AN: Finally, the next chapter is up! Sorry it took so long, but exams and sports kicked my butt! Please, please, please review! Thanks to Alexandra the Dreamer for being an awesome beta and making me realize that this chapter really was ready to go!

Crusader Guardhouse – Acre

17 Years Ago

A slight scrape on the rooftop was the only warning the guards had before the phantom was among them. Black cloak whirling and blades flying, the demon destroyed half the small force before they even had a chance to react. The captain was the first to go; the Assassin landed on him as he broke through the roof. Then the lieutenants fell, throwing knives buried in their surprised faces. Guardsmen on the street heard the chaos and burst into the small structure, attempting to overwhelm the Assassin with sheer strength in numbers. It didn't work. They fell quickly, along with those few who had remained alive when they beat down the door. Within five minutes of the initial attack, the carnage was complete; no one was left alive.

The screams of witnesses pierced the air as the Assassin glanced about the room, surveying his handiwork with detached satisfaction. Stepping over bodies, he strode to where the Captain's corpse lay. Face down among the rubble of the table, the man's spine had obviously been broken by the impact of the Assassin's landing. His throat had been cut as well, most likely by one of his own men as they desperately tried to defend themselves. Gently rolling the Captain over, the Assassin reached into his robe and removed a white feather. Running it quickly through the blood on the man's neck, he then stood and jumped to the nearest rafter.

He was reaching for the hole he had made in the roof when he heard the smallest of sounds coming from the opposite side of the room. The Assassin froze, listening intently. His head snapped up as the sound returned, his sharp eyes locking onto a small trunk by the door. Swinging to the ground with a quiet thump, he flicked out his hidden blade and approached the source of the noise.

Crouching silently beside the trunk, he laid his hand on the latch and tensed his whole body in preparation. Without warning, he slammed the top up, his blade flashing down to what lay hidden within.

He stopped its gleaming arc just in time. The tip of his blade hovered less than an inch from the throat of the small, blue-eyed boy who hid, crying softly, inside the trunk. The child froze, terrified as the Assassin pressed the sharpened steel to his throat and leaned close.

"Let this be a lesson, youngling," The Assassin whispered, his voice low and menacing. "This is what becomes of those who threaten the peace of the Holy Land. This is what happens to invaders... especially ones who follow your fool of a king." The blade's touch became more insistent against the boy's throat; a small ribbon of blood trickled down his neck as the Assassin pressed harder. The boy scrunched his eyes closed in fear. "Go out and warn your people, rat. Tell them that while they fight Salah al-Din and his men in the open, we will be waiting and watching in the shadows." The Assassin ran the knife slowly down the boys neck, leaving a shallow cut across his throat. His voice became no more than a breath of air. "Waiting to strike."

The boy gasped in surprise as the stinging weight of the knife suddenly disappeared. A small gust of air rushed across his face and he timidly opened his eyes. The Assassin was gone.

Tears leaked from the boys eyes, leaving clean streaks on his dirty face. He crawled from his hiding spot and picked his way through the bodies, desperately trying not to see the contorted limbs, unblinking eyes, and massive bloodstains. When he reached the Captain he collapsed, falling to his knees next to the man. Sobbing quietly, he lifted a shaky hand and gently closed the Captain's eyes. His small shoulders heaving, he leaned down and kissed the man's forehead.

"I will find a way to make this right, Father," he whispered, tears from his face falling into his father's beard. "I promise." His voice cracked, and he gave up. Laying his head on his father's chest, the small boy truly cried, not caring who heard him.

Masyaf

Present Day

"What do you mean there are Assassins attacking Jerusalem?" Altaïr roared, sweeping his hand across his desk, sending books, papers, and candles flying. Two of the younger Assassins who had brought the news flinched, but Malik stood his ground.

"They are not our Assassins, as I have said. They are followers of Al Mualim who have gone mad from the loss of the Piece of Eden." Malik's calm voice did little to sooth Altaïr's rage.

"That makes no difference to the people!" Altaïr stomped his boot on a paper that had caught fire from one of the fallen candles. "All they will see is Assassins murdering them! There will be no difference between us and those who attack!" He whirled and strode to the window. He paused there and stared out over Masyaf, his entire body thrumming with tension. The younger Assassins held their breath; many times, Al Mualim had punished the bearers of bad news. They had yet to see Altaïr's reaction to such a situation. Malik simply watched, waiting with subdued anxiety for his friend's orders.

"Thank you for bringing the information so quickly." Altaïr's voice was quiet now, his shoulders relaxing as the rage drained from his body. "We now have time to react." He turned from the window to face the stunned apprentices, smiling softly at their obvious surprise. "You have done well. Now, go and find all our leaders. Bring them to me quickly. We have planning to do." He dipped his hooded head as the three students bowed quickly and sprinted from his library. Turning to Malik, he waited quietly for his friend's opinion.

Taking time to choose his words carefully, Malik finally spoke. "We have to help the people."

Altaïr nodded. "I know."

"It is our duty, as it is our fault they are suffering." Malik's dark eyes were unreadable.

"I know that as well, my friend." Altaïr sighed and hung his head.

"Even so," Malik said slowly, gauging Altaïr's reaction. "We may not be needed in this fight."

"What?" Altaïr's head snapped up. "How can you say that?"

Malik held his hands out in a placating manner. "Those who brought you the news came as soon as violence became inevitable. They came quickly, yes, but their information is still old."

Altaïr's eyes widened. "You have newer intelligence?"

Malik nodded. "I received an Eagle-message from one of my contacts right before you summoned me here. It seems that there are..." Malik hesitated, searching for something. "'Assassins' who are already helping. Assassins that are not Assassins. And many of them, as well."

"We have no Assassins in Jerusalem right now. Everyone has been called home." Altaïr's brow wrinkled in thought.

"Precisely." Malik pushed himself away from the post he had been leaning on and moved to stand at his friend's side. "My contact also said that the Assassins who helped did not wear our symbol." Malik nodded at Altaïr's surprised expression."There was one more thing in the message..." Malik hesitated again. "These 'Assassins', they are made up of both men and women." Altaïr snorted at that, but waved his hand for Malik to continue. "My contact said there was one young woman who you might be particularly interested in. She was not only obviously one of the highest ranking members of... their Order, but he overheard her name." Malik pulled the message from his sleeve and handed it to Altaïr.

Altaïr took the paper and scanned it quickly. Halfway through the message, he froze, all the blood draining from his face. "Alya," he whispered. His eyes jerked away from the paper to meet Malik's. "My twin's name. Is he certain?"

Malik nodded and Altaïr shuddered as if he'd been struck. "If you keep reading, you'll see that he saw her face. Though only for a brief second, he could tell that she looked exactly like you. We have found your twin."