It was unfair. It was unfair… It was unfair!
This kept repeating in Achilles's mind over and over and over. Abigail and Connor… they were dead. His whole world. His reason of existence. Gone. And it filled Achilles with fury.
How could life be this way? Was this what he was fighting for? He did everything he could do to protect them, only for them to die anyway. What had he done wrong? The man did everything he could! No. He didn't. If he paid attention more… noticed the signs… But he didn't. The Mentor saw building the Assassin Order more important. He ignored his loved ones when they needed him the most. It was his fault. He shouldn't deserve to live…
Achilles's eyes were burning and he peered through the watery film at the dagger in his palm… Pointed at his stomach. All it would take was a single thrust. But Achilles was no fool. After killing so many, he was experienced in the art of death. A stab to the stomach was a slow and painful death. Good. He wanted it like that. The man wanted to suffer the same death as his family, as punishment for his ignorance. It would accommodate quite well.
Achilles drew a breath and acted.
But he didn't. The Mentor watched with both interest and surprise when he arm only twitched. Achilles sent the command again. Strike! Nothing. His hand did not move. The tip of the dagger was an inch from his abdomen. He did not have to go far. So why didn't it move?!
Achilles's hand was shaking violently. His whole body was trembling. His breath was stuttering and irregular. He felt his blood roaring and his heart pounding in his ears. His throat was raw and constricted. He couldn't even swallow. Everything was unfocused and red, only the dagger was clear through the water in Assassin's eyes.
No. Achilles could not do it.
But he had to! He had nothing to fight for!
With a savage growl, the Mentor attempted again. This time it was a larger twitch, the dagger even closing the distance. But it stopped the moment it touched the cloth of his shirt. It did not move. With a roar, Achilles thrust the blade away, slamming it on the table with a loud bang. The man collapsed in his hands, unable to stop the rivers that flowed from his eyes. His shoulders shuddered violently as his sobs filled the air.
Coward. Coward. Coward. He had no right to be called an Assassin! Here he was, the Mentor of the Colonial Assassin Brotherhood, and he could not overcome a simple animal instinct. He had killed dozens upon dozens of men, many without a second thought. And he could not take his own when he knew he should. But he was too afraid. He feared death himself. More than anything else in the world. Apparently more than his family. In a moment of madness, Achilles wanted to laugh.
Oh, such irony! An Assassin, a harbinger of death, and he could not take a life! An Assassin feeling sympathy for his enemies! Yes, if he was scared of death, what of all those he had killed? Achilles's stomach became strained from resisting the laughing. An Assassin who loved himself more than those he protected! Oh, the humor, indeed!
Achilles tried to force himself to chuckle, only for a choking sob to escape. He let his head fall again. It did not matter. His family was dead. How was he supposed to carry on as Mentor? How could his disciples look at him again, knowing he was this weak? How could he stay proud and firm in the Creed when it ruined his life?
Later Achilles would thank God that he happened to stop wailing for a moment. He did not hear the footsteps until it was too late.
"Mentor?"
Achilles started. He spun around, almost jumping up from his chair. He immediately saw who had disturbed him. Shay.
How had he—? Why was he here? Achilles asked to be left alone. The man desperately tried to remember if the door was locked or not, but of no avail. Did Shay break in or did he really wander in by accident? The Mentor didn't put either passed him.
The boy had regained his timid look, looking at him like a child fearing punishment. His form was hunched and his expression was strained and apologetic, almost seeming like he was braced to flee. After a moment, Achilles saw helplessness as well. Did he look that pitiful?
The Mentor tried to make his voice sound strong, but he knew he failed. "What do you want, Shay?"
Achilles did not care how it sounded—fake politeness or a rude tone. Did his apprentice not see he wanted to be alone? Did he have any idea what had just transpired? Shay shifted his feet uncomfortably and his jaws clenched as a strange look went over his face. Achilles quickly understood. He was disturbed. It disturbed the boy to see his strong and wise Mentor this weak. He had a reason to.
However, the Assassin knew the Mentor wanted a reply, making him shift again. Achilles could practically see his mind racing as he thought of something to say. The man knew Shay was avoiding "I was checking on you" or "I was worried about you," fearing either may be offending. He was correct.
"I was… wondering if you were going to train me tomorrow," the boy finally settled on.
It sounded more like a suggestion than a plea. A distraction for Achilles. It would be a very poor one. In the dark mood he was in, the Mentor wanted to berate his apprentice. But the wise man he was must have been still alive, because he rejected the idea. Shay was only trying to care for his teacher. To give the same kindness he had been given. How loyal he was…
Even though, Achilles was unaffected. "No, I cannot. Ask Kesegowaase or Liam to teach you."
Immediately Shay's mouth twitched into a frown of disappointment. He had failed and Achilles knew he was not pleased with the solution. The Mentor was aware the Master Assassins of the Order picked on him, especially La Chevalier. Either because they envied he was favored or it was some part of an initiation process. Shay groaned more to train with them than when he had to do chores. Half the time he would complain to Achilles afterwards.
Achilles didn't care at the moment. Shay was being too sensitive. He needed to grow up. The world was not perfect and full of fairy tales. It was a long… long way from being such. His apprentice would need to understand the harshness of this blasted world if he ever hoped to dream in becoming a Master Assassin.
Feeling another wave of fury and emotion coming on, the Mentor waved his hand, dismissing his disciple. Shay did not hesitate to give a quick, respectful bow before fleeing. Achilles did not blame him.
The man turned back to see his hand tightening in a bone-white fist. This world was cruel, indeed…
