The door opens, and Altaïr glances over his shoulder, fingers pausing with the desk ornament.
Two people enter, and, in hindsight, Altaïr knows he will never forget this day: two boys, as dark as mahogany or cherry wood, one a head taller than the other, but both looking almost like twins. The youngest one, smiling curiously and eagerly, has the most brilliant and surprising eyes Altaïr has ever seen—blue, all blue, swarming and sharp blue, and Altaïr worries he may drown in them, so he looks instead to the other boy, only to realize he may get consumed still by the burnt sienna he finds there waiting, the blood-and-earthy gaze of uncertainty and caution.
"Al-Sayf," Ezio says from the other side of the desk, motioning with a hand while Altaïr looks on. "Malik"—Ezio points them out—"and Kadar."
Kadar, the youngest, the one with those haunting blue eyes, steps forward enthusiastically. "Hello, it's nice to meet you finally," he says, and it's in the familiar bark of Arabic.
Altaïr is stunned, and his fingers release the Newton's Cradle, causing a loud clack of sudden noise when the metal orbs connect and transfer momentum. The familiar roll of Eastern names and his mother tongue are given to him like a dish of lemon pudding, sweet and tart all at once.
It had been so long since he heard words he understood, but now he doesn't quite know what to say. Kadar continues to smile encouragingly, intrigued; however, Malik, who stands behind, looks just as sour as ever.
"Hello," Altaïr tries timidly.
"He does speak Arabic!" Kadar says in English, more to Ezio, and he pushes the few steps forward to close the distance between him and Altaïr and desk. "Oh man, we get to teach him English, don't we?" When he looks at Ezio, the man nods, and then Kadar turns around to grin. "Malik," he says, waving his brother over, "we're going to have so much fun. It's someone like us."
Like us, Malik thinks. Looking at Altaïr, who looks right back at him, Malik doesn't believe they are alike at all. Pale skinned and golden eyed, foreign even with the rumble of Arabic in the throat—no, Malik doesn't believe they are alike.
Not one bit.
