"You sure know a lot of details," Sarah said to me.
"I remember many things my father told me… and there's also something that really helps with the details," I admitted. "Let me show you."
From my travel bag, I pulled out a worn, rustic-bound notebook. Its cover was battered by time and use, but the pages were still surprisingly legible.
"My father, Edward, left this diary before he died."
…
That morning, I was sitting under a tree, resting after the alchemy lesson I had received earlier. Even after reaching adulthood, I was still subjected to constant training by my father.
Even after my mother ran away, even after I fell ill, he never stopped teaching me—not for a single day. He always reminded me of the importance of his research, the honor of being a member of the Forster family, and that if he were to die from his illness, I would be the one to carry it on.
