed me forward, and I quickened my step. As I got closer, I saw a young man in his thirties standing next to an old woman. He was fixing a broken wagon wheel, but not with physical labor. Instead, he placed his hands on the wheel, setting it against the wagon, and with a quiet whirring sound, the wood and metal transformed, merging seamlessly together in a gentle flash of light.
My breath caught. This must be the man I was looking for.
The older woman smiled gratefully and handed him a small pouch, probably as payment. - Thank you, young man," she said in a husky voice, her age evident in every word.
The alchemist nodded with a resigned expression. - There's no need to thank me. It's not a difficult task at all.
I waited until the old woman was gone and her cart with the newly repaired wheel rolled away before I approached him. The alchemist noticed me and raised an eyebrow.
"You were looking for me, weren't you?" - He asked in a nonchalant but understanding tone.
I hesitated, then nodded. - Yes. I had heard of your connection to the sage of alchemy. I have studied the art myself and would like to learn more.
The young man studied me for a while, then pointed to the nearest bench under a large tree. "Sit down," he said. "We'll talk."
As we sat down, I felt the anticipation building in me. This man had answers, and I was finally on the cusp of something important. "I am not a sage," he said, "but I have studied under one of the disciples of a sage. What do you want to know?"
"Everything," I answered, burning with impatience but trying to contain my excitement. "But first tell me how these transformations can be accomplished?
I watched him carefully, studying the ease with which he performed the alchemical transformation. There was no alchemical circle drawn, no visible preparations, and yet the wagon wheel was restored as if by magic. A question plagued me. "How did you do it?" - I asked, unable to contain my curiosity. - You didn't use the circle. How is that possible?
For a moment, he stared at me with an impenetrable expression, as if weighing whether to share something deeply personal. Finally, he sighed and raised his hand, revealing the ring on his finger. In the center of the ring was a red stone, gleaming softly in the dim evening light.
"This is the stone," he said quietly in a serious voice. "This ring allows me to perform alchemical transformations without the aid of a circle."
The moment I saw that stone, a wave of something familiar swept over me. I had felt it before - its presence, its power. It triggered memories of Hohenheim and that homunculus, characters from my past that had left their mark on me. The feeling was undeniable, and a chill ran down my spine.
"what is it?" - I asked in a slightly louder whisper.
"This stone is like no other," he said, rubbing the surface of the ring with his thumb. "It was given to me by my teacher. He told me that with it I could practice alchemy with a single thought, without having to draw a circle. But the truth is, I don't fully understand its origin and its true power. My teacher didn't understand either.
I was thinking feverishly, absorbing his words. I wanted - no, I needed this stone for myself. With such a tool, the boundaries of alchemy would be shattered. I could easily transform the world around me, no longer bound by the confines of materials or the alchemical circle.
"How can I get it?" I asked, and my voice gave away my inner hunger. "Or how can I create it?"
He shook his head slowly, meeting my gaze. "I don't. My teacher only said that this stone was created by a sage from the East. A powerful alchemist, far more knowledgeable than any of us. But whether there is a way to create such a thing... that is beyond my knowledge.
I was disappointed, but soon it was replaced by determination. If this wise man from the East had the knowledge to create such a stone, then that was where I needed to go. The thought of having such power in my hands was intoxicating.
"I understand," I said, keeping my composure. "Thank you for sharing that with me."
He nodded. - 'In exchange for my knowledge, I would ask you to share yours. You have traveled extensively and seen much. Tell me, what have you learned about alchemy during your journey?
I thought for a moment, deciding how much to tell. "I have learned that alchemy is not just about the materials, but the intention and will behind it. The more I learn, the more I realize that the true power of alchemy lies not in formulas, but in understanding balance. There is a price to pay for everything, and sometimes that price is more than just material."
He listened intently, nodding in time with my words. - That's the point," he agreed. - But remember, the more knowledge you have, the greater the risk. A stone can give power, but even that comes at a price. My teacher warned me never to depend on it, because it can cloud the mind.
"I'll remember that," I said, though in my opinion the charms of the stone far outweighed the warnings. I would track down this sage from the East, whatever it cost me. For now, however, I would continue to study and perfect whatever I could.
We continued to discuss alchemy, and the night air filled with our thoughts and ideas. The flickering light of the torches cast shadows on our faces as I worked up the courage to ask him about something I had been pondering for a long time.
"Can I.... try to use your ring?"
He hesitated, looking at me with suspicion. - It is a powerful and dangerous weapon. My master entrusted it to me for a reason.
"I understand," I said, trying to make it sound sincere. "But think of the knowledge I could gain. Just a minute, I promise. You could even observe me."
After a moment's silence, he sighed, weighing the risks. "What if you break it? It's not something you can just replace."
A few coins jingled in my pocket, and I offered them as a bargaining chip. - I'll treat it with care, I swear.
Finally, he relented and handed me the ring with a cautious nod. - 'Just be careful. I can't lose it, not like this.
As I slipped the ring onto my finger, a strange sensation came over me, like that chaotic sound-a cacophony of voices overlapping and swirling together, echoing in my head. I was flooded with memories of being outside the gate, the screams, the whispers, the despair of lost souls. What is this? - What's going on? - I muttered, feeling the connection intensify, the voices merging into a flood of emotion and energy.
The man was watching me, a look of confusion on his face. - What's going on? Are you okay?
I barely paid attention to his concern; I was immersed in worry, a web of souls dancing on the edge of my consciousness. And then it hit me like a wave - the realization of what this ring was actually made of. "It's souls," I breathed out, and a mixture of awe and horror swept over me. "This stone is made of people's souls..."
He looked at me warily, not understanding the depth of my reaction. "What do you mean?"
Я сосредоточился на ощущении, на потоке голосов, шепчущих о тайнах Of the past. "That's how a sage from the East created this, isn't it? By encasing souls in stone." My mind worked feverishly, calculating the possibilities. "If I could learn to harness that power, I could create my own."
The confusion on his face was replaced with concern. "Souls..."
"But how did the sage do it?" I insisted, insistence audible in my voice. "How did he learn to create this stone? Is there a way to control it?"
I watched the alchemist, he frowned his eyebrows thoughtfully, clearly trying to realize the weight of my words. His surprise was obvious, but behind it was unmistakable fear.
"hmm... Too bad," I muttered to myself, pondering the implications of what I had just said. This 'sage from the east' probably preferred to keep the true nature of the red stone a secret. What alchemist would agree to sacrifice souls for power? How many souls were bound to this stone?
The word "sacrifice" echoed ominously in my mind, bringing me back to memories of Hohenheim and the homunculus. Hohenheim, with his beliefs against such dark practices, would never have created a stone like this one. No, this "sage" must have taken a darker path, a similar one was used in the city of Xerxes.
"You seem to be brooding," the alchemist said, bringing me out of my reverie. He looked at me cautiously, trying to figure out the expression on my face. "What are you thinking about?"
The moment the dagger plunged into the alchemist's throat, time seemed to slow its run. His eyes widened with shock and confusion as his life force left him and his blood rushed in a scarlet stream. My only thought was that I needed that stone for my experiments.
- What?" he breathed out, instinctively grabbing his neck in a futile attempt to stop the flow of blood.
I pressed the red stone against his neck wound. When the stone made contact with his skin, I felt an almost intoxicating power spill over me. The blood stopped flowing and the color returned to his face as he took a gulp of air.
"See?" - I said, and a thrill of discovery ran through my veins. "It works! The stone...brings you back!"
His eyes darted around, filled with a mixture of fear and betrayal. Without paying attention, I plunged the dagger deep into his heart. The blade met no resistance; I could feel the stone affecting him, healing him even as I stabbed. He gasped again, but this time the confusion on his face was replaced by horror as it hit him. In that moment, I realized: the stone had bound his life to him, but could not shield him from the inevitability of death. In a burst of determination, I ripped the stone from his neck with my hands in a swift, violent motion.
His lifeless body collapsed to the ground, the dagger still protruding from his chest. The glow of the stone in my hand faded, and a strange silence enveloped us. I had taken a life, but in doing so, I had discovered more than just an alchemical transformation - I had seen the dark potential of what it meant to manipulate life and death. Looking at the stone, I felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over me. Did I want to follow this path? Did I want to sacrifice others for my own understanding?
"Is this what it means to strive for knowledge?" I whispered to myself, immersed in the silence of the alley. I had crossed a line that could not be crossed again.
And yet the thrill of discovery would not let me go. The power of the stone surged within me, promising incalculable possibilities. I looked back at the alchemist's lifeless body. I now had the stone, the key to understanding the very essence of alchemy and being itself. But at what cost? Clutching the stone tightly, I stepped out into the bustling streets of Kreta.