Chapter #70: Shadows Beneath the Eternal Snow
In a remote cabin, lost among the frozen forests surrounding Briggs, the wind battered the wooden walls as if trying to tear them from the ground. Smoke drifted weakly from a makeshift chimney—a sign that someone was still alive inside, defying the cold that claimed everything it touched.
Inside, the hooded man stood before a crude table, barely lit by an oil lamp. Scattered across the wood lay loose pages, old notebooks, blueprints stained with dried blood, and notes written in a nervous yet precise hand. They were the remnants of a forbidden investigation.
His brother's legacy.
The man clenched his teeth.
His face, partially hidden beneath the hood, revealed deep dissatisfaction. It was not just anger—it was frustration, guilt, and a quiet sorrow heavier than the cold itself. He ran his fingers over one of the pages, recognizing alchemical symbols he knew all too well.
"All of this…" he murmured. "All of it… for nothing."
He closed his eyes for a moment and made a decision.
This cabin would be the final hiding place. The last refuge of his brother's research. Far from Amestris, far from Dracma, far from the war and the monsters who claimed to fight for peace while destroying everything in their path.
With a weary sigh, he slowly set his glasses down on the table.
That was when he felt it.
A presence.
The faint creak of wood behind him.
Before he could fully turn, a soldier emerged from the shadows and emptied his rifle's magazine. The roar filled the cabin. Wood exploded into splinters, papers flew into the air, and the lamp fell, spilling oil across the floor.
The hooded man reacted with inhuman speed.
He spun on his heel, stepped forward, and pressed the palm of his hand against the soldier's face. His arm began to glow with an unnatural light, veins of living energy racing beneath his skin.
The soldier never even had time to scream.
He collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut—unconscious… or something worse.
The hooded man was breathing hard when he looked up.
He was not alone.
Through shattered windows and the broken door, more soldiers poured in, surrounding the cabin. Their weapons rose in unison, and without a word, they unleashed a relentless hail of bullets.
The noise was deafening.
The cabin shook.
The scene dissolved into chaos.
Far from there, in the imposing Northern fortress, the Base of Briggs prepared for yet another day of constant tension. General Olivier Mira Armstrong was reviewing reports when a soldier burst into the command room.
"General!" he announced. "Allied troops have arrived at the base… and they're not alone."
Olivier looked up at once.
"Accompanied by whom?"
The soldier swallowed.
"By the Führer… King Bradley, ma'am."
Silence fell like a heavy blow.
Olivier rose without losing her composure and walked to the main courtyard. There, among perfectly aligned ranks of Amestrian soldiers, stood King Bradley. His figure was small compared to the massive walls of Briggs, yet his presence was overwhelming—a man who did not need to raise his voice to assert authority.
The General stopped before him and gave a crisp salute.
"Führer Bradley," she said respectfully. "It is an honor to receive you at Briggs."
Bradley regarded her with his single visible eye, sharp as a blade.
"General Armstrong," he replied. "I am here on a secret mission. I will require your full cooperation."
"You will have it," she answered without hesitation. "Briggs is at your disposal."
Bradley nodded briefly.
"I will need weapons, supplies, and snow vehicles. We depart soon."
Olivier asked no unnecessary questions. She issued immediate orders to prepare everything requested. Even so, something stirred within her. The Führer's arrival was never accidental—especially not in a place like Briggs.
"With all due respect, Führer," she ventured, "may I ask what you are seeking in the North?"
Bradley smiled faintly.
"General… you are to obey. Nothing more."
The answer did not surprise her, but it did nothing to ease her mind.
"Additionally," Bradley continued, "I need all of your men assembled. We must ensure everyone is present."
Olivier frowned for a brief second, then nodded.
"Attention!" she commanded firmly. "All base personnel—assemble immediately in the main courtyard!"
The fortress sprang to life.
Soldiers poured in from every corner: some still smeared with grease from the workshops, others with traces of sauce on their uniforms, dragged straight from the kitchens. No one complained. No one questioned. At Briggs, an order was absolute.
Within minutes, row upon row of men and women stood before the Führer.
"Is everyone present?" Bradley asked, scanning the ranks.
"Yes, sir," Olivier replied. "All active personnel of the base are accounted for."
Not far from there, in a narrow, poorly lit cleaning room, Buccaneer shoved someone inside and carefully closed the door.
"Stay here," he whispered.
Miles, confused, looked around. Brooms. Buckets. The sharp smell of disinfectant.
"What's going on?" he asked quietly. "Why are you hiding me?"
Buccaneer leaned his back against the door.
"Because the Führer is here," he answered. "And we don't want you to be discovered."
Miles frowned.
"Discovered… for what?"
Buccaneer looked at him seriously.
"Because I don't think he'd take it well. Not now. Not when the war with Ishval is reaching its climax."
A chill ran through Miles—one that had nothing to do with the cold.
Outside, boots echoed against the metal of the courtyard. King Bradley's voice rose over the assembled ranks. Something big was in motion. Something no one fully understood.
And as the snow continued to fall over Briggs—both in the forest and upon the fortress—the shadows began to move once more.
(end of chapter)