Willoffire123: I'm back from my Eurotrip!

Edward: No one cares, love. After 3 years of this, no one cares anymore.

Willoffire123: I promise I'm working on it! This is the most complicated story I've ever written and it's taking a while to finish it.

Connor: Are you aware of how you plan to end this story?

Willoffire123:Yup!

Arno: Well?

Willoffire123: Not telling! I will say though that I don't own Assassin's Creed.

Edward: Is that really still necessary?

Arno: Who knows? On with the chapter.

Altaïr would not cry.

Each day the children would form circles around him. They threw stones at him, demanding that he show them his 'monster eyes'.

But Altaïr would not cry. His father was an assassin; he never cried. Altaïr wanted to be an assassin more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life. So no, he was not going to cry that he was the freakshow of Masayf. Instead he went to training with the initiates every day and tuned out their jeers as he soared well above his classmates in terms of knowledge and combat. Why should he care if he was better than the rest of them? They thought he was a monster anyway. Then, one day a young boy by the name of Talik took out a knife.

"I took it from my father," he boasted to the rest of the children, "So we can blind the monster!"

Altaïr turned to run, only for a wall of children to block his line of sight. Altaïr knew that, if he had a proper weapon, he could take on every single one of them at once. But he was empty-handed and his foolishness was about to cost him his sight.

Why did he have to be different? Why couldn't he have the same eyes as the others?

"Stop it, Talik!"

The soft ping noise of the knife hitting the sand told Altaïr that it was safe to look up. Another dark haired boy stood above him, his hands flung out in a protective stance.

"This boy has done nothing to warrant your aggression! Cease this immediately, or I will go straight to Al Mualim!"

That did it. With a myriad of indignant grumbles, the angry hoard of children dispersed, leaving only Altaïr and his savior.

"Why did you do that?" demanded Altaïr.

The boy scowled. "In polite circles, we say thank you when someone saves their eyes. Why were those guys picking on you anyway? You seem perfectly normal to me."

Altaïr sighed and turned on his second sight.

The boy whistled. "That's pretty cool. Can you do anything with that? Or is this just a cool parlor trick?"

"I can see things that are very far away," said Altaïr, "I can see through walls, through the ground, and whether the people I'm seeing are enemies or friends."
"What an incredible weapon to have at your disposal," said the boy, "I am sure that you will become an assassin long before the rest of us."

"Everyone thinks I'm a monster," said Altaïr, refusing to meet the boy's gaze.

"Who cares what they think?" scoffed the boy, "In this life, you only need friends and family, not people who are willing to write you off based on the color of your eyes."

"Are we friends?" Altaïr asked hopefully. "My name is Altaïr."

The dark haired, dark skinned child gave Altaïr a toothy grin, "I thought you'd never ask. My name is Malik."

"Keep going!"

Arno suppressed the urge to role his eyes. After storming a fortress and risking life and limb to find the man, Arno had decided that he didn't like Haytham Kenway. Seriously, keep going? No, Arno thought, I think I'd rather lie down in this collapsing castle with your son and take a nap while everyone else runs to safety.

Of course Arno wasn't going to say this out loud; he was too busy propelling himself to safety.

"KILL THEM!"

At this, Arno did roll his eyes. This idiot, Bishop, had been chasing them nonstop for so long that Arno didn't know whether to admire his determination or laugh at his inability to catch up with them.

"Arno,"

Arno winced at the hot breath on his neck. Arno wasn't stupid; he could feel Connor Kenway's blood seeping into his robes. He knew nobody wanted to admit it, but as the new comer with little to no ties with the man, Arno could definitely say that Connor Kenway was dying.

Going off the emotion radiating off the man, Connor seemed to realize it as well.

"With all due respect, Connor, shut up."

"I can see the light at the end of the tunnel!" shouted Edward, "We're almost there!"

Arno squinted forward with Eagle Vision and, for the first time in a long time, dared to hope that just maybe, they'd all escape this madhouse alive.

BANG!

"Arno!"

Suddenly, Arno and Connor were on the ground and that light at the end of the tunnel seemed much dimmer.

"What happened?" demanded Shay, pulling Arno to his feet.

Arno cried out in pain. "My leg, batârde, Bishop shot me."

Bishop's manaical laughter was growing closer and closer, swathed in the sound of his castle collapsing around him.

"Don't make me carry you, idiot," growled Shay.

Arno tried putting weight on the leg coated red with his blood and his vision went white.

Shay slung Arno onto his back. "You owe me for this."

"You killed my father," Arno said faintly, "We're not even close to even."

"Connor!"

Now Haytham was running back down the tunnel to scoop up his son.

And yet, when he arrived, Connor was standing on his own. The bleeding around his torso had stopped and he was putting weight on his broken leg without problem.

"Connor?" asked Edward. Now everyone had backtracked down the hall.

"Get Arno and Altaïr out of here," Connor said calmly. Though when he spoke, he no longer sounded like Connor. He sounded older, more ancient, and powerful.

Haytham's face went white. "No, listen to me, spirit, you let him go right now."

Connor turned, and made Arno more confused than ever before. Connor's eyes glowed with a pulsating, blue light.

"Your son is sacrificing his freedom so that you may live," the spirit said calmly, "Now go."

Then, before the Assassins and Templars' very eyes, Connor transformed into an eagle, and flew back into the dust.

"Now what?" demanded Elise. "Do we go after him?"

"What do you mean, do we go after him?" barked Ezio, "of course we go after him!"

"No," Edward said sadly, looking at Haytham. "He's not coming back, is he?"

Haytham, refusing to meet anyone's eye, turned and strode with purpose back up the tunnel towards the light. "Let's go home."

"Desmond, it's time to wake up now."

With a groan, Desmond Miles slammed the snooze button on his alarm clock for the fifth time that morning. Rolling back onto his pillow, he stared up at the dark, gloomy ceiling he had come to call home during this final countdown to the end of the world. He tried to remember the dream he'd been having before his father woke him up. It had been so vivid. Altaïr was in it, and Ezio and Haytham and Connor and several people he didn't recognize. He remembered Connor, sacrificing himself so that the others could escape. What did it all mean?

"Desmond, let's go!"

Desmond painstakingly pushed himself out of bed. He had a feeling that today might be the day they find the key. He knew he was close.

"I'm coming!"

Willoffire123: The end!

Arno: Wait, really?

Edward: So Connor just died?

Connor: Yep

Arno: I told you so.

Connor: Asshole.

Willoffire123: Thank you everyone for sticking with me for so long. I'm very excited to have finally finished this. Everyone together now?

Haytham: Ugh

Altaïr: Fine

Everyone: Until next time!