Souls Through Time (EzioxOC/DesmondxOC)

Chapter 21 - Claire

The room was silent as the team watched Desmond's memories play out on the Animus monitor, the scenes unfolding with a stark, almost cinematic clarity. Desmond's voice faded, his presence slipping away as Haytham Kenway's memories began to saturate his mind. The familiar white walls of the Animus flickered, morphing into the grand interior of the London Theatre Royal, the murmur of the audience and the flickering candlelight filling the screen.

Claire leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Haytham as he moved through the shadows, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room grew as Haytham's target, Miko, came into view. Without hesitation, Haytham struck, his movements precise and unflinching as he stole a small medallion from the man's body. Claire could feel the unease in the room as the team watched, the brutality of the act underscoring the gravity of Desmond's heritage.

"Not exactly a gentle introduction to his ancestor," Rebecca muttered, her voice a hushed whisper that barely carried in the silence.

As Haytham returned with the medallion, the scene shifted, and the screen flickered to a ship slicing through choppy waters, crossing the Atlantic toward the British American colonies. Tension rose again when a crewman, Louis Mills, attempted to betray Haytham, only for Haytham to turn the situation around with a swift, deadly efficiency. Claire could sense the team's collective unease. Haytham's ruthlessness was unsettling, even to seasoned Assassins.

"He's... thorough," Shaun commented dryly, though his tone betrayed his discomfort.

When the ship finally docked in Boston, the scene shifted, capturing Haytham as he gathered a group of men loyal to his cause. One by one, familiar faces came into view: Charles Lee, William Johnson, Thomas Hickey, Benjamin Church, and Jonathan Pitcairn. Their faces, now infamous in the Assassins' records, carried a weight that hung heavily over the room. Haytham was building an army—a network of Templars whose influence would ripple through history.

Watching Haytham's calculated efforts, Claire felt her stomach tighten as he confronted Silas Thatcher, a slave trader whose cruelty was palpable even on the screen. Haytham's actions were swift, merciless, but in a strange twist, he freed the group of Kanien'kehá

tribespeople Thatcher had enslaved. Haytham's methods were brutal, yet he seemed to operate with a purpose, his cold pragmatism a means to achieve his goals.

"He thinks this will win him favor," Aiden murmured beside Claire, his voice heavy with distaste. "But it's all strategy, isn't it? Just a way to justify his own ends."

Claire nodded, her jaw tight as the scene shifted yet again. One of the Kanien'kehá, struck a deal with Haytham: she would help him find the storehouse he sought if he would kill General Edward Braddock, the man responsible for enslaving her people. There was something in Kaniehtí's face—a fierce determination that drew Claire's focus. Here was a woman fighting for her people, her land, her freedom.

The memories moved rapidly, images blurring until the team found themselves watching a battle scene at Fort Duquesne. Haytham stalked Braddock, the General unaware of his impending fate. The final confrontation was swift, brutal. Haytham delivered the fatal blow as Braddock retreated, his movements as coldly efficient as ever.

The silence thickened as the scene shifted, pulling them into an intimate moment between Haytham and Kaniehtí

as they journeyed together to the Grand Temple's entrance. Claire could feel Desmond's presence struggling within Haytham's memories, a faint resistance as he watched the two form a bond. The bond felt strangely out of place amidst Haytham's harsh pragmatism, a crack in his ruthless exterior that hinted at something deeper, more human. As they reached the Grand Temple's entrance, they found that the medallion Haytham carried would not unlock it. Claire felt a twinge of frustration, echoed by the slight tension in Haytham's stance.