Daud had never felt so old.

The mask in his hand seemed heavy and cold, and he stared into its empty lens as the sky slowly darkened outside his office, wondering when the fates would leave him be. The Lord Protector's body had been taken away, and most of the Whalers were celebrating the reward that would be sure to soon come their way. The Knife of Dunwall could not join them.

He had not lied to the Lord Protector; he dreamt of the Serkonan beaches of his youth and the shadowed alleys of the city he had known as a child, of peace, solitude, and a silent death, far away from Dunwall and its ghosts. After a life of murder and plots, the dream seemed petty, unattainable; he almost chuckled to himself in the silence of his office. But he knew he had to leave. He had had enough of Dunwall and its intrigues, and the city had had more than enough of him.

But before he could disappear, he had one last task.

He had made his decision as soon as he had heard the bodyguard's words; his daughter needed his help, and Daud's conscience, ignored for too many years, demanded he repay his debt. Corvo had been right; she deserved better.

She deserved the golden sands of Bastillian, the exotic spices of Cullero and the colourful streets of Karnaca. She deserved better than a life of servitude and obligations to a people who would never show her any gratitude for her work. She deserved better than this gray city of bones and stones and blood and steel.

She deserved better than to be Empress, and she deserved better than Dunwall. He could give her all of this, once he freed her from the new Lord Regent's grip, and even if she refused to go with him, she would be free. He would have to act fast, however, and alone. The Whalers would not understand.

Daud wondered if he was being selfish, or righteous. Both, echoed the Outsider's voice.

"Sir."

He was not surprised to see Thomas had pushed open the door to his office. He had been lurking about for hours, no doubt seeking to gather the courage to disturb him when he had asked not to be. The master assassin placed the Lord Protector's mask before him as he gestured for his second-in-command to approach. The mask and hood that usually hid the younger man's face from view were gone. With his handsome face, blond hair and green eyes, the lad would have made some lady very happy, had he been better-born. But he had been raised in the muddied alleys and shadowed streets of Dunwall's slums, and he had seen his hands reddened with blood under Daud's tutelage. He was younger than most of the Whalers, but more loyal than any of them.

"What do you want?" Daud growled, placing his hands on either side of the mask before him.

"I have a confession to make, Sir," the other said, and he shifted uncomfortably. The older man stayed silent, waiting for him to speak. "I may have – overheard your conversation with the bodyguard, Sir – before he died."

"Overheard?" Daud could not help but chuckle joylessly. He leaned back into his chair, smoothing a hand across his forehead with a sigh. "I think it would be more appropriate to say you spied on me."

Had he truly been so distracted with the Lord Protector's words that he had not noticed one of his own men eavesdropping on them? He supposed it was possible. He had been rather distracted as of late.

"Perhaps," Thomas replied, and he looked almost sheepish, although not enough to keep him silent. "But… well, is it true? What he said, about the Empress and – "

A wave from Daud's hand silenced him, and the master assassin looked at his second-in-command for a long while. The Knife of Dunwall did not have favourites; everyone was equal amongst the Whalers, a privilege they would not have been able to boast of had they chosen to remain amidst Dunwall's 'respectable' society. Only twice had he allowed himself to break that rule he had established for himself; with Billie, who had been his brightest pupil, and once more with Thomas, who had come to them at a young age and had almost been the child Daud thought he would never have, before Emily came along. He had let the young man get away with too many pranks and jokes in his younger years for him to not be aware of Daud's weakness.

Perhaps it was that affection that made the Knife of Dunwall share his secret.

"It is," he answered quietly. "Emily is my daughter."

"And what will you do, Sir?" Thomas seemed calm, his face impassive. But Daud knew him well enough to know it took him all of his self-control to rein in his curiosity. Had the circumstances been any different, he might have scolded the young man, but now he could only laugh humorlessly.

"What else can I do but go free her?" he rose, brushing the mask aside before walking to the open doorway behind him, letting his eyes wander aimlessly over the ruined buildings of the district. "I thought it would be enough to save her from Delilah's plan. Then she would have been set to sit the throne, Corvo at her side, and never again would I have had to worry about her. But it seems she will never be safe. Not here, not in Dunwall, or even Gristol. She must leave the city, and I must leave with her. This town took everything from me, and now, with her Lord Protector's death, it has taken everything from her, too. Corvo was right, she deserves better than a life of manipulation and intrigues, the only life she will ever know if she stays here."

He took a deep breath and did not voice the rest of his thoughts. I don't want her to die broken and betrayed, like her mother before her. The air smelled of rotting wood, sea salt, and old wounds. He turned back to Thomas and was about to speak, but the young man spoke before he could:

"Please, Sir, allow me to come with you," he said, coming to stand in front of the older man. Daud could see his hands clenching into fists. He knew the young man considered the Whalers as his family, and he had no doubt he understood what his departure would mean for the gang. "I know others will want to help you as well. We can – "

"No," the master assassin cut him off, shouldering past him to go sit at his desk again. He would not allow his feelings get in his way. Not again. "I leave tonight – alone. That is final."


When Daud left his office that night, with Corvo's mask clutched tight in his hand, he saw Thomas, and four other Whalers standing there, waiting for him. Good men and women all. He wondered if they knew what they were getting into. But it was too late for him, and too late for them. Without a word, he blinked away, knowing they would follow.

By the time the rest of the Whalers woke in the morning, they would be long gone, and the gang's supernatural powers with them. The smartest amongst them would undoubtedly recognize this for what it was: the end of Daud's Whalers. The end of an era.

Daud left the last remnants of his life behind him without a second thought.


The journey upriver to the Hound Pits Pub was fast and uneventful, their small boat slipping easily past the blockades under the cover of darkness. Despite the hour, the pub was still teeming with City Watch when the assassins reached it, and Daud sent one of his men ahead to scout while he allowed the boat to drift noiselessly to a conveniently placed crumbling wall, shielding them from prying eyes as they waited for his return.

The first rays of sun had begun to peek over the river when he returned, reporting Tallboys and multiple Watch Officers, for a total of almost twenty men.

"There are men locked in the Workshop," he added. "And someone in the Tower, as well. I suppose they were betrayed by the Admiral, too, and they're in hiding."

"Alright, let's go," Daud said, and once the others had blinked away he breathed deep before slipping on the Lord Protector's mask and pulling a hood over his head. He waited a moment as his eyes adjusted to the lens before joining his Whalers.

It was not as easy as Daud would have believed to clear the place, but they still managed it without shedding so much as a single drop of blood, as per the master assassin's orders. When the last Tallboy had fallen, they regrouped in the courtyard.

"Search every room and every floor," Daud ordered. "We must know where they have gone. I'll search the attic myself; Thomas, Connor," he said, turning to the two young men, "you have the third floor. Emma, Liam," the two middle-aged siblings stood together, "the common room, and the basement. Grace, go with Anna. Sentry duty. The Workshop and the Tower are to be left alone."

The two ex-courtesans nodded, and the group was quick to disperse to attend to their tasks. Daud was left to climb the stairs to what he was sure must have been the Lord Protector's chambers, if the gigantic drawing on the wall was anything to go by. He stared at it for a long while. Emily had surely left it there for her bodyguard in the hope he might come back. But she would never see him again. He sighed.

As he turned to explore the rest of the room, a crumpled sheet of paper, half-obscured by a bedframe that had been negligently pushed against the wall, caught his eye. As the assassin picked it up, he saw it was a letter. The penmanship was childish and clumsy at times, but still perfectly legible.

Corvo,

Remember before when I mentioned a special drawing I was working on for you? This is it. Havelock said you were in the sewers, but you've been gone for hours. I heard the Admiral tell Martin that the Lighthouse on Kingsparrow Island was ready, and that we should go soon. I hope you get back before then, but if you don't, I guess I'll see you there.

Below, scrawled hastily, was her name, Emily. He read it, again and again. It was obvious the little girl loved the bodyguard very much. The word scribbled over the drawing, Daddy, told him as much. Corvo had been the father the heiress had never known, and the Knife of Dunwall knew he could never hope to replace him – nor did he want to. Would she even accept him after he had murdered her mother? Daud left the letter where he had found it as he left the room. It was too late to go back now; he could only wait and see.

He found Anna crouching on the walkway between the attic and the tower, watching a small riverboat drifting in the distance. She stood at the sound of his steps, facing him.

"They're at Kingsparrow Island," he said to her, and she nodded, crossing her arms.

"I've heard of it," she replied. "It's a little ways downriver, but we should be there before noon if we leave now. Last I heard, they were building some kind of Lighthouse."

"That's right," Daud answered, and together they blinked down to the courtyard, where the other Whalers quickly came to join them.

When their boat left the Pub, the sun had not even been up for two hours.


Kingsparrow Island was so much more than a Lighthouse.

It was a fortress, plain and simple. The perfect place to lock away the heiress to an Empire, when one feared for her safety – or for her captors'.

The fort sat like some great hulking beast on the rocky shore of the small island, an ugly mass of steel and stone that stood still as guards crawled in and out of it like scavengers on a whale's carcass. Arc Pylons, Watchtowers and Walls of Light had been set up, ready to stop anyone who would be foolish enough to try and attack the place.

Daud almost smiled beneath his mask as he watched it all from the rocky hill on which he stood.

What admirable fools they were, thinking this would keep the shadows away.

Slowly, patiently, the Whalers and their master worked their way toward the Lighthouse; guards were neutralized quickly and silently, their limp bodies taken away where they would not be seen and where they would wake safely. The Sokolov systems were shut down with ease, their whale oil tanks stashed away so that they could not be reactivated. It was easy. Almost like business again. But always the Lighthouse that loomed over them and the mask that shielded Daud's face from their eyes reminded the Whalers of their purpose.

The wind was roaring and howling violently as they stepped from the lift at the top of the Lighthouse. The few guards that patrolled the area were taken down quickly, and the group made its way inside. However, the Whalers stepped back when they came to the foot of the grand staircase that spiraled toward the top of the Lighthouse. Daud touched the mask hiding his features, feeling his gloves smoothing over leather, metal and glass. His hands were trembling, but he did not know whether it was from nervousness, or exhaustion.

The memory came to him unbidden; he was eight again, sitting next to his mother on a beach near Karnaca. He could not recall her face, but her words were clear, even now:

Someday, you'll be strong. You'll be strong, and feared, and respected. Remember, Daud.

He was feared, he knew.

Respected? Perhaps.

But as he began to climb the stairs toward his daughter and the man who wanted her for himself, Daud did not feel strong at all.

He heard Havelock before he saw him, talking to himself in the richly decorated war room that opened atop the staircase. A grim sight greeted Daud as he hid in the shadows; two bodies were slumped over the table in the middle of the room, the glasses that had slipped from their grasp in their death throes and the alcohol he saw seeping through the maps that lay on the table making their end obvious; it seemed Havelock had a preference for poison.

The man himself stood next to the fireplace, his back turned to the doorway as he lamented of days gone by and things Daud cared little for. He was broad-shouldered, and obviously battle-hardened, if the well-used weapons hanging at his side were anything to go by. His arms were thick and his hands strong, but when he turned to face the doorway the Knife of Dunwall saw that he was old, and made older still by the things he had done. Daud was no stranger to the haunted look in the Admiral's eyes. The Lord Regent's hand shook even as he raised his glass to his lips.

Daud stepped from his hiding place, and Havelock did not seem surprised.

"Hello, Corvo," he said. "I knew you would find me."

Then his eyes lingered on the crimson jacket, the leather gloves and the weathered boots. He frowned.

"Your poison succeeded where so many failed before, Admiral," the master assassin said, stepping forward. The man did not know him, he knew. "The Lord Protector is dead."

The Lord Regent's face turned impassive and cold, although his hand still shook, betraying his inner turmoil.

"Then who are you?" he asked. "What do you want?"

"I'm here to finish the job," replied Daud, simply. "I'm here to finish Corvo's task."

Havelock's brow furrowed, and his hand reached for his pistol. But the Knife of Dunwall was faster, and he blinked forward, pressing the muzzle of his own pistol under the Admiral's jaw. The man froze. Daud knew the other was not afraid to die, and that he would gladly fight, yet something held him back. He did not care what.

"Who are you?" Havelock asked again.

"No one anymore," the master assassin answered, and his wristbow clicked into place, the sleep dart easily punching through the Lord Regent's layers of clothing, and the Admiral fell, limp and unconscious, across the doorway. Daud tucked his pistol away, and he could hear the Whalers climbing the steps.

"Dead?" Thomas asked, stopping a few feet away from the older man and eyeing the body at his feet.

"No," answered Daud. "Let him pay for his crimes in Coldridge."

He bent over the Lord Regent, snatching the key from his belt. He could hear small fists pounding against a wooden door nearby. He felt his heart tighten.

She is but a child, the Outsider whispered, and his feet seemed almost too heavy to move as he stepped forward, but she has seen more than many of those who call themselves wise. Your hand brought this about; will you undo it? Can you undo it?

He was left with the taste of brine in the back of his throat, and the echo of the Outsider's laugh in his ears.

"Havelock? You have to let me out! Who's there? Corvo? Can anyone hear me?"

Daud approached the door slowly, the roaring of his blood in his ears almost too much to bear. His mark pulsed insistently on the back of his hand, and he wished he could scratch the brand from his skin.

The key slipped into the lock, and as the door clicked open he saw his daughter's face for the first time since that day, at the Tower.

She smiled.

But it was not at him, he realized. It was the mask. The master assassin could see it fade slowly from her face as she took in his clothes, his build. He saw her look for familiar marks or weapons, and knew she would not find any. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and her dark eyes rose to meet his.

"Who are you?" asked Emily Kaldwin. "How did you get this mask?"

Daud could hear Thomas whispering behind him, and Anna answering in kind. His hand slowly rose, and the mask slipped from his face. The look that came over his daughter could only be described as hatred and, perhaps, fear.

"I'm a friend," was all he could say before she leapt from her prison.

She barreled out of the room and down the stairs. He heard her steps on the metal walkways as he followed after her, albeit at a slower pace, his Whalers following closely. It would not do to frighten her even more by running after her.

The door to the lift slammed closed, and it began its slow descent. This was their chance to outrun her. The assassins blinked down the shaft, from cable to beam to ladder, and they arrived on the beach before the heiress had even stepped off the elevator.

Daud waited with his hands linked behind his back, the mask clutched tight in his hand, and he stiffened when she stepped on the beach, her steps slowly coming to a stop as she approached them and realized she had nowhere to run. She was panting, her black hair sticking to her sweat-covered forehead and cheeks.

"Where is Corvo?" she asked harshly, and when he stepped forward she raised a hand. "Don't come any closer! Did you kill him too?"

The venom in her voice would have been enough to intimidate a lesser man, even despite her young age. But Daud was stone.

"No, girl," he answered, and he saw her feature relax slightly in relief. He would not lie to her, and it was not in his nature to be gentle. "Havelock did."

He saw her shudder, and a long, thin wail rose from her lips. Daud waited. When she lowered her eyes to her shoes, he stepped closer. She did not stop him this time, and the master assassin noticed the tears that stained her cheeks.

"Are you going to kill me too, then?" Emily asked. She seemed small now, and fragile. The Knife of Dunwall stopped a few steps away from her, staring down at his daughter.

"No," he answered. "We're going to take you away." He hoped she would understand why. He hoped she would accept it, for her sake and his own.

Emily finally looked at him, and their eyes met. He hoped he did not notice how her eyes were a perfect mirror of his own. She must not know, not yet, he decided. The tears had stopped flowing, although her cheeks were still wet and red.

"But I'm Empress," the protest was weak. There was no will there. He almost smiled.

"No," he replied, and he could see the twitch of a retort on her lips, but spoke again before she could. "You're a little girl. And Dunwall, the world, is not kind to little girls."

Her eyes lowered back to her shoes for half a heartbeat before she looked up again.

"I've been having dreams about a black-eyed ghost," the girl said, and Daud felt his mark throb beneath his glove. He almost cursed. Of course the Outsider would not leave her alone. "He said I would never be Empress, and that you were a friend."

The assassin was surprised. Very rarely did the Outsider decide to reveal the future of those he had chosen to grace with his presence, and rarer still were the moments where he decided to help a mortal. He sighed, and pulled off a glove, showing her his mark. This simple action brought back memories he had buried deep, of the time he had done the same with her mother. He shook them away.

"I've met him too," he said, and he saw Emily staring intently at the brand, her brows furrowed. "We don't like each other very much, but I've known him for many years, and he's never lied to me."

Daud realized the words to be true as he said them. For all his condescendence and meddling, never had the Outsider lied to him or led him astray. He supposed he had to be grateful for the indulgence the Whale God had showed him.

"I will never sit the throne, then?" the girl asked, and the master assassin thought she looked so much older than she truly was just then.

"I don't believe so," he answered, pulling his glove back on.

There was silence then, the sound of the wind howling and the whispers of the Whalers the only voices to be heard, before Emily sighed and sat in the sand, rubbing her eyes and once more looking up at him.

He had never seen such sadness.

"Take me away," she murmured.

He bent over her and picked her up, a hand under her knees and another on her back, and she simply curled into his chest. The Whalers busied themselves to prepare the boat for departure as he stepped on with her in his arms. They did not speak. When the boat's engine roared to life and they slowly left Kingsparrow Island behind them, Emily fell asleep.

Daud dared to hope that he would find peace, now that both of them were safe. For once, the Outsider did not belie his thoughts.