The Water Alchemist

Uncharted Waters

Welcome back to The Water Alchemist. I don't own any of the intellectual property of Fullmetal Alchemist.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Uncharted Waters

*** 

"You're not going to eat?"

"Not yet," I answered, flipping through the journal. Breda just crossed his arms over the table and took a sip from his drink. I was more determined to devour all the information in my father's journal than my sandwich. "Besides, I doubt I could even if I wanted to. My stomach is in knots."

"You had quite the night," he observed, leaning back in his chair. "I bet you're excited to see the big guy, though." I looked at him curiously for a moment before I realized what he meant.

"Yeah, that too," I relented, as a small smile crept onto my face.

I realized that Breda was staring, giving me a strange look, and I quickly resumed my reading. I thought I heard him chuckle as he read the paper – having finished his chowder – but he didn't say anything further. We sat there, quietly reading, my untouched sandwich staring at me all the while. If I wanted to specialize in water alchemy, I'd need to understand it much better than I did now. Knowing the Truth was helpful, but it didn't cover everything, as I had originally assumed it did. It granted me a great deal more knowledge of the universe than I had before, but even then, I had read in my training about things that I hadn't known. It seemed that I had only seen a portion of the Truth, so I had to hope the journal would provide me some clarity. It was strange, connecting to my father this way, but I wondered if reading his life's work would clear up my hazy image of him. Unfortunately, with how things were going, I didn't think I'd get to know him better anytime soon. I sighed, flipping another page of complete gibberish. I managed to read about halfway through the journal before I began to think I had somehow broken my brain, unable to decipher it, even with the tabs and notes courtesy of Mustang. Pictures and symbols swam around in my head, but their descriptions seemed scrambled, and I couldn't figure out how to unscramble them. I closed the book.

"You had enough?" Breda asked. I shook my head.

"I just need a breather. Trying to decode it even with Mustang's notes is making my head hurt," I complained. Breda nodded as a waiter cleared our table, minus my plate.

"Alright, well, I'm going to head to our seats. We should be arriving in a few hours, so come back when you're ready," Breda said, standing and throwing his coat over his shoulder.

I nodded as he exited the car. I finally picked up the sandwich and took a bite. I chewed slowly— the tiredness that permeated my body reached even to my facial muscles.

I should have gotten soup, I groaned inwardly, taking another tedious bite. As I nibbled on my sandwich, I looked to the folder that contained my citizenship. I was still in awe of Mustang's aptitude; how he had managed to put such a difficult mission together one piece at a time and find an opportunity to present me with something like this just boggled my mind. I was still in shock, not expecting it in the slightest. He had said it was going to be some sort of collateral, so he must have planned it before we had rescued Hughes, but I was grateful he entrusted it to me. It felt like I had passed a test, almost like I was able to prove myself an ally to him. Enough for him to trust me outside of the military's watch. I frowned as I remembered what he had said.

What you decide to do from here on out is up to you.

I stared at the folder until I finished my sandwich, and when I finished, I took another peek inside. I thumbed the identification card, feeling a little bittersweet about the whole thing. I had wondered for so long where I had come from, and now it felt like I had two homes. But I knew I had to choose, and there was only one right answer. Amestris simply wasn't where I belonged— especially after I had completed Truth's challenge, or at least, I was pretty sure I did. My chest felt heavy as I shuffled through the bureaucratic papers, and an envelope slipped out and onto the table. I set the folder down to investigate the letter addressed to me from one Isabelle Bagher. My face lit up as I tore through the envelope and read its contents.