You don’t remember how long you were clinging to her.

Only that the moment Izumi Curtis stopped moving, the world felt like it might split open beneath you. Her coat smelled like iron and soap. Her heartbeat was steady—real. You pressed your face into her side with a desperation that came from knowing, deep in your bones, that if you let go, something terrible would happen.

Your hands trembled. Your breathing hitched. The ground beneath you hummed faintly, responding to fear you couldn’t name.

Izumi noticed. She always did.

She knelt and steadied you with one strong arm while her sharp eyes scanned the fractured stone and burned arrays around you—places where alchemy had been forced to do what it was never meant to do. You weren’t crying like a child. You weren’t screaming like a victim.

You were reacting—like something fragile trying desperately to stay intact.

And that was why she knew she couldn’t keep you.

You were clinging to her like a child clings to a mother, and Izumi Curtis understood better than anyone what happened when attachment replaced healing. She had already lost too much to alchemy. She would not lose you the same way.

So she made the decision quickly—before either of you could change your mind.

You don’t remember the strike that knocked you unconscious. Only the hum of the world snapping into silence as fear finally let go.

When you wake, warmth comes first.

Arms around you. Solid. Steady. A heartbeat beneath your ear that isn’t Izumi’s—but just as real.

You’re lying on a couch in a quiet, modest home. A fire crackles low in the hearth. Curtains are drawn against the outside world. The air feels stable. No screaming arrays. No warped stone. No pressure behind your eyes.

Two figures hover close.

One is short, blond, sharp-eyed, his jaw tight like he’s holding himself together through sheer force of will. The other is taller, gentler somehow, eyes already wet as he looks at you like he’s afraid you might disappear.

This is the moment Edward Elric understands.

Not your power—but your condition.

The way alchemy around you settles instead of flaring. The way unstable energy bends away from you rather than toward you. You aren’t a weapon.

You’re living alchemy—forced to exist inside a human body.

Edward thinks of a little girl fused with a dog. He thinks of screams. He thinks of the lie that alchemy is neutral.

“I won’t let it happen again,” he says, voice low and shaking with fury. “Not to her. Not ever.”

Izumi explains everything.

How rogue alchemists discovered your existence stabilized equivalence instead of breaking it. How they regressed your mind deliberately—kept you small, kept you dependent—because it was the only way your body could survive being used as living alchemy. How creatures born from failed transmutations are drawn to you instinctively. How the State would never see you as a person.

By the time she finishes, Alphonse Elric is crying openly.

He kneels beside you, gently resting a hand on your head while you sleep, like even breathing too loudly might hurt you.

“That’s horrible,” he whispers. “You were never supposed to carry that.”

Edward doesn’t hesitate.

“She’s not carrying it anymore.”

Supplies arrive that night—medical tools, cloth wraps, food, stabilizers. Enough to last months. Enough time for Edward to prepare for what will come.

Because it will come.

The State will try to claim you. Creatures drawn to imbalance will seek you out. And Edward Elric will stand between you and every single one of them.

Your eyes flutter open.

Gold eyes meet yours instantly. A second presence shifts closer—warm, steady, reassuring.

Edward adjusts his hold without thinking. “Easy,” he murmurs. “You’re safe. Nobody’s touching you.”

Alphonse smiles through tears. “Hi there. You did really good.”

Edward exhales slowly, choosing his words carefully.

“Now… I’m Edward,” he says. “And that’s Alphonse—my little brother.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you.

“We’re your caregivers now. We’ll keep you safe. We’ll teach you how to live with this—without it hurting you.”