"It's tight," Olivier murmured as his mother looked over his robes. She refused to let her son do it himself, as she had never seen such a smart child be so bad with his clothes. She was, however, unaware that the child she remembered no longer existed.
"It's supposed to be, you don't want it to move much during the ritual." She tightened the sleeves some more before stepping back with a curt nod.
Olivier sighed while looking into the mirror. He had been placed into a long robe that nearly reached the ground. It had an ashen blue color, with the lower half striped with alternating blue and white. As his mother walked away, he loosened it to his preference.
He strode out of his room and into the hall, but froze.
Despite it happening so long ago, the day of the ritual had been cemented into his mind just as a chisel carved grooves into a statue. His eyes - just like his brother's eyes - were glued to the windows.
Dark plumes of cloud clawed their way high in the sky as they quickly approached the coastal town. In their previous life, the day had been stunning, with a pure blue sky and the occasional wispy cloud.
The twins had expected butterfly effects to happen and for them to begin relatively soon. It would have been one thing for them to try to mitigate those effects if only one twin had gone to the past. With both brothers, though, it was simply foolish to try to stop the effects.
However, the butterfly effects couldn't have possibly changed the weather, they both thought.
At least not yet.
The storm gathering on the horizon begged to differ. Distant lighting illuminated the interior of the clouds as they swept their way over the sea.
"Such dark tidings." Samuel stroked the stubble on his chin before herding his family out the door. He was aware of the city's state and recognized it as an ill omen.
They made their way to the grand tree that stood at the city's center before descending the steps at the tree's base into a cavern. Families from all over town had been doing the same, including those without children currently attending the ritual.
As they all walked down the stone steps, the roots of the tree passed over their heads, and strange music could be heard. Chanting, metal bells, chimes, drums, and more all bounced off the walls. They sang in an ancient tongue that, besides alchemists, few knew. It was high-pitched and droning as the song had yet to truly begin.
At the bottom of the steps, there was a clearing as water and fire could be seen all around them. Dancers stood in place, waiting for the ceremonies. They had their young faces covered with a strange flat cloth, almost like a paper mask, with ropes holding their clothes in place.
Three spirits resided in the middle of the cavern. Olivier's eyes widened as he spotted them.
He hesitated, something that Victor noted upon determining his brother's glance. Olivier thought back to the battle in the city. The last battle he had with his army before he died. There was a man in the battle, Olivier knew his brother hadn't hired him, but he nearly destroyed a quarter of each of their armies. That man was a spirit tamer.
The spirits he called upon were larger than any he had ever seen before. Even stranger, he hadn't seen a spirit tamer in years at that point. Olivier bit his cheek in thought, not even minding the fact that he had just stepped into a small creek.
"Maybe I should dabble with spirits… Though there isn't anybody in town to teach me how to imbue paper tags."
As he mused, they came to a stop in the center of the dim hall, and Olivier knew he was standing only with the children his age. The parents would be far behind them, watching their sons and daughters get tested and praying that they'd join the ranks of alchemists.
As Olivier looked ahead, he stared directly at one of the spirits.
The twin-headed crane returned his gaze before blinking its eight glowing eyes: first the four on the left head, then the four on the right. Its legs had become stone from standing in place, and a cage had begun to grow from its feathers.
Olivier swallowed a lump of saliva lodged in his throat.
He had a week to prepare himself for this day, but something was wrong. It was far too different for it to be the same as in his last life. He steeled his heart and blinked the moment away with a serene calmness.
Whatever would happen, would happen.
—Dong!
A drum rang out, and the rest of the music ceased.
His eyes darted to the source of the noise, but he stopped midway. There, an ancient man waded through the small waters, past the three spirits calmly awaiting their demise, and towards the children of the Familia.
Augustin di lo Mon looked at each of the possible alchemists and hoped that the Familia would prosper this year. It had floundered too much in the previous years, and he knew that once the younger generation reached adulthood, there would be a period of weakness in Aarbon. He hoped this year would be prosperous and that the Familia could thrive without worry.
"The lifeblood of any Familia is the budding alchemists - those that will bloom in the years to come, those that will keep the Familia safe, that will keep the Familia strong! The marker of a Familia's influence is determined," he pointed towards the group of children, "by you."
"What a tiresome speech." Olivier reflected internally as he knew those around him would have their hearts stolen by his silver tongue. He momentarily considered the man's fate, "The dying Patriarch of Aarbon; what a sad way to go."
Despite thinking that, he couldn't possibly care less about the man. Olivier didn't plan on staying in the town for long. It was beneficial for his youth, but beyond that, it was nothing but restrictive. It wouldn't last anyway.
—Dong!
As the drum struck again, the dancers hummed, and others began playing their instruments. It began slowly but grew eerily as seconds stretched on. Outside, thunder struck in some far-off place, causing occasional glances towards the stairs.
"Let the ritual begin." Augustin, the Familia's leader, spoke in a booming voice, growing louder as it bounced off the close walls.
Two men appeared from the darkness on the other side of the wide but shallow creek. They wore the same cloth masks as the dancers, but Olivier knew their identities. They were the head of the academy and the second-in-command, the rector and procurator, respectively.
Gerome and Jean made their way forward to the spirits waiting on a stone tablet floating in the middle of the creek. The same species of spirits came every year, and every year they'd die. Despite looking into it, Olivier had never figured out why they came.
The other two spirits also had distinct appearances. One was of a rabbit, its ears twisted into a single grotesque horn always pointing forward. It had strong hind legs, known for always moving headfirst to the future, yet never turning back. Cracks were underneath its feet, the ground crumbling under its sheer existence.
The last was of a snake, always writhing on the ground as it consumed itself, perpetually growing to replace what was gone. Its eyes birthed new snakes that protected it, only for them to quickly die, decompose, and be replaced. However, the baby snake venom was among the deadliest natural venoms on the planet.
As the two men reached them, each spirit reacted. The crane lowered its dual heads, the rabbit stood on its bulky hind legs, and the snake stopped writhing. In an instant, the two men killed the spirits. They stuck their fingers into the places where they had stabbed and cut them, creating lines of blood on the stone.
The music began to creep up as lyrics were introduced to the hymns. The dancers who sang began to move, and the bells lining their robes shook with each vibration. Each motion was fluid, yet it came to an abrupt stop before the next. This resulted in a jarring, almost disconnected dance.
Yet, combined with the music, it only heightened the growing unease among the parents and children alike.
The two men heading the academy created a large triangle with the spirits' dead bodies at each corner, lines connecting them with their blood. Then, they placed large amounts of sulfur, salt, and mercury in another triangle; this triangle was inverted but had the same center.
Drums pounded as the singing hit the crescendo. Thunder pounded the outside as water began to trickle down the steps into the grooves along the sides built to prevent flooding.
Lastly, the two men placed a human skull in the middle of it all, with all the blood and ingredients touching it one way or another.
"The founder of Aarbon greets his children." The three men, Agustin, Gerome, and Jean, all spoke at once. They motioned for the first child to walk forward to the pedestal. He did so slowly, with the Patriarch's earlier honeyed words doing little to calm him.
The child already knew what was to happen; all the kids in the cavern had attended the ceremonies before as spectators. It didn't mean they didn't fear the next moments. Not only would they need to bleed their own blood, but they also might not even become an alchemist. Combine that with the gruesome imagery before them, and any child besides the twins and a select few others would hesitate.
The child took out a small knife from their robe and cut a line across the tip of their index finger, drawing a fine line of blood. It dribbled out onto the skull of Aarbon's founder before it quickly fizzled away.
The child's parents chewed on their lips as they watched their child with unblinking gazes. Every Alchemist Familia across the continent would do this ritual when spring descended. They would all use different spirits, but the result was the same.
Two cards would be drawn from a deck of tarot cards. They weren't regular decks that people used for playing games on the street, but instead, a Faust's Tarot deck. A deck had sixteen card faces, each doubled for a total of thirty-two.
Olivier watched with intrigue, as it had been many years since he had seen an induction of alchemists. He could only recollect his brother and his own trial at that moment.
Each card had a number associated with it; the first card would read off the number and ignore the tarot's associated face.
This number would determine the limit of one's alchemy, their maximum natural potential. While it was possible to go past the limit, reality had a habit of smothering dreams.
The child at the pedestal felt something wriggle in his hand. He shuddered in fear as he looked at the edge of a card peaking through the flesh of his palm. He gripped it and pulled it out, causing no damage to his skin; instead, just a mild pang of horror in his heart.
"The higher the number, the better. If one drew the numbers 1-3, they would never become an alchemist. While if they drew a 9-12, they'd be at the peak of humanity's limits." Olivier calmly looked ahead, trying to recall the child's face.
In the past week, he hadn't gone into the town, so he didn't recognize a soul there besides the important adults and his brother.
"Ah!" Olivier grew wide-eyed as he remembered, "There are four other cards he could draw! The three outer cards and the inner card."
The child at the pedestal stared at the card in his hands for a few moments. Longer than he was supposed to.
"The blind man." The child muttered as he let the card slip from his grip. The child, Jon, was devastated. The blind man meant that his potential in alchemy couldn't be determined. He wouldn't know if he could be an alchemist at all, let alone if he'd be a strong or weak one. He had drawn the sole 'inner card.'
He quickly cut the index finger on his other hand, letting the blood drip onto the skull once more. The second card drawn would be his last. It was then that Olivier remembered the child.
"He'll draw an outer card next. An ill omen if they get drawn in either round. He grew up to be quite the unruly brute, that Jon." Olivier silently thought about the three outer cards. Jon wasn't the only child who'd draw them this year. "Maybe dark clouds should have hung high in our past life."
From his other palm, Jon plucked the card and looked at it.
V – Death.
When the child announced it, Olivier glanced at his brother. Death wasn't an outer card; another thing had changed. Victor briefly looked his way in acknowledgment as Olivier saw him rub the tips of his fingers in thought.
Jon let his head droop.
In alchemy, there were three primes: salt for the body, sulfur for the soul, and mercury for the mind. An alchemist had to use the primes to improve themselves.
The second card signified which of the three primes you were most in sync with, but most importantly, the fate of one's soul. Jon stood rooted in place, but nobody blamed him. Augustin felt the air leave his lungs as he watched the poor child.
As was custom, when Jon walked back to the rest of the children, an assistant to the ritual handed him a bag of salt, the ingredient corresponding to his most efficient prime - the prime his second drawn tarot belonged to.
He gripped the hefty bag lifelessly.
"He might as well have died when he saw the tarot. With the way he's acting, he'll never be an alchemist. I'd pity him if the rest of the city wasn't already doing it." Olivier remarked internally.
As more children walked up to the pedestal and cut their fingers with knives passed down through their families, the moods shifted. The city seemed to have a net positive yield of prospects so far. But then, the twins were called upon.
The two walked forward together, as they had in their past life, and as every pair of twins in the history of the Familia had. The two took out their family's knife and looked at each other.
The night before, the twins had discussed it when they first entered their rooms.
"If one of us cuts their hand, the other will bleed at the same time." One had brought up the problem, but it wasn't long until a solution came.
"We'll place our index fingers next to each other and cut them at the same time. For the custom, they'll call on us both, and it wouldn't be odd for us to want to use the same knife. They'll just consider it part of the 'twins' charm.'"
Olivier gripped the knife as he stared into his brother's eyes. They placed their index fingers against each other and then, Olivier slowly - excruciatingly - dragged the knife across them. Victor refused to wince despite the pain, as did Olivier.
The blood of the twins intertwined and fell onto the skull with a dull sizzle.