Hey, guys! Really sorry that it took a whole week to write this chapter: I'm back at school now and still adapting to find time for writing. Anyway, I hope you understand. :) Enjoy!

HAYTHAM

Emotions raced through me more quickly than my heartbeat.

The first was doubt.

What if this was not even Ziio's village? There were many Mohawk settlements here.

No. Those bushes are the exact ones we sat by.
No time to think, Haytham. Move!

I stumbled through the smoke; through the bushes. Negative adrenaline burned through me like the blazing heat. Even the brown ground was crumbling. The buildings blackened; the wood shrivelled. But I needed to find her.

Over this hiss of the crackling flames, a voice told me: This is ridiculous. What are you dong, Haytham? You are a Templar. You do not barge into villages to rescue Mohawks.

But I cannot let her die.

My heart pounded furiously as I scanned the area. The sky above pulsed with an unnatural orange light, like a war god had struck it. What was I going to do? I had no plan. This was a stupid idea, I knew it.

But the distant wails encouraged me to carry on. I raced uninvited through the dusty path, narrowly dodging a burning building.

Left or right?

I swerved to the right and sprinted like a wildcat. My head was heavy; blood bubbled in my mouth. Buildings on either side spat hot sparks like a volcano. I could feel the heat from either side.

Must...keep...going.

Along the alleys ablaze I dashed. A man with no plan; a fool with an impossible purpose. How was I ever going to find her? It'd been five years. I had little clue which house was hers. What if she was capable of saving herself? Being Ziio – a woman of the utmost strength – she surely was?

I need to be certain.

The alleyways opened up to one of the only buildings not on fire. It was a crisscross of dead ends: the buildings almost overlapped. But I had no time to notice. A few jet-black-haired women and children scurried across the clearing. None of them saw me.

Hide, Haytham! You do not want to be seen!
But this is an emergency! No time!

Instinct outwitted my urgency. I dived behind one of the stick walls, chest heaving. I peaked at the Mohawks again. Two of the women were carrying infants with wild hair; the last clutched the trembling hand of a small girl. I wanted them to move; to leave the clearing so I could continue. Ziio could be dead, or dying by now! I shook with desperate impatience.

But from behind them, a voice called. When its owner came into view, I squinted to get a better look. It was the boy I saw earlier. The one with the spiky long hair and ragged clothes. He sprinted up to the women from my left. They halted – and listened. He spoke to them in a raised voice, but (of course) in his own language. I did not speak their tongue, but I was observant enough to know that the boy's sense of urgency was level with my own.

The women shook their heads and continued. The Mohawk boy turned, and – to my horror – looked directly in my eye.

Time slowed to a halt. I wanted to duck out of sight, but I was paralysed. I had been detected. By a child. What was wrong with me? But no; he hadn't noticed. He looked straight beyond me, like I blended against the wood. His eyes were a shade of shimmering brown, identical to Ziio's. The ones that used to pierce me like arrows. But these ones were full of fear and determination.

And then, without warning, he charged.

At first I thought he was headed straight for me. Though he swiftly swerved around a corner, disappearing behind the building. He seemed to be roaring a single word over and over.

"Ista! Ista! Ista!"

I was no expert, but I wondered if that was a call of danger.

What do I do now?
Think, think, think!

"Ista! Ista!"

The boy's voice was now distant. Suddenly an explanation clicked. Perhaps he was helping others evacuate! If he was far away by now...he would be going round to all the houses. Meaning...

Ziio.

Perhaps it was this theory, or perhaps it was the astounding eyes. I saw something in that child that I trusted. I needed to tail him.

Now, I thought, through the thickening smoke, I simply watch Ziio come out safely and leave. I only want to see her safe. I will cause no trouble. No trouble.

My target put on a sudden burst of speed; his cries became louder. Before long he'd disappeared from my restricted sight.

"Ista! Ista!"

I struggled not to gag as I turned the corner. I could not lose sight of the boy. That was vital. A difficult task, considering the smoky guise choking me.

The boy was already round another corner. Where the hell had he run to? I swept a wild look around. Nothing. Only two perishing buildings on either side, one of which I'd hid behind. A log lay propped up between the two. Aha. He must've ducked.

"Ista!"

I sprung to life and followed his voice. I didn't care if there could've been Mohawks watching me. I didn't care that I was roasting like a spit. I didn't care that the smoke was wrapping round my lungs.

And there he was.

He was now kneeling down and working furiously at a pile of singed rubble. Perhaps he was digging through it. Sparks flew onto his shoulders and scolded him; he did not flinch. Undeterred, he tore handfuls of burnt wood away like a mutt digging for a bone. Though there was still much of it to dig through: this building had suffered the worst. Half-collapsed, half-melted and blacker than tar, it stood on the brink of caving in.

But inside the building...I could hear a female voice.

It was coarse and choky, but there was a voice in there nonetheless. The boy yelled back at the woman supposedly trapped in the building. I listened, squinting with the effort to block out the cruel crackling surrounding me. The voice was...familiar. But was it Ziio? I couldn't tell. Nonetheless, I was not taking any chances. I just wanted to make sure she was alive. If she was not here, I'd creep back to the village entrance (or wherever everyone had evacuated to) and spot her. Then I'd go home. Simple.

A bald Mohawk rushed up to the boy as if from nowhere. He grabbed him by the arm and hurled him away from the building. The child kicked and screamed in protest, flailing like a puppet.

"Ista!" he roared.

Just in time was he dragged from my sight. With a dreadful crash the remaining roof tumbled to the ground, bringing the blackened building down with it. So someone – a woman – was trapped in there.

Should I rescue her?
No. It is not worth the risk.
What if it is the boy's mother?
What does that mean to you?
What if it is Ziio?

Ziio. Her name was enough for me to lunge stupidly forward to find a way into the building. What the hell was I doing? The rubble was still white-hot! The woman could be dead!

I grasped great handfuls of treacle-like wood and flung them aside. Each handful scorched my skin; I bit my tongue in pain. But I didn't care. My head was aching; my heart hammering. This was not healthy. I needed to leave! Now!

The rubble was thin enough that I could see a body in there. The two sides of the building had collapsed on each other...but not hit the ground. There was enough room for the woman not to be crushed.

As it thinned and my hand was raw, I could see her clearly. She lay spread-eagled on the earth. Thick dark plaits fell across her face. Immense blisters bubbled on her arms and legs. Her clothing – clearly once a similar complexion to her coffee skin – was black. Worst of all, blood was leaking from the side of her head.

I gasped...and nearly inhaled a cloud of smoke. I dropped the last handful of rubble. My heart plummeted down into my churning stomach.

It was Ziio. And she was unconscious.