It was late, it was raining, and the buildings around them were still smoldering in the darkness when he found the body of Haytham Kenway.
Charles's first reaction was disbelief. The years had built Master Kenway up to be larger than life, to be invincible, to be impossible to kill. He was the Grand Master after all, and a Grand Master simply did not fall to a cannon or a young Assassin's flimsy hidden blade.
Perhaps Master Kenway was only unconscious. Perhaps he would wake up later and tell Charles that he was being ridiculous for worrying so much.
But Charles approached his Grand Master's body and he saw the blood. It was everywhere, all over the dirt and Master Kenway's clothing and his face and neck. It had long since dried and coagulated around him. He'd been lying here - completely alone, abandoned by his killer - for a long time.
Worst of all, his eyes were wide open, staring up at a smoky, pale blue sky. The last thing they had seen was his killer.
Charles knelt at his old friend's side. He pressed his fingers to the man's neck to check for a pulse (a futile effort, he knew, but he had to try anyway) and touched blood. And perhaps muscle and bone as well - or something else. He drew his hand away and saw the dark blood running down his palm.
Master Kenway's assailant had stabbed him in the neck with a thin but sharp blade. Charles's brow furrowed. He'd seen that sort of wound too many times in the past few years. It could only be made by an Assassin's hidden blade.
So Master Kenway's son had indeed killed him.
Charles felt his knees turn soft. He braced himself on his hands and tried very hard to keep breathing.
His last conversation with Master Kenway had been strained, at best. He'd told Charles to leave. That he would be fine. They had argued, and Charles had turned his back on the Grand Master with an angry glare.
And then Charles had, against his better judgment, left Master Kenway to deal with the Assassin. The man hadn't explicitly said it, but Charles knew that his Grand Master had a small sort of hope that perhaps his son could still be reasoned with.
But Assassins could never be reasoned with. Charles knew this now.
Why hadn't he stayed? If he had, perhaps it would have been the Assassin's body here and not Master Kenway's.
But he didn't. It was over now, and the Grand Master - his friend, the first person who had welcomed him with open arms in such a long time, who had made him his second-in-command, who had trusted him - was gone now. Forever. For good.
Because of Charles.
No.
Because of the Asssassin.
Charles started to push himself up from the dirt. His eyes were stinging and his body felt unbearably heavy, but he made it back to his feet and brushed his coat off with shaking hands. His subordinates would be following him soon, and he had to look presentable for them. Strong. Confident. It was his task to rebuild the Order now, to crush the Assassin Brotherhood before it could rise again.
But first he had to deal with that Assassin. Master Kenway's son.
He would be made to pay in the most painful way possible.
Charles would make sure of that.