Chapter 21 The Interrogation of Silence
Days after his definitive return to the prison, when time once again felt thick and shapeless, Kimblee received a visit unlike the usual ones. It was not a guard with worn-out insults nor an official in a hurry to stamp paperwork. This time, the doors opened with almost ceremonial precision.
A newly promoted general entered the corridor, accompanied by two soldiers who remained at a distance. His uniform was still too clean, too new, as if it had not yet learned to bear the dust of war. The man studied the cell cautiously, as though he feared even the walls might be listening.
"Solf J. Kimblee," he said in a firm voice. "I need to ask you a few questions."
Kimblee lifted his gaze slowly. He did not smile at once. He merely observed him, assessing him, like someone measuring the resistance of a material before making it explode.
"Go ahead," he finally replied. "I have nothing better to do here."
The general stepped forward and lowered his voice.
"Have you been visited recently by… strange beings?"
Kimblee tilted his head, pretending to think, then shook it gently.
"Not that I recall," he said. "Only rats, dampness, and memories. The usual."
The general frowned but continued.
"Those beings want you alive," he added. "That is… concerning to us."
Kimblee raised an eyebrow.
"And shouldn't that reassure you?" he asked. "If someone wants to keep me breathing, it must be because I'm still useful for something."
The general sighed and crossed his arms.
"The army needs to know more about you," he said. "To know whether Kimblee can be trusted… or whether it was a mistake to leave you alive."
Kimblee let out a short, dry laugh.
"Trust," he repeated. "Such a dangerous word in military mouths. Tell me, General, what do you want to know?"
"Let's start with your recruitment," the man replied. "Your early years in the army."
Kimblee leaned his head back and laughed openly.
"You should know that better than I do," he said. "Although, of course… my records were burned after I was imprisoned for war crimes. Very convenient, wouldn't you say?"
The general did not respond. He took out a notebook and a pencil.
"Explain your alchemy to me," he requested. "From the beginning."
Kimblee stood and approached the bars. He extended his hands, displaying them with a kind of calm pride.
"On my right hand," he began, "I bear a transmutation circle that symbolizes gold… or the Sun. It is the active, dominant principle. Within it is an inverted triangle, representing fire. Destruction, expansion, rupture."
Then he raised his left hand.
"On the left, the moon… silver. The passive principle. Flow. Here the triangle points upward, symbolizing water, movement, transfer."
The general wrote quickly, not missing a detail.
"When I bring both hands together," Kimblee continued, "the circles overlap. They do not cancel each other out; they complement each other. They create a new circuit that directs alchemical energy toward a single result: explosion."
He slowly brought his palms together.
"It's not magic," he added. "It's control. I decide how much energy flows. I decide whether the result is a mild detonation… or a symphony."
The general looked up.
"And the gunpowder?"
Kimblee smiled.
"A tool," he said. "Sometimes to amplify, sometimes to modulate. Alchemy is precise, but gunpowder gives it character. It's like tuning an instrument before playing it."
He picked up a piece of charcoal from the floor and began drawing the circles on the cell floor, with confident, almost artistic strokes. The general crouched down to observe more closely.
"I don't improvise," Kimblee went on. "Every explosion is equivalent to the energy I allow to pass through. If the exchange isn't fair, the body pays the price. I learned that very young."
"Is that why you survived so long in Ishval?" the general asked.
Kimblee fell silent for a second.
"I survived because I understood the rhythm," he finally replied. "War is not pure chaos. It has patterns. And I learned to listen to them."
The general closed the notebook slowly.
"Many say you enjoyed the war."
Kimblee looked him straight in the eyes.
"Many speak the truth," he replied without hesitation.
The silence grew heavy. The general stood and took a step back.
"Thank you for your cooperation," he said. "This will help decide your future."
Kimblee returned to sitting on the cot.
"My future is already decided, General," he replied. "You're just waiting for the right moment to need me again."
The general did not answer. He turned and left the cell. The doors closed once more.
Kimblee lay back, staring at the circles drawn on the floor. He smiled.
"They always return to fire," he murmured. "Always."
(End of Chapter)