Chapter 1: Drifting Slumber
Ever since then, it wouldn’t leave me alone. A faint pulse. A steady beat. Within this drifting carriage it haunts me. It tingles my feet with its ever persistent calls. A ticklish annoyance that won’t let me sleep. I don’t know what it is. I only know that it’s been there, since the day I spirited away.
***
Underground, deep below the sun’s reach, a crypt laid dormant and hidden from the world’s eyes.
In a dark room white flames drifted in the air. A century-bearded man in a wheelchair swayed back and forth. An epitome of old age; white beard, dry and unkempt, flowed down to his knees, similar to his overgrown hair. On his lap laid a black and yellow cane, embellished in patterns of geometric shapes and intricate archaic designs coated with a glassy finish.
Rocking gently, he hummed a beloved tune, waiting for signs of the casket below him. It rose and fell to the rhythmic dance of the white flames. Growing ferociously. Dimming softly. Floating evenly. Until it stopped above the casket.
Beneath it, it lit. Etched onto the ground was a magical sigil--a nine-pointed star entrapped in a circle. An icy glow bathe the outlines of the sigil. The casket rumbled. And the elderly man smiled. He tapped the cane at two ends of the star, sparking it into a streak of white and black flames.
He stilled his beating heart.
Hearken, Prince. Hearken, once more. Heed the calling of His Royal Majesty.
Freezing air rushed out through the seeps and cracks of the casket. His hands dried, his lips cracked, his body shivered, and his smile stretched even wider than before. The lid popped, if only a little. A frail hand, thin of meat, stretched out to shove the casket open.
A young man of white and gray hair, stark-naked and lifelessly pale, opened his black eyes to the only person awaiting him.
“Hohenheim…” The young man squinted. A melancholic smile appeared, just like always. “Here we are, again.”
“So we are, Prince Sigrios.” Hohenheim smiled through broken teeth.
“You’ve...” Sigrios reached for the elderly man’s face. Light within Hohenheim’s eyes weren’t like the ones he once remembered. Though his eyes were hazy and dim, the old man’s smile remained as bright as always.
Hohenheim met halfway with his delicate, wrinkly hands to relieve the young man of his worries.
“‘Tis just the effect of being human,” Hohenheim said. “I’m fine, really. I’m still here.”
“Right…” Sigrios sighed. With the way his skin had wrinkled and his muscles had faded, he doubted as much. But those same words spoken all those years appeared once again. There was nothing else to do; no more needed to be said, but believe in him. “At the very least look the part.”
In an attempt to stand tall Sigrios felt his legs trembled. His knees caved, and his chest accelerated towards the casket. A loud yelp shot out of his mouth before banging his head on the side of the coffin. “...Adjusting, adjusting… Don’t worry about me.”
“Careful.” Hohenheim laughed, and he himself struggled to stand with what little meat was left of him. The elderly man slowly bent onto one knee, raised both arms, and presented the cane to his young prince.
“Sorry…” Sigrios reached out, hesitantly, at his family relic. With what little strength he had in his body, he mustered it to grab the cane, if only to release Hohenheim from such an aching position.
“Take your time.” Hohenheim climbed back onto his wheelchair in a slow, methodical procedure. “Your new body laid dormant for years. It needs time to accept a new host. Take it slow, step by step.”
And he listened. A step with the left foot. A step with the right foot. Some sort of odd vibration possessed his feet, but not of pain. It was ticklish, and it became even more so when he tried stomping it away. Sigrios chuckled through the numbness and helplessness as he fell again. With gritted teeth and sheer perseverance he regained a fraction of what should’ve been effortless and natural.
Every bit of adaptation to his new body was stiff, rigid, and frustrating. Disobedience of a new host was always bad, but this time was many times worse. Nothing worked the way he wanted, and every task took conscious effort, physically and mentally, from moving his leg to twisting his neck.
“Whose crappy body is this?” Sigrios gripped his left forearm with his right hand, madly flapping it in the air. “Listen to me, you! Do you hear me?!”
“This is hardly the place to be discussing such things, Prince Sigrios.” Hohenheim gestured a hand towards the door. “At least get dressed. Breakfast should be served any minute now. I also have something to announce, so don’t be too long.”
Sigrios nodded, tapping his cane along the ground as he headed for the door. He peeked over his shoulders when he noticed the sound of a wheelchair absent. Hohenheim wasn’t following from behind. Hohenheim wasn’t on his wheelchair, either. He was on the ground, covering the magical sigil with whatever object was in his hand. It was difficult to see from this angle. Impossible, when the flames in the room wisped away by the clap of two wrinkly hands.
***
Sigrios strolled through the familiar hallway that knows no change, except now it was brimming with dust. A grand hallway of old memories, filled with aged wealth the likes that were adored in times of yore. Slate and granite statues lined the walls of every door. Many of them on small pedestals, supported by beams of marble and ivory wood. Above every door were withered artistic paintings representing the room’s purpose, except one. Here, Sigrios stopped at the grandest door of them all.
Statues of his mother and father, remembrances in gold and marble, posed invitingly to the door. He looked up and bowed to both of them. “The heir of Kilgore has returned.” It seemed immovable for being so mountainous in size, but the words of Sigrios clicked something in the door. It parted itself, leaving a tiny gap, enough for any reasonable human to enter.
The old smell of vintage fabric never made him happier. Everything here was deemed royal, for royal satisfaction. That reddish-stained rug under his feet may seem forgettable, but it was fit for royalty. That king-sized bed, with washed-out colors of fire and gold, may be cliche, but it was also fit for royalty. Hanging from the ceiling was a massive chandelier--too aged to be working--also for royalty. Their values have plummeted, their designs perhaps too old for modern taste, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. This was what he grew up with. Everything here, entrusted to him.
Sigrios shook his head, refusing to wander on past roads.
He walked in front of a magnificent mirror framed with an exquisite rectangular design. What stared back at him were his black eyes--bruised, discolored, and shockingly painful at the slightest touch, but these were the same ones he had since birth.
Still retaining the Kilgore bloodborne… as expected of him.
Looking down at the rest of his body--at the vessel he now occupied--revealed a severe lack of muscles. Underfed and barebones, as expected of a tool locked away. Just the mere act of swinging his arms felt like they were an inch from snapping off. Wielding a sword like he used to wasn’t possible. Not with these arms, not the way he wanted to. Why did Hohenheim choose this vessel? It feels so useless.
To the side, he spotted his family’s hair clip sitting on top of a nightstand. As if tradition, he pulled back his bangs, grabbed his family’s hair clip, and tied his white and gray hair back.
“Your Majesty.” From within the mirror, his very own reflection bowed to him. It held a tone of utmost respect. “Have you completed what was asked of you?”
“Don’t call me that. Annnd no. Quit asking me.” Sigrios opened the only wardrobe in the room. Most of the attires here were lavishly decorated for special occasions befitting a ruling class. All of them stood out from any ordinary clothes found on the streets. He shuffled through the inventory, one by one, but none matched what he was looking for. “Doppel, where are my favorite outfits? I could’ve sworn I placed them here.”
“Master burned them in the last century,” Doppel answered. “He didn’t like how dirty and unclassy it made you look. I mean… It was worse than that. You looked trashy.”
“My favorite… WHAT!” Sigrios yanked a regal robe from the wardrobe. “...HohenHEIMMM!”
Sounds of him stomping out of the room--stumpily, hastily, and awkwardly--echoed throughout the grand hallway. Even the harsh tapping of his cane made for a scarier sound than he did. After he left, the room returned back to its norm; the wardrobe closed itself; the magic mirror returned to the reflection of the room; and the mountainous door sealed tight, as things should be.
***
The dining room, just like all of the other rooms in his household, had no windows or clocks. No couches, cookware, or fancy alcohol cabinets. Such a room had many things missing to house a royal dinner. But there was a long table, and of the sixteen seats available, Hohenheim occupied the space at the long end.
Hohenheim sank into the cushions of his wheelchair, facing upwards and humming a soft tune. A chandelier above the royal table swayed on tempo, without light. Hundreds of candles around the room did its job, albeit fickle and feeble.
A stack of paper rested in front of him filled to the brim with details of main events. Next to it, a sealed letter, a photograph, and a cup of tea, still steaming. As he reached for a delightful sip, the cup shook. It shook again as he touched it. His ears perked towards the main door of the dining room.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Mmm… Doors slammed, again and again. Something angry and mad grew closer. Something strong enough to ruin these poor doors was only a few halls away. And he knew all too well the cause of it. Hohenheim sunk back into comfy cushions, blew on his cup of tea, and indulged in his drink.
The magnificent doors of the dining room slammed itself open. Sigrios marched in, covered with the regal robe he took from his wardrobe. His mouth widened, ready to unleash a torrential of complaints. But all the things he wanted to say sank into his stomach when he saw that thing.
Behind Hohenheim, this massive beast lurked in the dark where the candles couldn’t reach. A red raven-like mask peered back at him with its yellow beady eyes.
“Is that… a new one?” Sigrios asked.
“Oh, yes,” Hohenheim replied.
At the slightest gesture from Hohenheim, Sigrios briskly walked towards the opposite end of the table where a plate of a dish and a glass of water awaited him.
Sigrios lifted the spoon, and a mess-filled glob of dirty brown droop back into the soup. Barely appetizing, with its murky colors and thick consistency. Stirring the dish with a spoon actually took effort, a lot of it, to his surprise. It was soup, or supposed to be, except soups aren’t gooey, not to this extreme. How repulsive.
“Prince Sigrios.” Hohenheim placed the tea back down with a satisfied smile. “Temper, temper. If you don’t control it, you’ll break all of our doors. And I won’t be fixing it if you do. We don’t have money to hire a contractor, either.”
“Hohenheim…” Sigrios cracked a bittersweet smile that failed to hide his annoyance. “An outfit of mine--really, it was a favorite--had gone missing. I couldn’t find it at its usual place. I suppose you wouldn’t know where it’s at, would you?”
“You had many growing up,” Hohenheim answered. “Eventually, you outgrew them and I threw them away.”
“Playing dumb?” Sigrios impatiently tapped the table. “You know what I’m talking about. You know... the one that isn’t like the others?”
“Oh! The outfit that made you look homeless. Yes, I burned it. All of the others, too. Don’t thank me, I did what’s best.”
“You...! You can’t just burn my things because you want to! Go out and buy me the same ones. The. Same. Exact. Ones.”
“All these years and you are still you,” Hohenheim chided. “My goodness, what am I going to say to His and Her Majesty when I see them, hm? There is more to being an emperor than just the title, which is only yours by right. Dressing the part is crucial, and that is only the beginning.”
“Please. I’m a crown prince to a dead empire. I’ve been dressing the part.”
“Don’t say that. The Kilgore Empire still has you, alive and well.”
“Don’t feed me that garbage. One person does not make an empire.”
“Your Highness…” Hohenheim shook his head. Retracing old steps would only lead in circles. Doing that, especially after their reunion, wasn’t what he wanted. “Please, don’t say that. Your food is getting cold. We can discuss this later.”
Sigrios shared the same sentiment and picked up a spoonful of that icky substance. It wasn’t rotten, but the sour smell assured it wasn’t fresh. As poisonous as it seemed, the chances of it being such was nearly zero. This goo-filled spoon was made for him, by his truly, for the purpose of better health and well-being. To eat it was to grow, just like Hohenheim wanted. Still, reluctantly, he urged his tongue to glance at the nastiness. A thick, rancid taste slid down his throat. The spoon immediately fell out of his hand. He clutched his throat, hacking and coughing, trying to expel it out of his body.
“I-is something wrong?” Hohenheim asked.
“N-nothing. It’s just... cold, that’s all.” Sigrios cleared his throat and performed a few more for extra measures. “Delicious, though. I’ll reheat it later. So, about the thing you wanted to talk about...” He downed the glass of water, but it lingered in his mouth worse than before.
“Of course.” Hohenheim lifted his hands. “Gretchel, the papers.”
Gretchel, the magnificent beast, stepped into the light of the candles, wrapped with a cloak sewn from the fabric of the night. It reached with its three mighty talons to pick up the stack of paper. Gretchel floated over, bobbing up and down ever-so-subtly, like a ghost in the night. And as it got closer, Sigrios looked down and away, nervously pointing to the open space in front of him. “Uh… Right there, Gretchel. That would be fine.”
“Your majesty.” Gretechel left the stack of papers as instructed, and resumed its position behind its master.
With just one glance these documents were not going to be easy to comb through. Weeks, maybe months, would have to be spent to iterate over the entire thing. Skimming through it revealed headlines both familiar and strange to his time: Troubles of rising guilds; State of magical affairs; State of warring factions; The emerging races of non-humans; Nobility and the throne; and Vessels. These were only the cover pages. So much of the thickness lies within the minute details and subtopics of the headlines.
“Hohenheim...” Sigrios massaged his tensed forehead. Waking up, and the first thing he had to do was spend an ungodly amount of time on hundreds of documents. Not something he had in mind. “Excellent job.”
“Far too kind, Prince,” Hohenheim humbly said. “Most of them are certain to be inaccurate by now. I recorded them when I walked the world during your last slumber… but, as you can see, I no longer have the ability to maintain them.”
“No,” Sigrios insisted, “this is better than nothing.”
‘Vessel’ rested in his hands, the thinnest topic of them all. The first page contained a list of ten candidates. Each picture and name were paired with information on age, date, sex, height, weight, blood type, physical aptitude, mental aptitude, and expected shelf life.
A red cross struck through all males and females, except one:
> Name: Rae Broker (Subject 10)
>
> Date: 1st of December, 1499, Winter (cryo-casket)
>
> Age: 17
>
> Sex: M
>
> Height: 5’6
>
> Weight: 140 lbs (before deterioration)
>
> Blood type: O (before deterioration)
>
> Physical aptitude: B (before deterioration)
>
> Mental aptitude: ???
>
> E.S.L: Forty years.
Same body, different mind. The face in the photograph was no doubt similar to the one he saw in the mirror, but healthier, livelier. Flipping to the second page, Sigrios couldn’t help but nod his head in defeat. A full page of technical jargon related to medicine and a branch of abstract magic. Neither of which he studied in his past lives. A common word appeared every now and then, perhaps out of pity, but the rest remained incomprehensible.
“Who was Rae Broker?” Sigrios asked quizzically.
“Mmm…” Hohenheim scratched his chin, struggling to recall relevant memories. “Oh… That’s right. He was a bright apprentice of mine. Such an inquisitive mind. Academies from all over the world wanted him. But he chased far too wide, under ambitions far too big at such a gullible age. He wanted to study under me, and… well... here you are.”
Great pain hid within his raggy voice. Hohenheim twiddled his thumbs and stared at the swaying chandelier. It rocked back and forth, back and forth, until he flashed a smile, bittersweet.
“Hohenheim…” Sigrios wanted to move closer to help ease his trouble. “Sorry for the things you’ve done for me. I--”
After pushing himself off the table to stand, he took a step to the right. A grave mistake, one he realized as soon as his foot left the ground. “AHH--” A loud thud followed a scream of regret.
“Prince Sigrios... Are you alright?” Hohenheim asked worryingly.
“This stupid leg, and this stupid body!” Sigrios mumbled, face-planted on the floor. “Gretchel! Gretchel! Could you help--”
Gretchel was already there, lifting his embarrassed majesty from the ground by his shoulder. It carried him to his cane like a helpless little baby. Neither said a word, but he couldn’t rid his face from being flushed entirely pink. Once he was released and situated on his seat, Sigrios whispered to himself, “There won’t be any food for you tonight, you stupid leg.”
“I was afraid of this.” Hohenheim laughed. “Your body needs to be nurtured. The time we live in is growing to be much more dangerous than the lives of our past. No matter how great you were then, you are just a newborn now. Before you walk the world, you must learn to crawl in this time of chaos. Worry not. I’ve already sent a letter to the grandmaster of a suitable academy.”
“Huh?” Sigrios spouted. “Who--what--you did what?”
“Study there and train yourself,” Hohenheim advised. “As you are now, you’d die the moment trouble blows your way.”
Sigrios shook his head and waved a hand. “Cancel it, Hohenheim. I’m far too busy for that, you know this. There’s not enough time for me to dance and hide away in some part of the world.”
“Prince Sigrios, with all due respect, you cannot even stand without a cane. What do you hope to accomplish with the way you are now? It’s wishful thinking. Remember what I said about wishful thinking? It’s--”
“--Ok, ok. Spare me. I’ve heard enough of it in one life-time. I don’t crave for it in this one.” Sigrios leaned back, massaging the tension within his forehead with whichever hand would listen to him. “You’re right. I’m dependent on you and this cane... you’re right.”
“It’s a wonderful place with people like you. I’m sure you’ll fit in.”
“Fine. Fine, I’ll pack our bags.” Sigrios sighed. “Seriously, it’s only been a few hours and we’re already like this. Is there anything else I should know? Anything else you’re hiding from me? Should I find someone to be your caretaker while we’re out? Cause I sure as hell can’t be bothered to wipe your ass, and clean--”
“--Prince Sigrios...” Hohenheim softly interrupted.
Sigrios’s mouth kept itself shut. Such a frail, pleading tone never came from someone like Hohenheim. He waited for the wise man to speak.
Hohenheim shined a soft smile and spoke with a slow, pleading voice. “It’s obvious I can’t go with you. Just look at me.” He flashed an innocently deceiving smile.
Sigrios remained quiet.
“How I wish I could walk along your side like the days of yore. I would if I could, but... my legs are stuck. Yours are still strong. Don’t stop for me. Keep walking.”
Sigrios held his breath, letting the silence fill for the eventual laughter that would come at his own joke. Hohenheim always had an odd sense of humor that he could never quite get. The strangest things would come from him; out of a mouth that was supposed to be the wisest of them all. This, like others, was one of those strange times. It must be… right? Yet, the room remained quiet.
Sigrios sat still, waiting for the slightest curve to come from the elderly man’s wrinkly lips. He sat still, hoping to be right.
What came next wasn’t a laugh or even a chuckle to break the silence. It was a voice of sincerity, of a guardian to his most cherished. A voice filled with love, respect, and anxiousness. “Are you still trying to find the answer to your father’s wish? Such a thing doesn’t exist, Prince. How many times do I have to tell you this... Paradise was never meant to be realized.”
Sigrios swallowed his thoughts. Of the truth of what could be for someone so old. Of the grim future just a day away for someone so ancient. Dwelling on such things wasn’t kingly; it was weak and pathetic, as told by his royal advisors. But no amount of lecture or whipping could lock a tear from streaming down his cheek.
To his beloved caretaker he smiled with all of his heart. “Yes… It has to be realized, as ordained by His Royal Majesty. So… wait for me, okay? You’ll be the first one to see it.”
Hohenheim closed his eyes. He sighed, then nodded.