Chapter 1

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Winter, 1891, Eren Elric's Age: 1 month

Van Hohenheim faced many things in his modest life that lasted well beyond centuries. From dealing with the constantly aching guilt of his people's demise, to barely holding onto his sanity as he talked to the 536 329 Xerxian souls, learned their story and burned their names into his memory. He survived as the last of his people, with a beautifully kind wife he didn't deserve, living in the country-side of Amestris. It was so peaceful that it momentarily made Hohenheim forget about the monster residing only a train ride away.

One thing, he perhaps dreamed of so long ago, finally became reality. He had a family. Trisha (the only woman Hohenheim believed to be an angel) gave him a son. Truly, Hohenheim shed tears that day as he witnessed the miracle of life, all the more precious as he was part of the making.

It truly made all alchemy seem grey when compared to his son's beautiful emerald eyes and woven sunshine for hair. Yes, his son, Eren, was the only being Hohenheim could call "perfect" but that's probably what every father feels when they hold their child for the first time.

This was also currently his reason for panic.

Under Trisha's amused gaze, Hohenheim was awkwardly holding Eren (After one month of cowardly hiding in his office) "Uh..." Half-lidded eyelids barely covered the brilliance of Eren's deep emerald gaze, perhaps a combination of his own unique Xerxian gold and Trisha's forest ebony. Hohenheim couldn't help the conflicting feelings of joy and pain when Eren first opened his eyes. Joy for his son who was developing so quickly, a fondness that his son at least inherited one physical trait of his beloved mother.

But he felt pain as the loss of golden eyes, the famous trait of the Xerxians. Though it was a small throb at most.

Hohenheim, in the beginning, felt immense relief that Eren didn't turn out weird like he feared, not that he would love him any less, but his Homunculus status definitely left wonder if his offspring would be... "normal"

Eren looked as normal as any baby, perhaps immensely adorable in his eyes though that may be because he's made up half of his gene counterpart (Then again, anyone who glanced at Eren was equally charmed). His child was beginning to grow soft platinum gold hair, a shade paler than the common gold hair of the Xerxians. His skin was not quite as bright as a common Amestrian nor tan as a Xerxian.

Trisha was certain that Eren would have the appearance of an aristocratic noble when he grew up (She's been reading too many of her romance novels). The Alchemist of the West merely sighed and nodded along, thinking that surely her rose-tinted glasses were blinding with mother's love.

(Oh how he underestimated woman's intuition.)

Summer, 1891. Eren Elric's Age: 6 Months

After 6 months of careful observation, Hohenheim came to a conclusion: no weird abilities like extended demon nails or alchemistic immortality. A big sigh of relief. Hohenheim gave his son a small sincere smile. His son let out a quiet sigh, all the more delicate in his tiny frame,

An overwhelmingly smart fast developing baby? Check. Cue sudden worry.

The amount of heart attacks his son had caused him had made Hohenheim wonder if he will use up his philosopher's stone much earlier than he predicted.

Like that one incident...

"Oh, my g--" Hohenheim dived to be the cushion for Eren's sudden dive from atop the desk (how did he get there?!). He grunted in mild pain as his jaw met the floor.

He felt soft tapping on his back. Eren was patting his back like a master pleased by his dog. Hohenheim felt his bones snap in place as he sat up (He was getting old...), placing the baby on his lap. Eren looked up, his face showing no sign of panic of a fall that could have killed him.

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