He lowered his body in the warm water. Every inch of exposed skin tingled as the liquid relaxed his muscles and took away any grim and dirt left on him. His eyes closed as he splashed water on his face. The feeling of the water falling in-between his calloused fingers had stirred emotion. One was of anger and the other was of sadness. Lowering himself further into the water David had let out a heavy sigh. His chambers were desolate and felt empty, just like himself. Cold walls built to become ones protection seemed to be more of a prison rather than sanctuary. Since his return with a quiet Altair to Masyaf, their journey it seemed was just the beginning.

David could not help but think of the past events of their homecoming. A blood stained feather of the blood of Tamir still so fresh that Al Mualim seemed more than pleased with Altair. What seemed like word of praise Altair had bowed his head speaking in their language. As always, David had stood in the background watching as master and student spoke of their next task. Altair was no longer needed and was dismissed back to his chambers to rest for a while.

Al Mualim had spoken with David once Altair has left his study. Talking of strange things that David would consider crazy. Al Mualim had said that the man Tamir was one of nine Templar's. What the older man had meant, David was not to sure because to question these men could mean the former soldier's demise by the blade. However, Al Mualim had given David much praise to his part in Tamir's death. Although his skill could still use much work Al Mualim had sought it best for the two men to stay within the walls for a day before they were to depart to Acre.

It was obvious that Altair meant much more than any other to Al Mualim. What made this assassin stand out more than the others around them? As the rafiq has stated before their leave of Damascus, it was best to ask. Altair knew nothing of the English language and trying to communicate with him was merely impossible. Altair was a mystery no matter how many times body language to communicate seemed. The assassin was not much to talk and by what David could observe was that he was always in his study. Alone with his thoughts. Always alone with his thoughts or training. In just a short amount of time David was beginning to feel even more alone.

He had no way of returning home and even if David somehow was able to, what would he do and how would he explain his absence? They would think him crazy. Explaining that the war memories were driving him to a breaking point that his mind was coping the best way. It wasn't going to be easy to cope with going back in time. This was all real. Everything that David was seeing, feeling and smelling was real. There was no way his mind was making this up.

Opening his eyes to the same grey walls around him, David frowned. His heart began to ache. His mind began to settle images of more happier times with his wife. The days of everlasting peace had shambled the moment he went overseas. In the land of desert and the sound of the hot wind blowing against him and his battles. Running at top speed away from the hailing bullets of the men trying to kill them. Against the walls with his weapon held firm and finger wanting to shoot back. On the other side they waited for one soldier to come out. The building they protected was were they needed to go.

Something inside was important. What it was would change the coarse of history. David jumped forwards in the tub causing water to fall out. His breathing became heavy as he saw himself enter the building with PFC Brown. Inside were glimpses of paper and maps on the walls before a bomb detonated. Both soldiers had mere seconds to run as more bullets echoed. Then it all faded back into David's mind.

Breathing trying to calm himself. Those images were a blur. What was written on them and the maps was all he saw. How could such things be important? Were they destinations of Taliban groups? A new target? David wasn't so sure.

Not wanting to continue to dwell his bath was short but he felt clean. Stepping out of the tub, drying himself, putting on the robes that was given to him fresh and clean with boots no longer muddy or worn out, David had felt something he thought he never would feel. All the years of training had been for the war. His time spent overseas was nothing more than his time spent. A part of him was forever lost in that village and Brown's death did impact him. Shaking his head to get rid of all thought. Running his hand through his hair; now growing from the lack of a cut and his beard growing longer and darker with each passing day, David was looking more like a foreigner among the people.

Through the door he left the dirty water now turning cold. Into his room the former soldier laid in his bed. Closing his eyes David slept.

They were running. He could taste the blood in his mouth. Sweat rolled down his brow as he held tightly to his weapon. Being dragged by his heavy gear by one of his soldier's, David could hear the ringing in his ears. His vision was fading in and out with the dust settling. Eyes stinging and lungs hurting from his heavy breathing. His soldiers were yelling trying to keep distance from the enemy that was coming closer.

"We have to call for EVAC! PFC Brown and specialist Webster are losing too much blood!" Shouted the man dragging David through the ground. They have hidden behind a building that was close to crumbling. One hit by a RPG or grenade would mean the end of cover and their lives. David gritted his teeth through the pain trying to see clearly. He was not out of the fight just yet. David still had a bit of strength left in him.

Images of strange yellow symbols had been fading in and out since the explosion in the building. Everything that was on that wall seemed to have come to life and shot straight through David's mind. His brain was going insane from the amount of ringing and noises he was hearing. The pain was unbearable and there was no way of stopping it unless David could get to a medic. They had to get out of the Hot Zone or else they would all die. This village was dangerous. They were surrounded at every corner. David yelled as he was once again being dragged.

His blood was a trail for the enemy. Until the noises around them seemed to stop. Voices of their enemy echoed through streets and alleyways. The fire fight had stopped once the soldiers had made it across the border. There was no use in trying to capture the Americans. These people were something different. No matter, they were shooting.

David looked up at the sky hearing one of his soldiers yelling out to PFC Brown. Something was wrong. Something wasn't right. Still, those symbols had blocked any source of view and sound. All David could manage to hear and see were those symbols before he succumbed to his tiredness and wounds.

"Webster?! Webster! Shit! We need to get the fuck out of here ASAP!"

"PFC Brown... Is KIA."

It was the worse feeling in the world to his subconscious. Even though he was lying on the ground with pain shooting through his tired body; David had heard those words. Those words no soldier ever wants to hear.

KIA... Killed in action. PFC Brown was the first casualty and would be David's last.

His opponent was fast, but David has strength and a strategy within his head. Each time the more leaner novice would strike his sword with his right hand, his left foot would slightly stumble. Given the chance to strike a blow with his own sharp blade, David's sword had clashed with that of the more leaner assassin. As predicted from the man, his left foot had slightly stumbled which David used his arms to push roughly causing the man to fall to the ground. The sword that was within his grasp had falling with him just a few inches away. Though David could feel the victory within a mere second, it all shambled when the novice rolled away from the incoming sword.

Within a few second the novice placed one foot between David's legs and the other on the outside to lock in leg and with a twist of the body, the former soldier went down on his back. The novice took this chance to rise to his feet.

Snick...

The sound of the hidden blade had echoed. David could feel his heart racing inside of his chest. Before the novice could attack a hand went to his wrist before the final blow could take place.

"Enough, brother. You have won the sparring match." Said another assassin.

This did not sit well with the novice. "HE can barely fight against one talented with the sword. This man who is taller like Goliath in the stories is feeble. He may have such insight of the movements of us, but with such stature and undisciplined feet he can not last against the Templar's, Robert de Sable, Richard the Lion heart... Even us assassin's."

The instructor looked to the novice. The young man was furious but he kept his composure. Though he spoke words that many would agree upon, Al Mualim does see something within this foreigner. All men no matter their place have the right to train under guidance of the brotherhood. The assassin's had to keep balance within the lands that were corrupt. To turn away a man who was let inside by their master would be an insult. Still, most of the assassin's looked at David as some illness.

"He may not have trained under such guidance for many years, but he is still a capable fighter. A true assassin must seek acceptance from his opponent. Was it not your mistake that he saw quickly and pushed you to the ground?" There was a hint of mockery in the instructors voice.

"Before you seek a quick victory, remember that in order to truly win you must strike without hesitation. You too have much to learn."

The novice had nodded his head and with a short bow to the more higher ranked assassin had moved and placed out his hand to David. Grabbing and being pulled to his feet, the crowd around them had cheered solemnly. They have come to notice David improving his posture and his skill with the sword. Although the taller man was clumsy on his own feet, improvement could take many years for him to perfect. When given the chance to train David had cunning skill. His eye movements and ability to use his mere strength to knock down the most skilled of assassins could not save the man from the hidden blade. The novice was soon to be a higher rank and has earned the right to wear the blade. David was not the lucky few. Al Mualim has seen the spar and could only think to himself that David was improving. But his lack of skill and knowledge of the brotherhood kept the former soldier from achieving.

David wiped himself free of dirt and walked out of the sparring circle. Assassin's who have watched the spar looked onwards to a new challenge. Walking away from the now cheering crowd, the former soldier noticed an all to familiar figure. Altair walked towards him in a few strides wearing the same expression of calm and yet there was something puzzling about the assassin. Altair was not much of a conversation starter. David had come to terms with it but it was painfully obvious. Altair was just as much of a mystery than any other person David has been in contact with. The assassin was an interesting man. David could not hope for a bond or friendship. Even though both men had clashed because of their lack of understanding, their had to be some sort of peace. Different as each man was from their background both men had something which they would hide.

Not one person was safe from being innocent. Sooner or later they had to get their hands dirty. Living a life as a soldier always doing what their told would always lead to questions. Altair was not like the assassin's. David could only know so much and from what he could understand was that even though Altair was the highest ranked, this loyal man had many questions. The language barrier could not be even deeper as every so often Altair would do something that made his stoic face crack. David was an observer and with each little expression Altair made would go down in David's memory. It was a matter of survival if he wanted to get home. Without much word and with a simple nod of the head, David knew that it was time to start their journey into Acre.

Sometime late in the afternoon both men had packed their belongings for the journey. Watching them was Al Mualim who made sure that both men had what was needed. Yet, another set of eyes and a scowl was placed on the lips of Abbas. The assassin had a pure dislike for Altair. With their masters time more focused on Altair and the tall man, Abbas had been thinking. The only way to move higher in ranks and to outshine Altair was to keep distance. Time was a virtue. Soon would be Abbas' time to become the master. But before his plan could be set Abbas had to find some way of getting rid of another problem. David.