The road to Central was long and lined with dust.
Aeon moved without escort, without official purpose, and without tracks. He passed through sleepy towns, military checkpoints, and railway crossings unnoticed, his presence hidden behind layers of perception. To the world, he was nothing but a tall traveler cloaked in quiet. To the currents of fate, he was a ripple — small for now, but deepening.
Amestris was fraying.
Not loudly, not yet. But Aeon could feel it in the people — the way they watched strangers too closely, the way their voices carried sharp fear, how they turned away from radios when the news became too uncomfortable to hear. Something had taken root. A quiet dread. A whisper between breaths.
He felt the brothers again before he saw them.
Edward and Alphonse Elric. Their souls vibrated with a unique energy, like a chorus in perfect dissonance. Scarred, brilliant, burdened. Aeon hadn't seen them since the Lab 5 incident, but he'd watched their ripples in the weave of the world.
They were heading for Central too. Closer, now.
He chose not to meet them — not yet. Instead, he followed at a distance, listening to the way the world reacted to them.
On the train toward Central
Edward leaned back in his seat with a groan, his automail clicking slightly as he shifted.
"This damn train is taking forever."
Alphonse, ever patient, sat across from him, hands folded neatly. "It's still faster than walking."
"We should've taken the one yesterday."
"You were unconscious yesterday."
Ed waved that off. "I was resting."
Al chuckled, but his gaze drifted to the window. "Do you ever feel like… someone's watching us?"
Ed's brows pinched. "Like the military?"
"No," Al said slowly. "Not like that. Something older. Like a presence."
Edward frowned, glancing at the reflection of his brother in the train's glass. "Not you too."
Al didn't reply.
But outside the window, far on a ridge above the tracks, a figure stood unmoving, watching the train disappear into the horizon.
Elsewhere
The train passed through a village where Aeon chose to stop. There was something wrong in the air — a village of glassy smiles and quiet children who didn't laugh. He walked through the marketplace slowly, watching how the alchemic lattice here buckled. It was like walking across broken glass beneath a painted floor.
The mayor welcomed him warmly — too warmly. His voice was like syrup, thick and sweet and far too rehearsed.
"We don't get many travelers these days," he said. "Please, feel free to stay the night. The townsfolk would be honored."
Aeon's eyes narrowed. "There are no children playing. No sounds from the fields."
The mayor's smile twitched.
"They're… quiet children."
Aeon did not answer.
That night, he walked the perimeter of the village. It took only moments to find the truth.
A sealed chamber beneath the chapel. A Stone — half-formed — grown from a ritual fed not by death, but by suppression. The townspeople were not corrupted by desire. They were hollowed out by fear.
A man stood guard over the chamber — once a scholar, now half-unmade by the alchemic feedback of Shadow-touched transmutation. His mouth was sewn shut by threads of flesh.
He attacked without a word.
Aeon didn't raise a weapon. He raised his hand, and the symbols carved into the stone around them reversed, reacting to him as if remembering an older truth. The attacker collapsed, his soul burned out by the backlash of the stolen alchemy.
Aeon stepped to the Stone.
It pulsed weakly, whispering still.
"The strong survive. The rest forget."
He placed his hand over it — and in a breath, unraveled its core. The Stone disintegrated into ash and silence.
And for the first time, the Shadow resisted.
A tendril of blackness flicked through the remnants — lashing toward his hand like a whip. Aeon didn't flinch. His eyes shimmered with galaxies. He spoke no words. Only willed — and the darkness retreated.
Not destroyed.
But warned.
—————
Later, near Central
The brothers stepped off the train, unaware that Aeon arrived only hours before.
Edward was all motion and frustration, arguing with an officer about delayed access to library records.
"I saved your damn city last month," Ed snapped. "You can't get me one file?"
The officer looked unimpressed. "The paperwork's not complete. Talk to General Mustang."
Edward grumbled but turned away. Alphonse followed, quiet as ever.
In the distance, Aeon stood atop a tall spire, cloaked in illusion.
He watched them.
He listened to the fabric of the city.
And he felt it — stronger here than anywhere else.
The Shadow had roots in Central.
Not just whispers.
Infrastructure.
Beneath the city
Father sat motionless in his chamber of black marble, surrounded by Homunculi he barely acknowledged.
Gluttony twitched in the corner. Lust sharpened her nails. Envy stared into a warped mirror, scowling.
And in the center of the chamber, a Stone pulsed strangely.
Father's eyes narrowed.
"What is that resonance?" he murmured. "It is not mine."
The Homunculi stiffened. Even they felt it — the dissonant chord threaded into the soul-reactive material.
From within the Stone came a whisper.
"I am coming home."
Father's hand tightened on the throne.
"Find it," he said softly. "Find him."
Back on the surface
Aeon walked the avenues of Central, the light catching only the edge of his presence. No one looked at him directly. Even the city's stray dogs gave him a wide berth.
He passed a fountain where a young girl was weeping over a doll lost in the water. Her mother tried to comfort her, but the child kept whispering, "He's in the water. He told me not to cry."
Aeon paused.
A flicker of violet glinted behind her eyes — not corruption, not yet. But a mark. A fragment.
The Shadow was trying to speak through grief.
He reached into his coat, pulled a smooth white stone, and gently dropped it into the fountain.
The girl blinked.
And smiled.
She forgot the whisper.
Aeon turned and walked on.
To be continued…