Where is his flesh and blood arm? The question fills Ed with a familiar ache. I traded it to some guy who guards a gate that exists in between worlds so that I could seal my brother's soul to a suit of armor. He knows it's no use trying to explain where it is to this man -- not that he would bother with a stranger anyway. As it is, the notion's usually too much for people who know alchemy, let alone those who don't know how the exchanges work.

"Gone," Ed settles for. Doesn't see why it matters anyway.

"1905," Ed supplies, knowing that's earlier than when most of the others come from. "And I don't really know all the specifics," he shrugs, "There's ports in my arm and leg and it connects into there."