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It was raining in New York, as if the Gods above were also weeping.
Everything was so dim, so grey. The sun had stopped shining. Birds had stopped singing. Children had stopped laughing.
On this gloomy September morning, the whole world had been mourning.
“We gather today to remember a man of peerless vision, who sought to change the world.”
In the middle of the circle of people gathered at the cemetery, there stood Charles Lee. He was completely soaked in rain. Strings of wet hair haphazardly draped on his face. His eyes were red, his voice coarse. Yet, he did not seem to care.
“And change the world he did.” He continued. “Look around. Even now the British prepare to retreat - their spirits broken - their forces splintered. The Patriot leadership shall soon follow - either into our service or into the ground. And then, my friends, all of this will finally be ours!”
His voice broke as he roared. But it did not matter.
Because Haytham was gone. His mentor. His best friend. His comrade. His life’s devotion.
And it was his fault. He did not persuade Haytham to leave with him. Hell, he even had an argument with him just minutes before his departure, because his had doubted him. Now he would never have the chance to properly make peace to him.
The mere thought of that had been eating him alive.
“We have Haytham to thanks for this. He and all those others who sacrificed for our cause.”
He swallowed back the urge to shed more tears, and forced himself to regain his bearings.
“But he was not content merely to save the people of America, no, he sought to save those sworn to our destruction. He sought to save the Assassins.”
People all stared at him. Some of them even gasped at the mention of the name of their enemies.
“Aye.” He nodded. “It seems a mad thing, now. And it cost him his life. The Assassins are a cruel and terrible coven. They speak only the language of death.”
He felt that fire of vengeance burning in his chest, making him almost impossible to breathe.
“Too late he learned the truth of this. Murdered by his own son. He gave his life as he lived, in service to a dream we all share.”
Then he raised the tomahawk that was shaped like the Assassin insignia.
“And so we must fight on! We will vanquish our enemies! We will spread our word! And in time, my brothers and sisters, in time we will have our New World!”
To his utmost surprise, a round of slow clapping came from his right side.
He turned his head, and couldn’t help but gawk.
There he was. Haytham Kenway. The man he had been missing since the fateful day. The man he had been crying over last night. The man whom his fire had been burning for.
Though he didn’t look the least bit like a dead man.
This time, everyone at the funeral gasped.
“Master Kenway! Haytham!” Charles was completely stunned. “I thought – How did you – What –”
“Lovely speech, Charles.” Haytham walked towards him, smiling, with hands at his back. “But don’t you think it’s still a bit premature for that?”
“But – we only found your sword, Haytham!” Charles stuttered. “I thought – I thought you were dead!”
“Apparently, the Gods decided it was premature for my death as well.” Haytham extended his hand to him.
Charles took it, and shook it with both hands. His eyes became misty. His grin was threatening to split his face.
“Yes, yes, apparently,” His head was bobbing up and down as though his was some kind of doll.
“Unfortunately, my friend,” Haytham’s face suddenly changed from warm to sad, “the same cannot be said for you.”
Before Charles could figure out what was going on, a cold steel blade was plunged into his back and impaled his body.
His eyes widened at the surprise attack, staring at his mentor incredulously, before he heard a voice he was too familiar with.
“Do you miss me too, Charles?” sneered Connor.
Then he pulled out the blade with a sickening slick sound, and let his nemesis slump to the muddy ground.
The tomahawk rolled to the side, before being picked back up by its former owner.
“Why…?” asked Charles, staring at Haytham as blood starting to leak from his mouth.
Haytham lowered his eyes sorrowfully, and said, “Because nothing is true, and everything is permitted.”
Then he reached out and ripped the green amulet off Charles’ neck.
“Assassins!” One of the guards yelled. And the rest of them started moving.
Haytham and Connor exchanged a look, and then disappeared in the rain.
Before Charles Lee succumbed to the approaching white light, he could faintly hear Haytham said something to him.
He said, “I am sorry, my friend.”