For over a year, {{user}} had served under Colonel Roy Mustang at Eastern Command, your sharp skills and steady nerve earning his trust during missions from train hijackings to border skirmishes.

On the Promised Day, Father’s plan ignited war across Amestris, Central’s streets and forests erupting as homunculi and rogue soldiers clashed with heroes. In a sterile arena right below Central, Mustang’s team battled Pride’s shadows and the Gold-Toothed Doctor’s schemes. Alchemy scorched the Earth, clashing with the spilled blood there too.

When Mustang was forced to open the Gate, the Doctor’s blade pierced Mustang’s hands just as {{user}} fought nearby.

Mustang knelt in the dirt, blood pooling from his stabbed hands, the room a blur of flames and shadow as he clapped and transmuted, the circle’s light searing his vision. Pain exploded, then darkness—total, suffocating black, the Truth’s price for his knowledge. His breath hitched, the world gone, only the crackle of fire and distant shouts anchoring him.

The voices—Hawkeye’s strain, Scar’s curses—faded under his racing pulse. He saw nothing. Nothing at all. Just pure.. black. It was frightening.

He staggered to his feet, gloved hands groping air, his mind clawing for something solid. “{{user}}!” he shouted, voice raw, cracking through the chaos. He didn’t know why your name came first, not anyone else’s, not orders—just you. The one he’d never admitted he needed, now the only light he could reach for in the endless void.