A/N: A quick update? Completely unheard of! Lucky for you guys, this chapter was suppose to be chapter III but it got delayed and voila!

Thank you kingawesome, Savvy the Hunter of Artemis, and pjato-lover for reviewing. Big thanks for pjato-lover for favoriting/following and thank you, The Faerie for following.

kingawesome: I'm not sure whether you read my message that I wrote in the last chapter but I did not put this in the PJO/AC fanfic for specific reasons. It's because I simply see no point in putting it there when I can place it in here so readers, who aren't familiar with the AC world, can read this story.

Chapter IV: Assassin Robes

The day after she met Mason, Piper decided that it was time she went back to school. Most teenagers would have stayed home but she was convinced that she needed to get out of the house. And as far as her normal life was concerned, she had to keep her grades up and her absence must have hindered her progress with her studies.

Her dad had enrolled her in a public high school and though it was nothing like those TV dramas, she didn't exactly see eye to eye with other students. Only now, did she understand what it was like to be an outcast.

Piper, despite how "pretty" she was, tried to maintain a low profile. It was no secret that she survived the car accident. Her face was all over the news, and now she was exposed; everyone knew who her dad was.

She had thrown on a gray pull-over sweater, a pair of Toms and cargo shorts. All day, she kept her hood up but, of course, this endeavor failed to keep people from gawking at her.

Her classes went by fast and for that, she was grateful. Some students would stare and send her pity looks or approach her and apologize for the death of her dad. Some idiots even offered to console her (prompting her to cry in the bathroom stall for a ten minutes) but she resisted. The only reason her peers would comfort her was so they could take advantage of her. Piper knew better now or maybe she was just growing paranoid.

After a hectic day of dodging annoying people and actually charmspeaking one of them to leave, Mason picked her up. Apparently, he was working for her dad.

She said nothing to him; only nodding to acknowledge his presence. He didn't ask her how was her day, and she knew one-sided conversations were pointless so the drive home was relatively quiet.

Piper tried not to think about the last time she was in a car. Glass shattering, the car flipping over, blood splattering the pavement…

Her eyes watered but she held back the tears. Now was not the time to cry.

The car pulled in front of her house, and she opened her door and stepped out, exhaling exasperatedly. Before she even entered her mansion, she heard barking and made a beeline for her father's study.

Piper passed Mellie's room and she flinched, recalling that Mellie was still upset with her even though it was her fault for attempting to lie to her. She continued down the hallway, thinking that it was best not to bother the wind nymph.

When she opened the door to her dad's office, she felt her eyebrows rise up in amusement. It was a strange sight. Her dog, Brownie, was sniffing the jukebox, his legs trotting around the device like it was the most interesting fire hydrant. The pup barked at the jukebox once again and repeated its investigation.

"Great," Piper murmured. "How am I suppose to do my homework?"

"I could take him for a walk."

Startled, she didn't realize that Mason was behind her. The fact that he was so quiet made her dubious about his antics.

She nodded and watched him disappear around the corner, Brownie tagging along with his tail wagging.

That guy was a walking question mark. Mason had to have some sort of hidden agenda. She was still convinced that he was the same guy from the hospital.

Piper rubbed her temple and closed the door. Now, exactly why was Brownie barking at the jukebox? Dogs didn't exactly bark at furniture unless there was something dangerous about it, and Piper seriously doubted that a jukebox would cause any harm.

Unless…

Piper tapped her chin thoughtfully. She never would have pegged her dad as secretive but he always sent her away, so it came to mind exactly what did he do with whatever free time he had.

If she concentrated hard enough, perhaps she could activate that blue vision. She didn't know what good it would do but starting her history essay didn't sound so appealing right now.

Throwing her bag on the couch, she stood in front of the jukebox, noticing that it was bigger than her, crossed her arms and glared at it.

After two minutes, it worked. The world around her was coated in dark blue. Well, everything except the jukebox. It's aura glowed a pure white.

Well, that's different.

She searched around the device, feeling the curved edge of the top, examining the front and the side. She kneeled down, her hands running over the colorful designs, looking for anything that struck her odd.

Piper tried pulling it but the bottom was practically glued to the floor.

Or you're just weak, she thought bitterly.

She speculated the jukebox once more, comtemplating on giving up until she noticed scratch marks on the floor. It was like… like… like someone was moving a piece of furniture.

That didn't make sense. The stupid jukebox wouldn't even budge.

She gave the jukebox another once-over. Only now did she notice the grid on the front and her brow furrowed when her eyes located a cavity within the red circle. The hole was carved perfectly to fit the shape of a bird.

Not just any bird. A thunderbird.

Automatically, she reached under her shirt, fumbling with Great Grandma Aribelle's necklace. The cavity in the jukebox had the same square-like wings, wide tail feathers, and curved head with a small beak.

Without a second thought, she removed the necklace and placed it in the hole. It was a perfect fit.

…Nothing happened.

Her mouth twisted into a frown and she growled in an unladly like manner. What a waste, she thought.

Standing up and feeling foolish, she shook her head in what must have been disappointment or shame. She turned on her heel, the outline of her essay already forming in her head, but then the most ear-splitting sound erupted, halting her in her steps. The grating and cacophonous sound of… something forced her to cover her ears.

When it ended, she looked behind her and felt her mouth fell open. Instead of the jukebox leaning against the wall, the device was inexplicably pushed forward from one side, and on the wall was a hole the size of a door.

The recess in the wall was entirely black, the light refusing to seep inside or show a glimpse of what was yonder. Piper's stomach dropped and her heart climbed its way into her throat. Whatever lay beyond that secret passage, she was absolutely sure that it was unsettling.

You'd think that after surviving an end-of-the-world quest, she'd seen it all. Apparently, there was so much that she hadn't experienced yet.

Somehow, Piper mustered enough courage to step forward. She didn't know what to expect. A room full of money with stacks of gold bars? Statues and paintings of her mother, Aphrodite? Dead bodies?

That last one sent a shiver down her spine.

She ducked her head and searched the wall for a light switch. Her fingers found a hard shape, and flicked the switch—and stopped.

What. The. Hell.

They stared back at her, lined up against the wall like diligent soldiers. Both of them were contained within a class case and a yellow light descended upon them like they were trophies. Their colors swirled from red, black, blue, and occasionally brown but white being the dominant color. The colors were rich. The fabric, though archaic, stylish and embroidered with designs and folds that only the patience an artist could have.

Piper, completely at loss for words, felt overwhelmed. She took a tentative step forward, aware that her palms moistened and her palpitate heart only worsened the swelling feeling in her chest. Her stomach churned and every step took her farther from the door and closer into something perilous.

The first outfit seemed appropiately made for a man; and a sturdy one, at that. The robe was a dirty white outlined with blue and the hood had a beak which adorned the sign of an eagle. The sleeves were thick—most likely to define the muscles of the person wearing it.

An assortment of weapons surrounded it on each side. The right had a wooden hand made bow with an empty quiver woven of animal skin. The other side had several flintlock pistols and swords but the one weapon that caught Piper's eye was the tomahawk that was displayed on a seperate marble table.

As for the other outfit, it was obvious that it was more suited for a female. Unlike the other one, it was more modern with belt buckles and leather straps, however the hem of the robe was decorated with fur and feathers. The weapons surrounding this one paled in comparison for it only consisted of a revolver and a worn out whip.

But what both outfits donned was a strange symbol. It was the one feature that Piper found most captivating and most significant. The belt on both outfits held the strange symbol adjusted in the center, as well as on the armguards. She saw that symbol somewhere...

Buried in the depths of her memories, the strange symbol flashed haphazardly in her mind. Her eyes shut and she squinted, her hand going up to rub her temple where the source of the migraine pounded furiously like a hammer.

"Daddy?"

A seven-year old Piper lifted the back of her feet so she could balance on her toes. The dining table that her dad was using was too high for her, and she cursed herself for being born so short.

"Yeah, Pipes?" Her dad asked, pushing away the documents he was reading. Seven-year old Piper looked curiously at the papers, noticing the strange symbol printed on it.

So that's why it looks familiar... Piper thought, the throbbing in her head dissipating. But what does all this mean? Why would Dad have these stored in here?

Judging from the dust collecting on the suits, someone (that someone being her dad) must have dusted it often... or wore it at one point. She wanted desperately to believe that he dusted it but the latter diminished as she reevaluated the room.

To her right, a small table and a single chair was set up. Next to the lamp, a journal made of brown leather lay innocently. In the midst of the apprehension building up inside her, Piper found herself pacing forward the table, feeling like a moth drawn to a flame.

She wondered if this journal belonged to her dad. Suddenly, she was reluctant to peer into the book and uncover its secrets. She looked back to the outfits aligned on the wall then back at the book.

Perhaps I could learn why the heck Dad has these stored here, Piper thought. But wouldn't it be disrespectful just raiding someone's personal thoughts? Her mind countered. Especially since that someone is my dad and that he's dead? But that won't get me anywhere...

Eventually, her curiosity won.

Her fingers brushed against the old leather as she flipped the book open. Her eyes squinted as she tried to read the contents of the first page for it was written in faded black ink and scripted in beautiful curves. Her eyebrows furrowed as it dawned on her that this journal, in fact, did not belong to her dad due to the articulate and stylish handwriting. No way this journal could be written by someone from the 21st century, unless the person had the ability to write so exquisitely, which (let's face it) was such a rare occurence that it seemed unlikely.

Nonetheless, Piper read the first entry.

September 27, 1769

Leaving home was harder than I thought. I expected the journey to fill me with a sort of pride; a sense of accomplishment. But whatever it was that carried me away from home soon fled—replaced with questions and no small amount of doubt. Had I been too hasty? Had I made a mistake? The others in the village, they thought this was something I wanted; something I chose to do. But it never felt that way to me. No, it was not a choice. It was an obligation. Because if not me, then who?

"Yep," Piper muttered when she read the date. "Definitely not the 21st century."

Though the handwriting was a little hard to read, it wasn't as confusing as the language Shakespeare used. And for that, Piper flipped the rusty page to continue.

March 5, 1770

So I trained. In running, in climbing, in fighting, in falling... And for every lesson that concerned the body, there were two that concerned the mind; language, philosophy, logic, the arts... Achilles taught most often of the Assassins and Templars. Their structures, origins, and purpose. Centuries of history condensed into a few short days... I told him of the men who had burned my village; of Charles Lee and my promise to him. Achilles explained that Lee and his followers were Templars, and that they were led by none other than my own father. If I was to serve the Order, these men would become my targets.

So I worked harder; learned faster. But for all of my progress, it was clear that I still had much to learn. My training had only just begun.

Piper paled as she read, and reread, the fourth sentence of the first paragraph.

Assassins…

The floor beneath her feet disappeared, replaced by an abyss that swallowed her. Her stomach churned, the clock ticking in the distance and echoing in her ears.

Suddenly, everything made sense. Well, almost everything. It was nowhere near inscrutable, maybe at first, but now she understood. The necklace, Great Grandma Aribelle… Was her blue vision connected to this, as well?

So, what does that make Dad? An Assassin...? Piper thought.

And that bought up a new question: What is a Templar?

And what about Connor… Is he an Assassin? She instinctively glanced at the outfits, wondering if those robes belonged to him.

That still doesn't explain why I dreamed that I was in his body, Piper thought.

An idea occured to her. She flipped to the front of the journal, hoping that there was a name. When she didn't see one, she went to the back. At the very end of the book, the bottom right page was signed: Ratonhnhaké:ton

"Who in Aphrodite's name is that?" She murmured, her eyebrows scrunching. "And how do you even pronounce that?"

Then, she noticed the other name written below it:

Connor Kenway

"O-kay. So, what? Does that make him my ancestor?" Piper asked aloud, talking to no one in particular.

But it still doesn't explain why I dreamed I was in his body! Demigods didn't receive dreams of the past, at least not unintentionally. Especially her. When she gazed into her dagger, Katoptris, she saw possibilities; future events that would lead to tragic outcomes unless she prevented them.

That guy in the hospital... what did he say? Piper thought. An Animus? What the hell is that?

With the grudging promise of more research, she brushed her uneven bangs out of her face and huffed indignantly.

Was it her imagination or did the floorboards behind her creaked?

Piper whipped around, her face wild, ready for a fight, with her fists shaking from fear and anger. Her eyes widened when they fell upon him. "What the hell are you—"

The hard blow to her head knocked the breath out of her. Fortunately, Mason hit her on the left side and not the side where her head injury was still healing. She crumpled against the cold floor, dizzied from the hit. The pain sent her brain scrambling and she was unable to focus on anything that wasn't spiraling.

The sad truth? Piper didn't get up. With all that happened so far, the floor seemed real comfortable compared to everything else.

For the second time that day, a stray tear fell from her cheek as the aching in her heart increased by a tenfold.

Nothing mattered in her life anymore. She had no one. Jason didn't love her. He was with Reyna, and he didn't so much as bat an eye at her whenever she walked by. Her life had no direction, no purpose; it was taking a turn that would only lead to her demise. Whatever strength she carried washed away, replaced with agony and she cried out to anybody who would take it away. To end her suffering.

It didn't bother her that Mason was standing there, probably ready to finish her off. Piper didn't care about his intentions concerning why. The next time she opened her eyes, she'd be reunited with her dad.

"I'm sorry," was the last thing she heard before the world faded to black.