Chapter 8: The Epilogue
"Father, can you tell us the Creed story again?"
"Oh! Yeah! That one, please?"
"Again? I've told it nearly every night for weeks."
"Yeah, cause it's our favorite Daddy!"
"Hahaha... You three... Alright settle down, I'll tell it again."
"Thank you!"
"Can I hold the cloth this time?"
"Of course you can Phillip. Now, let's see... The winters of Valley Forge were legendary that year . . . ."
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". . . You would make quite the recruit, you know."
"Y-you really think so? I don't... I mean I-"
"Easy there. With proper training and time, you will see. . . . ."
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"Do you understand what I ask of you, Phillip."
"... I... Yes, sir."
"Good. Now go. Hide this Key well and never speak of it again."
"I will Conner... Stay safe."
"... We will see, friend. We will see. . . . . "
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Leaving the Animus would always feel strange to Marcus no matter how many times he did it. Living through someone else's mind and body is still a massively foreign concept, God forbid any of the things he was learning about. Well, at least he wasn't alone.
"Easy Marc. Take it slow. Give your head time to catch up."
For a moment, the voice registered as Conner but that couldn't be. Conner died ages ago. His mind cleared more and placed the right name to the voice and face.
"... Desmund..."
Marcus sat up; he could feel that he'd fall right over if he even thought about standing for too long. He traced the cracks on the floor with his eyes as the others spoke in distant sounding voices. He moved slowly to rub the wrist that held his hidden blade. This mission of theirs hinged on Desmund, and Desmund hinged on him find where his ancestors moved the Key. He wouldn't let them down. He was a Hamilton with pride after all.
"Marcus, you ready?"
He looked up at the small band he had grown fond of and carefully stood. "Yeah. I ain't throwing away this shot. Let's go."