1752 [S.P.C]

1778: Truths and Leaderships

Shay

I held Evie behind me as I stood face-to-face with Achilles and another assassin. "Ahh, Shay." I nodded in his direction, tensions rising between Achilles and me. "I heard you had a grandchild! Congratulations." I engaged my blade with one arm before my wife, unwilling to let my guard down.

The air was thick with hostility; every glance exchanged a silent challenge. I turned to face Haytham, who was squaring off against the other assassin. "Father," the assassin said, breaking the tense silence. The word echoed, reverberating in my mind. I stared at Haytham, the disbelief evident on my face.

"Father?" I asked, my voice laced with confusion.

Haytham's gaze didn't falter. Slowly, he nodded, confirming the assassin's claim. "Yes," he replied with an unsettling calm, "He's my son from my first."

The words hung in the air, unfinished but heavy with implication. "Your first what?" I demanded, my grip tightening on the blade.

"My first wife," Haytham admitted, his tone measured. "I was young and a different man, then." He glanced at the assassin, his eyes betraying a hint of regret, an emotion I rarely saw in him.

Younger than I expected, the assassin bore a striking resemblance to Haytham. The sharp cheekbones and the piercing gaze were undeniable markers of their shared bloodline. But his demeanour was far removed from Haytham's calculated calm. This man radiated passion, fury even.

Haytham's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned back to me, his expression unreadable. The dynamics of the room had shifted. Achilles looked like he had expected this revelation, while Shay remained stoic, his loyalties clear. Evie whispered behind me, her voice barely audible. "What does this mean for us? For the fight?"

I didn't have an answer. Not yet. The assassin, Haytham's son, stepped forward, blade in hand. "I won't let you or your Templar ideology poison this world any further."

"And I won't let your misguided beliefs destroy it," Haytham retorted, his voice colder now, his blade glinting in the dim light. Caught between them, I realised the fight wasn't just physical; it was ideological, personal, and deeply rooted. But as tensions reached a boiling point, I knew one thing for certain: this confrontation was far from over.

———

I held Evie's hand, preventing her from going inside behind Haytham. The look on my face told Evie all the feelings I felt. "You're coming with me." I pulled her by the arm; I was angry and disappointed with Evie for the first time.

I pulled towards the frontier and homestead board. "Shay, you're hurting me stop." I released my grip on Evie's arm.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO GO ANYWHERE NEAR THE HOMESTEAD, EVIE," I shouted as Evie rubbed her arm. "WHY DID YOU DISOBEY MY WISHES."

"Are you serious?" She asked. "SHAY YOU DISOBEYED ME FROM GETTING PEACE WITH MY BROTHER."

"BECAUSE HE IS BURIED AT THE DAVENPORT HOMESTEAD." I fought back. "YOU COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED AND WHAT WAS I MEANT TO DO THEN?"

"Shay, I was also a Templar I know how to hold my own against an enemy." I knew that.

"EVIE, I FUCKING KNOW THAT, BUT THIS WAS DIFFERENT AND YOU KNOW IT." I paused. "THAT MAN HAS TAKEN WAY TOO MUCH FROM US, FROM ME!" I reminded her. "HOW THE HELL WAS I MEANT TO TELL OUR DAUGHTER THAT HER MOTHER PUT HERSELF IN A SITUATION WHERE SHE GOT HERSELF KILLED."

"I'M NOT DEAD, SHAY!" Evie argues back. "I'M STANDING RIGHT HERE."

"WHEN I ARRIVED BACK AT THAT HOMESTEAD, I HEARD YOU SCREAM; I HEARD YOU SCREAM FOR ME," I admit. "YOU'VE NOT BEEN IN A FIGHT WITH ANYONE BUT ME FOR EIGHTEEN YEARS."