Some time after the fight…
The battlefield was still.
The wind whispered solemnly across the quiet fields where the battle had once raged.
Smoke curled from smoldering remnants of siege engines, the bodies of the fallen lay shrouded in hastily woven linens, and voices that once sang for vengeance now murmured for peace. The scent of scorched earth and iron blood had not yet lifted from the soil, but already the world began to breathe differently—heavier, wiser, mournful.
Aeon stood at the edge of a wide plain just beyond the ruins of the cursed castle, watching the gathered mourners kneel in reverence. Lira and Bram offered words of comfort to the grieving, their presence a source of stability in the fragile dawn of freedom. Yet Aeon's eyes were drawn elsewhere—to the body that lay before him, still and dignified despite the ragged wounds that had once marked him a monster.
Aleron.
Once a corrupted soul, now purified by will and sacrifice.
Aeon lowered himself to one knee beside the body, resting a hand on the knight's cold armor. "You were more than they made you," he whispered. "And you proved it."
A hush fell over the field as Aeon's presence pulsed. Time itself seemed to slow, like the breath between heartbeats. His aura deepened—an unseen tide swelling outward. The sky dimmed, the light bent, and then… it happened.
The stars reflected in Aeon's eyes.
No, not stars—galaxies. A thousand swirling constellations lit in the deep of his gaze, endless and eternal, like glimpses into the divine fabric of all creation. The world faded into silence. Time stopped.
And from the stillness, a presence stirred.
Aleron's spirit rose—translucent and weary, yet radiant. His form was not that of the broken man who had died, but of the knight he once aspired to be: tall, proud, noble. His eyes widened in reverence as they met Aeon's true form.
He dropped to one knee, overwhelmed by the vision. "My Lord… I see you now. Not as man, not even as god, but as what lies beyond both."
Aeon spoke softly, his voice echoing with reverberations not of this world. "Your soul is unshackled. What is it you seek, noble one?"
Aleron bowed his head, tears forming in his ethereal eyes. "In life, I failed. I bent to darkness. In death, I found truth. But I have no place among the free—not as I am." He looked up. "Let me serve. Let me protect this world, so no one else need fall as I did. Not as a man. But as something more."
Aeon studied him, the galaxies in his gaze shimmering. "Service born of guilt brings ruin. But service born of love… endures." He raised his hand, and from his palm bloomed a light like the beginning of a new cosmos.
"I name you Aleron, Guardian of Light, watcher of this world, shepherd of broken souls."
The light swept over Aleron, consuming him in radiance. Wings of pure energy unfurled from his back—neither feathered nor flame, but something elemental, eternal. A symbol—Aeon's mark—shone upon his chest.
Then he vanished, rising beyond the sky to the sacred veil between worlds, where he would keep eternal vigil.
A warm breeze stirred as the world exhaled in peace.
Behind Aeon, the Ritual of Renewal had begun.
Lira and Bram stood in the heart of the ruined castle, surrounded by surviving villagers and freed soldiers. A circle had been etched in gold and blood, ancient runes flickering to life as the priests chanted. Roots rose from the broken stone, water flowed upward in defiance of gravity, and a great tree of light burst through the earth—a symbol of rebirth.
The land healed. Slowly, but surely.
And yet, Aeon did not stay to witness it.
He stood upon the cliff where the final blow had been struck, where the cursed king had fallen and the shadow had whispered promises of vengeance. The darkness still lingered—deep in the cracks of his soul, in the questions he could not answer.
He had saved this world. But it was not the end.
It was never the end.
A ripple in the fabric of reality pulled at him. The light changed—bent, twisted, became something ancient and impossible. A doorway appeared, black and white, a vast Gate etched with shifting symbols, pulsing with cosmic equilibrium.
The Gate of Truth.
He stepped forward, unafraid.
As he neared, the space around him unraveled like pages torn from a book. Threads of reality pulled away. The sounds of the world behind him faded, and Aeon passed through the Gate.
He awoke in whiteness.
There was no ground beneath his feet, no sky above—only endless light. And in that light stood a figure.
A silhouette, tall and featureless. Eyes like mirrors. Smiling, but not with kindness.
Truth.
"So," the entity mused, "another soul chosen by the void… or perhaps one who chose himself?"
Aeon's brow furrowed. "Where am I?"
"The space between," Truth replied. "A realm where knowledge has no cost but always comes at a price."
Aeon stepped forward, but found no resistance. "Why have I been brought here?"
Truth chuckled—a hollow sound that echoed like memory. "Because you've crossed thresholds others fear to approach. You've severed what made you human. And now… your past chases you."
Aeon narrowed his gaze. "You know what I've done."
"I am what you've done. What you abandoned. What you feared. I see your shadow, Aeon. And so will you."
A silence stretched.
"I cannot give what is already taken," Truth whispered. "But you may learn what was lost… if you pay the price."
Aeon's heart beat louder. "What price?"
Truth's smile widened. "That… is what you must discover in the next world."
With a motion, the Gate behind Aeon reopened.
On the other side was a world of alchemy, steel, and scarred hearts.
Truth's voice followed him as he stepped through.
"Welcome to Amestris."