Templar's Creed

The End

Days turned to weeks as he wandered the wilderness, his former life as an Assassin and Templar haunting him like a specter in the night. The sting of Liam's death lingered, a constant companion in his dreams and his waking moments. He avoided settlements, unable to face the judgment of those who would recognize the symbols etched into his soul.

Shay stumbled upon a small fishing village, nestled in the crook of a river's elbow. The smell of salt and smoke filled the air, the sounds of laughter and life a stark contrast to the silence of his grief. He watched from the shadows, his eyes drawn to the warm glow of the tavern, where the villagers gathered to share stories and drown their troubles in ale.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the ache in his heart began to ease. He knew he couldn't hide in the wilderness forever; he had to find a place where he could lay low, perhaps even find a new purpose. The village beckoned him, the promise of anonymity whispering sweet nothings into his weary soul.

Shay shed his soaked cloak, revealing the tattered remnants of his Templar uniform underneath. With trembling hands, he dismantled the insignia, casting them into the river as if ridding himself of a curse. The water swallowed them greedily, the current carrying his past life away into the abyss.

He stumbled into the village, the cobblestone streets slick with rain. The villagers eyed him warily, but their suspicion was tinged with pity. Shay's haggard appearance and haunted eyes spoke volumes of the horrors he had witnessed. He found refuge in a small, dimly lit tavern, the warmth of the fireplace an extreme contrast to the cold, wet world outside.

The tavern owner, a burly man named Olaf, took one look at him and offered a hot meal and a dry place to stay without a word. The kindness was unexpected, a reminder that not all were embroiled in the endless struggle between the orders. As he ate, Shay felt the first stirrings of hope, perhaps he could find peace here, a place to lay his burdens to rest.

Days turned into weeks, and the rhythm of village life began to soothe his ravaged soul. He helped mend nets, repaired boats, and even took up the trade of fishing. The villagers accepted him as one of their own, never questioning his past. In the quiet moments, as he cast his line into the river's depths, Shay felt the whispers of the artifact fade into the background, allowing room for introspection and healing.

One evening, as he sat by the fire, sharing a meal with Olaf and his family, a stranger entered the tavern. He was a tall man with a commanding presence, his eyes sharp and piercing. Shay's hand instinctively fell to his hidden blade, but something in the man's demeanor kept him from drawing it. The villagers fell silent, their gazes flickering between the stranger and Shay, who had become their silent guardian.

The man approached, his gaze locking onto Shay. "I've been looking for you," he said, his voice low and measured. "The world is still in turmoil, and your skills are needed."

Shay's hand tightened on his knife, but the man held up his hands in peace. "I am not here to harm you," he assured. "I am here to offer you a choice. A chance to atone for your past, to fight for a future where the power of the artifacts is not wielded by those who wish to control, but by those who seek to understand and protect."

Shay's interest was piqued despite his wariness. The man introduced himself as George Washington, a leader in the burgeoning American Rite of the Templars. He spoke of a world where the chaos of the French Revolution was not replicated, a world where freedom and order could coexist.

Washington offered Shay a chance to redeem himself, not just to the Templar cause, but to humanity itself. His words resonated with Shay's own beliefs, the echoes of his conversation with Liam in the rain-soaked courtyard still haunting him. He knew he couldn't undo his past, but perhaps he could shape the future.

Shay agreed to listen, his curiosity piqued by the prospect of a new path. Over the next few days, they spoke at length about the American Rite's vision, their discussions fueled by the warmth of the tavern and the promise of a better tomorrow. The more he learned, the more Shay found himself drawn to the idea of serving a cause that didn't just seek power, but aimed to safeguard humanity from its own destructive nature.

Washington revealed that the Assassins had infiltrated the American colonies, seeking to manipulate events to their own ends. He needed someone like Shay, someone who understood the Assassin way but had seen the folly of their methods firsthand, to help counteract their influence. Shay's experience and unique perspective made him an invaluable asset in the burgeoning conflict between the two orders on this new continent.

The decision did not come easily to Shay. Each night, he sat by the river, the water's steady flow a mirror to the tumult of his thoughts. The rain had ceased, but the chill of his past choices still clung to him, a stark reminder of the lives he'd taken and the trust he'd betrayed. Yet, the warmth of the villagers' acceptance and the promise of a new purpose began to thaw the icy grip of his guilt.

Finally, after much contemplation, Shay made up his mind. He approached Washington, his eyes clear and determined. "I'll join you," he said, extending his hand. "But not as a weapon of the Templars, nor as a pawn in their grand design. I'll fight for the ideal you speak of—for a world where freedom and order walk hand in hand."

Washington took his hand in a firm grip, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Welcome, then," he said. "We have much work to do."