Willoffire123: WHOPEE! IT'S SPRING BREAK!
Ezio: What does that mean?
Willoffire123: That means no school for the next 2 weeks!
Leonardo: So more updates?
Willoffire123: I hope so!
Ezio: Well then, Willoffire123 doesn't own Assassin's Creed.
Leonardo: Avanti con il capitolo!
Having left his assassins with Dr. White, Connor collapsed on a tree stump outside the doctor's tent; content to watch the starts twinkle in the night sky as the good doctor patched up his men.
"How do you feel, Stéphane?" Connor heard Dr. White ask his first lieutenant.
"Plus bien, merci docteur," said Stéphane. "Although it does hurt to stand at the moment."
"If Stéphane's sprained ankle's the worst injury out of all of us, then I'd say the mission was a grand success," said Duncan.
"I'll still be sore tomorrow though," Connor heard Jamie grumble.
"Oh, you'll be fine, you big oaf," Dobby scolded, making Connor grin. It was always comforting for Connor to know that whenever he ventured out on a mission alone, Dobby would remain to keep the five men in check.
"Fine and sore," agreed Jacob. "Not Connor though."
Connor's ears pricked at the mention of his name. It was true that he'd come from the mission with barely a scratch. But why did Jacob feel the need to mention that?
"Oh?" inquired Dr. White.
"True," said Duncan, agreeing with Jacob. "Connor rarely does."
"Seriously, Duncan?" Dobby said incredulously. "Have you never seen our mentor shirtless before? The man's covered in scars."
"He means that compared to us, Connor never gets injured on missions," said Jamie.
"How?" asked Jacob. "I know he's good, but his intuition is inhuman."
Connor stood, prepared to slink off to process what his friends had said.
"Evening, Achilles," said Dr. White, causing Connor to freeze in his tracks. Connor knew perfectly well that Achilles knew he was right outside the tent. Still, he chose to stay.
"Good evening everyone," came the low, gravelly voice of Connor's mentor. "I take it the mission was a success? Nobody was seriously hurt?"
"Besides Stéphane, we're all fine," said Jacob.
"I'm fine!" Stéphane protested hotly. "It's just my ankle."
"We were just discussing Connor," said Duncan.
"Oh?" asked Achilles. Connor could hear the amusement in his mentor's voice.
"Yes," said Jacob. "Strange how well Connor can sense the enemy, no?"
"Do I detect confusion?" Achilles asked the group. "Or maybe jealousy?"
"Perhaps both," Jamie admitted.
"With all due respect to both you and Connor, mentor," said Stéphane. "Connor's luck is un peu confusing."
"I don't think it's luck," said Dobby.
"Whatever it is, it's unnatural," said Jacob. "Even for an assassin."
Growing up in a small village with few children his age, Connor had never had that many friends. What friends he did have though, he got along with easily, thanks to his best friend, Kanen'tó:kon. He'd never had to deal with trivial matters such as jealousy, and felt hurt that his friends would complain about something that everyone should be able to do.
Feeling unable to continue listening to his friends and his mentor, Connor performed a Leap of Faith off the edge of the cliff into the lake below, and climbed into the rowboat he used to cross the lake.
"I see your mission was a success," said Achilles, coming to join him on the terrace.
"You heard it yourself," said Connor, unable to look his mentor in the eyes. "We all came back alive and in one piece."
Achilles made no attempt to feign ignorance at his conversation with Connor's recruits, instead sitting with him in silence.
"Is there something wrong with me?" Connor asked at last in a small voice.
Achilles sighed. Sometimes he forgot just how difficult being a father was. "In their eyes, perhaps."
Achilles watched Connor gulp, swallowing his hurt. "I see."
"Connor, you are only seventeen," Achilles said soothingly. "And this is your home. You have every right to feel hurt or confused."
Connor's shoulders sagged. "Then do you know what is wrong with me?"
"First you must tell me, child," said Achilles. "How do you feel different from others? Have you always noticed that you were different? Or did tonight's mission illuminate this for you?"
Connor took a deep breath. "When I was young, my mother and grandmother taught me that I was different from the others in the village because my skin was fairer than the others, because my father was British."
"And?" encouraged Achilles.
"But my friends never treated me differently because of my skin," said Connor. "Often I wondered why my friends found hunting more difficult than I did, or why they could not see that the men who often came to our village to speak with the elders were not to be trusted."
"And how did you know they weren't to be trusted?" asked Achilles. "Or exactly how to track your prey when hunting?"
"Because they were red," said Connor as if it should be obvious. "The men who came to our village were always red. The animals glow white against the gray; it's impossible to miss them, or so I thought."
Connor gave Achilles a confused look. "Now I am not as certain."
Achilles let out a low chuckle.
"What is so funny, old man?" Connor demanded. "Am I amusing you?"
"Yes, child," said Achilles. "There's nothing wrong with you, Connor. You possess a gift I haven't seen since Shay…"
His face fell. Connor knew who Shay Cormac was, and was trained to feel a sense of dread at the name.
"You say I have a gift?" he asked his mentor. "One shared by the traitor?"
"Yes," said Achilles. "But not only by him. It is a rare gift, given to few."
"Which is?" prompted Connor.
"The gift to see the world for what it truly is," said Achilles. "Down to the colors, sounds and smells."
"You mean," Connor said slowly, processing his mentor's words. "Others do not see what I see?"
"Exactly," said Achilles. "You have the power to do what most only dream of. Many train and meditate for years to glimpse just a fraction of what you see. You are one of the few bestowed with the ability to use this second sight freely. To you, what takes others a lifetime to achieve comes as easily as breathing."
"But why me?" said Connor. "Why am I different?"
"Who knows," said Achilles. "Perhaps the power can be inherited; your father possesses it as well, as does your grandfather. The first known case of this power came with Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad himself. The only other known cases are Ezio Auditore, Shay Cormac, and now the Kenway line."
Connor thought back to the church and Valley Forge. "Our interests are aligned."
"He saw me as blue," Connor realized. "Just as I saw him."
"That's another part of the gift," said Achilles. "You have the power to see people for who they truly are; whether they stand by you, against you, or neither."
"What is this power called?" asked Connor.
"Altaïr's comrades felt similarly to yours, Connor," said Achilles. "They didn't understand his gift; many thought him mad. His truest friend, Malik Al-Sayf was the one to discover Altaïr's madness as a gift and name this second sight."
"Which is?" prompted Connor.
"Eagle Vision."
Haytham's voice woke Connor from his stupor.
"Son! I know your mind is in turmoil, but some help would be greatly appreciated!"
Connor woke to a bird's eye view of his father surrounded by guards, the bird's eye view being because he was perched on the rafters of the cell.
He tried to voice his confusion at this, only for a cry similar to that of a bird to escape his mouth.
Well that was new.
"Any day now!" Haytham reminded him, disarming a masked guard with a kick to the gut.
Connor's regaining some sliver of his sanity reminded him just how needy his father was. However, as his protesting chest and leg reminded him, Haytham was his best chance at reuniting with his brothers.
If Connor were to jump down and assassinate two of the guards, he knew for certain his leg would not survive the jump.
So don't touch the ground, the voice in his head urged him. For the past week or so, he'd fought hard to push out the three voices in his head. For now, he'd succeeded at suppressing the wolf and bear.
But still, the eagle remained, urging him to jump.
"Connor!" cried Haytham, and Connor could hear the rising panic in his voice as two of the guards pinned him face against the wall. Connor watched in horror as a third guard pulled the instrument from the coals that had given him the pain in his shoulder, and applied it to Haytham's back.
Haytham's howl of pain said it all; there was no time left to argue with the Eagle.
Connor jumped, his hidden blades burying themselves in the jugulars of the first two guards.
Connor braced his leg for an impact that never came.
I told you, the Eagle said smugly. Try getting rid of me now.
Connor ignored the Eagle, instead grabbing the final guard by the neck.
"Get away from me, demon!" the guard cried in fear.
Connor grinned, eager to inflict more pain on his tormentors. He flew the guard back up to his perch on the rafters.
I need to speak, he told the Eagle. I need to find the others.
Not part of the deal, said the Eagle.
I never made a deal with any of you, said Connor. My will is stronger now. You will allow me to speak.
Surprisingly enough, the Eagle consented. Connor could feel all aspects of the Eagle, apart from the gift of flight, falling away from his body.
"Where are the others?" he growled at the guard. "How long have we been separated."
"Subjects 1 and 2 are still in their cell," the guard whimpered. "We've been testing you two for three days now. Subject 5 escaped four days ago. Please don't kill me!"
"After all you did to us?" hissed Connor. "Death would be too kind."
The guard sighed in relief.
Connor let him fall to his death anyway. "But still more convenient than life."
Haytham greeted him at the floor, clutching his shoulder in pain.
"Thank you," he said faintly, regarding his son with awe.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" demanded Connor.
"Why won't it turn off?" said Haytham, his face falling into panic.
Connor sighed. "If I knew I would have turned it off a long time ago."
Haytham put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Connor, Eagle Vision isn't to be messed with; overusing it has severe reprocussions. How long have you been using it?"
"Since they did their tests on me and Altaïr," Connor admitted. "But there is nothing we can do about that right now." He rummaged through the dead guard's pockets before pulling out a ring of keys. "I would say it is time to follow Edward's lead and make our escape."
Haytham grinned. "I used to think you were quite useless, even more so with your injuries. But-,"
"Not a word about the tea," Connor warned. "When this is over, you have some explaining to do." He finally found the right key and sprung the cell door open. "For now, it is time to leave."
Haytham's grin broadened. "You are every bit your mother's child, you know that?"
"Father! Do not distract me!" Connor ordered, staggering against the door. "I will need your help to move. Can you handle that?"
Haytham slung his son's arm over his good shoulder. "Let's get out of here."
In the midst of his 'test' with Altaïr, a tingle went down Ezio's spine, snapping him back to reality.
"Ezio, wake up!" prodded Altaïr. "I sense two more. If we don't find them first, they'll whip us again."
"Haytham and Connor are escaping," Ezio murmured to Altaïr. "I can feel it. Perhaps it is time we do the same, no?"
Like a cat, Altaïr flipped behind the guard sneaking up behind the two assassins through the smoke-bomb generated fog. With a feral grin, Altaïr snapped the man's neck. He tossed Ezio the dead man's sword. "I thought you'd never ask. Catch."
Ezio deftly caught the sword, scanning the prison cell for the final guard. He appeared southwest of Ezio's position, a shimmering red beacon in the smoke.
The two assassins crept up on their stalker, now their prey.
Ezio tapped his target on the shoulder. "Found you."
Altaïr slammed the man into the ground before he could cry for help. "What's the fastest way out of here?"
"Like I'd tell you," the guard spat. "Test subjects are meant to submit to us."
Altaïr grinned, applying pressure to the man's ribs until he heard the satisfying sound of bones breaking.
The guard howled in pain.
"Here's a thought, amico," said Ezio. "If you won't tell my friend here, maybe you will tell me? Because believe it or not," he said in a dangerously soft voice, placing the sword of the guard's dead comrade against his throat. "Altaïr's the nice one."
"Please don't hurt me," the guard whimpered. "My keys are in my chest pocket. The fastest route out of here is the side door at the end of the hall downstairs. Your friends are in cell 8 on the same floor."
"See, now was that so hard?" said Ezio.
"I've told you everything I know, so let me go!" pleaded the guard.
Altaïr held up a four-fingered hand to stop Ezio. "He's still hiding something," he declared, eyes narrowing.
The guard gulped. "Please, no! Bishop will kill me!"
"Bishop isn't here right now," said Ezio, pressing the sword harder against the man's throat. Droplets of blood began to form on the neck, causing the guard to shake harder.
"The assassins are planning a rescue attempt," the guard whimpered. "We are going to ambush them right outside the castle and recapture Subject 5."
Ezio, having heard enough, ran the guard through with his sword. "Enough of that. We need to leave now."
Altaïr pulled the corpse's key ring out of his pocket, his jaw set in grim determination. "Agreed."
Ezio: Now we're getting somewhere!
Willoffire123: Where are we getting?
Ezio: An escape!
Willoffire123: Really? YAY! Altaïr, go tell the author to hurry up and rescue you already!
Altaïr: …ahbal
Willoffire123: Who wants to do translations?
Ezio: For just this chapter?
Willoffire123: For once, you really don't have anything for just this chapter.
Altaïr: ahbal means idiot.
Willoffire123: oh...WHO ARE YOU CALLING-
Ezio: Until next time, amici!