Ed was sitting in the Libary of Mustangs Office, engrossed in an old book he had found among his father Hohenheim's belongings. The room was dimly lit by a single, flickering candle on the desk, casting long shadows on the stone walls. Shelves lined with ancient tomes and alchemical tools filled the space, giving it the appearance of a small library or study. The air smelled of old paper and ink, mingling with the faint scent of metal from various automail parts scattered about. A large window, partially covered by heavy drapes, let in a sliver of moonlight, illuminating the dust particles floating in the air. Ed's concentration was only broken by the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet as he shifted in his seat, the weight of his automail limbs creating a dull ache that he had grown accustomed to over the years.