"How's the search for the third power source going?" Haytham asked, once again walking abreast of his elder descendant around the Temple chamber.
"We haven't managed to detect anything yet," William sighed tiredly and stopped in front of his ancestor. It was an ordinary morning that didn't herald anything new, and such talks had completely become commonplace to him since he stopped paying any attention to surprised glances on his back. And his team seemed to have stopped looking at him sideways as well.
"I hope something will show up soon," Haytham concluded in that same weary voice, looking up at the arches of the cave.
"Me too. Our time is running out," William agreed, putting his hands in the pockets.
In other words, it was actually one of the most ordinary and boring mornings when every one of them couldn't wait to find any clues as to where the final power source could be.
However, at that moment something suddenly showed up.
"Bill, we've finally detected a signal of the other power source!" Shaun's voice came like a bolt from the blue when its owner appeared in sight, heading toward them.
"At last!" William livened up immediately and turned to him. "Where?"
"We need a little more time to pinpoint its precise location, but it seems to be somewhere in the territory of Egypt," Shaun explained, stopping in front of him.
"At least now we have something. We need to find the power source as soon as possible," William said in great relief – he'd almost started to fear that the case would reach a dead end. But seeing that Shaun was still standing in front of him, as if hesitating to tell something, he asked in a slightly worried voice, "Want to inform me of something else?"
"Actually..." to his greater surprise, Shaun became even more confused, and now William had a feeling as though he was thinking of how – or what – to ask. However, as he looked at the wall behind their leader again, he finally gathered himself and went on in a firmer voice, "I wanted to ask, have you found anything new about the Precursors? I mean, deciphered some message on the wall, for example?"
"Um, no. This wall looks just like all the others," William only shrugged in confusion and also turned to the wall.
"You just seemed to be examining it quite intently. Well, alright then," putting his hands in the pockets, Shaun also shrugged his shoulders and got embarrassed again, thinking of a new question. Then he said a moment later, "So, have you called anyone from the Brotherhood yet?"
"No, the last time I talked to them was two days ago," this time, William answered in a slightly suspicious voice, beginning to understand where this was going.
"So you're saying it was two days ago..." putting his hand on his chin, Shaun murmured with such a thoughtful face that it seemed like he was making some dismal conclusions; however, when he remembered who was standing in front of him, he flinched and hid his hands in the pockets again. There was an awkward pause before he dared to continue, carefully choosing his words, "So... are you sure you don't need any help here? I mean, there has been so much stress on your shoulders recently, and–"
"Shaun..." frowning, William crossed his hands on his chest, clearly showing that he'd understood they were trying to figure out what was happening to him once again; Shaun immediately got the message and so became even more confused.
Then he heard a suspicious noise and a quiet exclamation "Becs, move a little, I can't see anything", looked back and noticed a curly head hide behind a huge rock; Shaun only sighed heavily and shook his head, trying not to crush his face with his hand in the saddest gesture that had ever been seen.
"Ts-s-s, Desmond, he will hear us," Rebecca hissed, also hiding by his side.
"C'mon, it seems like he hasn't noticed us," Desmond replied quietly, returning to his former position. "We just want to understand what–"
But Desmond didn't manage to finish the sentence as he suddenly realized that he could see only Shaun when a tall shadow loomed over them. Slowly raising his head, he saw William, whose frown didn't bode well for them.
At those moments, he'd had enough time to get angry at himself for saying such words about his father, a Master Assassin and the leader of the Brotherhood.
"I'm fine, thank you very much," William said glumly, looking quite intimidating.
"Um, Dad, you know, we..." Desmond didn't even know what excuse to make up since it was clear that William had already understood everything without any explanation. And that was making things even more embarrassing. "We were going to return to the Animus, so..." saying this, Desmond stood up, turned around and together with Rebecca and Shaun hurried to flee the scene.
"Someday it would have happened anyway," William hummed, following them with his eyes. Actually, he didn't feel angry now – on the contrary, there was a light smile playing on his lips.
"Shaun would make a bad psychologist," Haytham noted, standing by his side.
"It's surprising that he agreed to something like that. Seems like they won't stop until they find out why I'm constantly having conversations with walls," William shook his head and went to join the others.
Well, at least something interesting had finally happened during this almost ordinary morning.
.
"Connor, you are such a naive child," Haytham murmured gloomily, listening to Connor and Achilles' conversation about himself; it had happened soon after the collaboration of the father and son in the Caribbean Sea. The tense energy emanating from him could be clearly sensed in the air.
"Whatever happened, deep down in the heart every child wishes to make peace with their parent," William said, turning to him.
"He even talked about that with him. That united, we could achieve more," as if he hadn't heard him at all, Haytham kept echoing his own thoughts, staring unblinkingly into the screen. "He did believe so much that we could live in peace..."
"It seems like Achilles wanted him to learn the hard way that it was impossible," William added cautiously, looking at him sideways. He clearly felt that this story couldn't have a happy ending, and Haytham's gloomy expression was only reinforcing his fears.
"Of course he did," Haytham said intensely, watching Desmond-Connor leaving the ship and rushing toward the point where he was supposed to meet his father. "Though when I was young, I also believed that peace between Assassins and Templars is possible. He reminded me so much of myself at the time."
As he looked at William again, he added:
"I'm genuinely surprised that you also trust me."
"It still surprises me sometimes, too," William confessed, sighing. Truth be told, the more things he learned about Haytham, the less he was able to imagine what his friendship with the Templar could bring to him and Haytham. And it seemed like the ghost didn't know the answer either.
Soon Connor reached his destination and saw Haytham-from-the-past talking to his subordinate.
"What are you going to do?" he asked when his father had turned to him and briefly informed of the current situation.
"Nothing, taking into account that we know nothing," Haytham replied, spreading his arms.
"I thought Templars have eyes and ears everywhere," Connor noted aptly, humming. At that, Haytham only responded coldly:
"We had until you began slaughtering them."
"He had killed lots of your people by then, that's for sure," William commented, listening to the ordinary Kenway greeting.
"So many efforts had been wasted," the ghost murmured, sighing. He had accepted the fact that he'd had to see the destruction of his life's work in every detail during these two months – and yet it was still hard to look at that, no matter what opinion he had about his Order now.
"In this century it all has paid off in spades," William muttered tensely, turning to the screen. He always got gloomy at the slightest mention of Abstergo.
"So the Templar Order has actually become so powerful now?" Haytham asked while the projections of him and Connor were rushing to their destination.
"I think you'll soon see it yourself," William said in a lower voice, staring at the screen; Haytham decided to close the subject, clearly feeling the changes in his descendant's mood.
"You both really loved jumping headlong into the fray," soon William commented again, humming; his elder ancestor had discussed with the younger one their further actions – of course, they didn't have a plan as such – and then literally came down on the Loyalists' heads from the balk of a half-ruined roof.
"From whom else could he inherit this?" at that moment, the ghost's lips spread in a barely noticeable smile. "By his side, I actually felt a few years younger."
The next second, a violent fight broke out; then again, it ended as quickly as it'd started, and the battle was won by the father and son once more. Three commanders of the Loyalists were taken prisoners, but the most desperate of them decided to take a chance and try to get away.
"Connor, you are an adult man, you have your own opinion, take a stand, or there'll be nothing left from them..." William muttered, waiting for Connor to decide whether he should go after the escapee or not. However, at last he submitted to Haytham's usual "Because I said so" and run ahead, which made his descendant only sigh and shake his head.
"Good boy." But saying this, Haytham didn't smile in the slightest.
And when they returned to the fort with the captured man, they beheld...
"Just as I said, nothing would be left," William muttered intensely. He wasn't surprised at the picture which they saw in the interrogation room at all: it'd been clear what fate the other two British Commanders would meet, as well as what was going to happen with the third one, before Connor's departure.
"They've said everything," Haytham uttered unemotionally, looking at the screen. His deadly pale face was getting even more pallid and grim by the second.
"You know, when I look at all these things, from time to time I try to remember who you were when you had just arrived in America," William began a bit hesitantly, careful of choosing his words so as not to sound judgemental. He knew that everything had its reasons for existence, and no one could change so dramatically all of a sudden. He had a feeling that he should talk to the ghost about that, even though had no certainty if that was the right time and Haytham would like to talk at all. "But I do not recognize that man. You changed so much. I mean, yes, they could probably run away and, for example, give away some information, but... nothing of that was the true reason, right? The reason was..." Looking into the dark eyes, he trailed off, wondering whether he would dare to say more. "I... I just can't imagine what you had to go through to become like that – because, to be honest, it's really rather horrible to watch."
"And you'd better not know," in reply, he received only a cold answer, which gave to understand clearly that the ghost wasn't going to discuss the subject anymore. However, after a few moments of heavy silence, Haytham added, still looking at the screen, "Though, truth be told, I was also horrified by what l'd been doing. Especially now, when I look at that from a different perspective."
William didn't find what to say once again – he was confused and now regretted starting to talk about such things without having any idea what exactly he should have said. So, he only turned to the screen again, waiting for Desmond to move on to another memory.
The next destination was Washington's camp.
"I have a feeling that the meeting won't end well," William muttered, looking intently at the father and son entering the tent of the Commander in Chief.
"There are good reasons for this," the ghost replied. The further the talk between the three went, the tenser his frown became.
And soon enough William got totally taken aback.
"How long had you known that?" he asked, turning to the ghost; unexpectedly for everyone, Haytham had revealed a letter from Washington's correspondence, which shed some light on who was actually responsible for setting Connor's village on fire and, respectively, Ziio's death.
"When they told me I had a son."
"Which was a few years ago, before meeting at the prison?" Receiving a positive nod in reply, William half-turned to the ghost so as to also look at the screen and watch Connor's projection rushing to his village. Reflecting on the events, he soon went on, "Of course, I can understand him, but still, he wouldn't have believed you without evidence. You told him the naked truth."
"It's always hard to face the truth," Haytham only shrugged his shoulders, still looking at the screen. "Though I do not blame him for that."
"I just have a strange feeling that he made a mistake to not let you go with him," William explained uncertainly, not fully understanding his own fears. Then he turned to the screen again.
Unfortunately, his presentiment proved to be right: trying to defend his village, Connor had to fight his childhood friend Kanen'tó:kon. The outcome of the battle turned out to be truly tragic.
"Connor..." William muttered in shock, trying to believe his own eyes. Even though he had felt that the battle would result only in the death of one of them, it was still shocking to see that the once-inseparable friends could take each other's lives.
"So he had to kill his best friend as well," Haytham muttered, frowning. His face seemed not to express any emotion – and yet once again William suddenly felt a horribly strong wave of energy sending shivers down his spine. He had sensed it before, but only for a moment, as if accidentally, when he saw Ziio's death – as though these emotions had been concealed for years and now, when shackles began crumbling, they sought to break free. Which was making him feel more dreadful by the minute.
"How many more things of that kind had he faced?" William said quietly and turned to the Animus again – Desmond seemed to be calm, but the way he was occasionally flinching in the seat spoke clearly of his inner nervousness. For some reason, William thought about that only now – though, of course, the realization needed time – that the story of Haytham's family, as well as Connor's, was directly related to them, the Miles. That all these pain, suffering and ordeals which they'd had to go through weren't just the pain of some distinguished strangers – that was the pain of his relatives, and it didn't matter how many centuries had been separating them. Who knows, if they had a chance to meet each other, could Desmond become a friend with Connor just like he with Haytham? And would they feel that they were a family, people bound by one and the same blood? Now this thought was resonating through his mind with a subtle prick in his chest. And since Desmond had probably realized it long before he did, he was left only to wonder which of these things Desmond had to relive and, moreover, – to feel – over and over again.
"Well, one more thing fate had definitely left for him in store," Haytham hummed. His voice became so quiet and low that William felt tingles creeping down his spine – it seemed like the air was heated up to the limit by the energy of feelings breaking from the depth of the ghost's soul. Because at that very moment William realized: whatever Haytham had said or done, now, just like then, he was worried about his son as much as any other loving father who wishes only happiness to his child.
When Haytham began speaking again, his voice had regained its ordinary tone and pitch, and the tension in the air began to wane, as though he'd managed to take control over his emotions. But this outward calmness couldn't hide the truth from an attentive listener anymore. "Hm, though we'll never know that for sure, I doubt that I would have been able to change anything. Then again, it was Charles who had begun the whole thing..."
"You seem to be the only person who treated Native Americans as people. As well as Achilles, since there was a mention that he did Ziio some favor," William said, now having no doubt in the sincerity of his ancestor's intentions. "You did wish to help people."
"I did," Haytham repeated, shaking his head. Then he turned to his descendant – and William's heart almost froze in his chest when he looked into the grey eyes again.
Because he still didn't know what the final outcome of all these events would be.
.
Soon the session was over, and Shaun came to them with some encouraging news:
"Look! We've found another power source!" he pointed at the screen.
"Already?" Desmond asked in surprise, approaching him. William joined them as well.
"Yes. I've told you once that it's been detected on our sensors before, but now I know for sure: we've finally found it," Shaun said firmly, turning to them.
"Where?"
"In one museum in Cairo."
"Then Connor will have to wait," Desmond concluded, being glad to take a little rest from the Animus. However, William quickly cooled his ardor down with one phrase:
"No, you'll stay here. We need to find the key, the time is running out. I'll go myself."
"But what's about Cross?" Desmond asked, getting worried the second he remembered what his father had to go through a few days ago.
"Everything will be alright. I'll come back soon," William clapped on his shoulder encouragingly, not showing even the slightest hint of concern for his own well-being. Then he went to get ready for the flight.
Haytham appeared in front of him the next second, apparently having no intention of letting his descendant go on such an intriguing journey without him.
"So you're going to Egypt, right?" he asked with undisguised interest in his glowing eyes. "Would you let me join you?"
"As if I'm able to forbid you anything," William hummed. He put his bag aside and turned to the ghost. "Just try not to make me do anything strange in the museum, I definitely don't want to draw anybody's attention to myself there."
"I'll be careful," Haytham promised.
"Good," William concluded and returned to his bag. But remaining calm outwardly, he was also preparing mentally for unknown hardships.
A long flight was lying ahead as well as an assignment which kept worrying him all the way to his destination, even though he couldn't explain it anyhow.
.
"That was an amazing journey, I could really see the whole world from above!" looking around with his eyes shimmering in excitement, Haytham was sharing his impressions with William as they stopped in front of Cairo International Airport. They had just reached the city, so the ghost couldn't wait to see some sights on their way to the museum – after all, Egypt was the homeland of one of the greatest ancient civilizations, and apart from some facts about modern life he could also learn a lot about those who had lived long before him.
"To be honest, I even feel a bit jealous of you," William said, looking around for people from the Brotherhood; by the way, now he was wearing sunglasses and a simple white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, without a jacket, because December in Cairo felt more like a fine summer day this year, and he could bet it was hotter only in hell (what's more, even Haytham decided to get rid of his coat and now was also wearing a white ghost shirt that looked quite modern. Why? Because, you know, even the dead can't wear one and the same clothes all year round). By being jealous William meant that Haytham, unlike him, was able to fly outside the plane, so he had been left with no option but to gaze out of a porthole while his ancestor was occasionally returning to him in order to tell about what he'd seen. Moreover, as he remembered one of his peculiar observations, he added, smiling at the ghost, "Besides, for some reason you reminded me of Superman."
"Of... of whom?" confused with such a strange comparison, Haytham asked in surprise.
"Superman. It's a hero from children's books with stories told through images. He also came from a different world and has various superhuman powers that help him save people of the Earth. For example, he is able to fly," William explained, looking around. "Besides, your cloak was waving in the wind just like a cape, and your suit was also blue."
"Well, alright then, I guess," hardly able to imagine the described thing in a human form, Haytham replied, now being confused more than ever before. Then he began looking around as well, trying to put all the awkward thoughts out of his head.
"One can have a stranger thought during a thirteen-hour flight," William added, apparently wishing to continue their conversation.
"Maybe," Haytham murmured. At that moment, it suddenly occurred to him that such flights were probably an ordinary thing for his descendant and so didn't seem to be something interesting, bearing in mind he'd had to sit still inside the aircraft while Haytham was soaring high in the sky. And indeed, from a bird's eye view he could see some truly breathtaking pictures: cities, forests and enormous ocean seemed to be small from above, people were indistinguishable at all, and when he was descending, he could take a closer look at various historic buildings or unspoiled wonders of nature – tropical forests, waterfalls and savannah of Africa. This experience, which he would have never got in his own time, was indeed incredible.
"I've always wished to soar through the sky on my own wings and look at the world from above. It's a pity that I never had time to fly a hang-glider," William muttered, sighing. The next moment he finally noticed his "taxi" and added, livening up, "Look, our car is over there."
"Let's go," Haytham said, following him.
He was only wondering how many other fascinating things he would see during his post-mortem adventure.
.
"So, this is our plan: you'll search that part of the floor while I'm walking around here, telling the students about the exhibits," William quietly briefed the ghost on his assignment while they were waiting for a group of young people to go through security. It was all a part of one genius plan to steal the third power source, according to which William, thanks to the help of the Brotherhood's man, needed to disguise as a guide of some student group from an American university, find the power source and steal it from the museum.
"I'll do everything I can to help," Haytham promised and walked toward the display cases, looking around intently.
"I just hope everything will go smoothly," William took a deep breath and headed to the students. Frankly, it wasn't exactly the thing he'd expected to get when he asked to find some disguise for him considering his state of health – if the Templars noticed him, these innocent young people could get hurt. What was more, the job of a guide could take a fair amount of his time; however, bearing in mind the power source was in a hall with some special exhibition which wasn't easy to access for an ordinary visitor, it seemed like he had little choice anyway. That was why, feeling responsible for the safety of the students, he muttered to himself, "I'll forgive myself for this only when we save the world."
Passing the showcases with artifacts and telling his listeners about their history, which he'd had to study while sitting in the plane, William was furtively looking around. Sometimes he would notice a silhouette of his ghost friend who seemed to like their visit of the museum much more than he did – but there was still no sign of the power source around here. William couldn't shake off that feeling of a strange worry which now had got even worse, though his face was still calm and focused. It had been years since he so badly wished to finish a mission as fast as possible.
Fortunately, soon Haytham came to him pointing at the door in front of them:
"The power source is in that room."
"Then we'll go there right now," William whispered in reply.
Luckily, the Precursor artifact stood in an inconspicuous corner of a great hall and, unlike all the other exhibits, wasn't crowded at all. What was more, it wasn't kept under glass.
'And yet it looks too suspicious,' William concluded, looking in its direction. However, he hoped that it was just he who became too suspicious – after all, if that was a trap, he would have already been caught. However, at that moment they came to another sarcophagus, and William, forcing himself to look interested, again started trying to remember its history, making up a new one along the way, – which, unfortunately, was much, much harder to do now.
In any case, he needed to get the artifact as fast as he could. However, one question remained relevant: how to distract the youngsters without drawing attention to himself? Even though he should have been grateful that there were no historians wanting to know everything about everything – otherwise his nervous system wouldn't have survived such a horrible ordeal – it was still hard to concentrate on two things at the same time.
"So, this is..." soon William, being on edge from the double brainwork, almost started begging heaven for salvation. But somehow it had heard him just a little earlier.
A deafening sound of shattering glass resonated through the hall, and everybody turned around to look at a broken display case that had suddenly cracked all by itself at the other end of the room.
"I hope I didn't damage the artifacts. Thankfully, nobody was hurt," Haytham soon appeared by his side, feeling a bit guilty for his actions.
"I think everything is alright. Don't know how you did that, but thanks." William had no time to think about such things and so, being grateful to his ancestor for the help with all his heart, went to the artifact right away.
He looked around and concluded that no one was looking in this direction, everybody was occupied with that incident. Great. If only–
"God, what now?" William hissed; when he approached the power source, it started shining all of a sudden. Without hesitation, he grabbed it, put into his bag and replaced with another artifact from the Temple, which looked like the real one but had no energy inside at all; the guards could sound the alarm and lock down all the exits if the artifact was found missing. Then he looked up at the cameras: as expected, they were shut down.
"Well, for now everything goes as pl–" assessing the situation, William almost sighed in relief – then suddenly trailed off, freezing up as he turned around.
'Otso Berg.'
He saw a man with a horrible burn across his face, which would have permanently seared in the memory of any person who had to face him on the battlefield; being noticed, he immediately hid behind the nearest showcase not far from the exit. Because that was a Templar, an Assassin Hunter who – William knew that for sure – was a true master among his kind.
No, everything was definitely going in a completely different direction from the plan.
'Has he been following me all this time?' William thought to himself, desperately looking for a way out. What was more, why the building hadn't been secured? Why there was no alarm? Why he hadn't been attacked yet?..
He was shaken out of his thoughts by the voice of a girl from the student group, which – he hadn't noticed that till this very moment – had already gathered around him:
"Mr. Madsen, are you feeling well?"
"Yes, everything alright, Miss," turning to the young people, William smiled awkwardly, trying to hide his worry just a little.
"You look pale," the girl went on. "Should we call a doctor?"
"No, really, it's alright. Let's continue our tour," William objected, waving his hand, and went toward the doors.
All at once, he realized why he hadn't been caught yet: it seemed like Berg didn't want to attack him while he was working with these young people. William even remembered what he had read in Berg's files: he had a daughter who had been cured of some rare disease by Abstergo, which was the reason why he decided to join the Order. That could be a possible explanation for the current situation: he had to admit that even now some Templars still had a heart. But anyway, he didn't mean to endanger the students either and so kept looking for the exit, constantly feeling an intent gaze on his back. What was more, he was actually in a sad condition: he was pale and breathed heavily, his hands shaking, head spinning, being pierced with unbearable pain that made it harder for him to think once again. But he tried just not to think of what could have caused his new affliction.
"You really look bad," Haytham said, looking concerned; they decided to stop and speak in private while the students were taking final photos in the hall.
"You're telling me," William replied quietly, leaning against the wall with a phone in his hand.
"What are you doing?" the ghost went on in a more worried voice.
"I want to say goodbye to Desmond," William murmured, his voice weak, glazed blue eyes, in which the dim light of the phone screen was reflected, fixed on the only point in front of them.
"What–" The ghost was stopped with a slight nod – looking in that direction, Haytham noticed a man hide behind a cabinet once William turned his head to him again.
"There must be other Templars somewhere around here as well. And considering my condition, I don't think I will be able to confront them. The only thing that keeps them from taking me seems to be this group of students," William muttered, returning to his phone. "I can't explain that I'm doing this for the sake of saving the whole world, not for my Order."
"But you can't surrender to them without a fight!" now worried as never before, Haytham started quickly looking around, desperate to find a way out – but the next second froze, hearing a grim, quiet laugh.
"What can we do, then? You won't scare them away, I'm hardly keeping my feet on the ground. I had no idea that thing would affect me this way," William glanced at his bag and went on writing the message with his trembling hands, now and then missing the letters on the keyboard – his sight was already blurred. He needed to say so much to his son, to do so many things with him, make up for the lost time which was more than nine years. A few words in the remaining few minutes couldn't convey the storm of feelings raging in his heart now, but he still had a chance to say just a bit of it.
'Writing a farewell letter, too?' when the image of his own journal, which had revealed the bitter truth to his son, flashed before his eyes, Haytham shuddered, dreading to think of what it could mean for the fate of his two descendants.
"It looks like we see each other for the last time. At least, in this life," coughing, William murmured, putting his phone in the pocket; the students had been gathering around him once again. He began, "So, now that–"
But he wasn't supposed to finish that sentence – a coughing fit struck him so suddenly that he barely remained standing, leaning on the wall with one hand while covering his mouth with the other. The following events were jumbled up in his mind in a single whirl: somebody grabbed his hand, the others screamed something about the ambulance–
"I'm telling you I'm alright, you hear me, I'm alright–"
As if being delirious, muttering incoherent words, he tore himself free and, almost blind, staggered forward. Leaning on the walls, he finally made it to the restroom and closed the door.
"Damn–"
Throwing his bag on the floor, William leaned on the sink. He was suffocating, gasping for breath, his body burning from the fever, sweat running down his face, and he turned on the tap, hoping to freshen up just a bit, but the water didn't help at all.
A drop of blood fell and trickled down the sink.
"William..."
"We... can't change anything," he replied wearily and turned to the ghost silhouette standing by the door. And yet, knowing he was to meet his end, he gathered the last of his strength and smiled weakly:
"But... I wanted to say that... I was glad... to meet... you..."
He didn't hear Haytham's answer – his legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor. Hearing the door open and the sound of steps approaching him.
'They won't find you again, Desmond...'
After that, his last bond with the world was cut short.