"Oh we are so fucked."

Pressure built all around them as Desmond and the others hurtled through the air, his chest unable to draw in even the smallest of breaths. For a moment, he thought he might just burst open, like a grape pressed into wine. His eyes stayed squeezed shut and his hands cramped from gripping everyone else's so tightly. A strange, machine-like whirring sound roared over the ringing in his ears and as they tumbled, Desmond tried to ignore the nausea forming in his stomach as his breakfast threatened to come back up.

Faster and faster they spun, Desmond's hold on the others loosening as their hands slipped through his grip. Just when he couldn't hold onto them any longer and Shaun, Rebecca, and Lucy were no longer in his grasp, the pressure released with a sharp pop. The quick breath of air he barely managed to suck in was immediately expelled when he collided with a hard surface and yet again when three bodies crashed into him in rapid succession.

Pinned to the ground, he pushed himself to his knees and the others rolled off his back. He rocked back and forth on all fours for a few seconds, sharp pain radiating from his chest as he forced his lungs to take in several long, deep breaths while he could to quell the nausea that still lingered.

Nothing felt broken, a welcome relief after such a rough landing, though when he opened his eyes he struggled to focus them on anything. Even his hands directly in front of his face were a blur, and the blindingly bright sunlight started giving him a headache.

He blinked a few times, willing his eyes to focus on the strange geometric tiles coming into view beneath him as his vision started to clear. A thin layer of water glistened across the top and started soaking through his pants and shoes as he rocked back onto his heels. It all looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd seen this before…

He glanced side to side to check on everyone else. To his left, Lucy shifted her weight between her hands and knees and clutched her stomach, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths as presumably she, too, struggled to keep the vomit down. To his immediate right, Shaun was just pushing himself off the ground, his glasses cracked in the water next to his face. On the other side of Shaun, Rebecca was helping him to his knees.

A persistent ringing in Desmond's ears nearly drowned out the growing cacophony of screams and shouts emanating from all directions. Several dozen pairs of leather boots appeared in his periphery, surrounding them completely, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

As Shaun pushed himself up and sat back on his heels, Rebecca knelt beside him. "What the fuck just happened?"

"I don't know but now I'm pissed off," Shaun said, holding up his cracked glasses and scowling.

For the briefest of moments, relief washed over Desmond when his hearing began to return as the ringing in his ears subsided. Now if only his headache would disappear…

"Both of you, shut the fuck up," Lucy hissed.

Desmond turned to snap at her. "You shut the f—"

He stopped mid sentence, his stomach dropping as his gaze followed her wide-eyed stare all around them.

"Oh no. You don't get to tell us what to do. I thought we'd—"

"Shaun. Seriously, shut the fuck up," Desmond snapped again.

"Of course you take her side—"

Shaun stopped, finally registering the nearly two dozen men in long, white robes completely surrounding them, swords drawn and aimed in their direction, poised to run them through at a moment's notice. They stood silently, waiting for their next command.

Beyond Lucy, one of the swordsmen looked up towards another man standing on a balcony overlooking the garden they'd landed in. The swordsman shouted something unintelligible to the other man, also dressed in white robes, though these were partially covered by a long, black robe with ornate trimming. The robes of the Mentor. Beneath his drawn hood, two piercing amber eyes stared down at Desmond, as though peering straight into his very soul.

"Shaun," Desmond whispered under his breath, unable to look away, "remember when we met, you said that if I wasn't careful I wouldn't need the Animus to visit my ancestors?"

"You know bloody well this isn't what I had in mind," he growled back.

From the balcony, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad barked out a series of orders and a second later, four Assassins sheathed their swords and stepped forward in unison.

"Des…?" Rebecca asked, her voice small and nearly imperceptible over the pounding of Desmond's heart in his chest. "What do we do?"

Strong hands wrenched his arms behind his back and tied his wrists together with thick twine before hauling him to his feet. On each side of him, the same was done to the others.

"Just go with it for now," Desmond muttered, hoping that they caught Altaïr at a more forgiving moment in his life. Him wearing the robes of the Mentor was a good sign, at least. Or so Desmond hoped.

"By the way, this is the fourth," Shaun said.

"Fourth?"

"The fourth near-death situation we've been in since you've returned."

Desmond rolled his eyes. "You're keeping count?"

"Oh we are so fucked," Lucy moaned.

Shaun craned his neck as much as his captor would allow. "What gave it away? Was it the swords at our backs, perhaps?"

The guards shouted and violently shook the two of them. They immediately stopped bickering.

As Altaïr's voice rang out from the balcony once more, Desmond and his companions were shoved forward, and he had just enough time to lock eyes with his ancestor once more as he and the others were marched into the towering fortress of Masyaf castle.

Desmond's eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness inside, even with narrow beams of bright sunlight streaming in through deep-set windows, illuminating the bookshelves of the castle library. Other Assassins were interspersed between them, some of them dressed in scholars' robes, some of them armed and ready to draw their weapons at the first sign of trouble. All of them stared silently as the four intruders were paraded through.

The beads of sweat that had been trickling down Desmond's back in the sweltering heat outside the castle now ran cold in the chilly air as they were led through a doorway off the side of the library and down a set of steep, stone steps. Torches flickered in sconces along the walls, their flames casting dancing shadows in the dark. The vanguard of the group each grabbed one to take with them as they continued onward, the last bit of sunlight disappearing when the door shut behind them.

Down, down, down they went, deep beneath the castle. To where Desmond wasn't sure, but he had an idea. A looming sense of dread filled his chest as the air grew even colder and staler the further they went, dust from the unused floor getting kicked up with every step. It made sense that this area wasn't frequently traveled; the Assassins weren't exactly known for taking prisoners, which only made him wonder why Altaïr convinced the rest of his Assassins to stay their blades, at least for the time being.

Only the soft crackling of the torches and gentle patter of Desmond and his companion's footsteps on the stone floor broke the deafening silence. Some of which were uneven.

He glanced to his right, where Rebecca limped more and more with each step.

"Hey, you okay?" Desmond whispered as she slowed down more and more.

The Assassin behind her, fed up with how slow she'd begun moving, shoved her forward.

"Hey! Be gentle! Can't you see she's hurt!?" Shaun yelled at him, struggling against his bonds to help her.

The Assassin, nearly a full head taller, towered above Shaun as he yelled back at him, and though most of it was unintelligible to Desmond, he could've sworn he heard the words "move" and "else." By now the entire group had stopped moving as they shouted at each other, spit flying in every direction—neither one understanding the other and yet understanding the other perfectly. It escalated, both Shaun and the Assassin squaring up to face each other and others joining in the shouting, until another voice—louder and commanding and one that Desmond recognized—cut through the rest.

"Farim! Enough!"

The Assassin named Farim, his face red and his hand hovering dangerously over the grip of his sword, turned towards his challenger. Desmond wasn't sure how long Altaïr had been silently stalking the group, but his presence alone seemed to instantly dissuade everyone on both sides from doing anything too reckless.

He blinked a few times and shook his head. Wait a second, did I just…understand Altaïr?

Even in the shadowy light of the torches, Altaïr's imposing demeanor was enough to make Farim stand down. "Go back to your post," Altaïr ordered. "I can take it from here."

Farim bowed his head ever so slightly and stormed off, roughly running his shoulder into Rebecca's as he did so. She stumbled to the side and caught herself on the wall, wincing with pain as she put almost all of her weight on her left foot.

In a flash, Altaïr was at her side reaching an arm out to help hold her up. "Are you alright?"

Rebecca looked around for guidance, her face fearful and confused. Neither she nor the others answered. Was Desmond the only one to understand him?

He nodded. "It's okay, Rebecca."

She offered her elbow to Altaïr (as much as she could with her hands still tied behind her back) and together they slowly led the group down the corridor. Every few steps, there would be a small hitch in Altaïr's stride, just barely enough for Desmond to notice but irrespective of Rebecca's gait. It was nearly imperceptible, but his curiosity mounted as he realized Altaïr, who occasionally stole a quick, quizzical glance back to him, was limping.

They went down one last set of circular stone steps before stopping in a long corridor, its walls lined with iron-grated doors every twenty feet or so. Altaïr directed his men to put each of them in a separate cell, he himself helping Rebecca into one of her own. Desmond craned his neck to see where each of them were imprisoned, on the slight hope he'd get a chance to free them. From what he could gather, Shaun and Rebecca were put in neighboring cells with Lucy across the way. All three of them were separated from Desmond by at least three or four other cells, but all of them in the same corridor. So long as he could get out, it wouldn't be much trouble to find them. Though escaping from under Altaïr's nose was…not likely, even less so with his hands still bound behind his back.

As soon as the other three cells were closed and locked with loud clangs, Altaïr appeared in the doorway. "Wait by the others," he instructed two Assassins that had been standing guard outside his cell. There was no mistaking it, even with a thick accent, Desmond understood him perfectly. The two sentinels bowed deeply, much deeper than Farim had, and left them alone.

Even with his Eagle Vision back, Desmond couldn't make heads or tails of Altaïr's intentions, and his mind quickly spiraled with his worst thoughts as he pressed himself back against the stone wall of the cell. For all intents and purposes, they were intruders, dropping from the sky unannounced in the middle of a fortress. And it wasn't hard to guess what the Masyaf Assassins did to intruders…

Altaïr cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes, studying every inch of his prey.

Desmond's heart pounded in his chest when Altaïr stepped forward and he held his breath as the Assassin cut the rope binding his hands behind his back, breathing again only when Altaïr stepped back. He rubbed his wrists where the twine that bound him had started cutting into his skin.

Those amber eyes never stopped surveilling him, though their gaze now lingered around Desmond's wrist, where the hidden blade was strapped beneath his sleeve. It suddenly felt very heavy at the end of his arm, like a weight that would slow him down rather than an asset at his side in a fight against Altaïr.

Despite Desmond's best efforts to remain calm, Altaïr saw the uneasiness in his eyes, he knew, when the edge of his lips curled up into an almost imperceptible smile. Of course he does, Desmond thought, Altaïr notices everything.

Only a few seconds had passed but it felt like an eternity as the two Assassins studied each other. Desmond contemplated saying something—anything—to break the deafening silence, but nothing came to mind that he didn't think was an automatic death sentence. And so he waited, but not for long, and he sucked in a quick breath as Altaïr opened his mouth to finally speak.

"Who are you?" he said simply, his calm and collected demeanor throwing Desmond off his guard. He was not at all commanding the way he'd been in front of his men, sounding more curious than anything.

Desmond opened his mouth then closed it again, wondering if it was wise to answer. What was he supposed to say? The truth?

"Who are you?" Altaïr repeated, slower this time and annoyed at having to repeat himself.

"Uh…I'm Desmond," he said, sounding stupid even to himself.

"How did you get into Masyaf? How did you do that?" Altaïr waved his hand in the general direction of the garden, wincing ever so slightly when he raised it above his head.

"Wait, you understand me? How the fuck—?"

"I am asking the questions," Altaïr snapped, his amber eyes flashing with impatience. "How and why are you here?" He took a half step forward.

"I…" Desmond started, wondering how much he should tell Altaïr and taking his own half step backward.

On one hand, he had Shaun's voice in his head telling him that saying anything was a colossally bad idea. 'You could potentially unravel the very fabric of reality!' he'd say. On the other hand, saying nothing would almost certainly result in a second death almost as painful as the last. Fuck it, Desmond thought. I'll just take my chances.

He took a deep breath. "My name is Desmond," he said slowly, making sure Altaïr could understand him. "As you can see—" he flipped his wrist over and drew up his sleeve to reveal his hidden blade— "I'm an Assassin. And I have no idea how we got here. To be honest, I'm more confused by how we seem to understand each other right now. You do understand what I'm saying, right?"

Altaïr's eyes narrowed. "Of course I do. Now answer my questions."

"I did. Me, Desmond—" he gestured to himself, speaking slower and with more deliberation— "Assassin. Hashishin. Whatever you call yourselves now. And I told you, I don't know how we got here." Maybe there were still some language barriers they needed to work through.

"Stop lying to me." Altaïr took a full step forward this time. "What is your purpose for being here then? You could not possibly think of mounting an attack with only the four of you and so few weapons."

"We're not here to attack anyone," he insisted, taking another step back and finding himself pressed up against the wall again. "We don't know why we're here. If I did, I'd tell you."

"Would you?"

"Of course," Desmond said matter-of-factly. "Look, we're Assassins, too. We're on your side." Well, most of us anyways…

"You are an Assassin?" said Altaïr in disbelief as he studied Desmond from head to toe.

Desmond tried to hide his irritation but by the smile curling at the edge of Altaïr's lips again, he was doing a poor job of it.

"Yes. We all are." Irritation turned to desperation as Desmond realized that if he failed to convince Altaïr that they were on the same team, he and the others were doomed. "Here," Desmond said as he unstrapped his hidden blade and tossed it and his dagger to Altaïr's feet as a show of good faith. He shrugged off his jacket and spun around to show Altaïr that he was completely unarmed. "I can't explain everything, but if you give me a chance, I think I can explain at least enough for you to be satisfied for now."

Altaïr's eyes narrowed. "Go on then."

Desmond sucked in another deep breath and paused to collect his thoughts. Where the hell was he supposed to begin?

It didn't matter, for in the few seconds it took him to think things through, an Assassin ran up to the cell, nearly running into the door in the process and gasping as though he'd just run through the entire castle.

"Mentor, we're under attack!"

Altaïr rounded on Desmond and anger flashed in his eyes once more. "Was this your doing!?"

"What? No!" Desmond held his hands up in defense. Yep, doomed.

Altaïr stared at—no, through—him once more.

"I swear to you I—we had nothing to do with this."

Altaïr examined him for another moment then, to Desmond's relief, turned to address the Assassin. "What happened?"

"They disguised themselves as refugees fleeing from the Saracen army, Mentor. As soon as we let them inside, they ambushed us."

"How many?"

"Several dozen. And in the initial chaos, several managed to infiltrate the castle and have since disappeared. I think they may have help from the inside."

Altaïr groaned in frustration. "Of course they did." He turned back to Desmond. "Stay here," he commanded.

Knowing how delicate his situation was, Desmond just nodded and leaned back against the far wall as Altaïr left with the other Assassin, taking his hidden blade and dagger and locking the cell behind him. He heard Altaïr shout several more orders to the rest of the Assassins that had stayed to watch over the cells and all but two of them followed him down the hall and up the stairs to help secure the castle.

"Is everyone alright?" Desmond called out when he was sure Altaïr and the others were gone.

"I'm fine," Shaun yelled back from a few cells away. "They untied me when they tossed me in here so I tried miming that I came in peace but I don't think my new friend understood. In fact, I think I may have used some offensive hand gestures. He seemed quite perturbed by the end."

Desmond shook his head. Of course he did. "Rebecca, how's your ankle?"

"I think it's just sprained. It feels like it's swelling but I should be okay. My head hurts worse than anything right now. How are you doing? Did I see Altaïr go into your cell? How did that go?"

"Surprisingly okay. I'm not dead so that's a win, right?"

"Again," Shaun reminded him.

Desmond rolled his eyes.

"Ha. Ha. You're so hilarious," Lucy snapped. "I'm fine, too. Thanks for asking."

"Oh well I'm so sorry we hadn't asked you yet," Shaun yelled back. "I was too busy going behind everyone's backs. Oh wait—"

"ENOUGH! Both of you, shut it!" Desmond shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "We need to find a way out of here." Just as he said that, he heard a commotion coming their way. "Everybody be quiet."

He pressed himself up against the bars of the door to get a look outside his cell. The two Assassins that had stayed behind drew their swords and whispered something to each other, too low for Desmond to hear as the clanging of swords reverberated down the stairs. A few seconds later, the Assassins were engaged in combat with one of the intruders.

It was a short fight. One, two, three clashes of swords and a sickening squelch of a blade impaling someone let Desmond know it would be over quickly. The felled man let out a feeble cry for help from his comrade, then with one last gurgle of blood, died.

The second Assassin put up more of a fight but he, too, was quickly overpowered, falling to the ground with a heavy thud. As everything went quiet, Desmond rubbed some of the dirt from the floor on his face and chest and pressed himself up against the bars as a plan formed in his head.

"Please! Help me!" Desmond called out to the intruder, making his voice sound raspy and cracked, as though he'd been locked away for a long time. "Please. Let me out and I'll… I'll help you. Please. I can't stay here any longer. As soon as they come back, they'll kill me."

The man stopped and eyed Desmond suspiciously. He scoffed. "What makes you think I need your help?" he asked gruffly as he stepped closer to the cell. His dark eyes narrowed as he leaned in close enough for Desmond to catch a waft of the stench of sweat and blood coming off his thick leather gambeson.

"Because," he started, playing on a hunch, "I know of a secret way out of this castle."

The man's eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

"I'm not. It'll lead us out to the river. From there, there's a bridge that will take us across to another valley. We'd be long gone before they ever found it."

"And you'd share this information with me? Why?"

"Well I can't exactly use the secret exit if I'm locked up in here. And they'll have sealed up the front gate to the village."

"We already have a plan to deal with the gate. Perhaps your luck will be better next time." The man turned to leave.

"You really want to fight your way out?" Desmond called to him. "You and some of your companions might make it out, but it's unlikely that you all will. And they'll hunt you across the entire Holy Land. They won't rest until they find you. My way gives you more time to escape and disappear."

The man stroked his beard as he thought for a moment. "So why did you not already use this so-called secret passage? Why are you trapped in here?"

"My business is my own, just as your business is yours. They caught me on the way in, but they won't catch us on the way out."

The man grinned and gave a single breathy laugh of approval. "So where is this secret passage?"

Desmond shook his head. "Let me out first, then I'll tell you."

They stared at each other a moment, waiting for the other to flinch first. In the distance, bells began to toll throughout the castle.

"We don't have much time," Desmond insisted. "And your chances of getting out of here alive drop every minute."

The man looked down to his sword arm where a stream of blood now ran down and dripped to the floor. He deliberated for a moment. "Alright, fine." He disappeared towards the two dead Assassins and came back a moment later with keys in hand.

As soon as the door opened, Desmond sprang forward, reaching his hands out towards the unsuspecting man's face. He grabbed hold and wrenched his head to the side with a sharp crack. The man's body fell to the ground with a dull thud, his last look of surprise still etched across his face.

Desmond grabbed the man's sword and the keys from the lock and hurried to unlock the other cells.

"Oh thank god, it's you," Shaun said with a deep sigh of relief as he stepped forward.

"I'm going up to help out," Desmond told them as he unlocked Lucy's cell, then Rebecca's.

"And what exactly are we supposed to do?"

Desmond handed Shaun the cell keys. "Hide."

"Of course. Great idea," he mocked. "By the way, I think this counts as number five."

"Here." Desmond tossed the sword to Lucy, ignoring Shaun. "Make yourself useful and keep them safe."

"Oh right, give her the sword, why don't you? Not like she wants to kill us or anything."

Lucy scoffed. "Of the four of us, who's actually killed another teammate?"

"Not like he had a choice, Luce," Rebecca reminded her.

Desmond pinched the bridge of his nose. "We don't have time for this. Shaun, quit baiting. Rebecca, stop arguing. Lucy—" he paused— "just, don't kill Shaun or Rebecca. Your problem is with me, not them. Find a place to hide and stay there. I'll come back down when I can."

The three of them collectively rolled their eyes but one by one, nodded in agreement.

"Does he think we can't fight, or something?" Shaun muttered, leading them towards a cell at the end of the hall.

"Well you can't," Rebecca replied.

As they disappeared down the hall out of sight, Desmond turned on his heels and raced along in the other direction. He stopped and knelt by the bodies of the two fallen Assassins, closing each of their eyes before grabbing his hidden blade and dagger from one of them and a pouch with throwing knives and sword from the other.

Up, up, up he climbed, remembering the way back out. He almost thought he'd made a wrong turn halfway to the top when he saw a familiar door up ahead. It was ajar now, left wide open in the chaos. Bodies—both Assassin and intruder—littered the floor, and tomes and scrolls that only thirty minutes ago sat neatly on the shelves were now strewn about and splattered with blood. At the moment, it was quiet inside the library, the only sound coming from the clashing of swords outside in the courtyard.

Desmond rounded one of the bookshelves, almost running headfirst into one of the intruders. Like the one he'd killed below, he also wore thick leather armor. A patch of leather with an embossed wolf's head stitched near the top left gave Desmond the impression that he, like the other one, was a mercenary of some kind.

Neither expected the other, but Desmond was the quicker of the two, sinking his hidden blade into the mercenary's neck before he could even lift his sword. Before the body even hit the ground, he was racing out to the central courtyard, where another dozen or so mercenaries—all wearing similar armor to the two Desmond had already killed—were still locked in combat with the Assassins.

He passed between two distracted mercenaries, stabbing one in the neck before whirling around to ram his sword into the other's back. The two Assassins that had been struggling against them nodded their confused thanks as he continued out onto the dais overlooking the courtyard to quickly surveille the situation.

Like the library, bodies lay everywhere, blood staining nearly every inch of ground. At the far end, a group of Assassins struggled to open the outer portcullis, stuck outside the main gate and unable to help anyone on the inside. Two mercenaries stood guard at the portcullis mechanism, fending off anyone who would try to open it.

Desmond spotted Altaïr about thirty feet away, backed against the stone wall to his right as four mercenaries surrounded him. He'd discarded the black Mentor's robe at some point, sporting only his Master Assassin robes now. Thick red stains seeped through the torn white fabric and trickled down the length of the tunic in several places. Altaïr clutched his sword arm with his off hand and struggled to stand upright, even as the mercenaries enclosed around him. One halfway decent strike and he'd be cut down for good.

Nearby, several Assassins had just finished dispatching a few mercenaries of their own. Two of them glanced towards Altaïr, now in desperate need of help, and—to Desmond's disgust—turned the other way just as the largest of the mercenaries, a brutish-looking man with a thick neck and thicker arms, brought his sword down. It was all Altaïr could do to deflect the blow, and he sank to his knees as his sword skittered across the ground out of reach.

The brute raised his sword to deliver a final, fatal blow…

Two throwing knives embedded themselves deep into his meaty neck before he could bring the sword down, sunlight glinting off their handles as he toppled over backwards, blood rapidly spreading across the stone ground. Desmond had already palmed the next two knives as he sprinted to the edge of the dais and leapt from the railing.

Heads were turning in every direction as Altaïr and mercenaries alike tried to identify the culprit that felled the largest of them. They'd barely registered Desmond flying through the air when the next two landed in the second mercenary's chest armor, sending him stumbling backwards and tripping over the brute's body.

The third mercenary—the one closest to the dais—had just finished turning around when Desmond shoved his hidden blade into his throat, driving them both to the ground. He'd only just rolled off the dying mercenary's chest when the last one brought his ax down with a heavy swing. Wind from the blade whooshed past Desmond's head and the ax landed with a sickening crunch in the third's chest. Desmond grabbed his dagger from his waistband and took the opportunity to drive it into the axman's thigh just behind his leather cuisses. He let out a howl of anguish and dropped to the ground, clutching his leg as blood poured from between his fingers.

Desmond picked up the nearest sword and jumped to his feet at the same time the second mercenary pulled himself to his. Standing between the two Assassins, he ripped the two throwing knives out of his chest and tossed them aside like they were nothing. Facing Desmond, he raised his sword high. The slightest of smirks tugged at the corner of his lips and Desmond had a fraction of a second to react as the mercenary whirled around, swinging the blade at Altaïr's head instead. Altaïr, still kneeling on the ground and looking very pale now, only just managed to bring his bracer up to his face to deflect the blow. Blood sprayed across Altaïr's face as, at the same time, Desmond thrust the tip of his sword into the mercenary's back and through his chest. With a cough of blood, the last of the mercenaries fell to the ground between them, his body twitching for a moment before lying still like the others.

"You know the punishment for escaping our dungeons is death?" Altaïr said with a mixture of annoyance and gratitude as Desmond reached out a hand and pulled him to his feet.

"You can kill me after we deal with the rest of them." As he gestured to the rest of the fighting still going on in the training yard, a figure in a dark gray hooded cloak sprinting along the ramparts caught his attention. They avoided the conflict altogether, their smaller and lither frame easily ducking around fights rather than joining in, even as their compatriots fell to the blade only a few feet away.

Desmond grabbed a bow from a nearby body and slung a quiver over his shoulder as he raced towards the figure. He drew and fired the first arrow mid-stride, it missing wide to the right and ricocheting off the tower wall. It whizzed by the mysterious figure close enough that they stopped for a moment to see where the arrow had come from.

They turned as Desmond nocked another arrow…

"Maria?" he whispered incredulously, slightly lowering the bow in surprise.

She smirked at his missed shot and continued running along the rampart. He fired another arrow, this one missing her face by only inches. He raced up the nearby ladder to the top of the wall and already had another arrow fitted and drawn by the time she looked back again.

They stared each other down for a moment as Desmond held the bowstring taut, ready to release it any second. She stood at the edge of the battlement with nowhere to go. Her chest was heaving as she took deep breaths, but she didn't look afraid. If anything, she looked…triumphant?

He realized what she was about to do a half second before she did it, and just as he started to let loose the third arrow, she gave a quick wave and dropped over the other side of the rampart just above the main gate.

He raced to the edge and drew a fourth arrow as he approached the spot where Maria had dropped to the other side, aiming it towards the ground where he expected her to still be. He withdrew from the edge of the parapet as flames licked up the side of the wall, burning away the last of the rope that she'd used to safely descend to the bottom. He looked out and in the distance, Maria—now on horseback—gave one last glance back to Desmond as she rounded the corner of a building and disappeared into the burning village below.

A/N: Let the time-traveling shenanigans begin! I've been so excited for this next arc for so long! The entire premise of this story came about when I asked myself "What would happen if Desmond met Altair? Or Ezio? Or Connor?" so finally getting to the start of that is just [in my best Leonardo voice] so exciting! :D