Ask and ye shall recieve

It was the final days of summer. Winter, it seemed, had not been wanting to arrive at all that year. Basilio couldn't complain, he enjoyed the time he and Tazim spent on their own personal training.

Never a boring day when they had so many things to work on, and never a hot day as long as they were in water.

Basilio savored the shade he was under, comfortable with the warm breeze against his damp skin. He looked in Tazim's direction, wondering out loud, "We are different."

It was not so much a question as it was an observation. Basilio could no longer ignore the itch of being given a proper answer. As they sat near their founded swimming hole, their outer robes forgotten close by as they ended their swimming lesson for the day, he pondered over their current friendship.

Nearby, Tazim lay, drying himself in the sun. Ever cold blooded, his skin would surely burn if he basked any longer. Grass stuck to his arms and tangled into his wet hair, but he paid no mind, comfortable in the warmth. His legs and arms had grown especially tired during their lesson, he wanted only to rest.

"Hmm?" Tazim muses, never once opening his eyes. Different? "Yes, we are."

"Is it shameful to be around me?" Basilio plucked at the weeds closest to him, tossing them lazily toward the water nearby. His hands grew soiled and itchy from the dry patches of grass he sat upon.

At this, Tazim's breathing hitched ever so slightly.

There was no denying the handicap Basilio had grown to be at his side. Basilio himself knew it. A mutt, they often called him, though it no longer stung the way it had in his youth.

It was only name calling and hair tugging. It could have gotten far worse...

There were enough cruel people in their world, corrupt and heartless. Basilio refused to be as brutal as they. He was taught to be the bigger person, a difficult thing to accept as a child who was treated so unkindly by the other boys.

Without explaining the past, Tazim had so naturally understood precisely how his friend felt. He too had been considered an odd boy. An outsider. Though never at such extent, as Basilio had been treated.

Tazim sits up, softly brushing the grass from his hair and wiping his arms. He takes a moment, watching as Basilio gazes at him, his head tilted back, and his mouth parted slightly. Shrugging, Tazim speaks the only truth that matters, "You are a good fighter with swift hands. Talented and strong."

Curling his lip in a displeased manner, Basilio shakes his head, oddly confused, "But you did not answer my question."

Keeping his attention solely on his friend, Tazim smiles as though that alone was answer enough.

Had he always been so annoyingly determined? Tazim cursed with each fight he witnessed the runt taking place in.

There was no denying the obvious skill Basilio held. What tore Tazim apart was having to admit it out loud. What a fool. Though, Nahir and Gadiel had noticed as well. A silent agreement amongst them, as they often watched the Spanish boy compete in his more favored trials, never once masking their disapproval while on the sidelines.

Basilio sped through the more comfortable tests, such as knife-throwing and the familiar leg races while Tazim did his best to avoid them. The other boys' sparring came at a slight difficulty, depending on his opponent. There were some who often sought him out, wanting a chance to give the mutt a beating. Tazim never missed those trials, watching them closely.

Though few were ever successful in their victory, Basilio made sure of it.

It was annoying.

Witnessing the boy let his guard down and letting himself be defeated by the weakest novices was not uncommon. It was ridiculous. It bored Tazim the most. Basilio was only fooling himself. It was almost embarrassing, though very few protested.

It was in the way he carried himself, chest puffed out and his stance firm that drew his crowd. The way he fought, merciless with those he deemed skillful enough, yet caring for the younger boys. His movements, not only of his arms or legs, but the placement of his gaze across the vast crowd of men tore Tazim apart. It may have been one thing, or the others, he could never be completely certain. Somehow, he continued through the trials, one man at a time. Basilio was delicately prepared for each opponent sent his way.

He knew how to put on a show.

After his second night and sixth loss against a novice, Tazim questioned whether the mutt should be allowed in their entertainment at all.

He was waiting for them. Waiting for Tazim. He refused to win an unfair fight, never minding the loss.

Often times, Basilio stayed back to observe Tazim's fighting. Not that it was anything different from before, but it was further annoying his friends. Gadiel in particular.

"Has he nothing better to do? Meals to cook like a crude wife?" Gadiel scoffed silently, motioning to the crowd behind them, where they believed Basilio hid while not in combat.

Tazim made no comment, only partially letting his smile be seen. His hood shading him from the unyielding sun, Tazim rested his elbows on the wooden stump in front of him. They waited patiently for the current match to end, a lazy and loose fight between two young novices.

Nahir berated Gadiel's comments before turning his attention to the fight once more. Like a boring, strict older brother neither had asked for. He was quieter than Tazim had gotten accustomed to through the weeks. Nahir's gaze often went toward the castle, as though he could see right through the stone by sheer will.

Maybe he would crack the walls with his mind alone and Abbas would finally make an appearance.

Just maybe.

Without making too much of a fuss, Nahir motioned for his two friends to move closer to him, pinching their sides to seize attention. Their own heads near the older boys', Gadiel and Tazim waited.

With a curious grin spread across his lips, Nahir nodded toward the castle, "Abbas is watching."

Both boys followed his stare. Looking to each window and crevice that did not already hold a snoozing Assassin, the duo impatiently searched for something, anything. Proof that Abbas was truly observing them as Nahir declared.

Gadiel scowled, still searching above, "How do you know?"

"The men talk." Nahir replied easily.

One day, Tazim thinks, he and Gadiel would put an end to Nahir's shortcomings as an informant. Sadly, it seemed that day would never arrive. There is no time for further explanations as a man calls out to them, declaring it is soon time for Tazim's next fight.

Gadiel bounced forward, eagerly taking Tazim's arm, "You give your opponent hell. Prove why we are the best."

A prideful smile grows upon his lips, and Tazim has a new jump in his step as his friends guide him to the ring. They offer stern pieces of advice on how to best carry himself while engaged in combat. It isn't their words that influence him, so much as the way they express themselves. The very manner in which Gadiel glows while describing how Tazim should keep his head held high and his face visible for all to see.

Prove your worth.

Just before Tazim enters the ring, Nahir grabs hold of his shoulder. His eyes have darkened and his voice is dangerously low, "Make sure he sees."

Whether he meant Abbas or Basilio, it didn't matter. Tazim would give them all something to look at.

It was only once Tazim entered the ring that he finally took notice his opponent, gingerly removing his cowl with delicate fingers. Now a stranger, though one he knew well.

Of course. Rafael.

He looked older. Angrier and tired. Somehow, Rafi no longer displayed himself as the boy Tazim had once come to know. The very same boy Tazim often sparred with, who carried himself with such a gentle nature. The boy who flushed a bright red whenever Basilio teased him over the thought of beautiful girls in the village. Rafi who, to each of them, had become something of a younger brother.

In his place, a hardened young man was being crafted. Rafi stood collected, and indifferently. His shoulders no longer slumped forward as they had once done so before, and his eyes seemed far darker than Tazim remembered.

From the sidelines, Tazim caught sight of Gadiel. The boy looked as stiff as a board. Feigning confidence with his arms crossed firmly over his chest, Gadiel keeps his gaze directed toward Tazim and his younger brother.

His uncertainty is washed away with Gadiel's reassurance.

With his face as apathetically as Tazim had ever seen, Gadiel simply nods.

End him.

Both he and Rafi are given swords for their fight. Unlike their first trial together when Tazim had just arrived to Masyaf, they held proper swords in place of their wooden practice ones. After three years, they would at last draw the blood of their initial spar. There was nothing more Tazim looked forward to doing.

Spitting into the dirt below, Rafi gains Tazim's attention. He motions to Gadiel and Nahir, standing behind them and ready for the trial to begin, "Will you fight? Or should we ask your master first?"

Idiot.

"I would say the same for you," Tazim bites back, bearing in mind that Basilio would be watching. He holds his sword firmly, becoming familiar with its weight, "You never had such a mouth before, Rafi. It doesn't suit you."

With a wave of a hand, and a shout from the crowd, their fight begins.

Rafi is on him before Tazim can properly find his footing. Cutting through the air and charging in his direction, Tazim revels in the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Dodging to the side, he trips Rafi and sends him crashing into the dirt. He bounds forward, ready to land a hit but Rafi has already jumped out of the way, consecutively throwing mud at him.

Covered in soil, the younger man kneels at a distance, pulling himself to stand quickly. Rafi ignores the filth staining his clothes, directing his sword to Tazim, attempting to predict his next move. Much like their first sparring session, the younger boy studied his opponent delicately.

"You're out of practice," Rafi taunts from afar, stalking Tazim like he were prey, "Maybe you should have never left."

"Maybe," Tazim growls, wiping grime from his sight, "you should have stayed in your place, runt."

With a yell, Rafi bounds forward again. He rains down heavily, hit after hit, but Tazim easily deflects each strike with his own weapon. They held countless sparring sessions between them in the past. In every single one, there was always the same outcome.

It was nothing but child's play.

The clash of metal and shouts of those surrounding them are deafening to Tazim's ears. The only serve to feed the flame within. He knew the boy's movements better than his own. Sweat threatened his grasp on his sword, though Tazim's rage burned mercilessly as he deflected each blow and pounced in return.

"Be impulsive!" Tazim beckoned, clashing his sword against Rafi's before elbowing him on his side, making the younger boy instinctively recoil and jump away, "Cry like all the others will!"

He is growing angrier, and Tazim knows it.

Good.

Rafael is on the ground, before he realizes Tazim having charged at him. His sword is knocked away as he falls and hits his head on moist dirt and gravel. Immediately, Rafi claws and punches at the body atop of him.

"A boy in men's clothes!" Tazim mocks loudly. Holding Rafi down, slapping his soiled hands away roughly and pinning him in place. He kneels, sitting on the boys' chest, one muddy boot catches one of his wrists as Rafi strained to reach his sword when scratching and punching at Tazim failed.

The men cheer.

"You will not get the best of me today!" Tazim spat out, keeping a firm grip on Rafi.

The complete control he held over the match only fueled the power Tazim felt within himself. The stormy cheers from above him, raining heavily down. Having long forgotten his own sword, left beside his legs, Tazim trembles as he holds Rafi firmly beneath him.

The struggling boy spat out curse after curse. A rumble in Tazim's chest forced its way out and he smiled as his shaking hands went to Rafi's throat. He'd never seen the boy so helpless before.

The outcome of their sparring never changed.

"Do not for a second believe we will weep for you," Rafi forces out through labored breaths, "For who you once were."

Tazim vaguely nods his head before squeezing his fingers, "We will see."

Human blood is warm, Tazim finds out. Even when not exposed. When pressed so firmly against one's skin. The way Rafael's face begins to turn, it sparks something within his chest. Curiosity? Thrill? Tazim is too distracted, engrossed with the wriggling boy beneath him and the shouting from the crowd to feel the scratching of nails against his neck and face.

It's the dirt and sand thrown into his eye's that save the young boys soul that day.

Rafael smudges all the filth he can into Tazim's face, letting his blunt nails dig at the softness of his opponent's eye sockets. It's a dishonorable way to gain the upper hand, but Tazim had also been dishonorable as of late.

Rafi wastes no time in swaying sideways, enough to pull his leg far enough to kick Tazim away and regain his footing. He rolls away to stand quickly, hands on his knees, as he tries shaking away the lingering nerves as best he can.

Though it seemed that would not nearly be enough to keep Tazim at bay.

Relying solely on instinct, Tazim darted forward, attacking Rafi before he could compose himself, and bringing them both down into mud and gravel once more. Soil having half blinded him, Tazim trusts mainly on his weight to keep his opponent down as the two wrestle in the filthy mud. Scratching and throwing punches, most landing on flesh and muscle, while others hit nothing but air.

Shouting obscenities at one another while trying to gain the upper hand, they paid no attention as the crowd rallied and cheered at the suddenly chaotic sparring match before them. There was nothing but rage and embarrassment coursing through their very souls in that moment.

From afar, he hears Nahir shouting at him to end the match.

To his dismay, Tazim hears the voice of Tarek as well. He calls out for Rafi, though Tazim cannot see him. Words of comfort and support.

Demands to end his opponent once and for all.

Eye's watered and irritated, Tazim listens and watches the blurry figure beneath him, struggling for each breath of air. Feeling merciful, Tazim loosens his grip just enough to let the boy underneath him breath properly. Though his nails still dig into his soft flesh, Tazim uses one hand to wipe the dirt from his eyes, the other still reveling in the sensation of Rafi's fast beating pulse beneath his palm.

"You must be proud," Rafi growled from beneath his attacker, tired and weak hands gripping at Tazim's, "A prideful slave."

"I am no slave," Tazim defends.

At his mercy, Rafi lets out a forced cough, bringing one hand up in surrender, while the other hastily pats Tazim's forearm. Dirt has stained his cheeks and broken lips, while his hands are red with scratches and fresh forming bruises.

One final round of shouts and applauds, its impossible for Tazim not to feel at least a little content on his victory as he releases his grip.

"Tell him to stay out of my way, Rafi," Tazim warns as he stands slowly, offering his hand to the younger boy.

Wiping his mouth and looking up at his opponent, neck scratched and bleeding, Rafi snarls. Swatting away Tazim's hand, he pulls himself to his feet, still straining for air, "I'm no errand boy. You tell him yourself, you bastard."

With that, Rafi stalks away. It is only once he's reached the outer edge of the ring that Tazim spots his former acquaintances. Tarek and Basilio welcome Rafi with open arms, glaring in his direction.

What annoyances.

Nahir and Gadiel are at his side before Tazim can fully register their presence. One grabs his arm while the other studies his face and neck for the injuries he sustained. Wincing from his prior arm wound, and the fresh scratches on his face, Tazim pulls away, "Leave me be!"

"Ungrateful," huffed out Gadiel who quickly let go.

Beside him, Nahir simply took a step back. Scowling, he crossed his arms and reprimanded Tazim, "Go fix yourself, and return quickly, boy."

Angrily, Tazim does as he is told. He only hopes he won't come across any further unwanted surprises or company from those he previously called friends. When he arrives with their healer, Tazim is moderately disappointed.

"I'm sorry for the new injuries, Ruben. Though, that one is healing nicely," Tazim says as the older Assassin tends to his arm.

Ruben had treated many of Tazim's wounds, during their secret training, and in the fortress alike. If only he were present to witness Tazim's fights, as he had before, surely, he would be impressed by his progression. Ruben knew them all, much like a distant father or uncle. Never speaking more than necessary, always so careful with his words.

Tazim almost missed his knowledgeable speeches, no matter how few they were.

He picks at the scab having formed on his chin, laughing almost, to mask the stinging pain, "You should have seen how I left my opponent. It was almost beautiful."

Ruben says nothing, only hums to himself, thinking out loud without saying so much as a word. Occupied instead with acquiring bandages and ointment for the young boy. His disappointment was more than openly acknowledged by them both. Tazim would be lying if he said the discontent and lack of speaking did not hurt him in the slightest.

"Please, Ruben," Tazim almost pleads, sighing heavily and rolling his eyes, "not you as well."

"Rafael is but a boy," the older man responds absentmindedly. He begins tending to Tazim's arm, setting a new layer of ointment and dressing of the soiled old one. Ruben shook his head the slightest bit, "He was once your ally."

"He still is."

It wasn't as though Tazim had ever stopped being friends with Rafi. They were all simply on different pages of their own lives now. How could he be to blame for something out of his control?

Ruben made no attempt at being careful with Tazim's wounds when the younger spoke. He tightly bandaged his arm, an obvious annoyance hidden beneath his heavy eyes. He didn't seem to care either, when Tazim flinched at the sudden tension. "The teenage mind is a dangerous place. Either they are morphed to do good for the rest of their lives, or they are stuck in the gutter with those left."

Tazim rolls his eyes in annoyance, "Speak sense, old man-"

"We've seen your kind here before, Tazim. Long before. Stubborn. Childish. Believing themselves to be above the rest yet bringing nothing but chaos behind them. We've learned from their mistakes. Will you?"

He takes a moment to respond. Instead, studying the other man's face. Ruben, ever so composed and serene, held the same hidden war within him which Tazim had seen countless of times before. Did they all hold it deep inside their souls?

The thing about Ruben was, even when he insulted someone, there was always reason behind it. It was like Tazim wanted him to keep talking. Wanted to be given a proper answer about himself through the old man's words. That was the way Ruben was. He never spoke just to speak. There were many people, Tazim thought, that loved to speak their mind. The only problem was, they were complete idiots. They left no breathing space or speaking space for those whose words truly mattered.

He keeps his chin held high, stubbornly spitting out, "I am different than that fool you speak of."

If he was any closer, Ruben would surely have hit Tazim over his head. Instead, he watches the boy carefully, moving away to wipe his hands on a cloth already stained in blood, "The three tenets, you know them?"

Tazim scoffed, moving his arm around to loosen the wrapping a bit more, "Of course, I know them. I'm no child."

Such things had been drilled into his mind, all thanks to Basilio himself. Sometimes, Tazim thinks, having the mutt as his mentor during his early years was a blessing in disguise. No matter their current relation.

Scoffing and moving away from his door, Ruben has cleansed his hands as best he could, and prepares more of his effects for the next injured soul to walk into the room. Tazim knows he is thinking on what to say next. As he should.

"Then do not break them as you enter this path of maturity," Ruben scolded with a wave of his hand, tired of the younger boy's presence, "Now go."

Tazim feels like a child being disciplined. He hates it. He hates being talked down to, as though his words held no meaning. Hated the way Ruben couldn't even look him in the eye, let alone in his general direction when speaking. He was no runt to be insulted in such a way.

He hated feeling like Basilio.

Jumping from his seat and making his exit, Tazim thinks back on his former friend. He's reminded of the acts the other boy puts on for the rest of the men. Like a prancing dog on its hind legs. It was no use in fighting without the skill and influence behind it. Defeating and making their opponent submit to them with ones proficiency was one thing. Making a show out of them and tossing them around for a cheer was another.

"Ruben," Tazim calls without so much as turning, "How is Basilio?"

The old man's voice comes out dark. It comes out angry, "Worry for your own kind, boy."

It shouldn't have hurt like it did. Somehow, his words caused more damage than any physical injury ever would. Tazim chooses to ignore the pain.

When he returns to his friends, Gadiel is nowhere to be found. Nahir brings Tazim close to the ring, throwing his arm around the younger man, he beckons, "You will want to see this."

For once, he was right.

Beaten and bloody, both Gadiel and Basilio circled each other around the ring. Gadiel's upper arm was injured, bleeding profoundly. A more favored target area for Basilio, Tazim knew it well. Gadiel's sword, although high, pointed toward his opponent, shook along with the tremors going through his wounded arm and soiled hands.

"He plays games like a child," Nahir growls as Tazim carefully observes the scene.

With each swing of his sword, Basilio evaded Gadiel with uncertain ease. Basilio held his own sword loosely, at times unsure whether he should strike the other boy or not. He was always too soft-hearted. Nothing could sway him.

Though, once he catches sight of Tazim, eagerly watching the fight, Basilio's entire demeanor changes.

What was once sweaty, ruggedly sloppy sparring, suddenly became a delicate performance. A performance for one person in particular in the crowd of men.

Basilio, though tired, kept his chin up and shoulders pulled back. His footsteps suddenly lighter, more deliberate yet controlled and passive. He made no mistake in observing Tazim nearby, almost pleading for a reaction.

I can hurt too.

Backhanding Gadiel after an especially harsh swing of his sword, Basilio raged like an animal. Tazim couldn't help the prideful spark igniting in his chest as he watched, the corners of his lips curling just the faintest bit. Basilio made no mistake, calculating his movements as Tazim had seen many times before. His hands, ever so precise and stable as he fought.

Gadiel had no chance in winning.

Landing one final swipe across his opponents' shoulder, Basilio kicked, knocking Gadiel to the ground with a fresh, filthy wound in place. The cries and roars from the men signaled the end of the match, much to their dismay.

Taking a step back to admire his work, Basilio held his chin high, relishing in the shouts and cheers surrounding him. Head tilted and opponent forgotten, he gazed at Tazim through the corner of his eye and did the unthinkable.

Basilio smiled. It was incredible how he could smile.

He was still weak, no matter his demeanor. No matter his smile.

It wasn't difficult for Tazim to notice just how forged his act was, though a good one. His elaborate movements and lavish strikes to his opponent didn't matter, Basilio never meant any true harm. All the wounds he inflicted always avoided major arteries, the rest were thin enough to heal within a few days or weeks, with no extravagant salves or balms.

Weak.

But at least he was unscathed.

As he returns to them, having been embarrassingly knocked around, Gadiel can hardly contain himself, roughly flinging his sword to the ground, carving it down no less. He sneers, eyeing Basilio walk away unphased from the ring, "He is becoming an annoyance."

It's difficult to contain the astonishment Tazim held. The uneasy concern bellowing within. The slight pride and unknown fear for the other boy. He keeps his gaze on Basilio before he disappears into the crowd. When had he grown so arrogant and animal-like? The only answer to be given would be his rage against what Tazim had previously done to Rafi.

Pulling his friend away, Tazim masks his inner thoughts with forced humor, "Perhaps we can wait for a more suitable opponent for you."

"Shut up!" Gadiel remarks, ready to instigate yet another scuffle.

Hitting both their arms with equal force, Nahir disrupts and scolds them for being so childish. Who were they to fight amongst themselves like boys? He runs his hands over Gadiels newly acquired wounds, demanding that he get them looked after immediately, before turning his attention to Tazim.

Flaring his nostrils, Nahir snarls closely, "End him. Or I will."

It shouldn't be surprising. Basilio was an annoyance. But he was no immediate danger to them, only an inconvenience.

Tazim simply nods his head, wanting this topic to be over quickly, "It will happen. Have no worries."

By his hand or another, Basilio would be the least of their worries soon enough. Maybe it wasn't too bad an idea to let Nahir bring Basilio down from his pedestal. Humble him again and teach him to stay down. Already, Tazim had been forgetful of the boy. Or so he continued to tell himself.

"You make sure it does." Nahir remarked strictly, before leaving Tazim to his own.

As if Basilio were such a dangerous being, Tazim scoffed at the idea. He was nothing but a boy in men's clothes. A mutt. Time and time again, they were reminded of that simple, lonely fact. At least, it's what Tazim convinced himself of every time.

Now, it seemed, more than he had done previously.

They all hated Tazim now anyway, and he knew it. Ruben only brought it to his attention. Opened his eyes to it. None of it made sense to him anymore. It wasn't Tazim's fault he strived higher than they ever did.

"We've seen your kind before."

Ruben's words clung to the walls of his mind, relentlessly. Tazim was not to be put in a separate category so crudely by the old man. Or by anyone else He was an Assassin, as much as the rest of the stupid men there. He was better than the rest of them. Tazim was stronger, he was faster. He was driven.

Then why was it, he regularly had to remind himself of such things?

They had been afraid of him. No. That couldn't be it. Fear, Tazim never knew the feeling of. Not fear towards him at least. Rafi had been angry, Tarek even more so. Basilio- The runt had been waiting. Waiting for Tazim to make an appearance. To strike fear into him. Fear of what he was capable of doing to another man in a fight. The reign of death over abandonment.

It was almost beautiful that time.

When Nahir's last match came along, it was nearly sundown. Tazim had taken most of the day to collect his thoughts and calm his mind with a walk through the village until then.

Alone.

Where he once proudly strolled beside Basilio each afternoon, he now wandered through for simple answers he could not give even himself. It would be a lie if Tazim were to say he didn't half expect to stumble across one of his old friends, in hopes of asking their well-being.

Stop being so weak.

When he finally did get the strength to amble back into the courtyard. Tazim felt further perplexed on his stance as a blossoming Assassin.

Lucky for him, Nahir would give him his answer.

He was late, sauntering through the courtyard and pushing his way for a better view of the sparring match. An unusual number of men had gathered. If he were being honest, Tazim had grown tired of such repetition. What was once a chance at presenting their most skillful combatants had now turned into a slaughter of human nature.

Before him, Nahir made no mistake in displaying just how cruel a man could become under certain circumstances. His rage and frustration had been exposed for all to see, with a teenager as his puppet.

A boy, no older than Rafi, shakily held a knife in his hand while desperately dodging the swipes from his opponent. Curly hair stuck to his sweat dripping forehead, his teeth bared and bloody. Tazim realizes he's only ever seen this boy once before, not long after beginning his training with Basilio.

Though his name escaped Tazim, the teen was determined in his stance. The odds of being paired with an angry Nahir made his stomach twist. Tazim could only pray silently that the boy would leave with a few minor cuts and bruises.

Watching them, Tazim can see the influence of Basilio and Rafi in his actions. His movements, though sloppy and uncertain at times, held the teachings of Rafi's bruteness. His crooked, blood-stained smile, still young and harmless, that was Basilio's doing.

Tazim can't help but smile in return when the boy catches him. It would be his final harmless act.

Though his speed was impressive, it would do nothing to keep the teen from the experience and wrath of an older opponent. Nahir was no less merciful toward his teenage foe, with only his anger driving his actions and strikes with his blade.

The unexpected splash of blood does not startle Tazim. It's the boyish smile, fading along with the gurgling sounds of asphyxiation that quiet the men down. Watching as the boy holds his throat as silent realization hits him. His fall is merciful, though not by courtesy but by accident. The clean snap of his neck as his head awkwardly hits the ground seconds later echoes through their ears. The way his body falls, limp and empty, foreign in so many ways to all of them.

It was the end of something beautifully wicked. The destruction of innocence in the wake of death.

Tazim's feet move before his mind can fully register the action, running from the wretched scene. He departs, pushing roughly through the crowd to a clearing. Very few men watch as he goes, others move away from him. Tazim is sickened, retching out all the sin into the dirt below, staining even his boots.

The world itself seems to crumble beneath him.

Tazim hates this feeling. He hates it. Hates not being able to move, hates that he can't breathe, and hates that he suddenly can't think. His throat burns and the stench in his mouth moves through his nostrils as he tries to compose himself.

He wants to cry.

Tazim feels a hand on his back and hears the comforting words of an unknown person. Part of him almost believes it to be Basilio, and he calms. The warmth of a palm against his back, the slight weight of it between his shoulder blades. It would be alright. His eyes are closed, no less damp, but his breathing begins to relax.

When he turns, opening his eyes, Nahir is behind him, asking if he's alright. Tazim immediately recoils, stepping as far away as he can. He practically trips over his own feet, retreating with such disgust he never knew he could hold for a person.

"Tazim?" Nahir asks lightheartedly, blood staining his sleeves, "What is it?"

"You killed him," Tazim breathes out, spitting and wiping his mouth. What else could it possibly be? Was he blind as well as stupid?

A few men cast glimpses in their direction, though the majority have enveloped the sparring ring for a chance to see the kill. Tazim only hopes they would give the boy a proper removal from the area.

Nahir shrugs, confused and waves his hand in dismissal, "What did you think Assassin's did for a living? We kill, Tazim."

"Not like that!"
"I did them a favor," he explains, growing annoyed at Tazim and the few men glancing over, "Abbas. Do you think he will want weak men?"

He was one of us, Tazim wants to yell out. "He was a boy!"

"So were we!" Nahir pulls Tazim up by his robes and harshly whispers, "We learned. Adapted. We became better."

He feels the wetness of his cheeks, hot with unmistakable tears having been shed. It was unfair. They were no Gods to decide on who lived and who died. Even as Assassins, there was no way they could prey on their own people without consequence.

That boy's death was no accident. It was only for sport.

Though Tazim can no longer bring himself to voice his thoughts. He sags limply, being held only by Nahir's fist in his clothing. His knees are weak, as is his spirit.

"Collect yourself," Nahir suddenly growls, pushing Tazim away as though he were an annoying child and letting him fall into the dirt. He thinks maybe Nahir will kick him, but he steps away instead, "Then come find us."

A part of him is glad Nahir leaves when he does. It takes the other men in the area longer. Until the body is removed. Even if they had passed near him, Tazim would not have had the strength to look up.

He waits until all the men disperse. Curled into himself like a boy until then, soiled in mud and only growing colder with the darkened night blanketing over him. Tazim feels the tears stain his cheeks, though he does not cry, he does not whimper.

It must have been the worst feeling in the world to feel nothing. Not even proper pain.

Not long after he muscles up the courage to stand, Tazim is grimly alarmed. He brushes the mud and dried blood from his robes, only further soiling his hands.

Behind him, Tazim hears footsteps and immediately turns. Although covered by the cowl over his head, Basilio's face peaks from beneath the shadows across his face as he looks at Tazim. His eyes are damp, and Tazim realizes he has never before seen Basilio so miserable in his life.

A part of Tazim feels relieved almost. He thinks Basilio has come with news that the boy from the courtyard was not dead. That Nahir had not killed that night. Instead, the younger boy only shrugs loosely, equal parts disappointed by Nahir's actions, and hurt by their fallen comrade.

Basilio keeps his distance, a light sniffle escaping him, followed by a deep sigh. He keeps his shoulders squared, and his lips suddenly curl into a sneer.

"If I were you," Basilio spits out, he sounds as though he were holding back tears. Whether he was angry or pained by the night's events, Tazim was not sure. Staring blankly at the boy, he scowls, "I would drop everything and run. Just run."

Leave. While you have the chance to live.

If only he knew how. There was nothing Tazim wished to do more than fade from existence right where he stood.

Yes it has been ages. Yes I have other chapters started (as well as the entire rest of this story) and because of the fact that I took an especially long time in updating, here is my gift. A delicious new chapter to kick Tazim's butt because lately he's been acting like a little shit.

Thank you readers! Any questions or comments are absolutely appreciated. If it weren't for the most recent review, I'm not sure I would have finished this chapter so soon.

Stay safe! Have a lovely day/night, see you next time!