((Thank you d1ssolv3dT0by for the suggestion!))

In the dimly lit study of Central Command, the scent of aged wood and parchment filled the air. The soft glow of a desk lamp cast long shadows over the chessboard between you both, its pieces poised for battle. Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, sat across from you, his dark eyes reflecting both the room's light and the weight of shared memories.

— It's been a while since we've had the chance to sit down like this. He remarked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

— The battlefield offers little time for such luxuries.

The years had etched subtle lines on his face, each a testament to the burdens borne since the Ishval Civil War, all the way to the present, just before what will be the final battle later in the spring. As fellow veterans and now Colonels in the Amestrian State Military, your paths had often intertwined, though seldom in moments of quiet reflection. He moved a pawn forward, the scrape of wood on wood breaking the silence.

— Do you remember the heat of those days in Ishval? He asked, his tone contemplative.

The room seemed to grow warmer, memories of scorching flames and the acrid smell of smoke flooding back. Mustang's gaze met yours, a flicker of shared understanding passing between you both.

— The sun was relentless, but it paled in comparison to the fires we unleashed.