Chapter #2: The Journey into Silence
The cold morning air seeped through the cracks of the barracks. The music of war—that same melody Kimblee had listened to with pleasure the night before—seemed to fade beneath the weight of routine.
Outside, the sound of boots marching in unison and the military anthem echoed against the walls. The machinery of Amestris continued its relentless advance, indifferent to the fate of a single prisoner.
Inside the barracks, Kimblee remained in chains, his face filthy, his body exhausted. The two commanders hauled him to his feet without a hint of gentleness, their tone steeped in mockery.
—Sleep well, Alchemist? —one of them asked, unable to hide a sarcastic smile.
Kimblee did not answer immediately. He merely rolled his eyes, a mixture of fatigue and disdain in his gaze. Lifted by the arms, his chains clinked, yet he made no attempt to break free. He had already learned that resistance was pointless.
—Come on, move —the other commander ordered, shoving him lightly.
They forced him to walk between them, past the murmurs and laughter of nearby soldiers.
With every step, the commanders described what awaited him: a grim future in a high-security prison, where prisoners who had once been State Alchemists were no longer seen as heroes, but as outcasts.
—You'll have fun there, Alchemist —one of them joked, malice dripping from his voice—. The revolutionaries will welcome you with open arms, if you know what I mean.
Kimblee knew exactly what he meant.
In Amestrian prisons, State Alchemists were regarded as traitors—government dogs. Worse still, those who had taken part in the Ishval War, like him, were despised even more. The hatred toward them was not merely political, but visceral. Among the inmates were many enemies of the war—men and women imprisoned for opposing the state, for defying the policies that had turned Ishval into an extermination ground.
Kimblee understood this perfectly. That was why the mockery did not bother him. His mind was already elsewhere. The war was not over for him. And at that moment, he might be the prisoner—but circumstances could change in the blink of an eye.
Suddenly, a figure stood out among the crowd.
Basque Grand.
The Iron Alchemist—a man Kimblee knew well for his actions during the war, and who now, inexplicably, stood there. It was uncommon for an alchemist of his rank to be assigned to something so… routine as escorting a prisoner to jail. Kimblee paused for a moment, struck by the presence of someone so important on such a trivial task.
He smiled, knowing he would not be able to resist making a comment.
—Well, Basque —he said in a playful tone—. Tired already of playing with the people of Ishval, State Alchemist?
Basque showed no surprise. His expression was almost as imperturbable as Kimblee's—a face worn by war and sacrifice. Still, the Iron Alchemist offered him a smile that, while distant, was not without respect.
—Orders from above, Kimblee —he replied, his voice deep and authoritative.
Nothing more needed to be said. Kimblee understood. The strings of power always moved in unpredictable ways, and everyone was a puppet—though some preferred to believe they were the puppeteers.
Four more guards joined the small group. All were Amestrian soldiers, their blue eyes and pale skin coated in battlefield dust. Each looked more like a specter than a man of flesh and blood, consumed by the conflict. The march resumed, and Kimblee—chains still weighing down his wrists and ankles—was escorted without ceremony toward the military vehicle waiting at the entrance of the barracks.
The vehicle was imposing. Another reminder of Amestris's war machine.
Kimblee allowed himself one last glance at the city, at the end of the road he had walked as an instrument of the state. The vehicle's doors slammed shut with a metallic crash.
Silence fell once more.
Only the sound of the engine began to rumble through the air, marking the beginning of a new chapter for Kimblee. But he knew it would not be the end.
Not while the world remained at war.Not while he could make the music play again.
And the war was far from over.
(End of chapter )