IX; a better place to love
[The memories contradict what Nagi already knows, but who's to say what's real here in Mayfield? If this is a trick, it's a damn good one. Japan is a distant memory, replaced by Amestris. People and places twist in his mind, but the main memories, the ones he swore he would never forget again; these remain right where they were.
Deadman Wonderland is there, as it always has. The loss of his voice, and its subsequent alchemical replacement. His wife, murdered before his very eyes. The corpse of what would have been his child, floating in ether. The rampage. The empty locket. Scar Chain. It's all the same.
Save for one detail: the name of the man responsible. Director Tamaki is erased from Nagi's mind, replaced with another:
Bradley.
King of Amestris. The man responsible for his imprisonment, and for his wife's murder. The reason for Nagi Kengamine's betrayal of his country. He had told his fellow prisoners after their escape that they were fighting to bring Amestris down, to restore peace and justice to a nation that was rotting with corruption from within. It was such a convincing lie that in time Nagi had come to believe it himself.
Over the past three years, he had forced himself to forget the true motivation behind his treason: revenge. He would fight Amestris to the last breath, even if it meant joining a foreign military. Drachma was reluctant to accept Amestrian fugitives into its army, but their crippling defeats on the northern border left them little choice but to accept aid where they found it. Nagi was watched like a hawk, but the anger burning quietly in his chest pushed him past any of their expectations. He knew how Amestrians fought, and he knew how to kill them. Known as the "Owl" for his unusually quiet and patient style of leadership, it wasn't long before Nagi was leading the very men who had distrusted him against his former homeland.
And it was on that battlefield, amidst the blood and blizzards of the northern border, that he had engaged Major General Olivier Armstrong. He and his men had outmaneuvered every attack that Amestris had thrown at them; Nagi's experience at working with few resources against an overpowered enemy had translated well to the art of war, and for a while Drachma had pushed further and further into Amestris. Then Armstrong had taken over at Briggs, and the advance had come to a screeching halt.
The woman was as impassable and unbreakable as a stone wall. Nagi had never seen her face, but the few Drachma soldiers who survived encounters with Briggs troops told horror stories of a saber-wielding goddess of war, leading a pack of the fiercest soldiers Amestris had to offer. Briggs was the first line of defense against Drachma's push, and as far as Nagi could surmise, it was the only line Amestris would need in this war.
Three months ago, the two generals finally met. A particularly bloody battle had led units of both armies to become trapped in enemy lines, and ultimately captured. Briggs soldiers were, of course, fully prepared to die, but Armstrong's superiors had evidently seen an opportunity for an ambush, and petitioned for hostage negotiations. For the first time, Nagi and Olivier met face to face, and in an instant Nagi knew that the stories he'd heard were true.
The negotiations had gone rather pleasantly, Nagi felt, right up to the moment where both sides had launched their inevitable surprise attack. Such tactics were cowardly, Nagi knew, but orders were orders; he had the suspicion that she felt the same. Olivier was cutting down his men like blades of grass, and there was only one option available to him: engage her himself. What ensued was an hour-long swordfight across the frozen battlefield, weaving and dodging between soldiers of both armies. Olivier was the better fighter by far, but Nagi was a patient, defensive swordsman: he couldn't defeat her, but as long as she was busy trying to kill him, his men stood a fighting chance against Briggs. No words were spoken: the two generals dueled in silence, all but oblivious to the chaos raging around them.
They were the last to hear the call to retreat sounding from both armies. Nagi was breathing raggedly, his heart pounding: he was certain that another minute would have seen Olivier's sword tearing his throat open a second time. They had locked eyes, before he stepped away and fled into the blizzard. He knew this would not be the last time they met.
Three months since then, and thrice as many battles. Nagi and Olivier had yet to cross blades again, but he had seen her across the battlefield, shouting orders to her men. He knew that she had seen him, as well.
Nagi Kengamine had spent every night for the last three years laying awake in his bunk, staring at the ceiling while a woman's face burned in his mind. Now, for the first time, the face of that woman had changed.]
[All of this happens in the blink of an eye. Nagi sets down the package softly, his mind wrapped in thought.
It's a trick. He knows it's a trick. These memories aren't real. But how can they not be? He remembers the faces of his soldiers, the chill of Drachma's winter, the sound of Olivier's saber clashing with his. These things seem more real to him than the package in his hands, the cheery wallpaper in front of his eyes.
After a while, he steps over to the phone and calmly dials a number. The moment there is an answer, he speaks.]
Major General Olivier Armstrong, I would like to speak with you.
Deadman Wonderland is there, as it always has. The loss of his voice, and its subsequent alchemical replacement. His wife, murdered before his very eyes. The corpse of what would have been his child, floating in ether. The rampage. The empty locket. Scar Chain. It's all the same.
Save for one detail: the name of the man responsible. Director Tamaki is erased from Nagi's mind, replaced with another:
Bradley.
King of Amestris. The man responsible for his imprisonment, and for his wife's murder. The reason for Nagi Kengamine's betrayal of his country. He had told his fellow prisoners after their escape that they were fighting to bring Amestris down, to restore peace and justice to a nation that was rotting with corruption from within. It was such a convincing lie that in time Nagi had come to believe it himself.
Over the past three years, he had forced himself to forget the true motivation behind his treason: revenge. He would fight Amestris to the last breath, even if it meant joining a foreign military. Drachma was reluctant to accept Amestrian fugitives into its army, but their crippling defeats on the northern border left them little choice but to accept aid where they found it. Nagi was watched like a hawk, but the anger burning quietly in his chest pushed him past any of their expectations. He knew how Amestrians fought, and he knew how to kill them. Known as the "Owl" for his unusually quiet and patient style of leadership, it wasn't long before Nagi was leading the very men who had distrusted him against his former homeland.
And it was on that battlefield, amidst the blood and blizzards of the northern border, that he had engaged Major General Olivier Armstrong. He and his men had outmaneuvered every attack that Amestris had thrown at them; Nagi's experience at working with few resources against an overpowered enemy had translated well to the art of war, and for a while Drachma had pushed further and further into Amestris. Then Armstrong had taken over at Briggs, and the advance had come to a screeching halt.
The woman was as impassable and unbreakable as a stone wall. Nagi had never seen her face, but the few Drachma soldiers who survived encounters with Briggs troops told horror stories of a saber-wielding goddess of war, leading a pack of the fiercest soldiers Amestris had to offer. Briggs was the first line of defense against Drachma's push, and as far as Nagi could surmise, it was the only line Amestris would need in this war.
Three months ago, the two generals finally met. A particularly bloody battle had led units of both armies to become trapped in enemy lines, and ultimately captured. Briggs soldiers were, of course, fully prepared to die, but Armstrong's superiors had evidently seen an opportunity for an ambush, and petitioned for hostage negotiations. For the first time, Nagi and Olivier met face to face, and in an instant Nagi knew that the stories he'd heard were true.
The negotiations had gone rather pleasantly, Nagi felt, right up to the moment where both sides had launched their inevitable surprise attack. Such tactics were cowardly, Nagi knew, but orders were orders; he had the suspicion that she felt the same. Olivier was cutting down his men like blades of grass, and there was only one option available to him: engage her himself. What ensued was an hour-long swordfight across the frozen battlefield, weaving and dodging between soldiers of both armies. Olivier was the better fighter by far, but Nagi was a patient, defensive swordsman: he couldn't defeat her, but as long as she was busy trying to kill him, his men stood a fighting chance against Briggs. No words were spoken: the two generals dueled in silence, all but oblivious to the chaos raging around them.
They were the last to hear the call to retreat sounding from both armies. Nagi was breathing raggedly, his heart pounding: he was certain that another minute would have seen Olivier's sword tearing his throat open a second time. They had locked eyes, before he stepped away and fled into the blizzard. He knew this would not be the last time they met.
Three months since then, and thrice as many battles. Nagi and Olivier had yet to cross blades again, but he had seen her across the battlefield, shouting orders to her men. He knew that she had seen him, as well.
Nagi Kengamine had spent every night for the last three years laying awake in his bunk, staring at the ceiling while a woman's face burned in his mind. Now, for the first time, the face of that woman had changed.]
[All of this happens in the blink of an eye. Nagi sets down the package softly, his mind wrapped in thought.
It's a trick. He knows it's a trick. These memories aren't real. But how can they not be? He remembers the faces of his soldiers, the chill of Drachma's winter, the sound of Olivier's saber clashing with his. These things seem more real to him than the package in his hands, the cheery wallpaper in front of his eyes.
After a while, he steps over to the phone and calmly dials a number. The moment there is an answer, he speaks.]
Major General Olivier Armstrong, I would like to speak with you.