Chapter 23: Double Chapter — The Birth of the Crimson Fire
The general did not close his notebook. On the contrary, he pressed it more firmly against his forearm, as if he knew that what came next was not written in any official report.
"Tell me one more thing, Kimblee," he asked. "What was your first mission for the government? Not the war. Before that. The beginning."
Kimblee lifted his gaze slowly. His usual smile did not appear right away. Instead, there was a different expression—more distant, almost reflective. He leaned back against the cell wall and crossed his arms.
"My first mission…" he repeated. "I suppose it began long before they called me the 'Crimson Alchemist.'"
The silence between them became comfortable, as if the prison itself were listening.
"I wasn't born a soldier," he continued. "Nor a hero, nor a monster. I was just a village kid with too much time… and too much curiosity."
The general did not interrupt.
"I used my alchemy for small things," Kimblee said. "Vandalism, you would call it. Partially burned barns, warehouses reduced to rubble, controlled explosions in places where no one was hurt… at least not immediately."
He smiled ironically.
"I thought I was discreet. They always do."
Kimblee turned his head, as if he could see his past etched into the damp walls.
"One day, an officer appeared in my village," he went on. "He didn't arrive with threats or drawn weapons. He arrived with curiosity. He had seen my alchemy. Analyzed it. And decided I was more useful inside than outside a cell."
The general looked up.
"Were you captured?"
"Yes," Kimblee replied. "They surrounded me like some rare animal. I didn't fight. It wasn't worth it. They took me to an improvised office and gave me two very clear options."
He raised two fingers.
"First option: prison. Minor offenses—vandalism, destruction of property, suspicious fires. Rot slowly among rats and dampness." He lowered one finger. "Second option: enlist in the army. Take the State Alchemist exam."
The general scribbled something quickly.
"I wasn't very convinced," Kimblee admitted. "I never liked following orders. But then the major said something interesting."
The general raised his eyes.
"What did he say?"
Kimblee smiled, this time with genuine remembrance.
"That I could use my alchemy whenever I wanted."
A low laugh broke the silence.
"That… that did interest me," he continued. "So I accepted. Not out of patriotism. Not out of honor. Out of curiosity. And freedom."
He straightened slightly.
"The exam was simple," he said. "Ridiculously simple."
"Explain," the general requested.
Kimblee raised a hand, as if drawing in the air.
"I didn't limit myself to the basic circles," he explained. "I knew I needed something bigger. Something that proved not just control, but vision. So I added a wider transmutation circle. Symmetrical. Precise."
He paused.
"I added components. Copper for color. Barium for intensity. Magnesium for brilliance. It wasn't just an alchemy test… it was a presentation."
The general listened intently, completely absorbed.
"I placed everything inside the circle," Kimblee continued. "Calculated the flow. Adjusted the exchange. And then…" he raised his right hand, "…I activated the transmutation."
Kimblee closed his eyes for an instant.
"The sky lit up."
He opened them again, shining.
"Fireworks," he said. "Every color. Reds, blues, greens, golds. Clean, controlled explosions. Beautiful. The exact sound. The perfect duration. I destroyed nothing. I hurt no one."
He smiled with pride.
"But I made one thing clear."
"What was that?" the general asked.
"That if I could create beauty with fire… I could also do the opposite."
The general swallowed.
"And did you pass?"
"Immediately," Kimblee replied. "They gave me the title. They gave me the uniform. They gave me an official reason to do what I already loved."
He fell silent for a few seconds.
"My first official mission," he continued, "was small. Cleanup. Elimination of targets deemed dangerous to order. Nothing compared to what would come later."
The general closed the notebook slowly.
"You never hesitated?" he asked. "Never thought of refusing?"
Kimblee looked at him with unsettling calm.
"They gave me a cage with the door open," he said. "Why would I refuse?"
The general stood up, clearly affected.
"That's all for today," he said. "This has been… more than I expected."
Kimblee sat back down on the cot.
"I always am," he replied. "That was my first service to the government. The day they understood that fire can also be a spectacle… before it becomes war."
The doors closed once again.
Kimblee was left alone, staring at his hands.
"And since then," he murmured, "they never stopped applauding."
The memory continued to unfold with almost cruel clarity.
Kimblee spoke in a slower tone, as if he were seeing the scene again before his eyes.
The field where the exam had taken place was still filled with thin smoke and the smell of burned gunpowder. The colors lingered in the memory of everyone present, even though the sky had already returned to its usual gray. Among the officers, scientists, and high-command observers, there was a small entourage that did not belong to standard protocol.
The Führer was there.
Not as a distant or abstract figure, but present, watching with calculated attention. At his side stood his family. And among them, a small child with bright eyes, who kept pointing excitedly at the sky.
"Dad, did you see that?" Selim said, thrilled. "It was like magic!"
Kimblee remembered that moment with a barely perceptible smile. Not out of tenderness, but irony.
"The colors captivated him," he continued. "Especially the child. His eyes shone brighter than the explosions. That… that caught my attention."
The Führer took a few steps toward him. There were no exaggerated applause or solemn speeches. Just a firm, appraising gaze—like that of someone who had made his decision long before the exam.
"Welcome to the military," he said calmly. "Crimson Alchemist."
Kimblee inclined his head slightly in respect. There was no patriotic pride in the gesture—only acceptance.
"Thank you, sir," he replied at the time.
The general who was now interrogating him had been a junior officer back then. He approached with a smile that mixed surprise and approval.
"You did quite well on your alchemist exam, it seems," he said.
Kimblee let out a short, almost indifferent laugh.
"Not really," he replied. "The idea was to burn the entire courtyard and have all the colors merge into a single blast. A complete rainbow. But they only came out one by one… like ordinary fireworks."
The officer stared at him, baffled.
"That was 'not much' for you?"
"Of course," Kimblee said naturally. "It was a design flaw."
The memory grew more introspective. Kimblee leaned his back against the cell wall, staring at an empty point.
"That's when I understood," he continued. "My alchemy was incomplete. Not weak, but fragmented. It had power, yes… but no harmony."
The present-day general stood before him, listening in absolute silence.
"That day," Kimblee went on, "I began to truly investigate. Not to obey the army, but to satisfy my own frustration. I wanted fire to respond like an orchestra, not like scattered instruments."
He remembered entire nights drawing new circles, burning paper, adjusting symbols, testing impossible combinations. He remembered burns on his skin, mistakes, miscalculated explosions. And he also remembered the feeling of progress.
"The army thought it had recruited me," he said with a crooked smile. "But in reality, it only gave me resources."
Silence returned to the cell.
Kimblee raised his gaze and looked directly at the general.
"From that moment on," he concluded, "I stopped being a simple vandal with talent. I became a successful experiment. And you…" he made a vague gesture with his hand, "…never stopped investing in me."
He shrugged.
"Until the noise became too loud."
The memory slowly dissipated, leaving only the present: bars, cold stone, and a smile that never left his face.
Kimblee closed his eyes.
"And to think," he murmured, "that it all began with colors in the sky."
(End of Chapter)