Haytham has nightmares.

Not every night. Not even often. But every time he's sure that he's seen the last of the dreams, out they come again to torment him. He dreams of lifetimes spent in centuries before he was born, and long after he knows he will die, living in places he will never see. The dreams are difficult to understand, muffled and dim, as if he's seeing them from inside a blizzard.

He never remembers much of these dreams by the time he wakes up, but the feelings take a long time to go away. He wakes up angry, or joyful, or restless, with no reason at all to be feeling that way. He knows the feelings must be from the dreams, and for that reason he hates them. He doesn't understand, and he hates not understanding. It means he's out of control, and he can't stand that.

The dreams come just frequently enough to keep him off balance, but not quite frequently enough to be predictable. He starts losing sleep, which- predictably- helps nothing at all. If not for the strangest day of his life, the day a man from the future invaded his mind, he would probably have decided he was going crazy. He's guessed that the dreams are a side effect of that- the way he understands it, connecting to another person's mind isn't the sort of mistake that can be undone. And if it's a choice between unsettling dreams or living as a spectator in someone else's head, it's not a hard decision.

But he still can't help but wish there was a third option.

Over the years- over more than fifteen years- Haytham learns to live with the dreams. He hates them, but there's not a lot of options. He never mentions them to anyone, and- apart from a brief time spent with a native woman that ends... far too quickly- there's no one close enough to notice that anything's wrong.

And then one night, he has a dream.

It's not like the other dreams, although Haytham has seen enough of them by now to know that it's from the same source. There's a sort of golden light around everything, but instead of obscuring the world around him, as it normally does, it sharpens things- the colors are clearer, and everything around him seems to almost pulse with that strange, golden light.

The world around him is frozen, one silent moment filled with light.

He looks around, not quite able to resist his curiosity. He's on a ship, in the middle of the ocean. It's clear that the ship has seen rough times. It could use some repairs, and Haytham can smell gunpowder on the air. There's been a battle here, but the men standing on the deck of the ship are clearly celebrating. Someone's brought out a few barrels of rum, and everyone's smiling, laughing- it's a moment he doesn't feel entirely comfortable in.

The light pulses, and the scene around him suddenly jumps into motion. The ship is transformed, vibrant, alive. Someone sings drunkenly from the other side of the deck, and a group of sailors are huddled around a dice game a few feet away. One of them makes a good role, and his friends burst out into drunken cheering.

"Kenway!" someone calls, and Haytham starts, surprised to hear his name. But when he turns to find the man, he sees that the sailor isn't talking to him at all. Instead, his eyes are fixed somewhere just over Haytham's left shoulder, looking at someone near the ship's wheel. "Best damn captain I've ever met!" The men around him cheer, and Haytham turns back to see this other Kenway.

He's a blond man, dirty and bleeding slightly from a cut over one eye. Haytham thinks he looks almost familiar, but he can't place him. So he takes a few steps forward, and- when no one reacts to him at all- walks the rest of the way to the ship's wheel with more confidence.

The captain has his back to Haytham as he climbs the steps toward him, talking to a large black man who looks considerably less drunk than everyone else on board.

"I thought we were looking for something," the man says. "It's your crazy mission, remember?"

"Calm down, Ade," says the captain, and his voice is as almost familiar as his face. "We'll find Roberts."

"The sooner the better," Ade says. "I'll be happy when whole thing is behind us."

"Besides," the captain goes on. "I didn't know that ship was carrying nothing but rum."

"You always know," says Ade.

"Well, at least the crew's happy again," the captain says.

"For now." Ade frowns. "Just be careful, Edward. I don't think I'm the only one getting tired of your fairy stories. And I don't think some of them will stick around as long as I have."

Edward. The name hits Haytham like a blow to the gut, and for a second, he can't believe it. He just can't. Because he can believe in meeting complete strangers from the future. Or the past. He can believe in impossible technology that puts him inside the heads of other people. But he can't believe that he's standing two feet away from his dead father.

And he really can't believe he didn't recognize him.

He must have made some sort of noise, because Edward glances over his shoulder, only half paying attention, and then does a double take. "What-"

Haytham forces himself awake and sits up in bed, breathing heavily. He has questions, and as much as he hates to admit it, there's only one person he can go to for answers. And he has no idea where to find Desmond Miles.