Edward set off from Themiscyra in silence, his figure cutting through the sky above the familiar stretch of the Aegean Sea. The wind tugged gently at his cloak, the sun low on the horizon casting golden streaks across the water.

As the island faded behind him, he allowed himself one last glance at the tranquil home he had built—Diana's laughter, Hippolyta's fierce love, Hera's sincere devotion, before turning his gaze forward.

He didn't fly aimlessly. His route was deliberate. He made stops at various cities along the Mediterranean, landing softly among familiar stone roads and curious eyes.

In each city, he spoke plainly to the people, informing them that he would be venturing far beyond the borders of the known world. There were still distant lands untouched by freedom where cruel gods still reigned over helpless mortals, and Edward had made it his duty to liberate them.

To the elders and temple keepers, he entrusted a part of himself. "If anything happens," he pointed at the altars linked to his magic orb in each city, "you can reach out to me through these. I will hear your call."

His voice was calm but firm. "But do not pray to me as a god. I am no such thing. Pray for help only when you truly need it, and nobody else will help you."

Then, when his last message had been delivered, he rose into the skies once more and flew away. No one knew how long he would be gone. Only that he would be watching them from above as always.

Time moved on. Days turned into months, months into years. Seasons cycled endlessly. Crops grew, cities expanded, peoples migrated, and slowly, the world began to change.

Before long, nearly 1,200 years had passed. The calendar now marked the beginning of a new era. It was around 1 AD. Although the humans wouldn't call it that until much later.

The world Edward had left behind was no longer the same.

Humanity had progressed well beyond the Bronze Age. Iron tools and weapons had reshaped the way wars were fought and cities were built. Civilizations once scattered in tribes and loosely bound cultures were now flourishing empires. Trade routes expanded across deserts and seas, and law, philosophy, and science began to emerge as dominant human ideals. New languages, customs, and systems of rule evolved.

The name Edward Elric, once whispered in reverence across Greece , became legend, then myth. But unlike many fables that faded or remained isolated to one region, the story of this hero endured.

It spread across continents, adapted into different tongues and beliefs, yet always retained a familiar essence: the man who stood against gods, freed mortals from divine chains, helped and guided them, and disappeared without seeking reward.

In Egypt, they remembered him well. He was known as A'a-her-ab-dedet, which translated roughly to "The Great Who Struck Down the Evil One."

Local scrolls and murals told of how he descended like a golden comet and defeated Set, the cruel and chaotic god who plagued their people.

Some accounts claimed he had walked into the Great Temple of Isis and Ra, and demanded an end to godly interference in human rule. After that day, the Egyptian pantheon ceased direct involvement in the affairs of man. He stayed a while, helping and teaching people magic, like healing, defense, construction, nothing that could be used as a weapon.

With his help , the Egyptians flourished. They discovered knowledge and used them to build a better civilization.

There were many rumors surrounding him, some fantastical, others strangely plausible—that Cleopatra herself once sought to entangle him romantically, seeing in him not only power but wisdom and an incorruptible soul. After being spurned by him, she sent out armies to capture him, but when they stood before him, none dared to raise their head or weapon. He just calmly smiled and said he doesn't blame them, and hopes they find peace and happiness.

Some even whispered that the goddess Isis had appeared to him in her divine form, offering her companionship, her domain, and even her body.

But the records stated clearly: he refused them both. He would not be bound to a throne or a goddess. Some versions said Horus became his student before and he stood in front of his house every night when he slept, ensuring his protection. He even fought Isis when she tri d to use divine magic to forcefully take him away.

he left behind only his teachings and a humble house built near the banks of the Nile. That home, made of simple stone, was later turned into a grand Temple to honor him, and the gods themselves laid down the stones and foundation for it. It became a holy sanctuary for scholars, travelers, even kings for generations. There was a sacred rule, Any criminal no matter how heinous could live, as long as they stayed inside this temple. No bloodshed was allowed near the temple which stood not for worship, but respect and admiration.

Further west, the Roman world was undergoing its own revolution. What had once been a thriving Republic turned increasingly unstable with time.

A gifted general named Julius Caesar emerged, extending Roman control across Gaul and beyond. He even visited the wise man in Egypt when he stayed there, and even begged him to come with him to Rome to be his adviser who stood equal to him. None knew the answer , but some believed he did follow him to Rome.

But power breeds enemies, and shortly after Caesar claimed near-dictatorial control, he was assassinated. The name of the man who plunged the blade into Caesar's side was one Vandal Savage, his friend and counsilor before, but an ambitious conspirator. He vanished soon after the assassination.which was rather surprising considering that he could have snatched the power.

Yet Roman lore spoke of another mysterious figure, one who arrived shortly afterward in the court of a young boy named Octavius.

Described as a silent, hooded man with bonde hair, eyes like burning Sapphire, this figure served as a guide and protector. With his presence, Octavius matured rapidly, showing wisdom and restraint beyond his years. Under his rule, the Roman Empire was officially born.

What made the stories so persistent was what followed: the mysterious man disappeared just as quickly as he had come, leaving behind no record, no title, and no demands. And the Emperor never spoke of him after that, yet he built a Temple in the heart of Rome, saying it was to honor a great hero.

Some said he had walked into the sea and vanished. Others claimed he dissolved into light. But the older scholars insisted quietly and with unwavering certainty, that it was Eduardus Elricus, the same mythical figure who had once silenced the old Roman gods and destroyed the influence of divine tyrants over mortals.

There were even hushed tales that Vandal Savage's disappearance was no coincidence—that he had been killed by Eduardus himself, not out of revenge for Caesar, but to eliminate the lingering corruption Savage carried. But there was no evidence to prove it, so it became just another myth.

As time passed, this story like all others, became fragmented. Names changed with dialects, events were embroidered with fantasy, but the central thread never broke.

Whether called A'a-her-ab-dedet, Eduardus Elricus, the God-Slayer, the Silent One, or the Guardian of Humanity, his legend remained.

No matter where one traveled, along the Nile, across the Roman roads, in the highlands of Anatolia or the river cities of Mesopotamia—there were always local versions of the same story.

A golden hair, blue eyed man who stood against the gods. A protector who taught humans how to stand on their own. A warrior who vanished into the wind after peace was restored.

And so, without ever ruling a throne or building an empire of his own, he had shaped the world. Not with conquest, but by removing those who enslaved it. He guided from the shadows. He taught through action, not speeches. He vanished before he could be thanked.

Now, the world stood on the cusp of another new chapter. Rome had risen. Egypt had transformed. Mesopotamia had shifted power countless times. Civilization was advancing quickly, but so too were its challenges.

*****

The legends of the mythical hero did not end in the lands of Rome or the banks of the Nile. His name or rather, fragments of it—appeared again and again across distant civilizations, always under different names, yet with the same unmistakable impact.

Each tale bore subtle similarities: a stranger who arrived not to conquer, but to change the course of fate, to gently steer nations away from ruin. In every corner of the world, across time and culture, the echo of Edward's presence remained.

In the East, stories began to take root in the ancient myths of China. Though shrouded in folklore, there existed vague but persistent accounts of a foreign man who arrived during the early days of Qin Shi Huang's rise.

It was said that before unifying the warring states, the young prince had encountered a man on the eastern coast. The man stood beside a strange, golden vessel that shimmered like fire in the morning sun, clearly not a ship of any local design.

He spoke nothing, yet his eyes carried an ageless clarity that stunned even the emperor-to-be into silence.

According to the oldest texts of Yue and Chu origin, Qin Shi Huang asked this mysterious man three questions: "How do I rule forever? How do I conquer without ruin? And how can one become immortal?"

The man answered only two. "You cannot rule forever. But if you build something greater than yourself, it will last beyond you," he said.

"Conquest without ruin requires balance: a sword in one hand, and compassion in the other."

But to the final question, the man only looked out toward the mountains and said nothing.

Some believed that it was from this meeting that Qin developed his obsession with immortality, not to escape death, but to live long enough to fulfill the vision he had glimpsed.

There were unverified claims of a foreign advisor who disappeared from court records overnight, just before Qin's first campaign. Nothing ever confirmed it.

But later generations retold the tale in poetic form, giving birth to the image of a wandering sage with hair like gold who left behind wisdom instead of temples.

In time, the tale of this golden man was mythologized into the legendary "Sun Wukong" the Monkey King, his journey across the world a metaphor for the unknown path of enlightenment. His rebellion against the gods for the sake of true freedom. Many scholars claimed the deities called him a monkey not because he looked like one, rather due to looking down his origin which was not from China.

In neighboring Japan, some old records held yet another version of the same soul.

Among the early Kojiki texts and Shinto oral traditions, scholars found fragmented stories of a foreign man who came during the era when the gods still walked among the islands of Yamato. His appearance stirred debate, his skin and clothing unfamiliar, his manner too calm for the events that surrounded him.

It was said that he appeared during a time when the storm god, Susano'o, had been cast down for his violent temperament. The man challenged Susano'o not with threats, but with conviction.

They fought, this much was consistent across all records. The battle shook the forests of Izumo, the seas boiling with divine rage.

But the man did not kill him. Instead, he spoke of restraint, of mercy, and of purpose.

Susano'o, shaken by the outcome, changed. He was not tamed, but tempered, becoming a god of protection rather than destruction. For the first time, he found peace.

However, not all gods accepted the stranger's presence.

The sun goddess Amaterasu, radiant and proud, had watched the foreigner from afar. Drawn by his conviction and mystery, she approached him in the quiet of twilight.

Legends whispered that she professed her love to him, not in a rush of passion, but with solemn, divine intent. But he declined her, gently but firmly, and walked away. It was not rejection that hurt her most, but the idea that he could turn away from divinity itself.

Overcome with anger and grief, Amaterasu shut herself away within the Heavenly Rock Cave. The world darkened for a week.

It was only after the man returned to express his aplogy and bade farewell—that she finally emerged, her light returning to the world. Nobody knew what transpired between them, But the damage between them was done.

Susano'o, deeply loyal to his sister despite their past feuds, could not forgive the fracture. He met the man one final time on the peak of Mt. Fuji, his tone not hostile, but resolute.

"You did not need to shatter the love she bore you," he said. "I know your path is just. But it is not one that belongs among the kami. Leave my friend and brother, for I wish my sister to forget you. " The man nodded, said nothing more, and vanished into the sky. He was never seen again in the lands of Takamagahara.

Meanwhile, in the southern lands of the Indian subcontinent, whispers of the mythical figure blended with the birth of Buddhism.

During the time of Gautama Buddha, some monks spoke of a follower who walked with the Buddha for a time, one who always sat at the edge of the crowd, never spoke unless spoken to, but whose gaze seemed to pierce through illusion itself.

Some claimed he was a student. Others, a protector. And a few went so far as to say he was the Buddha himself, appearing in a different form to protect the path of Dharma from divine interference.

But whoever he was, the effect he left was undeniable. He rarely gave sermons, but when he did, his words cut through ego like a blade.

He taught kings that justice meant service. He taught merchants that wealth meant responsibility. His teachings were never recorded, only repeated by those who heard them. They were quiet lessons that complimented, not contradicted, the teachings of Siddhartha.

Later Indian traditions never gave him a name, only referring to him as "The Silent One Who Walks." Though his stay was brief, his lessons endured. And when he finally disappeared, those who knew him said it was like watching a candle burn out, not with struggle, but with grace.

In all these regions : China, Japan, India, the myth of a mysterious man, unbound by local custom yet revered as if divine, persisted across centuries. Unlike the gods, he never demanded worship. He never built temples.

But everywhere he went, he left behind order where there was chaos, mercy where there was wrath, and humility where there had once been pride. It was the people themselves gathered the the gold, to build Temples in his name, to remember him and his teachings.

And though his name changed with every tongue, Sun Wukong, the Silent One, the Golden Sage, the Stranger from the Sky—his essence remained the same.

He was the one who did not belong in that era, yet was needed most. He came, he saved, he he guided.

And then… he was gone again.

*****

Among the countless journeys Edward took in his long, tireless path through history, one of the earliest and most profound led him to a land that had yet to touch the flames of progress ,the vast and undiscovered continent of Africa.

It was long before he reached the glory of Rome or the grandeur of Egypt. The lands here were wild, untouched by civilization's order. But even then, the people who lived across the many regions of Africa held traditions, strength, and unshaped potential. When Edward first stepped onto its rich red soil, he was greeted not with fear, but reverence.

The people, different in appearance and language, saw in him something divine. He radiated strength they could not comprehend, bore knowledge they had never seen. To them, he was not just a traveler — he was a god. They called him Nyàmbé Mlezi, "the Guardian of Beginning."

At first, he resisted the title. He had never considered himself a god. But when he saw their lives ,the harsh conditions, lack of food security, absence of structure, he didn't turn away. He stayed.

Thanks to Allspeak, the gift he carried that allowed him to understand and communicate with any tongue, he was able to speak to the tribal leaders, elders, hunters, and villagers across hundreds of regions. He offered no sermons. He simply taught. Day by day, month by month, year by year.

He showed them how to shape bricks from clay to build stronger homes that kept out both predators and heat. He taught them how to dig wells deeper, to find water during the dry seasons. He demonstrated irrigation and farming techniques, slowly introducing crops that would thrive in their soil.

And to those who were open to it, he shared his understanding of magic, not as power to dominate, but to preserve, heal, and protect.

It was a slow process. Progress came not in bursts, but in steady climbs. But over a century, the people advanced. Tribes once separated by distance or suspicion began to communicate. They traded. They learned. And above all, they thrived.

Though Edward always maintained he was no god, their reverence for him never wavered. They built no grand temples — only humble stone circles around sacred groves, with symbols etched in old tongue that spoke of "the Guardian who walked the earth."

Then, on the hundredth year of his stay, just as he prepared to leave, a group of villagers came running into the heart of the settlement. Their faces were panicked. Several women and children were missing — taken by men who came in a ship, strange and pale-skinned, armed with blades that shone like silver.

Their description struck Edward with confusion. From what he knew, no European expeditions had discovered these regions for at least another seventeen centuries. But he couldn't ignore it.

He traveled swiftly, faster than any horse or boat could carry a man. And what he found shocked him.

A European slaver ship. Real and anchored on the coast.

It was a brutal, ugly sight. The ship reeked of blood, sweat, and iron. The crew laughed and shouted insults as the captives were chained, calling them "black savages." When Edward appeared before them, they didn't hesitate. They attacked him — swords drawn, pistols raised.

He didn't hold back.

Rage flared in him like fire. Without mercy, he tore through the slavers. Bones snapped under his fists, steel shattered against his skin. He broke their weapons, their limbs, and their arrogance. One of them — the captain — jumped into the sea in panic and vanished beneath the waves.

Edward didn't bother chasing him. Whether he drowned or was killed by the very people he tried to enslave, it didn't matter. He returned with the captives, freeing every last one and personally unchaining them. The moment he stepped back into the settlement with them alive and safe, a silence fell across the people.

There were thousands in the growing city. Members of hundreds of tribes. Children, elders, warriors, all staring at the man they called Nyàmbé Mlezi. Then, slowly, they all fell to their knees. In tears. In awe. In gratitude.

One of the older chieftains, a man who had always been skeptical, stepped forward and knelt. His voice trembled.

"Oh Guardian of Beginning… You do not accept our worship. You take no offerings. You ask for nothing. Yet you give us everything. Why do you do so, oh great one?"

It was a question many had held for years. He never demanded loyalty or sacrifices. He taught, protected, and guided, without asking for anything in return.

Edward looked at them. The thousands kneeling. The children watching from behind their mothers. The warriors who once doubted him now bowed with their heads low. Something stirred inside him, a strange stillness, making him feel lightheaded.

And when he spoke, it was as if something greater was speaking through him.

His voice was soft. Deeper than usual. Not entirely his.

"You ask me for reasons? What reason does a father need… to protect his own children?"

He smiled faintly. No one could speak.

He turned and began to walk away.

Then the impossible happened.

Where his feet touched the dry earth, grass began to sprout. Lush and green. Flowers bloomed with vibrant colors no one had seen before. Forests in the distance stirred. Wild animals, birds, deer, even lions and elephants — emerged from the trees, not to attack, but to follow him. Peacefully. Obediently.

He stopped at the edge of a wasteland, pointed once, and the ground rumbled. An earthquake split the earth. Water surged upward in brilliant bursts, forming a vast lake with water as clear as glass.

He looked back at them all, eyes calm, voice firm but gentle.

"Eat the fruit of the trees. Drink from the well of the earth. Share the world's blessings. Be happy… and content."

Then he turned and vanished, fading into the horizon.

No one moved for a while.

Then, a single voice whispered, hoarse with awe. "The Father of Beginning…"

It echoed.

Another voice repeated it. Then a third. Then dozens. Then hundreds. The chant grew louder until the very sky seemed to echo with it.

"The Father of Beginning!"

They cried it until their throats gave out, until their voices cracked. They wept and shouted it together, not as a title of fear, but love. Reverence. Unity.

They named the lake The Lake of Beginning, and declared it sacred .

Lacking temples or great stone halls, they gathered stones from across the land, marked with every tribes mark, and placed them around the lake, symbols of their devotion.

From that moment, they cast aside all other faiths. To them, there was only one divine force , the Father of Beginning, who came down to earth to save his children.

The faith spread like wildfire. Tribes united under one belief. Kings and queens rose from the people he once saved, each ruler carrying his teachings in their law. Wars ceased. Cities formed. Trade flourished. Culture bloomed.

And so, unknowingly, Edward had planted the seed of civilization across the African continent. A legacy of peace, unity, and purpose. A new era had begun.

He would only learn of it many centuries later.

By then, the memory of his face had faded, but his presence endured. And in future, if anyone asked the people where his temple stood, they would simply smile and say:

"If you seek the Great Father's temple… just look around. For all these lands are a symbol of His love for us."