Excerpts from the 2014 edition of The Book of Medical and Psychological Terminology-
Circinus: Marks caused by unusual blood flow patterns just under a person's skin. Typically located on the inside the left forearm, the markings form the shape of a compass and have been scientifically proven to point to the person's soulmate. Although circinus may fade to the point of being invisible to the naked eye, and some people may go decades without ever seeing it, the very definition of a Soulmate guarantees that someday the circinus will become visible and the two will, inevitably find one another. Although people all over the world now accept circinus as a part of their day to day lives, the truth is that until about a century ago, the markings did not exist. In the year 1900, the first circinus marked infants were born, and every person since that day has been born with these markings.
Soulmates: Two people destined to make a huge and lasting impact on the lives of the other. Although, as the term suggests, most soulmates do end up as lovers or spouses, a relationship with a soulmate is not always a romantic one. Many people are strongly influenced by parents, children, close friends, and even enemies, and any of these relationships can lead to two people becoming soulmates.
-/-
In the dream- The Dream- the dream he's had every single night of his life, faces surround him.
Or one face, technically, repeated a thousand times, or more than a thousand times. An endless field of corpses surrounds Malik, all wearing the same face, all dead. Some are stabbed, others crushed, still others torn limb from limb- his mind's creativity in this matter never fails to horrify him, and as always, Malik finds himself squeezing his eyes closed, trying to block out that face. But there's no point, because while he can stop himself from seeing, he can still hear them. They're shouting, speaking words he almost recognizes, but can't quite hear over the sound of their screams.
They should have been silent, drowned out by time and distance and death, but he can hear their screams, their death rattles, their voices rising into a chorus of blame so loud and angry he can't make out a single word.
He wants to say something, but he doesn't know what to say, or even how. The horror of the scene, of the sea of bodies before him, robs Malik of his ability to speak, so that all he can do is turn and run. He knows there's no point to running, because he's tried it every single night of his life. No matter which way he goes, or how far he runs, he can never escape the press of bodies all wearing that same face.
But he runs anyway, just like he does every time, because it's better than staying there and letting their dead eyes stare accusingly at him. And then he trips over something (a body, maybe? He doesn't want to look) and the ground comes up to meet him.
The screams abruptly die away, and in the sudden silence, Malik can hear a single pair of footsteps walking closer. Shaking a little, he stands back up. Right in front of him is that same face, but whole and alive. Malik takes a hesitant step closer, not sure what to make of this new development. Every single night, for as long as he can remember, he's run through an endless field of corpses until- finally- he wakes to the real world feeling miserable and alone.
He looks down at the face, and he knows, he knows he's seen it somewhere before, not in the dream but in real life, but he just can't remember… and then the boy (because really, he's no more than a boy) opens his mouth and asks- "Why?"
"Why..?" Malik doesn't have an answer, he doesn't even understand the question, but the boy is staring at him with an intensity that demands he say something.
A blade rips through the boy's stomach, and he gasps in pain, looking down at the blood spreading from the wound like he just can't believe he's about to die. He sways for a second, then falls, and behind him is- someone else. A man, his face grim, surveys Malik over the boy's corpse, and Malik feels a sudden surge of brutal, inexplicable rage. Their eyes meet, and-
-/-
The alarm clock beeps shrilly in his ear, startling Malik out of his nightmares and back to the real world. He groans and clambers out of bed to silence the alarm and start the day, muttering angrily to himself as he does so.
That dream…
He shouldn't still be bothered by it. Logically, reasonably, the same pile of corpses that he's had to suffer through every single night of his life shouldn't still have the power to scare him as much as it does. But then again, it's a dream. Logic and reason have very little power over nightmares.
He shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of the memories of the boy and the man that killed him.
He stumbles through his morning routine, tripping over boxes and digging through piles of clutter to find a clean set of clothes. He hates this, hates the hassle and chaos of relocating halfway across the country, but he's not fool enough to pass up a promotion like the one that took him from Chicago to New York. He's twenty five years old, three years out of college and working for one of the most prestigious architecture firms in the US. He's worked hard for everything he has, and he's not going to give it all up just to avoid the hassle of moving.
He makes a mental to do list as he dresses and scours the tiny apartment for something to eat. He needs to unpack, obviously, and go out for groceries at some point. He scratches absentmindedly at the inside of his left forearm, which has been bothering him since he got into the city. Maybe he should add some kind of anti-itch cream to the list.
He forces himself to stop scratching and puts on his shirt and suit jacket. He feels pretty confident of his ability to make a good first impression, but it helps that somehow he's managed to find a full set of clothes that's made it through the move looking more or less presentable.
"I hate moving," Malik mutters to himself, not for the first time, and heads out to face the city.
He's never been to New York before, but he has to admit… it's a little bit disappointing. The city, or at least the area his apartment's in, isn't that much different from Chicago. It's dark and crowded and loud. The ads on the billboards and on the sides of the busses are the same as in Chicago, urging him to go to Starbucks for his coffee, buy his breakfast from McDonalds, and use uNITE to find the other half of his circinus.
Malik snorts as he walks past this last advertisement. He's not the biggest fan of the whole concept. After all, he's doing just fine on his own, and if he never gets close enough to his soulmate for his circinus to be visible- well, all the better.
Absentmindedly, he scratches at his arm again.
-/-
Altair's never wanted to lead a normal life, which is lucky, because there was never much chance of that anyway. He was born different- stronger, harder, faster. As a kid, he could beat boys older and bigger than him in a fight without ever learning how. In school, when the other boys were chasing each other up trees and falling off the monkey bars, Altair would climb up buildings and jump off rooftops just to feel the wind as he fell.
He used to think it was because he was special, and it made him cocky and stupid. Looking back at it now, knowing what he's learned since then, Altair realizes he's lucky he didn't manage to get himself killed. Then again, arrogance has always been his downfall.
The dreams started around the same time as puberty did. Most people had to deal with growth spurts and hormones when they hit their teen years, but Altair had visions of another life. For a while, he tried to convince himself he was crazy, because believing the visions were true was somehow worse than believing he'd gone insane. He didn't want to believe that he was capable of doing the things that the Altair in his dreams could do.
He denies it for a long time, through all of high school and half his time as an undergrad. He denies it until the night he comes across a group of frat boys taking advantage of some half-conscious girl who's drunk out of her mind.
What he does to those boys gets him kicked out of school, but it also removes all doubt in his mind that the life he sees in his dreams is his, because there's nothing in this new life that would have caused him to react like that.
It should have been the worst time in his life, but it isn't. Once he's accepted the memories, who he is slides effortlessly into who he was, and the Altair that comes out is something between the two- he has the wisdom gained from nine decades as an assassin, paired with the optimism and energy of a man scarcely out of his teens.
Five years later, his life is still going well. After getting kicked out of one school, he takes some time off, thinks long and hard about what he wants to do with his life, and in the end there's only one thing he can come up with. He wants- no, he needs to go to Masyaf. He knows it's been centuries. He knows it must be deserted and nearly rubble by now.
He also knows it's where he's going to find answers.
So he applies at another school, earns a bachelor's degree double majoring in history and anthropology. Now he's working on a master's in archaeology at a decent school in New York City. There are better schools in other places, but this is the only school with a professor on staff trying to get funding for an expedition to Masyaf.
It's strange to realize that there are people in the world that see his home as the kind of dead, ancient place suitable for research, but then again, it works to Altair's advantage. He's never seen himself as much of a scholar, not in this life or the first one. The only reason he's trying so hard now is because there's a thousand years between now and the last time he left Masyaf. He needs to find out what happened in the years between, and he'll need to do that the same way as anyone else would- hard work and research.
But all that is still a long way off. Altair's been working on the professor doing the research, and he's pretty sure that if the expedition actually happens, he'll be going along. Probably to carry supplies and take down notes, but at least he'll be there. And for now, until something happens, he actually has some free time to spend.
It feels weird, and he's bored out of his mind. His schoolwork keeps him occupied most of the time, but he still spends a lot of time wishing that something interesting would happen. And just when his boredom level hits an all-time high, his circinus shows up for the first time.
He notices it over breakfast, and for several minutes he sits at his desk, a spoonful of cereal raised halfway to his mouth, staring without comprehension at the unfamiliar markings. He knows about circinus in general, obviously. He hasn't been blind and deaf for the past twenty five years. But he always sort of assumed that his… unusual circumstances would keep him from having a soulmate. At least one in this century.
The markings look like a compass- four main arrows pointing in the cardinal directions with a darker arrow pointed forward and slightly to the right. Curious, Altair moves his hand and watches the dark arrow move under his skin so that it's still pointed in the same direction. The markings are still faint, but there's no doubt that they're circinus.