Hopelessly (In)Humane | FMAB Reader-Insert

3. A Death Sentence

     You're walking alongside Sascha around the perimeter of the mansion, which also functions as the town's military base. After a bit of convincing, Sascha stopped glancing over his shoulder like Arzen was going to leap out and have him executed on the spot, and he told you everything: of mutilated bodies brought out to the buzzards, of bright lights and screams they were ordered to ignore.

     'From what he told me, it sounds like Arzen's been experimenting. But with what? Why does he need alchemists?' Gold? Human transmutation? Immortality? Part of you hopes that he's a little more original than most megalomaniacs, but he's already built his evil lair on top of a hill. This will probably end up being one of the missions that makes you lose a little more faith in humanity. Well—you glance over at the hazel-eyed boy walking quietly beside you, lost in his own thoughts—maybe not.

     "Hey Sascha, I've been meaning to ask, does your dad own the restaurant in town?"

     He stares blankly at you for a few moments before his lips curve into an easy smile. "Oh, you've met my old man?"

     "Mhm." You return it with a small smile of your own. "I like to stop by town before these kinds of inspections, get a feel for morale in general. You don't learn much when people are showing you what they want you to see."

     "Ah. That's smart. Sounds like something my mom would do." His eyes are tinged with nostalgia. "Believe it or not, she used to be a water alchemist."

     Used to be. You keep your observation quietly to yourself, letting Sascha speak as the two of you slowly walk around the mansion.

     "Not state certified or anything like that, but, she used to keep the oasis water so clean that you could see straight through to the bottom." A smile lingers on his features, his bright eyes staring off in the distance. If you try hard enough, you can almost imagine the Krowatol he sees, of a secret treasure glimmering in the sunshine—a woman with dark hair and soft, drooping eyes watching over the crystalline waters, wearing the same smile as Sascha.

     "Was she one of the alchemists that Arzen...?" There's no need to finish the sentence, and you don't, more for Sascha's sake than your own. You shouldn't have even asked, but your mouth moved quicker than your brain—it was too late to take it back now.

     Sascha stops. For a while, he doesn't move, save for the tremors that rack his body. He shakily exhales, opens his mouth, closes it, and then settles for a nod as words fail him.

     You take a few steps forward and then circle back to meet him. Gently, you place your hands on his shoulders, making him glance up at you; if not for the relentless, desiccating heat, his eyes would have been filled with tears.

     "Sascha, I don't know how much it'll mean to you, but I'm sorry."—beneath your palms, Sascha's shudders increase; he closes his eyes and shakes his head back and forth but you keep your grip tight and your voice steady—"Sorry that Arzen's been allowed to continue his reign of terror,"—up and down his chest heaves in shallow breaths, he's hyperventilating—"sorry that your mother was lost to one man's selfish ambitions and no one's done anything,"—chapped lips part to release a drawn out yell, just barely over a whisper; you wait until he finishes—"and I'm especially sorry that I had to make you relive all of this."

     You squeeze his shoulders with all the strength you can muster. The force of it is enough to surprise Sascha and reward you a look at those bright hazel hues. You catch his gaze and refuse to let it go. "Arzen's going to get what he deserves, I promise you that. It won't bring back any of the alchemists or the oasis, but, at least it'll keep Krowatol from being swallowed by the desert."