It had all happened too quickly. He remembered the sound of steel slicing leather and flesh, the sound of a surprised yelp cut off by gurgling blood from the mouth, and the sound of thick blood slopping to the dirt. It was all too familiar, too real even now that he remembered it. He barely remembered what happened right after the fact; he only knew it happened in blind anger, something a master assassin should never act upon. And it caused him to lose something more important than just a piece of himself. He lost his entire life, but no death greeted him.

After the incident in Solomon's Temple, Malik's life literally turned inside out. A blanket of darkness shrouded his heart, a void that would forever be empty. Nothing, no one, could take the special place in his heart for his brother Kadar. He lost his only blood family. It hurt. It hurt so much more than having his arm severed from his body, another piece of him that could never be replaced. Because he could no longer work as an efficient master assassin, he was promoted to the rank of Dai and took leadership over the bureau in Jerusalem. Still, his entire life had been dedicated to being an assassin and killing those who compromised the Brotherhood and Creed. To add salt to the wound, it was his closest friend who had caused it all.

It'd been nearly a year since it had happened. He'd requested to have his brother buried, and took care of all the expenses himself. The grave was on the outskirts of Masyaf, along the bend to the Kingdom and overlooked a cliff held high above the waters which surrounded it. The area was small and perhaps twenty feet from the actual cliff facing, but was kept clean by Malik himself and normally had a burning pot of incense left after every visit.

This visit was of particular importance to him. Malik knelt down onto the soft patch of grass growing over the grave, setting down a rather small incense pot next to the stone engraved with the assassin's crest. His usual ritual of lighting the incense, cleaning the area, and saying a short prayer followed suit.

Fingers gripped the grass, his head bowing and body tensing the slightest. His voice cracked as he spoke to himself, to his younger brother.

"Happy birthday, Kadar."