Chapter Text
Even before the war, Ishbal had never been considered a place of peace and tranquility. In fact, the general consensus on the region was that it was unforgiving, inhospitable, and barren. The sand scorched the feet of those who walked on it, the dry air suffocated beings that had not evolved alongside the creation of its rolling dunes, and the sun beat down on the land as though it had a personal vendetta against every living thing.
Ishbal was not made for the weak. It was made for a people who could withstand its harsh conditions, even thrive in them. The region reared tough people whose culture and practices protected them from the unyielding desert. They lived in tandem with the ways of the land and did not compete with the blazing sun but lived benevolently underneath its gaze.
They were able to prosper despite the bleak conditions of the desert, building close knit communities, and cities. And although the environment was harsh they were able to bloom even without the use of alchemy.
Now, Ishbal was worse than barren. If the region was barren it would be void of everything except sand, and this was far from the truth. The desert was littered with mass graves, toppled cities, and fertile with the spilled blood of those who had once called the region home.
The perpetrators: the Amestrian military, State Alchemists, and her.
Riza had not been stationed in Ishbal long but she had already grown used to the screams of the dying and blood soaked sands. Of the rat tat tat of gun fire, and explosions that snuffed out life; even the resounding snaps that signified hell fire would come raining down on unsuspecting Ishbalans.
Perhaps grown used to was the wrong phrase. Riza would never truly be used to these horrors of war. She knew deep down that they would haunt her forever. But she could push her thoughts and feelings down. Pretend they did not exist. Become stoic and unemotional. Follow any and all orders; be the perfect soldier.
She was good at pretending. Becoming hollow, pushing feelings down until only a smidgen of herself remained; it was something she had done all her life. And so, when her first opportunity to kill had presented itself, she pretended not to care.
She crouched in her snipers nest, the butt of her gun snug with her right shoulder, finger brushing the side of the trigger – waiting. A stretch of plain desert was between her tower and the recently destroyed city she surveyed. A slight movement in the blackened ruins caught her eye and she adjusted her aim, her sights resting on the head of the unaware Ishbalan.
But the trigger remained unpulled. Riza would not shoot him unless she had to; there was no reason to kill him.
He did not move an inch, scared that as soon as he crawled out from his hiding place, he would be struck down. She watched him from her perch, praying to no god in particular that he remained hidden.
It was then that she saw the State Alchemists surveilling the area for survivors. Survivors that they would kill. One fell behind, seemingly interested in the soot covered ruins. He wore blue military pants, but his matching military jacket was missing, exposing the white t-shirt that strangely dazzled white, despite the desert sands that coated everything else.
The alchemist reached his hand out towards the ruins as he walked, trailing his fingers through the soot. He seemed unaware that he was heading straight for the Ishbalan. Did he realize the enemy was near? Riza answered her question when she looked through the scope and landed on the alchemist's features; he was smirking. He was like a predator playing with his food.
When the alchemist came within feet of his hiding prey, the Ishbalan jumped out and attacked the straggler, but the strange alchemist did nothing to defend himself. His smile widened in delight.
Her crosshairs lined up with the perpetrators head instantly. She fired, and watched the light leave his eyes, his body fall to the ground, and a pool of blood slowly spill out from the entry wound.
His red eyes were what haunted her the most. The weariness she had glimpsed before was gone, instead replaced with rage and was unforgiving. She knew that if he was given the chance, he would kill her in an act of revenge for the massacre of his people. But a rock sat in the bottom of her stomach as she watched the light from his eyes fade. The memories and life events that had made him him was gone. He became nothing, just a husk. She saw how quick his life was snuffed out; once bright eyes grew dim then dulled.
It was wrong.
The State Alchemists carried on their mission, leaving the dead man where he dropped. The straggler gazed toward her snipers nest, squinting his eyes to see past the blazing sun and waved in thanks; his tattoo of a crescent moon within a triangle was on full display. His lips pulled back in a terrifying grin, showing off his white teeth. A shudder ran through her entire body. Riza was not thankful for his gratitude.
Riza watched the patrol join up with another and when she could no longer see them through her scope she packed up her rifle. On her way down she tried not to think about the man she had murdered. But the look in his eyes burned into her mind. He had been filled with rage, yes, but she noticed another feeling in its depths – fear.
Not long after her descent, a loud blast rang out across the sandy landscape as the ground beneath her shook. Apparently, the patrol had found a large gathering of survivors.
It was not the blast that disturbed her. When she looked out in the general direction the patrol had trekked she saw large, orange flames, spiraling upward, seemingly igniting the air itself on fire. She knew the cause of them – the Flame Alchemist.
Riza tried not to listen to the stories about him in the academy, but it was hard not to hear when it was all anyone would talk about. He was a hero, beloved by all for saving the common people from the insurgent Ishbalans.
His flame alchemy depicted in the heroic stories could not compare to witnessing the real thing.
It scared her. The raw power that he emitted from his finger tips spelled a painful death to those who found themselves in his wake. She could hear the screams of the dying even from where she stood, her feet frozen to the ground. She swore she could smell their smoldering corpses.
What a painful way to die.
The last thing they saw was cold, black eyes whose entire will was bent on destroying every last bit of them. Cold eyes, then blistering heat that melted the flesh off their bones.
A monster; one that she had helped create. The inked lines on her back itched beneath her clothes. Riza felt the sting of the needle as it carved grooves permanently into her flesh, sealing her fate. When she had first arrived in Ishbal and seen the damage that flame alchemy had wrought she felt dirty. The ink in her back leached into her system, contaminating her entire being. She had desperately scrubbed at the array until her skin was raw and red, but the tattoo remained. She would forever be stained by it.
The legacy of flame alchemy would not be so easily washed away; Roy, no, she had made sure of that. The glutinous flames had tasted flesh and would leave no morsel remaining; skin, tissue, fat, muscle… all eaten away. The remnant of the flames would forever be instilled in the broken and cracked bones of its victims. The flames' wrath split stone dwellings and melted sand, which turned into amorphous solid glass after it burned out. The flames had its tendrils in Ishbal and it would never let go.
Everything her fathers research touched was destroyed.
Exhausted, she made her way back to camp. She skipped dinner, too nauseous to keep anything down. She walked to her tent, ignoring jovial shouts from her comrades and kept her face frozen in an impassive expression. Throwing back the flaps, she stumbled inside.
Completely alone now, she released a lungful of air. And with that expulsion, her throat closed up, her knees became weak, and she crashed into the hard ground. Riza hunched over, hands clawing at the ground as her shoulders shook. She let the flood gates open and cried. Rivulets of tears ran down her cheeks and soaked the dirt under her. When she emitted a high pitched whine, she grabbed her pillow off her cot, and tried to stifle her sobs. She crumpled onto her side and sobbed in the fetal position until her tears ran out.
Riza did not bother to drag herself to her cot and remained on the ground well into the night.
The events of that first day in the field repeated again, and again, and again. In semi lucid nightmares, her first victim's eyes seared into hers and the screams of the burning invaded her thoughts.
“We will never forgive you. We will never forget,” they spat.
I know. And you shouldn’t.
Suddenly she heard the flap of her tent being opened. Riza gripped her handgun, spun from her position on the ground and aimed right at the head of the intruder.
She startled, her eyes widening in surprise. Riza did not know who she had been expecting, but it certainly was not him. He still wore a white t-shirt, but now it was covered in dirt; there were some darker stains too. Blood, Riza theorized.
His dark hair was tied back but some strands escaped from the ponytail. They hung from his temple and framed his face. Riza had never met Solf J. Kimblee, but like the Flame Alchemist, the Red Lotus Alchemist was well known; praised for his feats in the war.
She instantly knew that she did not like him.
He huffed a laugh, amused at her current position.
“I know the cots the military provide aren’t the most comfortable, but I’ve never known one to prefer the ground.” He ended his statement with a smirk.
She did not know how to respond to this, confused as to why he talked to her like he knew her. Maybe he talked to everyone like that. It kept people wary of him, and that was how he liked it.
Riza lowered her gun and feigned brushing away dirt to remove any leftover tears. No doubt, her eyes were swollen and puffy from crying. It was dark enough that he would not notice; however, there was something in the way that he looked at her that told her he did indeed notice.
“What are you doing here, Major?” she replied monotonously.
He strode over to her cot and planted himself down. He patted the spot beside him, inviting her to sit with him. When she did not move, he leaned forward, elbows on knees and stared her down.
“I wanted to thank you properly for today,” he replied. “That Ishbalan really took me by surprise.”
“You’re lying,” she said, nonchalantly.
He chuckled low in his throat. “You’ve only just me and yet you speak with such venom. A word of advice, Hawkeye; you shouldn't speak to your superiors like that.” He leaned back on the heels of his hands, “Lucky for you, I don’t mind.”
Curious, Riza garnered a question. “Why didn’t you defend yourself from that Ishbalan?”
“I wanted to give you, miss sharpshooter, a gift.”
She threw him a questioning look. Gift?
He sniggered. “Your first kill.” His face split into a smile.
Riza felt her face start to contort in horror but schooled her expression. Kimblee was gazing at her intently, seemingly taking pleasure in her uncomfortableness. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he unnerved her.
“So, how was it? Won’t you tell me, Hawkeye?” he continued.
Riza forced her voice to be steady. “There’s nothing to tell. Whether I shoot a target or a living being makes no difference. I kill without emotion.”
“Now who’s lying?” Kimblee queried with an amused glint in his eyes.
Riza kept silent, her face showing no remnant of emotion.
Riza felt her skin begin to crawl and her stomach sink when he left the cot and shuffled closer, his hand nearly touching her knee. She froze, a bead of sweat ran down between her shoulder blades.
He was too close.
“Why don’t you tell me the truth? Afterall, don’t I deserve a gift in return?”
Riza was tired, holding in her emotions and then releasing them all at once had exhausted her. She needed him to leave. Right now.
She hardened her expression, raised her gaze and glared right into his eyes. His piercing blue eyes met her intense brown ones, and Riza resisted the urge to flinch.
“I’d like you to leave, sir- Now.” She stressed the last word.
“Ah, come on, no need to be so hostile. You act as if I’m going to hurt you; I won’t.” Kimblee stated in a hushed, low voice.
Bullshit.
“You barged into my tent in the middle of the night, how did you think I would react?” Riza hissed. “Leave now or I swear, I’ll have a talk with your superiors and have you courtmarshalled.”
Kimblee smiled and stood up calmly. “As you wish, little hawk.”
Riza’s stomach curdled at the nickname.
He threw back the tent flaps and stepped out into the chilled night air. Riza watched him stride through the camp and disappear into the pitch black of night.
Riza sprang up and went to close her tent flaps. She stood with her hands gripping the fabric and let out a sigh.
He was gone but Riza knew he would be back; maybe not that night but he had until the war ended to mentally torture her.
She should have let him die.