He promised.

     He promised he would be with her, today, but he still left, and to add insult to injury, made her promise that she would stay home. Said that it was dangerous outside right now, that there were bad people nearby.

     Of course she got upset. How could she not?

     Lyssa never liked it when people broke promises; her mama taught her well that she should never make promises she couldn't keep. But it seems like Daddy's mama never taught him that.

     And so, when Rosaline comes knocking on the door, asking her to play hide and seek with everyone, Lyssa happily obliges.

     She doesn't notice that Rosaline's grin is just a little too wide and a little too sharp, and even if she did, perhaps she wouldn't have cared.

     After all, if Daddy could break promises, so could she.

     It was always a false alarm anyways.

     She had always been good at hide and seek. It was one of her favorite games, really, because Lyssa was very rarely found. The places she would hide were a little odd, yes; if they were in a house she would slip between furniture and the wall, or hide inside of something high-up, like an empty closet or cabinet. If they were outside, she would climb up into a tree and watch from amongst the branches as the seekers tried to find her.

     It was nice, sometimes, not being able to be found. Of course, after a while it would get boring, but she would come out laughing either way.

     Today, Lyssa decides to switch up her game a little.

     Today, she hides in a little cluster of bushes, and she waits.

     She counts the branches. She thinks.

     She waits.

     She doesn't hear anybody nearby. This is fairly normal, in the beginning, but she should hear something by now, right? At least Arthur or George would have passed by. They always searched the entire hiding area from top to bottom first. It feels like it's been hours, why can't she hear anything?

     As Lyssa waits, the once-boiling rage has since come to a simmer in her mind. A part of her, albeit small, almost regrets. Almost. After all, it's not like it's her fault. Daddy always could have said no to going in to work. It wasn't like they could make him. He promised her he would stay and he still left.

     He left her alone.

     She scowls, plucking a leaf off of the branch in front of her. They looked like the leaves on the strawberry bush in the backyard, and Lyssa pulls her knees up to her chest, beginning to fold the leaf into a little square.

     She's still mad. But Daddy said he would be back soon, didn't he? Maybe she wouldn't mind losing this game of hide and seek and going home, afterward. If he'd already gotten home, then Daddy would be worried, wouldn't he? As upset as she was, she didn't want him to be scared. She's only seen him scared once, before, when everyone got sick.

     She didn't want to see him scared. She knows that being scared is never fun.

     Lyssa can hear footsteps nearby. They sound heavier; that was probably Louis. He was the oldest of all of them at fifteen, and his parents were already discouraging him from playing with everyone, though it hadn't stopped him yet.

     ...Maybe she could still have some fun.

     After all, Louis was always spooked real easy. If she just jumped out at him...

     He's closer, now. What's taking him so long? And why's he so quiet?

     It doesn't matter. He's probably just trying to make sure everyone else hiding doesn't hear him coming.

     One moment, two.

     “ Boo! ” Lyssa shouts, grinning wildly as she leaps out of the bush and right into the path of—

     ...not Louis. That's...not Louis. And he's dressed odd. That's...

                                             Too late does she realize the danger she's in.

                                                                               Too late does she see the rifle, aimed for her chest.

                                                                                                                                Too late does she see the finger pull the trigger.

                                                                                                                                BANG.

     Today was supposed to be simple. He'd had a plan in place: a nice little picnic with his daughter, before the inevitable chill settled into the land. Something nice, he'd thought, but as it always was: he'd been pulled away.

     Drachman soldiers near town, they'd said.

     It wasn't an unbelievable occurrence. Just enough to get him out of the house. Enough to leave him outside the station in the aftermath of a conversation with an odd person in a lab coat.

     A person who pressed a little vial into his hand. A person who smiled a little too wide and gave him something that should not exist.

     Axel liked to think of himself as a smart man, most of the time. He was not a man that chased after impossibilities, or fables, or myths. He knew, logically, that a philosopher's stone did not exist. He knew that perhaps there had been something like it, an amplifier, even, but a proper philosopher's stone?

     Impossible. Nothing could defy the laws of equivalent exchange; something had to give, and something had to take. That was the nature of the world they lived in, and thus he did his best to work within those parameters life had given him.

     And yet, still, here in his hands he holds a fantasy. He holds what some alchemists have toiled away their entire lives to find, and...it was simply handed to him. No silver platter in sight, not really, but there might as well have been.

     He doesn't trust it. Not one bit.

     Of course, there is no time to question it, no time to investigate, because there is a set of small voices that brings his mind screeching back onto the tracks of proper reality.

     “ Mister Arlott! ”

     “ Hey, Mr. A!! ”

     He looks up, brows furrowed in something akin to concern. And right there are little Rosaline and Arthur, a pair of siblings from further up the street. Yes, he was an MP, but why were they—?

     “ You both should be home, it isn't safe outside right now— ” he begins, or tries to. He's immediately interrupted by Arthur, who was clearly not prepared for the sprint he just took, if he actually came from home—where both of these children should be.

     Why aren't they home?

     “ Well, Lyssa isn't! Not fair! ” It's little Rosaline who speaks first, pouting and crossing her arms. Arthur only turns to glare at her before continuing.

     “ We saw her sneakin' out to the forest, an' Ma told us to mind our business but she looked worried too an'— ”

     “ It's not fair! Why's she get to go out but we gotta stay home? ”

     “ Shut up, Rosie, he don' care 'bout— ”

     He doesn't mean to grab onto the poor boy's shoulders as tight as he does. Really, he doesn't mean to. But that doesn't matter, because suddenly it is oh so very difficult for Axel to breathe with the world collapsing around him.

     “ Arthur, this isn't the time for tricks. ” He barely knows whether he's speaking slowly to emphasize a point or because it's a struggle to string the words together. And there must be something in the way he looks at the boy, but Arthur seems to have finally gathered together enough decency to look frightened.

     “ It—it's not a trick, I—I promise, ” he stammers out, and the worst part about it is that Axel believes him. Lyssa was upset when he'd left, more than he had ever seen her and he'd just dismissed it.

     Why did he dismiss it? God damn it, why didn't he just stay?

     “ Both of you, go home. Your mother must be worried sick by now, ” and he's already rising back up, stepping away and shoving the vial into a pocket. If it wasn't a false alarm this time, if Lyssa was out there on her own, then—fuck.

     Fuck.

     “ But— ”

     “ Arthur, take your sister and go home. ” There's no room for reply or argument, because he was running the moment the words left his mouth. He covers the ten minute walk from the station to his home in four; the count of every passing second is the only thing keeping him together, because if there is nothing else to focus on the spiral will commence and he cannot afford to spiral down into the depths of his panic. Not now.

     All he does is try the door. Lyssa knows the rule, when she is home alone she has to keep it locked, but she's also not supposed to leave without telling him, and—

     The doorknob turns with ease.

     “ Lyssa! ” The shout echoes off the walls of the foyer, down the hallway lined with photographs. Silence is the only thing that replies, taunts him with the stillness, and Axel is moments away from sprinting up the stairs to check the bedrooms when he spots the small piece of paper, taped to the coat rack. He forces his hand to stop shaking so he can actually pick it up.

     That—that didn't make sense. Rosaline and her brother had come to find him, how could she have—?

     That doesn't matter, he can figure it out later, there's no time. The note is shoved carelessly into his pocket alongside the vial, and he doesn't even bother to close the front door when he takes off in a dead sprint across the lawn, down the dirt path at the end of the street that gave way to grass underfoot and trees with leaves that were already fading to red and gold.

     “ Lyssa! ”

     It's too quiet. He should hear birds at least, but no, there's only the faint rustle of tree branches and the sound of the thoughts in his mind growing louder, louder—

     “ Lyssa! You need to come out now, or so help me God— ”

     What? What would he even do? What could he do? Certainly not blame her for being upset with him. He'd made a promise, he promised her he would stay, but—he hadn't. He hadn't, and now she was out here alone. Alone, and angry, and scared—

     His lungs burn, and there's little choice when he stumbles to a stop, leaning against a tree. There's too much space, not enough time or manpower. He should've grabbed another MP, or a neighbor, someone. They were put into pairs on shift for a reason.

     All it takes is a moment for everything to come crashing down.

     A shout.

     A gunshot, reverberating through the trees.

     And a moment of stillness, before the adrenaline takes over.

“ LYSSA! ”

     There's a ringing sound in her ears.

     Lyssa blinks.

     She's on the ground. She can feel the grass, beneath her. It's wet, still, because the trees mostly blocked out the sunlight. She can see it now, peering through the leaves. It stings her eyes.

     She blinks.

                                                                                           

     There's a loud sound, just above her. It's almost the same sound that the big gun made, when it fired. It's loud—too loud, it hurts her ears. Everything feels warm. It's October, though—it shouldn't be warm. Her birthday was in a week. It was never warm near her birthday.

     Why is it warm? It was cold out just a few minutes ago.

     She blinks.

     Her father kneels above her. There's a hand on her cheek, slick and wet with something—from the grass, maybe? She tries to open her mouth, tries to speak, but suddenly realizes she can taste metal and when she coughs it's a wet, sticky noise.

     She's tired. Everything is blurry.

     She blinks.

     Lyssa has been pulled into her father's lap. He's speaking. She can't make out what he's saying. She thinks it might be her name. She can't tell, because everything suddenly hurts. There's a pressure in her chest and just barely does she have the lucidity to try and gasp for air.

     She can't breathe. It's not enough, nothing is enough and though she tries to speak there is nothing that comes up except thick crimson.

     Her mouth moves but there is no sound. She can still hear the ringing.

     Why is everything still ringing?

     “ No, no, look at me, Lyssa, look at me. ”

     Daddy sounds scared. She didn’t want him to be scared. That’s why she wanted to go home.

     When can they go home?

     He looks scared, too. He’s crying. Daddy never cried. Not even when Mama died.

     He has something in his hand. Something small, some kind of glass that reflects the sunlight for a moment, but the space behind her eyes aches when she tries to make it out.

     Her vision fades before she can.

     She's falling. She doesn't know where she is, but she's falling and there's people screaming all around her. Why is everyone screaming? Why does she join them? She knows she does, she can hear herself, distantly.

     She can feel the way it tears out of her throat, feel everything ripping apart and coming back together over and over and over—

     Her father is speaking. She can hear him, she can't see anything but she can hear him.

     Liar. Liar. This isn't okay. This hurts. All at once, each broken promise and every dismissal and every time he didn't listen are brought to the forefront.

     She wouldn't even be here if he kept his promise.

     How does she make it stop hurting? There's no end. Just screaming and agony and—

     “ This is new. Is this a new game? What're we playing? ”

     A voice. She doesn't recognize it. Who's speaking?

     Lyssa opens her eyes.

     There are faces blurring past. A thousand, million, more, more than she can count. There's no end to them.

     The words fall from her lips before she can stop, a desperate plea.

     A laugh.

     A face, shifting out of the rest, a pale, cold hand reaching out and grabbing her own.

     “ Silly. 'Course you're not gonna die. You got me now. ”

     She opens her eyes.

     There's sunlight, peering through the branches at her. A hello, in a way, a welcome.

     She groans, shuts her eyes. She doesn't like the sun very much right now. Everything aches. She finds that it’s hard to breathe, and begins to cough the second that she tries. There’s a hand on her back in the next moment, helping her sit up.

     “ It’s okay, there you go, you’re alright. ”

     Someone is holding her. Someone keeps a shaking, sticky hand against her back as she hacks and wheezes, the other gently moving the dark strands of hair away from her face.

     She spits blood out, eventually, the dark, clotted remnants of what was in her throat. Her heart thuds away in her chest, and it is such an odd sensation, having a heartbeat. Having a pulse, feeling every single movement. The slightest shift of her muscles as she shudders in the cool air, the blood that was once spilling freely from her veins now making a valiant attempt to replenish itself.

     It’s too much. Too much sensation, too much going on, overloading her senses that are all still so new.

     And all too soon the hand is gone from her back and in her hair instead, pressing her face into a black and silver uniform tainted with crimson.

     “ You’re alright, darling, you’re alive, you’re okay. ”

     She’s flailing immediately, trying to wrench herself away. Everything is still too new, she can feel her lungs moving as she breathes and she doesn't want to.

     She manages to finally pull away, scrambling backwards.

     The stranger is a man. Older, with blonde hair and blue eyes. His hands are caked with blood and worse that she doesn't even want to think about.

     “ Lyssa? ” He says, and she watches his expression shift from relief to a strange kind of bewilderment.

     She doesn't know that name. There is another, however, that comes to mind.

     “ Who's Lyssa? ” She asks.

     “ My name is Anger. ”

     Bewilderment melts into something else. Something worse. Something she doesn't have a name for, and for the first time in her existence, Anger the Irritable feels fear.

     “ What are you? ” The man asks. She can hear how his voice trembles.

     More importantly, she notices one of his hands now reaching back, behind him.

     She wants to answer him. She does, but really, she isn't quite sure herself.

                                                         Anger opens her mouth to try, but falters.

                                                                                                                                    The hesitation is all he needs.

                                                                                                                       Bang.

     A bullet whizzes past her ear.

     She scrambles to her feet, and she runs.

     The trees pass her by in a blur. She can hear someone behind her, feel the ground trembling as they start to catch up. Where does she go? How does she get out?

     Faster. She has to be faster. She has to—

     She's shoved to the ground, a hand covering her mouth, and this new person speaks, hissing in her ear.

     “ You idiot, quit squirming or he'll find us! Stupid human, stupid, wrecking everything— ”

     Anger can't breathe. There's too much weight on her, whoever this is, they're holding her down and they're heavy. She tries to struggle, but a hit to the back of her head leaves her dizzy.

     Her heart is beating faster, faster, faster. Is it supposed to be this loud, this quick?

     Her vision blurs.

     She tries to gasp for breath, to no avail, and the world goes dark.

     Envy scowls, peering out of their little hiding place to ensure the coast was clear.

     Wrong, wrong, this had all gone wrong. And the stupid human that caused all of this had already gotten away.

     Well. It wouldn't matter, either way. Even if the brat did blab, everyone here would get wiped out anyways. Speaking of...

     “ Oi. Get up. ”

     They poke her, garnering no response.

     “ I'm not carrying you. You're gonna walk just like the rest of us. ”

     Nothing, still. She really was out cold.

     ...Damn it.

     Envy kneels down, lifting the kid up and carelessly tossing her over their shoulder. Everything else had already fallen into place, their only job now was to get their newest sibling back to Central.

     At least the long train ride would give them a chance to figure out how to explain this to Father...and figure out exactly how screwed they were.