The Fourth Life: Granddaughter of a Templar

Yes, going to be a total clusterfuck when Percy wakes back up. Emotions, hormones, physical stresses, not to mention the two big sisters that are still in the present, and never mind the image he holds in his son's mind, and how Cheyenne is almost the polar opposite of Virgil.

Also, just so we're not scratching heads over Cheyenne's gear: Legendary Prowler Coat, Improved Prowler Hood, Legendary Prowler Bracers (on each arm), Legendary Prowler Boots, and none of the in-game Belts work, just imagine two pistols at the back of her waist, and pouches of various sizes along the rest of the Belt, and the color scheme is Midnight Shadow. Shay's air rifle in on her back, though in a holster, not dangling around, and Shay's pistols, the English Percussion Flintlock Pistols, are tucked into holsters on the outsides of her boots, the insides of which have additional pouches.

Now, onto the fun!

Disclaimer: I don't own AC or PJO

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Inspired by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a multi-cultural team of Judaism, Islam, Scientology, multiple gender identities, consisting of, but not limited to, omni-gender, bi-gender, fox-gender demi-queer, and multiple sexual orientations, such as toaster-sexual, in which you are attracted to washing machines.

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Cheyenne Cormac.

That was a name that even Arno, a novice, knew. It was spoken around the Sanctuary in whispers and hushed tones, often with derision and scorn. From what Arno had gathered from the snippets he heard, she was a loose cannon, a wild child, harbored a supreme disrespect for the Creed and the Assassins in general, which stemmed from the fact that she was the granddaughter of a Templar. Arno didn't know which Templar, or how Cheyenne ended up with the Assassins, but from what he had just witnessed, the girl's effectiveness in battle, he wasn't sure what the big deal was.

Sure, she exposed herself, but she killed everyone that saw her, so there wasn't anyone to go running and blabbing their mouth, besides Méricourt, who was basically an ally of the Assassins already, so no worries there.

Besides, it was a widely accepted theory that it was Cheyenne that set up the Relief System, the System being an Assassin-only thing in which the Assassins, with their high-stress lifestyles, took a parchment from a box that contained a time and place, and once there, with masks hiding their identities, a male and female Assassin would enjoy a night in each other's company.

Or male and male, and female and female, depending on which box you took a note from.

Arno had yet to give the Relief System a try, because his heart was set on his redheaded adopted sister.

That sounded bad in writing, but was a solid Romeo and Juliet plotline elsewhere.

Anyway, Cheyenne herself was beautiful, her sharp jaw and nose, angular, vibrant green eyes, healthy skin, well-maintained teeth, messy black hair, and now that Arno knew her gender, a generous body. Not too big in the way of curves or chest, but she was decked out in full gear.

Not thinking sexually so much as appreciatively, Arno was certain that Cheyenne was very well blessed under her clothes.

And, even though she was not fondly spoken of, Arno had happened across some carnal conversation with which Cheyenne was the desired object.

"Arno Dorian," the Assassin novice introduced himself.

"I know," Cheyenne chirped. "I specifically asked for you on this mission."

That mission being not just getting the Women's March out of Paris, but also all the way to Versailles, where another team of Assassin was waiting to handle things from there. It was roughly a four-hour walk from Paris to Versailles, and Arno intended to make every minute count in his coming interrogation of the infamous Cheyenne Cormac, especially because his interest was at a boiling point after months of passing talks, culminating in being told he was hand-picked by the girl herself.

Brimming with questions, Arno went with the easiest one: "Why did you want me?"

"Wanted to get to know you. Dad was an Assassin, stepdad was a Templar, you loved 'em both, and you've seen both worlds." The sparkle in Cheyenne's eyes turned to a gleam. "Tell me," she said, her voice lower and less chipper, "what do you think of the Assassins and Templars, their struggle, their ideals, and what do you think of the Creed?"

With all his wisdom and experience as a novice for the past five months, Arno delivered his answers.

"The struggle would end if both sides came together. I was raised by Monsieur de la Serre, the very Grand Master of the Templars, and I know he was a good man who loved his family and valued his friends. He didn't seek the subjugation of all mankind, but its prosperity."

"Huh, Mirabeau thinks the same. Did you know that Mirabeau and de la Serre were actually friends, and were trying to bridge the gap between our Orders?"

Arno blinked. "No, I didn't know that—wait, our Orders?"

"I'll get to it. That was your answer on the struggle, but what of the ideals? Freedom or control?"

"…freedom without control would be chaos. Men and women would do as they pleased, causing wanton destruction, heedless of the problems they're causing and totally without responsibility. However, control without freedom is slavery, and men and women were not born or created to be slaves."

"You don't say….and the Creed?"

"Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent; hide in plain sight; never compromise the Brotherhood. Break these tenants at your own peril," Arno recited from reflexive memory. "Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted." He shrugged. "Simple enough rules, I suppose. Don't kill people you're not supposed to, don't get caught, and don't expose the Assassins."

"Hm, good enough."

"Now you answer some of my questions."

"So demanding," Cheyenne teased. "You could at least say please."

"Please answer some of my questions."

"Shoot."

"You said our Orders earlier. What did you mean?"

"I consider myself a Templar," Cheyenne said simply.

"I suppose that stems from the fact your grandfather was a Templar?"

"Yep. Shay Patrick Cormac. An Assassin during the Seven Years' War, saw the Colonial Assassins recklessly break the tenants of the Creed without a care, and set out to stop them from causing any more city-destroying earthquakes."

Arno stopped in his tracks. "Come again?"

Cheyenne looked at him over her shoulder with a smirk. "Oh? They didn't teach you that tidbit in history class, did they?"

"It must've slipped their minds."

"Yeah, with the Precursor box and a manuscript, the Colonial Assassins found the locations to some temples. Adéwalé went to the one in Haiti, et tout foiré. Destroyed the whole place. Likewise, Granddad was sent to the temple in Lisbon, and the same thing happened. When he got back to the Colonies, he did a little snooping and found out that Achilles had previously suspected the temples might be linked to the earthquakes, but he still sent Shay. However, since there were no blades involved, I guess you could say that the Creed wasn't broken."

Arno didn't know what to do with that kind of information, and started walking at a dazed pace.

"And there's more."

Arno slowly blinked. "…more?"

"Yep, more. If the earthquakes weren't bad enough, the Assassin presence was felt through the use of gangs that terrorized the cities and the settlements, even flew flags bearing the fancy 'A.' Personally, I don't think that's what hide in plain sight means, but I'm only a Master Assassin, so what do I know."

"…huh."

"Yep. Looking at all that, it's no wonder that Granddad set out on the path of justice and brought down the Colonial Brotherhood with Haytham and Captain Swallow. Hell, looking at all that, Granddad did exactly what he was supposed to do. Al Mualim basically had Faris and Altaїr executed for what happened under Solomon's Temple, and Virgil Cavaliere carried out his own executions when he was in power. See, when the Assassins start breaking the tenants of the Creed, it's only treason when you set out to stop them when you don't have a high enough rank."

"…and you're…you're Shay Cormac's granddaughter…?"

Arno was just in a bit of shock right now, being told that his morally correct and upright order actually wasn't at all morally correct and upright, and that his father was a part of this order, and now so was he. Arno really shouldn't have been shocked, with all factions of men having their black sheep, but he still was.

"Sure am."

"And you consider yourself a Templar because…?"

"The Assassins are a bunch of self-righteous hypocrites that think their Creed is going to save the world when in reality all it does is create the breeding ground necessary for human strife to flourish. Whereas the Templars have the right idea: control from the shadows, guide and direct as demanded, and kill who needs to be killed."

"That's not at all how Monsieur de la Serre thought or operated," Arno insisted, mind beginning to reboot.

"Eh, there are some odd ones out every now and then, but the main idea of the Templars is still control and order."

"And see all mankind as docile slaves."

Cheyenne shrugged. "I think I'd rather live in a world filled with docile slaves and be a docile slave myself, then live in a world where someone in a crowd could shoot me in my head or stab my back, or I could get pulled into an alley, my clothes torn away and my body violated."

Arno winced at the mental image his brain conjured for his inconvenience, Cheyenne's screams turning into choked gags, her body lifted and held at a bad angle, her legs nearly being pulled from their sockets for the sake of easier access.

"Pros and cons, Arno, pros and cons."

With the argument that Cheyenne brought up, and possessing the mental capacity to appreciate the fact that she was not exclusive to the described situations, Arno was struggling to form a counter argument, but was feeling compelled to for the sake of conversation, and so just went with what was coming to him.

"While unquestioningly barbaric, that kind of…happening-"

"Tais-toi," Cheyenne said, rolling her eyes. "I don't know what you were leading up to, but it was probably very stupid, so you can thank me for saving you from embarrassment later."

He wasn't sure himself what he was leading up to, but Arno still bristled slightly at being interrupted like that. "Yes, thank you very much for contributing to the cause that intends to our flawed little world a bleak and boring place."

"Bleak and boring?" Cheyenne asked, brow raised. "Why do you think a world in Templar hands would be bleak and boring?"

"The Templars would limit our self-expression, freedom, and free will. Everything would be uniform, we'd all think the same—thinking like the Templars, our very thoughts controlled by the Templars—and there'd be no difference, only a false unity."

"Arno," Cheyenne said disappointedly. "Weren't you just telling me that's not at all how de la Serre operated?"

"Monsieur de la Serre, and wasn't it you just telling me how there's an anomaly to the system every now and then?"

"Ooh, witty. I like it, but I digress. Why are you so sure the Templars would make the world a boring place of false unification?"

Arno knew enough about Cheyenne to know that That's what I was taught in class was not going to be a well-received answer—most likely met with raucous laughter and probably some scathing remarks about the Brotherhood—so he went with something arguably lamer:

"Every time I think about the Templars' idea of world peace, that's the only reality that comes to mind."

Cheyenne snorted in a very unladylike snort that was so very unladylike that Arno wasn't sure if she hadn't actually just farted.

"Let's use this wonderfully civilized crowd next to us, shall we?"

Cheyenne gestured to the mob immediately to their right, and Arno looked them over. Peasants and others of low class made up the majority of the massive mob, all of them armed with either a weapon from the Parisian armory that had been stormed and robbed, or with farming equipment. The general odor indicated the need for a bath and an appointment with soap. They were all chanting provocatives and painting themselves as a huge band of slobbering beasts out for blood.

All in all, not the greatest example of the exercise of freedom.

"This is happening for a bunch of reasons, but the direct cause is bread, so we'll stick with that. They're marching because of the lack of bread, and what bread there is costs too damn much, and because most of the bread is being hoarded by the nobles. If the Templars were in control, this wouldn't be happening.

"A) there wouldn't be any social classes in the first place. No low-class, middle-class, or high-class. No peasants or nobles, but men and women of equal standing. B) there wouldn't be a bread shortage because no one party would be hoarding it all. All the bread in all the world would be distributed to where it was needed. C) there wouldn't be a price on bread, because there would be no money at all. Money is an evil device that controls people, puts them in debt, motivates them to do evil things, and determines where they stand on the social ladder. There wouldn't be any money under the Templars, because there'd be no need for money in that world.

"Everyone would be taken care of: clothes for all the backs, food for all the mouths, homes for all the people. No unemployment, no poverty or starvation, because all the negative things about humanity, like greed, selfishness, hate, etc., with the Pieces of Eden, we'd get rid of them and create a perfectly regulated society of children with loving parents, adults with promising careers of innovation, and all-around happy and generous living."

"Sounds good," Arno said, "won't work."

"And why not?" Cheyenne casually asked.

"Because all those negative things about mankind that you listed, the greed and the selfishness, that applies to the Templars as well. The fantasy land you just described would only exist if the Templars didn't possess the same traits as everyone else in the world. Since they do, we can only expect them to abuse whatever power they receive from the Pieces of Eden, and the whole world becomes mankind's slaves."

"Mankind," Cheyenne said, a little teasing smile beginning to crawl across her face. "Womankind, on the other hand…"

Arno stopped. "You must be joking."

Cheyenne turned her head to smirk at him from over her shoulder, visible eye glittering. "Only halfway. Come on. We've still got a long way to go to Versailles, and there's still so much more we can talk about."

Arno didn't know what other topics were before him, but he could honestly say he was looking forward to more of what Cheyenne had to offer by way of intellectual stimulus.

And for the rest of the march, he was certainly intellectually stimulated.

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The most important event of this first mission together—by far—arguably so important that it could be viewed as the first step in the direction of the modern-day Templar domination of the globe, was Cheyenne and Arno's arrival in Versailles, and their subsequent visit to the abandoned mansion of the de la Serre family.

It was cold and gloomy inside, with no one to tend to anything. It hadn't been ransacked yet, but with the charging climate of France, it probably wasn't long before looters took advantage of the chaos. As it was, the mansion that Arno grew up in, once thriving with attendants making sure the whole place was tidy and maintained, was quiet.

Dust had already collected on the surfaces, but that was currently as far as the nightmare went. Every bit of furniture was where it had been placed, the rugs and carpets still straight, the doors still shut. Honestly, the estate could really still have been occupied, if only by one miserly person, or the owners could simply have been away for an extended holiday.

Arno felt that the neatness and order of the estate was the universe mocking him. After everything that had happened, its master murdered just down the street, the master's children now separated due to ancient conflict, both having taken up their respective father's mantles, this place should have reflected the turmoil.

Windows should've been broken. Furniture overturned, desks ransacked, the carpet torn up; Arno should've walked in here, and found some hooligan pissing on the wall. Not finding his expectations lived-up to made him angry, and a whole bunch of other reasons to be angry suddenly surged through him, and he really did take three hard steps forward with the intention of grabbing the nearest desk to fling it at the wall, but through sheer force of will, he stopped himself.

At the moment, the strangers and citizens of Versailles had not touched this hallowed ground, leaving it to remain undefiled. It would be a heinous dishonor to Monsieur de la Serre's memory to be the one to sully his estate.

However, even thinking like that wasn't what caused Arno's anger to totally evaporate. No, it was the slender, gloved hand of his superior slipping into his own hand.

The Dorian scion looked to Cheyenne, her standing nearly as tall as him, confused.

The glitter, twinkle, sparkle, and gleam in her eyes was missing, only solemnness and understanding. Of course she understood, Arno remembered, she had seen her beloved grandfather mercilessly cut down before her eyes by the Assassins, and he had watched his beloved father-figure fall in battle, murdered, by currently unknown assailants. So, yes, she understood what Arno was feeling quite well, though perhaps her feelings were even stronger than his.

At least Arno has the opportunity to avenge Monsieur de la Serre, to find his killers, Cheyenne didn't. She had been kidnapped by her grandfather's killers, and forced into their service with no one to help her or protect her, being left to fend for herself in an organization full of people embittered by Shay's actions, projecting their feelings onto her, a six-year-old girl. She couldn't avenge Shay, because doing so would put her at total odds with an entire army of trained killers.

That had to leave someone with much emotion bottled inside, knowing that your slavers and murderers were literally all around you, taunting you, jeering at you, talking behind your back, all of them knowing just how much you wanted to go at them, while also knowing that if you did, it would be your end. Figuring that out, it was now no wonder to Arno why Cheyenne seemed to take such liberties with the Creed:

It was her only way of viable rebellion.

And he didn't know how to feel about the Assassins or the Creed anymore, knowing that they had no problems with kidnapping a little girl and making her a slave to the cause.

"Why are you really an Assassin, Arno?" Cheyenne asked quietly, keeping her voice low in the face of the sanctity of the de la Serre estate. "Is it because of your father?"

"…no."

"Is it because you believe in the value of the Creed?"

"No."

"Is it because you believe in fighting for the freedom of mankind?"

"No."

"Then why are you an Assassin, Arno Dorian?"

It didn't take him long to form an answer.

"Because the man that was more of a father to me than my own father was a Templar who believed in peace between the two parties, and he was murdered in cold blood because of it. I am an Assassin because through them, I now have the weapons, training, and means I need to avenge his death."

Cheyenne gave Arno's hand a squeeze and released. "I want you to remember that, Arno. In all the things to come from here on out, I want you remember why you're an Assassin."

"Je le ferai, Cheyenne."

And as much as he wasn't certain of the truth behind it, Arno thought he might've been falling in love.

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The return to Paris was much simpler than leaving it, since they got to ride horses. It turned a three-hour walk into barely more than a fifteen-minute ride at full gallop. The two didn't say anything else to each other during the ride, mostly because of the fact that trying to have a conversation on horseback was difficult.

They were in that serene stage, where enough had been said and nothing more was needed, and a comfortable silence was a welcome thing.

Upon arrival in Paris, where riding horses through the city streets was frowned upon because there was enough waste in the walkways already from people dumping their chamber pots, and with all the congestion from the masses it was entirely possible to trample several dozen people in a single go, Arno and Cheyenne demounted and let their horses be attended to by the Assassin stablemaster—who also found the time to cast a sneer at Cheyenne, just like the relief team at Versailles did, although she returned fire with a sinister little smile that had the recipients turning away, disturbed and uncomfortable—and they traversed the streets to the nearest tunnel entrance, which they then used to wind their way to the Sanctuary unimpeded.

When the mission was completed, it was standard procedure to report to the Mentors, and wait for them if they were otherwise busy.

Cheyenne typically gave them five minutes before she left to pursue more constructive practices.

This time, however, Mirabeau, Guillaume Beylier, the black guy, Hervé Quemar, the old guy that farts a lot, Sophie Trenet, the old woman, and Pierre Bellec, were all there and waiting. Arno raised a brow at the audience.

"Quite the turnout."

Only Mirabeau smiled. The other Assassins were all serious and all business, their eyes locked onto Cheyenne, who was hiding her contemplations of killing them all, besides Mirabeau, behind a lazy little grin.

"Yes. It being your first field mission, I felt it was only appropriate that we all gathered to hear how it went for you," the Mentor said.

"It was alright," Arno said dismissively. "Killed the Extremists, disabled the cannons, protected the march. All in a day's work."

Mirabeau hummed. "And you, Cheyenne? How did your partner perform?"

"He left me totally unsatisfied, even after five whole hours of going at it."

Arno crossed his arms with a flat expression on his face that he directed at Cheyenne, who was smiling innocently. None of the other Assassins were amused with the girl, sans Mirabeau, who snorted good-naturedly.

"Yes, well, I'm sure he'll get better with experience."

"In all seriousness, Arno did well. He's a crack shot with the gun, and a demon with the blade. He's got a promising career ahead of him."

Bellec grunted. "Assuming you don't stab his back."

"Oh, no. That's what the Assassins do to the grandfathers of little girls on the very day they decided to leave this vie de merde behind."

Bellec's nostrils flared, and he moved forward with clear hostile intent, making Arno grab for his sword, but Mirabeau was quick to intervene as soon as Cheyenne finished her jab.

"Pierre! Stand down, now!"

Clearly unhappy about it, Bellec did as instructed, and he looked at Arno like he had something to tell him, but held his tongue. Mirabeau looked at Cheyenne.

"Let's avoid unnecessary conflict as much as we can, yes?"

"Sure thing. Avoiding unnecessary conflict is what we Assassin are all about. Working in the dark to serve the light and all that."

"Speaking of the Creed," Sophie said pointedly. "Arno, how well did Cheyenne uphold the tenents?"

And now Arno was starting to get pissed off. He wasn't Cheyenne's watchdog, nor was he the council's spy on her, and certainly didn't like being used as such, especially without at least asking him about it first. Something else that was irking him, was that from his and Cheyenne's words just hours previous, it was clear she had no love for the Brotherhood, and the Brotherhood had no love for her because of her grandfather's going Rogue and killing so many Assassins, but this was ridiculous.

Cheyenne was about two years his junior from he guessed, putting her at nineteen to his twenty-one. She had also been in this line of work for over a decade. She was a woman in every sense of the word, no longer a child that needed a supervisor, and was more than capable of deciding what to do for herself and what to do about the consequences for those actions.

If she wanted to break this Creed that was all about freedom, then why was it such a problem for her to exercise that freedom?

"She didn't kill any innocents, there was plenty of plain sight to hide in, and the Brotherhood hasn't been compromised. I say she upheld the tenants as well as any Assassin here."

Quemar leaned over to Beylier, and Arno heard him whisper, "She's gotten inside his head…"

And the disillusionment with the Brotherhood truly began in earnest within Arno on that day, at that moment.

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After she and Arno were dismissed by the council, and she and Arno parted ways until next time, Cheyenne began trekking to her home in the countryside, bought with her own money—that she stole, so technically not her own—located specifically away from the city, where it was a lot harder to sneak up on. As she predicted, Bellec intercepted her before she could leave the sanctuary.

Cheyenne didn't let him get a single word out of his mouth.

"Yes, I told Arno about my views on the Creed and the Brotherhood—yes, I told him about my grandfather being Shay Cormac—yes, I told him about the abject failure of the Colonial Brotherhood and how Shay was totally in the right in what he did—no, I didn't tell Arno that it was Shay that killed his father, and you're not allowed to either thanks to Mirabeau—yes, I do know you'll try to kill me if something happens to Arno—and no, I'm not going to try to turn him from the Assassin. He's a big boy that can decided for himself what to do with his life, and if that means taking what I tell him and taking what you tell him, and deciding to leave the Brotherhood for the Order, well…"

Cheyenne shrugged.

"Glad we had this chat. Au revoir, alcoolique."

Bellec fumed, but with Mirabeau as Cheyenne's protector, as penance for the sins of the previous mentor, who had Shay killed and Cheyenne kidnapped and enslaved, he couldn't lay a hand on her without suffering the same punishment for those that broke the Creed.

Considering the soft spot Mirabeau had for Cheyenne, Bellec knew he wouldn't be getting exiled.

Still angry, he left to find Arno and give him as much warning as he could about the Templars and their deceitful, treacherous nature.

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Now, Eagle Vision was a wonderous thing, providing its utilizer with information about the world around them. It also manifested in certain degrees of usage. For example, Altaїr could only use Eagle Vision while standing still, and Ezio, in his early years, couldn't use it while doing anything more than walking, but as he grew, his prowess expanded. Edward Kenway and Adéwalé were reported being able to tag enemies and allies, and track them through walls. Cheyenne's beloved grandfather had that same ability, but his Eagle Vision came with this nifty little early warning system that alerted him to the presence of nearby threats.

Probably the main reason he had been so effective at hunting down and killing Assassins was because he could seek them out even while they were hidden.

Cheyenne's own Eagle Vision was a mix of her own version, and that of Shay's. Her version was more like a pulse than a vision, and when she used it, she became aware of many important things up to a twenty-meter radius, and like Shay, she could tag what she saw and keep track of it even when the pulse faded.

Her Eagle Vision was a precursor to what the Frye Siblings would experience about 70 years down the line.

Cheyenne also enjoyed the early warning system that her grandfather did. However, instead of just informing her that there was a nearby threat by way of faint whispering that got louder when she was closing in on the location of the threat, her system also warned her of impending projectiles.

Like right now, in the country, by this big tree a short walk from her house, causing her to stop in her tracks and lean backward at her waist to avoid whatever was flying through the air to kill her.

Now, something that Cheyenne's EWS didn't tell her was just what was coming at her. It could've been a wasp, bird droppings, a rock, a stray ball thrown by children, a bullet, anything. However, humungous, rake-sized arrows capable of blowing apart trees was not something Cheyenne ever expected to encounter.

She stared at the massive projectile, her lips pursed and her brow burrowed. "Well…that's original."

Her EWS went off again, and her body jerked itself out of the way of another rake-sized arrow, and Cheyenne was fresh from walking alongside a march of angry farmers armed with rakes. She knew what she was talking about when she said rake-sized.

Then her EWS went haywire, and the sky practically started raining the huge arrows, and Cheyenne's cardio training kicked in as she started dodging, unable to tell just where all these bolts were coming from. Cheyenne, pivoted, bounced, and jumped to and fro in a deadly dance, each arrow coming faster and harder than the last, each one getting close and closer to grazing her, until she misjudged a jump, and her coattail was nailed into the ground with so much force she was yanked to her butt.

And there was another arrow just a few feet away, aimed right at her chest.

And then it was stopped dead in the air by a pair of hands, and Cheyenne felt the one pinning her to the ground vanish. She jerked around and saw a beautiful woman that looked about Arno's age standing there, both arrows in her hands as she looked at Cheyenne, serious as the plague.

"Come with me if you want to live."

Unaware of how iconic that line will become, and seeing no better alternative, Cheyenne did just that.

It was the start of a relationship that was doomed to fail.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

And the Fourth Life officially begins.

Cheyenne's and Arno's relationship has begun, and Cheyenne just met Zoё in the wake of Orion's assassination attempt.

With Unity's plethora of side-missions, I have a playground for character development and relation building, meaning I'm going to be having a whole lot of fun with this arc.

Bear with me for a little while longer. Classes end on the 11th of December, 2019, which leaves a full twenty days before my New Years hiatus. I should finish this arc before then, and potentially the Titan's Curse as well.

Fav, Follow, and Review please!